Wheeler loved Gaia like a mother. Ethereal and wise, kind and caring, she ticked all the boxes in his mind of what a mother should be. His own mother, drunk and weighed down by depression, disappointment and the ever-present smell of cigarettes, had always regarded Wheeler as an irritation. She hadn't wanted a child, hadn't particularly loved him and had been glad to see the back of him when he left. She'd always been distant and cold, annoyed and short-tempered, and Wheeler had instinctively known better than to cling to her skirts. A parade of well-meaning social workers and teachers had tried to fill in the blanks she left behind, but Wheeler was no fool. He knew that to all intents and purposes he was essentially motherless, and shrugged it off like he did just about everything else.
"Who needs a Mom anyway?" he'd remarked to Trish, his tone flippant. "She'd just be another woman to feel guilty about."
"What do you mean, another woman?" Trish had immediately asked, her tone sharp. "You mean me?"
"Nah," Wheeler replied, with only a hint of a lie on his lips, but Trish's eyes had narrowed.
"Other girls then?"
"Nope," Wheeler assured her. With Trish, he was faithful. Well, mostly faithful. He was young and adventurous, after all. And he really did mean to commit to Trish one day; to make her the forever woman in his life. That had to count for something, right?
Not that he had much longer to consider the matter. Soon afterwards, Gaia entered his life in a wonderful swirl of lilac skirts with life creeping at her feet. She'd embraced him and taken him in as her own, and Wheeler suddenly understood. Gaia cared for him, provided for him, understood him and loved him, despite his numerous faults, and he worshipped her not just as a Goddess given her due, but as the mother he'd never had. Her smile made him feel worthy; her touch made him feel secure. He adored her and obeyed her and would take a bullet for her. She was his mother, after all. The only mother he'd ever known; the only mother that ever counted. The only woman he never felt guilty about.
Well, except for Linka. He never felt guilty about her, the friend he loved best, the woman who made him smile above all others. He was good to her and for the first time in his life, there was a woman he knew and adored who never weighed heavily upon his mind. With Linka, everything was easy. When she was with him, things made sense. Sometimes Wheeler felt like he was blundering through life, a blind man staggering through a blurred landscape. When Linka was with him, it was like finding a pair of spectacles and finally being able to see.
There was no two ways about it; with Linka and Gaia in his life, Wheeler felt complete. When they were there, he was happy. When they were present, he was content.
Still, content and happy or not, that didn't mean he occasionally didn't feel frustration with them. And at this moment, three weeks into a back-breaking and soul destroying period where they'd been deployed to eco-emergency after eco-emergency, he was frustrated. Incredibly so.
When Gaia first sent them away to assist in cleaning up an oil spill in the Adriatic, she'd been apologetic.
"It won't be an easy task," she'd said softly, but Wheeler, keen to help as always, had immediately voiced his support.
"Who needs easy? We've been gettin' soft here," he said with a grin, nudging Kwame with his arm. "This one in particular. Soft round the middle, right?" he added, ducking as Kwame tried to jab him in the shoulder.
Even better, the eco-emergency meant that Gregor's visit was cut short. Linka was mortified, but Gregor was understanding, waving away her apologies.
"I will see you in Paris next month, for the Green Planet convention. I am looking forward to seeing you again," Wheeler heard Gregor say, and he frowned. Paris was the city of romance. Paris was the city of love. Paris was also where Gregor lived, and Wheeler hated the thought of him showing Linka around the beautiful city. But then again, Wheeler reminded himself, Gregor wasn't the one who'd spent the previous night with Linka. Gregor wasn't the one who'd reduced her to a panting mess, his hands on her body and tongue on her skin. Gregor wasn't the one who'd taken Linka to bed and woken with her that morning. Wheeler internally cheered when he realised that Linka had chosen him over Gregor, and he grinned as she bid the attractive Russian farewell.
Nine days later and Wheeler's good nature was starting to fail. Their work had been relentless, with a few hours given only to sleep and eat before returning to the toil. He'd hardly had time to breathe or think let alone bathe and rest, and his only opportunity to see Linka had been at night, just before they fell into an exhausted sleep. At this point, sex was the last thing on his overworked mind, but it would have been nice, Wheeler thought, just to talk with Lin and maybe hold her a little. Comfort was the word, he supposed. He'd always associated Linka with comfort, always associated her with a feeling of being safe and loved, and right then, he needed that.
But time was precious and so all he could do in the few minutes after they fell into their sleeping bags was meet Linka's eyes across the tent, seeing the exhaustion and fragility of his own mind reflected back to him in her green irises. He watched her exhale, imagining the warmth of her breath on her soft lips, and recognised longing in the movement. She missed him too, he realised. She missed him as he missed her. It was a comforting thought, and as he drifted to sleep, Wheeler tried not to worry that his basis for love, affection, friendship and comfort was all wrapped up in Linka and her grass coloured eyes and air scented skin.
After twelve days of non-stop work, Gaia called them back to Hope Island. Dirty and tired, Wheeler immediately decamped to his shower, lathering his hair and scrubbing at his skin. His face was sunburned from days spent in the glaring sun by the sea, and he could still feel the black slick on his hands and in between his fingers, just as he could still smell the rotten egg smell of oil in the air. Afterwards, he lay on his bed, his face in his hands, until he heard a tremulous knock on his door and found Linka on the other side, shower wet and shivering in the rain. He hauled her into his room and into his arms, and frantically began to kiss her, his hands running over her skin while he marvelled at the sensation of her kissing him back, of feeling her hands on his back and in his hair.
It was good. So good and so wonderful that he couldn't help but to groan into her lips, cradling her face in his hands and holding her forehead to his for a brief moment. He closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of her, before he opened his eyes to find Linka staring at him, her eyes curious and wide.
"Sorry," he whispered, without even knowing what he was apologising for, but she shook her head.
"I need you to touch me," she said softly. "Will you please touch—?"
She didn't need to ask twice. With a short growl, Wheeler pushed her onto his bed before crawling on all fours over her. He looked down at her, allowing his eyes to rove over her lips and body, wondering where to start, where first to lick and taste.
Ten minutes later, he was sucking on her breasts with a hand down her shorts, while she made soft panting noises beneath him. His mind was blissfully clear and focused; he'd replaced the smell of oil with the smell of her, while the slick feeling between his fingers was lost in the slick feeling between her legs. Linka was encouraging him, whispering nonsense amongst her kisses and moaning from between two bitten lips, and Wheeler was thankful — incredibly thankful — for the box of condoms he'd had the foresight to put in his nightstand.
When the eco-alert sounded, interrupting him just as he'd pulled the box out, the curse that emitted from his mouth was both loud and offensive.
"It cannot be, not now," Linka spoke with disbelief, a dazed expression on her face. Wheeler looked at her sadly, and she sighed, sitting up and pulling her shirt over her head. Wheeler watched her flushed chest and pink nipples disappear with a dejected bitterness that surprised him, and he swore again, before running a hand over his face and standing up.
"We better go," he muttered to her, "it's probably important."
It was important. An illegal poaching ring had been discovered in Zambia, with the mark of Stalker Slaughter all over it. Eight days later, Wheeler was hot and dusty and ready to slaughter Stalker himself. He'd seen sights involving orphaned elephants he never wanted to see again, and he had a new scar on his arm thanks to a run in with the knife of one of Slaughter's intellectually challenged cronies. Gi cleaned the wound with antiseptic, grimacing when Wheeler muffled a cry of pain, and when she turned to get bandages Linka sat beside him, running her finger along his arm parallel to the cut. She said nothing, her finger loving and reverent, and at her touch Wheeler's skin erupted into goosebumps even in the overwhelming African heat. When Gi turned back, Linka immediately withdrew her hand.
"I'm going to have to stitch it," Gi said bluntly. "It's not going to be pleasant and we don't have any anaesthetic to hand."
"I can handle it," Wheeler said, but Linka paled. She stood shakily, and he watched her leave the makeshift medical centre without saying a word.
When Gi sat back down, a needle in her hand, she looked at Wheeler evenly. "You two aren't fooling anyone, you know."
"I don't know what you mean."
Gi laughed. "Yeah right. Honestly Red, I can see right through you even without this gaping hole in your arm."
He shrugged, and Gi handed him a smooth piece of wood. "Bite down on this," she instructed him.
He stared at it warily. "To help with the pain, right?"
Gi shrugged. "That, and also the fact it'll keep your mouth busy. I don't want or need to hear any of your nonsense while I'm working to be honest."
"You used to like my nonsense," Wheeler remarked, but he took the wood and placed it between his mouth all the same. "You liked my nonsense a lot," he added through gritted teeth.
"Things change," Gi replied as she started to stitch his skin. Wheeler swore when the needle made contact with his flesh, and bit down on the wood, trying to ignore the sharp sting as Gi worked.
"Ouch," he said, "that hurts," and Gi grinned.
"Don't take it personally," she told him. "I really do think you're a great man, and sometimes I think we'd have been great friends if we hadn't spent our first few months as Planeteers in each other's beds."
"I meant the needle," Wheeler replied, "but thanks for the clarification." He spat the wooden bit away, licking his lips. "Besides, you didn't complain at the time."
Gi shrugged again, pulling on the thread. "Like you said, I liked your nonsense." She gave him a sly glance, a smile playing on her lips. "So tell me, does Linka get to enjoy your nonsense these days?"
He gave her a sharp look. "I thought you and Linka were friends? Wouldn't she have told you if she was?"
Gi picked up a pair of scissors. "To be honest the only time she's spoken to me recently about you was to ask if I regretted sleeping with you all those years ago."
Wheeler paled. "And, uh, what did you tell her?"
Gi hesitated. It was brief, but enough that Wheeler felt a dart of worry strike him. "I told her the truth," Gi said slowly. "I said that I enjoyed it, that I didn't regret it, but that I did regret what it cost us in terms of a friendship."
"We're friends," Wheeler replied immediately. "We've always been friends."
"Not like you and the others," Gi said. "Not like you and Linka."
"Linka and I are different," Wheeler answered, wincing as the needle momentarily snagged on his skin.
Gi frowned. "I'll say," she muttered. "You never loved me, whereas you've always loved her."
"I don't love her though," Wheeler immediately replied, though Gi's words struck him hard. "She's my best friend, but I don't love her. Not like that, anyway."
"Fine," Gi said. "Keep telling yourself that. But it's going to hurt you when you wake up one day and see the truth, you know. And her too."
"What do you mean?" Wheeler asked. "I don't want to hurt her, I've never wanted to hurt her."
"Honesty at last," Gi said, pulling once more on the needle. She snipped at the thread, before standing back to admire her handiwork. "You'll scar," she told him. "But keep it clean and there's a chance it won't get infected."
"Thanks," Wheeler replied, looking down at the neat row of stitches. "Look Gi, about me and Linka—"
"So there is a you and Linka?" Gi asked. "Definitely?"
Wheeler flushed. Abruptly, he had no desire to continue this conversation. He looked down, scowling at the canvas floor, and heard Gi sigh.
"Look, Red," she began, sitting next to him. She took his hand in her own, and as their fingers entangled, a memory struck Wheeler of another time and place when their bodies had connected like this. Suddenly, he remembered what it had been like to touch Gi, to kiss her and make love to her. But the images in his mind were blurry, thankfully faded with the passage of time, and he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, willing them away, ordering himself to get it together and think of something else, anything else but that sordid period from his past. An image of Linka immediately came to his mind, a memory of her wrapped in an Orioles sweatshirt with baggy pyjama bottoms on her legs, curled up against him on a bed as they watched a game together. It had been the World Series, and they'd been somewhere in Asia on a mission. Wheeler had thought he would miss the game entirely, but Linka had surprised him. She'd found a bad hotel in a bad part of town with surprisingly good cable tv, and rented a room for the two of them so they could watch it. Exhausted and overworked though, she'd fallen asleep on his shoulder before the game even finished, and he'd brushed the hair from her face while she slept.
Wheeler had wanted to kiss her that night. As the screen flickered over the dark hotel room, he'd wanted to press his lips to hers and wake her with a kiss, just as he desperately wanted to run his hands over the soft skin of her stomach. He'd imagined what it would be like to pull the clothes from her body and lose himself inside of her; imagined the content noises of pleasure she would make from his touch. At the time, Wheeler had put his fevered imaginations down to tiredness and overwork, but now, looking back, he realised there'd been something in it.
"Red?" Gi interrupted his thoughts. "You listening?"
"Yeah," Wheeler muttered, dragging his thoughts and eyes back to her.
Gi gave him a long, thoughtful look. "I just want you two to be careful, okay. We all love you—"
"Despite my nonsense?" Wheeler asked with a small smile.
"Despite your nonsense," Gi agreed. "You and Lin... it's been like watching a ticking bomb, sometimes. We all believed that one day this friendship the two of you share... well, we all thought it would morph into something else. Ma-Ti is very polite... he likes to believe you'll end up together some day."
"But we aren't like that—" Wheeler began to protest, although the words died quickly on his lips.
"Maybe not," Gi shrugged. "But I know you'd rather be with her than with anyone else. You watch her when you think no one else is looking, or maybe you're doing it without even thinking, I don't know. And recently, Linka... well, a few months ago she would have sat here while I stitched your arm and told you off for being a baby when you winced, but today she couldn't even stay in the room. Something's changed."
Wheeler looked at her. "You said Ma-Ti was polite. He thinks we'll end up together. What do you think?" he asked pointedly.
She stopped, clearly considering his question. "What do I think? What does it matter what I think—?"
"It matters to me," Wheeler replied. "Your opinion has always mattered to me. I guess sometimes I just don't do a very good job of showin' it."
She nodded slowly. "Okay. I think you need to be careful, Red."
"I'm not gonna hurt Linka," he said fervently.
"Actually," he saw Gi swallow. "I worry about her hurting you, to be honest."
He stared at her. "Linka would never do that."
"Not intentionally, no."
For a moment, silence lingered between them. Wheeler stood, though his hand remained wrapped in Gi's. A frisson of something passed between them, and he cleared his throat. "Thanks again," he muttered, shaking his hand from hers. "You're good at stitches. Maybe when this Planeteer gig is up, you can go into sewing."
She laughed. "Thanks, but I'd rather keep at my marine biology, if it's all the same to you. Learn to darn your own fucking socks, Red."
He laughed at that, and Gi laughed too. He grinned at her, before leaving the tent. He squinted in the afternoon sunshine, immediately searching out for golden hair and green eyes. When he found them he felt relief run through his blood. Linka was sitting by Kwame's side, chopping vegetables on a wooden board, and she must have felt his eyes upon her because she looked up, meeting them from across the camp.
There was relief in her face too, Wheeler realised. He saw her glance at his arm, at the stitches in place, and her body relaxed. She stood, brushing her hands on her shorts, before walking over to him.
"You will live then?" She asked him, running a hand down his arm.
"Looks like it."
"Good," she nodded.
"Were you worried for me, Babe?" he teased her.
"Yes," she answered, and her voice was serious. "You must take better care of yourself."
"You know I'd do anythin' for you," he replied.
"Not anything," she shook her head. "All I ask is that you be careful."
It was the second time that day a woman had told him to be careful, and Wheeler swallowed as he remembered Gi's words. I worry about her hurting you.
"I'll be careful," he said quietly. Linka stepped closer to him, and he was overwhelmed by the deliciously fresh air smell of her skin. He licked his lips, which had suddenly gone dry. "I haven't finished with you yet, you know," he told her.
"I know," she nodded, stepping closer again. To anyone watching them, the scene would have looked entirely innocent. Linka and Wheeler had been closer than this before, after all. The others had seen them hug at the end of a successful mission, had watched them wrestle on the beach after a Sunday of baseball, had seen them giggling in each other's arms during a bad movie. To anyone watching now, with a step still between them, there was nothing on show to be worthy of note. But to Wheeler, the scene was unbearably erotic. Linka's cheeks were flushed and her eyes were dark, and his eyes scanned over the loose shirt she wore, immediately noting the outline of her breasts and the small points of her nipples. Her hair was free, falling over her shoulders, and she chewed on her lip as she considered him.
"Come to my tent," he suggested, his voice not much more than a whisper, but Linka shook her head.
"I cannot," she told him. "You have lost blood. Kwame wants us to leave after we have eaten."
"I'm fine," he reassured her. "Trust me, I've got enough blood in me yet for what I have planned."
She smiled at that, but shook her head again. "Kwame has made up his mind. He and Ma-Ti have already pulled down your tent, so, unless you want to take me right here in the dust..." she gestured to the land around them, and Wheeler's mind immediately conjured up the image she'd so helpfully provided. He could vividly picture Linka on her back against the orange soil, her hair dirtied and loose as she arched against the sand. Her legs would be spread for him, and he'd lie between them, kissing and licking her wetness while the dirt rubbed against his thighs.
"Jesus, Lin," he whispered. "Don't tempt me."
"I will come to your cabin later," she promised him. "Kwame is right though. You do need to rest."
He grimaced at that. "I don't plan on restin' much while you're around, Babe."
Linka smiled at him. She brought her thumb to her lip, chewing on it for a moment while she looked up at him with flirtatious eyes. The sight made Wheeler's heart skip a beat.
"Do not worry," she said. "I am sure I can think of ways to keep you lying on your back, yes?"
He swallowed. "If there aren't, I'm sure you'll come up with some. You're always good at innovative ideas."
She laughed. "Innovative. In Russian, that is, uh... novatorskiy. I like that."
"Novatorskiy," Wheeler repeated. "Linka."
She turned to go, walking back towards Kwame and the meal he was preparing, when Wheeler called out.
"Lin," he said, and she turned back, looking at him curiously. He scratched his head. "Do you, uh, ever feel like you put up with nonsense from me?"
She paused. "Nonsense?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Nonsense."
She gave him an odd smile. "No," she said, shaking her head. "You make me laugh, and you make me happy, and you can frustrate me and annoy me sometimes, but nonsense? No. It is not that. When I am with you, there is nothing nonsensical about it. When I am with you, everything just seems to make sense, and I..." she trailed off, a blush suddenly rising on her cheeks. "I am talking too much."
Wheeler swallowed hard. "No. Not too much at all," he paused, staring at her. "Come to my cabin later. Promise me you will."
She nodded. "I will. Now go back to the medical room and rest, Yankee. Save your energy for later, hmm?"
'Later' turned out to be a lot later than Wheeler would have liked. Despite Gi's ministrations and his own efforts, his wound did get infected. By the time they landed on Hope Island he was feverish and unwell, his body aching and his mind racing. Kwame and Ma-Ti dragged him to his cabin, whereupon he was ladled with antibiotics and put to bed.
His recollections of the next forty-eight hours were minimal, but he was vaguely aware of Linka's shape by his bed, of her hand on his forehead, and of the smell of the summer breeze in his room. At one point, Linka made him strip while she changed his sheets and pyjamas, both of which he had sweat right through, and he watched her work dazedly, wondering how long he'd been unwell and how long she'd sat by his side. At one point she walked briskly past him, her arms full of linen, when he reached out and grabbed her. He pulled her into his lap and nuzzled his head into her shoulder, and he felt her body soften against him.
"Yankee," he thought he heard her whisper. "Moya lyubov."
He slept solidly for hours and hours, and when he at last awoke, his mind clear and his body well, he found Linka in bed next to him. She was pale but beautiful, her hair tied back and a thin nightgown on her body, and he rolled on top of her, waking her with a press of his lips to hers.
She opened her eyes slowly, looking at him with relieved eyes. "I see you are feeling better."
"You have no idea," he returned, lowering his body to hers and thrusting against her gently. His fever might have gone but his longing had returned with a vengeance.
She laughed gently. "There were easier ways to get me into your bed than contracting a deathly illness, Yankee."
"Maybe," he whispered, kissing her shoulder blade. "But this way I got to see you play Florence Nightingale too. Worth it," he added, kissing his way down to her breast. "No regrets."
"Mmm," she made a non-committal sound, which quickly changed into a breathy gasp when Wheeler sucked one of her nipples into his mouth through the fabric of her nightgown. "You are meant to be resting," she lectured him, but he looked up and saw her eyes flutter close.
"Hey, I'm still in bed, aren't I?"
"Bozhe moi," Linka replied, the hint of an argument in her voice, but she clung to his head all the same when he transferred his lips to her other breast. For a few moments she moaned beneath him, encouraging his attention, but when he reached under her nightgown to touch her stomach, he suddenly felt her stiffen.
"We cannot," she told him, brushing at his hands. "We do not have time."
"Course we do," he replied. "It's still early, isn't it?"
She gave him a regretful look. "It is early here, yes. But we are due in Paris later today for the Green Planet convention. Kwame is giving a speech and I have arranged to meet Gregor and—"
"Fuck," Wheeler swore, peeling himself away from Linka's body. "God damn it."
"Yankee," Linka said in a conciliatory tone. "Kwame has worked hard on this speech. And there will be drinks, and dancing, and me," she added, her cheeks turning pink. "I have a new dress to wear."
"For me or Gregor?" Wheeler spat out before he could help it, and he saw Linka's face harden. She practically leapt from his bed, and he instantly stood, reaching out for her and hauling her back to him.
"Sorry," he whispered. "Sorry."
"Gaia says you do not have to go if you are still feeling unwell," Linka said, her body and tone stiff. She hadn't forgiven him for his outburst, clearly.
"I'm fine," Wheeler said, his tone also sharp as Linka pulled away from him. He watched as she dressed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I wouldn't miss Kwame's speech. And I'm certain you wouldn't want to miss Gregor."
"No, I would not," Linka snapped back. "I am glad you are better," she added, though at that moment the words sounded false on her tongue.
"I am better," Wheeler replied caustically. How had they gone from kisses to this? "I feel great."
Linka stared at him. "Funny," she remarked. "Illness suits you better than jealousy."
"You think I'm jealous of that prick Gregor?"
She shrugged. "You act like it."
"Don't think so highly of yourself, Babe. The only act I'm puttin' on is the one where I pretend sex between us is a good idea."
She inhaled sharply, and Wheeler felt an immediate pang of shocked regret. He hadn't meant to say that. For a moment Linka stared at him, her face hard, though Wheeler thought he saw a stab of pain go through her eyes.
"Well, you do not have to pretend any longer," she informed him tightly. "I am calling the arrangement off. You are right. It is not a good idea. Not when you are like... are like this."
He paused. "You're callin' it off?" he gave a bitter laugh. "Had a taste and learned enough, have you?"
Linka bristled. "It is not like that, and you know it."
"All I know is that you've been all over me every chance you could get for the past month, and now that you're bein' asked to put your mouth where your money is, you're backin' out," he gave her a long, leering stare. "Sorry," he corrected himself. "Not your mouth, your—"
Linka slapped him, hard across the cheek. It stung hard, and Wheeler recoiled, before bringing a hand to his cheek.
"Jesus," he whispered. "Babe, I'm so sorry, I'm so—"
But Linka had already turned on her heel and fled, her nightgown clutched in her hand, leaving Wheeler alone in his cabin with just the lingering smell of the summer breeze on his pillow and a hard ache of regret in his heart.