New York was the same as ever, a heaving, pulsing, tangled mess, and sex with Trish was much the same. She met him at the airport, throwing herself into his arms, and Wheeler kissed her hard on the tarmac, gripping her to him. They didn't make it to dinner or the bed and breakfast he'd booked upstate, checking into an upmarket airport hotel where he divested Trish of her clothing before taking her hard on the bed. Yes, his mind thought in the throes of sex, this is just what I needed. Afterwards, lying in an exhausted post-coital heap, Trish grinned at him.

'What was that all about?' she asked him, and his stomach sank, willing his mouth to keep shut and not say the name that instantly sprang to his mind. Linka.

'What do you mean?' Wheeler shrugged. 'I just missed you.'

'I missed you too,' Trish replied happily. 'And I'm gonna miss you more now knowing you've got those moves in you.'

He gave her a weary smile back, lying against the clinically white pillows and sighing.

'When have you gotta go back?' Trish asked him, rolling onto her side to look at him. 'I was thinkin' on Sunday night you could come to my place and we could try this new Mexican place that -'

But Wheeler shook his head. 'Can't,' he cut her off. 'Gotta be back by Sunday night.'

It was a lie, for Kwame had cleared Wheeler's calendar until Monday evening. But Wheeler knew that Gregor was arriving Monday morning, and for some reason, he didn't want Linka's penpal getting comfortable on the island - and comfortable with Linka - without him there. Swallowing, Wheeler ran a hand across his eyes, trying once again to push Linka from his mind.

He wondered what she was doing.

He wondered if she missed him.

He wondered if she was wearing that white bikini.

With a growl, he rolled on top of Trish, who grinned up at him.

'Hey,' she said fondly. 'I'm glad you called me.' Abruptly, she ran a hand down his cheek. 'I'm glad you set this up. I'm glad you made time for me.'

At her words, Wheeler felt a pang of guilt and shame rise up inside of him. Trish deserved better than this, and better than him. Sighing, he kissed her softly. He loved her, he really did. He loved how vibrant she was, how warm and how full of life. Trish was perfect for him, in so many ways. Cut from the same cloth, they were. They understood one another, and had so much in common that conversation never stilted between them. Perhaps he should make things serious between them, Wheeler suddenly thought. Perhaps it was time to cut all the bull shit and make plans for the future. He loved Trish, he knew that without a doubt. So why couldn't he make that leap of faith with her? What was holding him back?

But again, he wasn't being honest with himself, because he knew exactly what was holding him back. A pair of green eyes and a lilting Russian voice calling him Yankee under a sky full of stars.

With an exasperated groan, Wheeler rolled off of Trish, pulling himself out of the bed and wrapping a nearby towel around his waist.

Trish looked at him curiously. 'You goin' somewhere?' she teased him.

'Shower,' he said, standing taller. 'You and me... I'm takin' you out for dinner,' he took a deep breath. 'A date, right?'

Something in Trish's eyes lit up, and in that moment, Wheeler really and truly hated himself.

'A date?' she asked him. 'I thought we were just...' she trailed off, indicating to the mussed up sheets around her. 'I didn't know you were thinkin' of -'

'Well, I am,' Wheeler replied, a little too quickly. 'Let me get cleaned up, okay? And then we'll get something to eat somewhere.'

As he stood under the warm spray of water, Wheeler wondered exactly what he was doing here with Trish. Never, in their years of fooling around, had he ever asked her on a date. It was something that was implicitly unsaid between them, that they had sex without the trappings of a relationship. He was too busy, too caught up in his work to be serious about anyone, he'd always told Trish. And she'd accepted that, just as she'd accepted his off-hand remark that one day he'd return to New York permanently, and by default, to her bed too. What was he doing? He wondered to himself as he rubbed shampoo into his hair. What did he want here, really?

Another lie to himself, he realised, as he held his head under the water to wash the suds away. He knew exactly what he wanted here. He wanted to push all thoughts of Linka, his best friend, from his mind. He wanted to forget her and the feelings she'd aroused in him by losing himself in another woman.

It wasn't fair to Trish, he realised, leaning his head against the tiled wall tiredly. He couldn't do this to her. Resignedly, he went to shut off the water, and confess all to her, when the bathroom door opened and Trish walked in. She smiled as she dropped her own towel, opening the door to the shower and wrapping her arms around his waist.

'Room for one more?' she asked, and he stared at her.

'Umm, Trish, look -'

But Trish had already sunk to her knees, and Wheeler's mind went blank.

Trish was all smiles over dinner, and Wheeler ordered a second bottle of wine, taking deep breaths and trying to enjoy a rare night away from work. He was in the company of a pretty woman who loved him, they were eating good food, and the conversation was easy, flowing well between them. He had nothing to be miserable about. And yet, in the back of his mind, was the nagging discomfort that he didn't really want to be there.

Where he really wanted to be was on the beach with Linka, playing baseball. Where he really wanted to be was in the kitchen of Hope Island, drinking vodka with Lin while they talked about anything and everything.

Where he really wanted to be, Wheeler acknowledged with a nervous swallow, was in Linka's bed, making good on his offer to sleep with her.

Shit.

His face must have dropped, because Trish suddenly cleared her throat.

'You okay?' She asked him, and he sighed.

'Just caught up on somethin' from work,' he said. 'Can't quite let it go.'

Trish nodded. 'Everythin' okay back on the island?'

He nodded. 'Yeah, it's just that...' he trailed off. 'Kwame talked recently about the future. About what's gonna happen when we get too old for the job and give up our rings.'

He saw an impatient flash in Trish's eyes and chewed on his lip. She was waiting for that day, he knew. But the flash just as quickly faded as it appeared, and Trish nodded slowly.

'Is that gonna happen sometime soon, you reckon?'

He shrugged. 'I don't know. Gi and Kenly are gettin' more and more serious, and Kwame has been talkin' for awhile now about wantin' to be closer to Sam.'

'Right,' Trish said.

'If one of us goes, I guess we all do,' Wheeler carried on, feeling a small, sharp stab of pain at the thought.

'Right,' Trish said again. 'So, tell me, when that happens, what about you?'

'What about me?'

'What are you gonna do? Where are you gonna go?'

He looked up sharply. 'You know the answer to that. I'll come home. Get a job. Settle down. The usual thing.'

'And am I part of that? The usual thing?' Trish asked.

'Of course,' he said, but there was a sharpness to his voice which they both heard. Trish stared at him.

'What's up with you, Wheeler?' she asked slowly. 'The sex earlier... askin' me on a date... you've been like a yo-yo today, up and down and all over the place.'

He paused, staring into his glass of wine. 'I told you, it's just somethin' at work.'

Trish stared at him with wide eyes, putting down her glass. She cleared her throat. 'And would that somethin' be a blonde Russian, by any chance?'

Wheeler's head snapped up, shock written clearly across his face. 'Lin and I...' he garbled helplessly. 'We're just friends. You know that.'

'No,' Trish said bluntly. 'No, I didn't know that. I did wonder.'

'Why would you...?'

Trish sighed. 'You talk about her all the time. You message her constantly. Whenever you talk to me about your work, every second sentence has her name in it.' Trish looked down, brushing an invisible crumb from the table. 'I know you, Wheeler. I know your needs. When you moved to that island, you almost instantly started up with Gi. And then when you finished things with her, you started visitin' me and havin' all those other girlfriends and it's okay, there's no judgment here,' Trish nodded firmly. 'I know we have an unspoken agreement; that we can have our fun now and that we'll settle down in the future. But Linka... I don't know, I'm always... wary of her. Whenever you talk about your colleagues, you mention their girlfriends and boyfriends. You talk about Kwame and Sam. You talk about Gi and Kenly. You even talked about Ma-Ti and that girl he met... where was it? New Zealand?'

'Papua New Guinea,' Wheeler corrected her blankly.

'Yeah,' Trish nodded again. 'But with Linka, where other people are concerned, there's radio silence from you Wheeler. It's like she's your friend, and nobody else's. You're quietly possessive over her, Wheeler, and that makes me nervous. So, yeah, I did wonder.'

'I've never slept with her,' Wheeler spluttered, and Trish raised an eyebrow at him.

'By that, did you mean not yet?' she asked. 'Because that's the feelin' I'm gettin' from you right now.'

Wheeler didn't say anything. He simply sat, feeling as though all of his chickens were coming home to roost. He licked at his lips, wretched and unsure, and he heard Trish sigh beside him.

'Come on,' she said, coming to a stand.

'You leavin'?' he asked, somewhat miserably, and she smiled at him reassuringly.

'With you,' she assured him. 'We're goin' back to the hotel. Let's get back to the thing we're best at, right?'

He stared at her. 'You still want to... with me... after what we just talked about?'

Trish nodded, looking at him honestly. 'Look Wheeler, you're an attractive man, and I love you. I do. And you know I love you too, and I think you might love me, even though you're not ready for... well, whatever comes next. But I know one day we're gonna end up together. It's just the way things are meant to be, right? You don't have a background like us, a story like ours, and not end up together in the end,' she added firmly. 'So, we're gonna enjoy our weekend the best way we know how. And you're gonna go back to the island on Sunday, and start...' Trish paused. 'Well, you're gonna start lettin' go of the thing you're holdin' onto, okay? And I don't care what that is, or how you do it, because I know that in the end you're always gonna come back to me, right?'

He stared up at her, his mouth dry.

'Right?' she said again, more sharply, and he exhaled, low and long.

'Right,' he agreed. 'Right.'

On Sunday, he arrived back on Hope Island late, when everyone else was already in bed or getting ready for it. When he parked the geo-cruiser, Kwame was outside waiting for him, a confused expression on his face.

'Wheeler, you are back early?' Kwame asked, even as he quickly embraced him.

Wheeler grinned at him. 'Yeah. Never can stay away from this place for long. Why aren't you in bed?'

Kwame pointed to the geo-cruiser. 'It was my turn to man the radio waves this evening. I heard you coming in and thought there might be something wrong, given you were not meant to be returning until tomorrow night.'

Wheeler shrugged again. 'Like I said, I missed you all.'

Kwame gave him a keen look. 'Um, how was the, uh... food?' he asked, tactful as ever and always the gentleman. 'Did you have a good weekend?'

Wheeler nodded. 'Yeah, the food was, uh, plentiful.'

It was the truth. Trish, either with a point to prove or stake to claim or perhaps a bit of both, had taken him to bed on Friday night after their unfinished date and not released him until just a few hours earlier that day. He'd half-walked, half-staggered back to the geo-cruiser. The sex had been good, enthusiastic and plentiful... though, Wheeler hated to admit, it had also been somewhat unsatisfying. He'd left Trish knowing he'd had enough sex to get him through the worst dry spell, while also feeling vaguely unsated.

He wasn't going to lie to himself this time. He knew why he'd been disappointed by his weekend with Trish. Taking her to bed had been like trying to slake an appetite with salt when he'd wanted sweet. It wasn't her fault, and he loved her as he always did, as he probably always would. He loved her, but he didn't want her right now, that was the problem. If anything, his weekend with Trish had at least proven one thing: that he hadn't been intrigued by Linka's suggestion because he was hard up for sex in general. No, he'd been intrigued by Linka's suggestion because it was Linka, plain and simple.

Which left him in a quandary. Because Linka was his best friend. He loved her in an entirely different way to Trish... didn't he?

He must have looked puzzled, because Kwame gave him a friendly pat on the back. 'You look tired, Wheeler,' he commented pleasantly. 'You should get to bed.'

Wheeler nodded. 'Yeah... it felt like a long flight. I could do with some sleep.'

'Ma-Ti and Linka made stew this evening,' Kwame gave him a wide grin. 'In case you fancy a good meal. Or are you still full from all the processed food?'

Wheeler looked up, momentarily confused. Was Kwame still using their analogy from earlier? Was that what Trish was to him... processed food? An easy snack when a real meal would have filled him more adequately?

'Nah,' he shook his head quickly. 'No more food for me. I'm gonna hit the hay. See you in the morning, yeah?'

Kwame nodded. 'Good night. Sleep well, friend.'

Wheeler nodded, but he doubted his ability to sleep that night, exhausted though he was. With a stretch, he made his way down the hill to his cabin, where he would lie in his bed and think about Linka and wonder exactly what he was going to do with her. There were two options, and neither at that moment seemed palatable to him. Did he go on as they were, friends and nothing more, while torturing himself with sexual frustration for her? Or did he give in and sleep with her, knowing it would be nothing more than a short-term arrangement which would probably kill their friendship in the long run?

With a sigh, Wheeler opened the door to his cabin, throwing his bag to the floor and walking over to his bedside light. Before he had a chance to turn it on though, a low moan floated toward him in the evening air, and he turned to his open window, his mouth suddenly dropping open.

It was Linka, lying on her bed in her cabin, the soft light of her bedside lamp illuminating her gently. She was biting on her lips, breathing shallowly, her back arched and her knees bent.

She was beautiful and sexy and she took Wheeler's breath away.

More than that, she was touching herself, and moaning with pleasure as she did so too.

When they first arrived on Hope Island and were shown to their neighbouring cabins, the windows that overlooked each other's rooms had been a source of irritation to Wheeler and embarrassment to Linka. He didn't want the awkward Russian teenager in the cabin next door seeing his every move in the only space on the island that was exclusively his, Wheeler had seethed. He couldn't walk around naked, he argued, or bring girls over.

Kwame had tried to appease him, and a curtain was produced for both of their rooms. Linka, blushing, had taken it and used it liberally. She closed her curtains and kept them closed for the next six months, and it was easy for Wheeler to forget she was so close after that. He heard her, of course, the sweet sound of her piano ringing out, or her voice, chatting away in Russian when she spoke on the phone to her friends and family, but he never saw her.

Later, once they were friends, she started opening her curtains again. They would play games, making faces at each other through the glass, or holding up notes for the other to read. He would mock her for her fastidious tidiness, and she would berate him for his constant mess. Whenever one of his girlfriends came to stay, he would blow a kiss to Linka through the window, and she would roll her eyes back at him, before he closed both the window and the curtains. He didn't want her seeing or hearing anything untoward, after all. He respected her. He desired her good opinion.

It never occurred to him that Linka herself would need to close her window or curtains for anything these days though. She told him everything, shared with him all her secrets, and that was the way he liked it. She'd never had a boyfriend, so there was no need for privacy that way either. She was a book that only he could read. She wore a mask that only he could see through. And she had a window to her room he could always look through, whenever he wanted. Sometimes, when they were back from a mission that had gone badly, or saw the havoc that greed and pollution was wreaking upon the planet, Wheeler would sit on his bed, his head in his hands, and stare into her room. He would watch her reading a book, or sitting at her computer, and he would use her presence to pull him from his misery. She grounded him in a way no one else ever had or could.

She knew he watched her of course, because sometimes she would turn and smile at him, acknowledging his presence, before going about her business as if he weren't there at all. And when he was ready, he would knock on her door, hug her, and she would hold his hand and ask if he was okay.

'Yeah,' he would nod, eased as always by the feeling of her skin next to his. 'Yeah, I'm okay.'

So, his knee-jerk reaction now, on seeing Linka on her back and in the act of self-pleasure, her curtains and window wide open, was to immediately close his own. To give her the privacy she so clearly assumed she had. He swore under his breath, reaching for his curtain, ready to pull it across, when he stopped.

She would notice if he closed his curtain. Maybe not now, maybe not tonight, but definitely by the morning. So far as Linka knew, he was in New York with Trish. So far as she was aware, his curtains were open as they had been for the last two nights. If she were to look to her left, she would see them closed, and immediately would have known that he had been home, and might have seen her... well, seen her.

That would probably mortify her. Dropping down, Wheeler crouched on his knees, breathing heavily and debating what to do. How long would it take her to... to finish? He wondered desperately. He could sneak out, but the noise might disturb her. No, his best bet was to cover his ears and cover his eyes and wait it out. Once she was done, and her lights turned down, he would fall into bed and tell her in the morning that he'd arrived home after she was already asleep.

'I would've called in, Babe, but your lights were already out,' he would lie.

Yes. That was the plan.

But just as he settled on this option, another low moan carried across the breeze, and Wheeler felt his resolve slip slightly.

Linka had no idea he was there. He couldn't do this to her. It wasn't right.

With a sigh, and a feeling of horrified disbelief settling in his bones, he moved slowly up from the floor and across to his bed. He sat, and, watching Linka through his window, seeing her hand moving across her breast and between her legs, felt his mouth run dry with desire.

A real meal, he suddenly thought.

But it would never do. He couldn't watch her, doing this, without her knowledge. With every movement like agony, he leaned over, reaching for his bedside lamp and flicking it on, light immediately flooding his room.

Through the window, he saw Linka's head immediately snap towards him, and their eyes met.

It was strange, thought Wheeler. There was no shock or confusion or horror on Linka's face, like he had imagined. Instead, she met his gaze and held it, her cheeks flushed, her breathing still shallow. He continued to sit on his bed, looking at her, unable to tear his eyes away from her own. Something passed between them, electric and undeniable, and he inhaled sharply.

'Keep going,' he mouthed to her, and he watched as she licked her lips, before her hands once again began to roam over her body.

Whatever blood pumped through Wheeler's body immediately headed south, and for a man who'd had as much sex as he had not half a day earlier, he was immediately almost painfully hard. He didn't move though, didn't take himself in hand or indulge in any kind of self-pleasure. This was all about her, he realised. She was allowing him to watch her, allowing him to join her in this moment, and he wanted to show her that he respected that.

And so he sat, his body rock-hard and unmoving, even as his eyes moved hungrily over her. He bit down a groan of frustration that she was still mostly clothed, her fingers moving underneath a thin singlet and pair of shorts, just as he bit down a groan when she closed her eyes, breaking the gaze between them. For some reason, he wanted her looking at him while she did this; wanted her eyes locked on his own when she came. It was a longing almost as strong as the longing to be next to her, to replace her hands and fingers with his. He longed to use his mouth on her, to kiss and caress her. He longed to know how her legs would feel wrapped around his back, just as he longed to know how her hands would feel against his skin.

She opened her eyes again to look at him again, and he gave her a small nod, a brief movement of encouragement.

'Take off your shirt,' he mouthed to her, and he half-expected her to stop, to close her window and curtain at his audacity and end this moment between them. But she merely nodded back, sitting up and pulling the fine fabric from her body, throwing it to her floor. She lay back down, her hands this time pulling and pinching at naked flesh, and Wheeler's resolve melted.

He looked at her, almost imploringly, and relief flooded through him when she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. He immediately reached into his clothing, stroking himself, watching her with intent eyes and biting down on his lips at the rising surge of pleasure.

She was so beautiful and sexy, from the smooth planes of her stomach to the dusky pink nipples she intermittently pinched with her long fingers, and Wheeler was so filled with desire for her that he couldn't believe he'd almost turned her down.

Because of course he was going to fuck her. Of course he was. Not tonight, and maybe not tomorrow, and maybe not even this week or month, but one day, in the future, he would sleep with Linka and he knew, from watching her right now, that he would enjoy every moment of it. Her eyes were still linked with his, her hand moving almost frantically now. Almost without thinking, his own hand grew rougher and his strokes harder as he watched Linka watching him. He was scared to blink in case he broke the spell that seemed to linger between them, and when she came, her back arching away from her bed, a pink flush breaking out over her skin, his own pleasure rushed over him in a raging force, and he cried out, a hoarse moan ringing out in the evening air.

When it was done, he looked to Linka. She was shivering on her bed, and he felt a typical rise of concern for her within him. She got cold after sex, he thought to himself, already making a mental note for the future. He gave her a wry smile, and a small one pulled at her own lips, before she turned on her bed, pulling a blanket around her shoulders. She switched off her light, and Wheeler exhaled deeply. He cleaned himself up quickly, before turning off his own light.

He thought he would struggle to sleep, worried he would overthink what had just happened between them. But unexpectedly he felt positive and pleasantly satisfied. He was looking forward, he realised with a smile, to what the next day would bring.

And as his eyes began to flutter close in sleep, his last waking thought was that he'd just had a taste of something that would definitely fill his appetite.