The Green Planet Convention was torture, Wheeler thought, rolling his eyes as yet another tuxedo-clad VIP took to the stage to pledge a moderate sum of money to fight climate change. The VIP's words were eloquent and smooth, his face set into suave lines of likeability, and Wheeler scowled at the smattering of applause that followed his self-satisfied announcement.

He's one step away from taking a fucking bow, Wheeler thought, his fingers clenching tightly around the bottle of beer he held in his hand. Next to him, Kwame was also frowning, and Wheeler leaned towards him, nudging his good shoulder lightly.

"Gotta say, your speech has been the highlight of the evening," Wheeler told him, and Kwame sighed, shaking his head.

"I thought this would be a real chance for us to get our message across, but instead..." Kwame sighed again. "Instead it's just a chance for a few CEO's and a handful of minor celebrities to have their picture taken and eat a three course meal. It is not what was promised to me. We shouldn't have come. These people... they don't really care about the crisis the planet is in."

"Yeah," Wheeler agreed bitterly, swigging his beer again. "Look at 'em all, so oily they're leavin' trails of slick on the dance floor."

"Like snails," Kwame replied, giving a small grin, and Wheeler couldn't help from grinning back.

"You mean snails in cheap rented tuxes with pretty girls on their arms," he said, swigging at his beer, and Kwame raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"You said that with a smile on your face but a bitter tone to your words."

"It's the snails," Wheeler remarked flippantly. "Never did like 'em."

"I thought for a moment it might be one of the pretty girls."

At that, Wheeler said nothing, finishing his beer in one fell swoop. He couldn't help himself, letting his eyes fall on Linka on the dance floor. She was oblivious to his turmoil, drifting around the function room in her wispy black dress, Gregor's hand on the small of her back as he led her from dignitary to dignitary, each suited and booted man determined to have his picture taken with the elegant blonde.

Not that Wheeler blamed them. If it was him, he'd have wanted an excuse to put his arm around Linka too. He couldn't hate them for wanting a minute of excitement with her after the — quite frankly — fucking tedious evening they'd had to sit through so far. Wheeler, never one for formal events, had hated every long minute. After the introduction to the evening came a full hour of speeches about the environment, boring and preachy and only saved by Kwame's address, which had been lively and impassioned and full of heart. The rest of the night, from the false declarations of interest in climate change to the overly sweet chicken served on shiny white plates, had been a long and uninteresting haul.

Aware of Kwame's eyes upon him, Wheeler shrugged his shoulders and sat back. "I need another beer," he remarked, but he made no move to stand, or to call over one of the waiters who loitered on the periphery of the party.

"You need more than a beer," Kwame said, his voice abruptly flat.

"What do you mean?" Wheeler turned to Kwame, looking at his friend with interest. "What do you think I need?"

Kwame gave him a knowing look. "A pretty girl."

Wheeler scoffed. "I can get a pretty girl—"

"Not just any pretty girl," Kwame interrupted him. "The pretty girl you want. The one you haven't been able to take your eyes off all night."

Wheeler flushed. "Kwame—"

But Kwame sat back, rubbing at his injured arm with his good hand and regarding Wheeler thoughtfully. "You're good for each other," he said, "you'd be good for each other. I've always thought that. I've always wondered why you haven't taken what you so obviously want."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"I think you do," Kwame said. "But it isn't for me to pry. It isn't for me to cajole. Maybe this is something you need to come to in your own way. In your own time."

"You and Gi must've been comparin' notes," Wheeler commented drily. "Even though you're both wrong. Lin's a friend, Kwame. One of my best friends. That's all."

"And yet you've been watching her like a hawk all evening," Kwame returned easily.

Wheeler's brow furrowed as, once again, he picked Linka out in the crowd. She was dancing now, with one of Gregor's arms held tight around her waist, smiling up at her handsome companion with a dazzling intensity. Wheeler scowled.

"I told you already," he said, "I don't like snails."

"Gregor is a decent man, Wheeler," Kwame replied, following Wheeler's gaze.

"So you all keep sayin'."

"And he treats Linka well."

"Good for her."

Kwame frowned. "I don't know why you're being so belligerent about this. Any fool can see that you—" he stopped, and shook his head, rubbing at his injured arm again. "But like I said, it is not for me to cajole."

Wheeler swallowed hard. "You think I'm in love with her too, don't you?"

At that, Kwame sat up. "Too? You mean somebody else has spoken with you about this?"

"Gi," Wheeler said blankly. "In Zambia. She all but pinned me down and smacked me over the head with the idea."

Kwame nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "That cannot have been an easy conversation for her, given your past history together."

Wheeler winced. "Linka and I... we aren't like what Gi and I were. I hate what happened with Gi. I hate rememberin' us like that."

"What do you mean?" Kwame asked in concern.

Wheeler shook his head, before gesturing for the waiter, asking him to bring two beers. For a moment he stared over the dancefloor to Linka, who still swayed in Gregor's arms, looking happy and serene. An ache suddenly seemed to build within him and he sighed, reaching for one of the beers as soon as it was placed before him, before nudging the other towards Kwame.

"I don't think I should drink tonight, under the circumstances," Kwame said, gesturing to his injury, and Wheeler nodded.

"Don't worry, I'll have 'em both."

Just like Gi and Linka, Wheeler inexplicably thought, and disgust ran through him at his own behaviour.

"Wheeler—"

"I know what you all think of me," Wheeler suddenly cut in, running a hand through his hair. "I know it's a joke to you all. Get a pretty girl, you said it yourself not five minutes ago, Kwame. You have your plants, Gi has her marine biology, Ma-Ti has his animals and Linka has her music. What do I have? Pretty girls," Wheeler shook his head, bereft. "Sums me up in a nutshell, right?"

Kwame shook his head. "You are never a joke to us, Wheeler."

"I feel like a joke. I don't like how I've treated women in the past, you know? And I've tried to be better. I have. I've tried to be faithful to Trish and make amends with Gi and stay just friends with Lin. I've really tried," Wheeler finished miserably. "So why don't I feel any better? Why isn't it gettin' any easier?"

Kwame sighed. "Wheeler," he said slowly, "none of those things — being faithful to Trish, making amends with Gi, staying friends with Linka— none of it matters if it doesn't mean anything to you. If it isn't what you really want. Tell me something, of those three things, where have you been most successful?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, of those three things, when you think about them, where do you feel most successful? Which one do you think of and not feel like a joke, to use your words?"

"I guess staying just friends with—" Wheeler began, before he stopped, the words dying on his lips. He thought of earlier that night, of Linka's mouth wrapped around him, her dress pulled down to her waist. He thought of her fluttering eyelashes and of her long hair, held within his hands as he pulled her closer. He recalled the sounds of longing and pleasure she pulled from his throat as she worked at him with her tongue and lips. He thought of her, and instantly felt warm.

He couldn't lie to himself. He wasn't just friends with Linka anymore. That ship had sailed, along with any and all rational thoughts he had whenever Linka was naked and within reach. By default, any fidelity he might also have owed Trish had also been destroyed. Wheeler had to be honest; on two out of three counts, he had failed.

"Makin' amends with Gi," he corrected himself, clearing his throat. "I don't feel like a joke when I think of that. I've tried hard to build back those bridges with her. Gi said it herself, we'd have been good friends if we hadn't always been in each other's beds. I've tried to rectify that. Tried to be a good friend to her."

"Because it means something to you," Kwame said sagely. "She means something to you."

"Linka means something to me too," Wheeler instantly protested. "And Trish."

"Yes, of course," Kwame agreed. "But I think you have confused how you see them in your mind. You think you owe Trish fidelity, when you know you don't. And you think you need to keep Linka as just a friend, when you feel much more for her than friendship."

"I love her," Wheeler said softly, the words anguished. "She's my best friend."

"Yes, but you don't need to keep her as just a friend to prove you can be a good man to women, Wheeler," Kwame offered. "You love her. She can be your best friend, and something more too. No one will think the worst of you for being with the woman you love. Be kind to yourself, and to her."

"I think she's good," Wheeler retorted bitterly, nodding in Linka's direction. Linka was still dancing with Gregor, still smiling up at him, and Wheeler felt pain run through him.

"Tell her how you feel," Kwame urged him. "You need to be honest with yourself, and with her."

Wheeler nodded, still staring at Linka. She however remained oblivious to him, lost in Gregor's orbit as she was.

He loved her. It hit him suddenly, like a ton of bricks right to his soul, rocking the foundations of who he was and who he would be forevermore. He loved her. It was almost laughable in its simplicity; astounding in its complexity. He loved her, and he'd always loved her, right from the moment he'd chanced upon her at the beach that morning and suddenly seen her for who she was. There was nothing about her he disliked; nothing about her he didn't want for himself. Everything, from her wonderful mind to her lilting voice and her silky laugh... all of it he loved, with an intensity that floored him.

His mouth ran dry, and he swallowed hard. Kwame, he noticed, was looking at him in concern.

"Wheeler?"

"I've been an idiot, do you know that?" he remarked, with a self-effacing laugh. "I've been the stupidest fucking idiot there is."

"I wouldn't say that," Kwame said with a frown. "I would not say that at all."

"I've been in love with her for years, Kwame. Years. And I've never said a word... not even to myself. If that ain't an idiot, I don't know what is."

Kwame gave him a small smile. "Okay. So, what will you do now?"

Wheeler took a deep breath, reaching forward and taking a big swig of beer.

"I guess I'm gonna tell her."

She knocked on his door at 3am, rousing him from a light sleep. He let her in with a soft smile, glad to see how happy and light she looked, how utterly carefree.

"Did I wake you?" she asked, reaching down to unstrap the heels from her feet.

"Yeah," he admitted, "but I don't mind."

She leaned into him then, resting her cheek against his bare chest. He could feel her eyelashes fluttering closed against him, and he couldn't help himself, running a hand over her head and tugging loose the pins from her tresses. She made soft noises of pleasure against him as he worked her hair free, detangling her curls with his fingers.

"You did not dance with me tonight," she suddenly said, her tone almost accusing. "You disappeared from the party entirely, in fact."

"You know me," he shrugged. "Hate those stuffed shirt events."

"I was there," Linka said softly, reaching up to untie the dress around her neck. "You could have spent the night with me."

"You were busy," Wheeler replied simply, keeping his tone even, neutral, and free from the bile he felt at even the thought of Gregor's name.

"I always make time for you."

"Yeah," Wheeler agreed, helping her tug the dress from her body. "You do."

For a moment they stood together, bare skin against bare skin, feeling the warmth of each other's bodies where they joined.

"I'm tired," Linka admitted, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"No wonder. Little party queen tonight." Deftly, Wheeler swept her up into his arms, carrying her across the room and depositing her lightly onto his bed. He curled up next to her, pulling the blanket across them both.

"It is not so often that I get a chance to do this," Linka said softly. "Not so often I get to have fun. Normal, regular girl fun."

Wheeler winced. "Tonight... this wasn't regular girl fun, Lin. Regular girls don't get invited to Paris to meet politicians and dignitaries and talk about the environment."

"What do regular girls do then?" she asked him, tilting her head towards his.

"I don't know," Wheeler admitted. "I can only tell you what I know from the girls back home."

"You mean Trish," Linka said flatly, and Wheeler wondered — hoped, even — she was struggling to keep the resentment from her voice, much as he did when they discussed Gregor.

"Yeah, Trish," he said, kissing her naked shoulder. "She was one of 'em."

"What did Trish do for fun? Regular girl fun?"

"She painted. Went shopping with her friends on weekends. Went to nightclubs on Friday nights and..." he paused, reluctant to go on.

Linka, however, shifted in his arms, so that she was facing him. "What else did she do? Something with you, yes?"

"Yeah," Wheeler swallowed. "She spent time with me."

"She had sex with you."

"Yeah," he pressed a kiss to her lips this time. "She did."

For a moment there was quiet between them, before Linka sighed.

"Sometimes I would like to be a regular girl, just like Trish," she whispered. "I've spent all my teenage years being a Planeteer. I've missed out on so much."

"We've all made sacrifices," Wheeler admitted, "but it's for a good cause. The best cause."

"I know. I tell myself that all the time," Linka brushed her nose against his, and Wheeler's heart jumped in his chest at the intimate contact. "I love what we do. I love who we are. Gaia is like a mother to me and I..." Linka's voice faded, and she sighed against him once more. "But I sometimes wonder about what I would be doing if I weren't doing this. Sometimes I wonder what else is out there for me. For us."

Wheeler felt the blood freeze within him. "You wanna leave? The Planeteers?"

She looked at him in the dark, her eyes wide.

"Yes, and no," she said, before muffling a laugh. "I don't know."

Wheeler was rendered mute with sudden panic, and he gripped Linka hard in his arms. She responded by moving closer against him, running her fingers up and down the length of his back.

"It is good to speak with you like this," she told him. "As my friend. Like old times."

"You can talk to me anytime," Wheeler replied, his voice strained. "You know that."

"Things between us... they are so confused, aren't they?"

No, Wheeler instantly thought. Not any more. I love you.

"We are talking like we used to," Linka carried on. "But I am naked, and you are next to naked, and all I want is for you to kiss me and touch me and make me feel..."

"Like a regular girl," Wheeler finished for her, his heart sinking.

Instantly, he knew. This wasn't about love for Linka. This wasn't about them exploring the feelings between them, because there were no feelings between them. The feelings were all on his side. Linka had been honest with him from the beginning. She trusted him, she was attracted to him, and she wanted him. But not in the way he wanted her. No, Linka merely wanted him to fill in some of the blanks on the life experience sheet she carried in her heart. To bring her up to speed with life outside of the Planeteers. She fully intended to sleep with him and then carry on with her life while he carried on with his. They'd spend the rest of their lives as friends and nothing more.

For a moment, Wheeler could scarcely breathe. This is what a broken heart feels like, he thought, burrowing his chin against her head and holding her close. This is what heartbreak is. I've lost her before I ever even had her.

"Yes," Linka said, moving away from his body and smiling brightly up at him. "Like a regular girl. I knew you would understand. You always understand me."

"Lin, we should talk," Wheeler replied. "About all this. About us. What we've been doin'..."

There were rules he needed to follow, Wheeler realised. Rules he and Linka had come up with together. Developing feelings had been up there, he recalled now. "If one of us develops romantic feelings in this, we stop. End of."

He'd spoken the words so casually then. So flippantly. So afraid of losing the best thing in his life, he'd tried to safeguard their friendship.

And now he was losing her anyway.

"Why?" Linka asked, her eyes still wide. "Why do we need to talk?"

"Look," Wheeler began, but he couldn't help himself, and kissed her softly. Her lips responded, opening sweetly to let him touch his tongue against hers, and he felt a spark of heat flare in his stomach. "Look," he tried again, wrenching himself away from her. "What we've been doin', it's been great—"

Linka cut him off with another kiss, harder and more determined this time, her hands coming up to cup his cheek. Her thumb traced light circles on his skin, and he used the arm he had wrapped around her to pull her closer.

Maybe I can just have this, he thought desperately. Maybe I can live off this memory for the rest of my life.

"We gotta talk," he tried desperately once more to bring clarity back to his mind, but he made no move to push Linka away. Instead, he kissed her again, rolling her onto her back and settling his weight gently between her legs. She kissed him back, determinedly moving one of his hands to her breast and encouraging him to touch and caress her.

"Lin—" he gasped out a final warning, but Linka seemed unconcerned, gripping his hair in her hand and pushing his mouth towards her naked chest.

"Please," she whispered, silencing him. She shivered when he sucked a nipple into his mouth, chewing on her lip, and Wheeler felt lust run through him, a powerful wave of longing rippling through his body.

"Lin," he said again, peppering her skin with kisses, gripping her harder than he'd ever held her before in his life. "Lin."

She must have heard his desperation, because she reached down, pushing at the waistband of his shorts. "Wheeler, please," she whispered again, as she found him and stroked him hard.

"Please let me have this," she pleaded. "Pretend I'm somebody else, if that makes it easier for you."

He instantly froze, hot in Linka's hands, straining with the pressure of not thrusting against her. He looked down at her, shaking his head, dumb with disbelief. Their eyes met and a new flare of pleasure, a pulse of love and sheer adoration, ran through him. Her eyes were bright green, soft and sultry and pleading, and he rested his forehead against hers, his lips just touching hers.

He thought briefly of all the times he had pictured her like this. Thought of all the times he had lain in his bed, tortured and guilty, and taken himself in hand, her face and body on his mind. I love her, he thought again. I've always loved her and I'm only now just realising it. What a fool I've been.

He gripped her fiercely, and when he spoke, it was with a possessiveness he hadn't even known he could feel.

"It's always you," he told her, the words breathed into her mouth, each punctuated with a hard kiss. "It's always you. It's always going to be you."

She rewarded him with a frantic kiss of her own, her hand working him so that he was a moaning mess above her. He managed to grab enough common sense to reach for the box of condoms in his travel bag, knowing he was a fool but not a complete and utter degenerate, and he sheathed himself quickly before settling once more above her.

"Wheeler," she whispered, and there was a softness to her voice which made him think that perhaps she knew, that perhaps she was aware he loved her, aware that he'd made her the hard centre of his universe. He kissed her softly in return, sliding into her slowly, stopping every time she winced and whispering loving words of nonsense into her ear.

When he was fully inside of her, biting on his own lip in restraint, he looked down.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and she nodded. He was surprised to see a dreamy smile on her face, and he couldn't help himself from smiling back. "What is it?"

"It's just..." she smiled again. "It's you."

"It's us," he corrected her, moving very slightly, and hearing her gasp a little beneath him.

"Good?" he asked her, and she nodded.

"Yes. Maybe. I'm not sure yet."

"We can stop here," he offered. "I don't have to—"

But Linka shook her head, moving her hips of her own accord, and now it was his turn to gasp.

"Lin," he exhaled, and she smiled again.

"I've wanted this for a long time," she told him, and he allowed himself the luxury of thrusting a little into her, closing his eyes as intense pleasure ran through him. "I've wanted you for a long time," she added, and he thrust again, setting a slow pace.

"This is insane," he said, not even knowing where the words were coming from, but feeling they were right, that this was right. "How can you be real? How can this be real?"

He closed his eyes as he felt that tight, hot rope of pleasure begin to build within him, and now he was moving, following the ancient instinct that told him to thrust and thrust hard. Linka was moaning beneath him, her sounds breathy and low, and all at once it was far too much and yet somehow inexplicably not enough.

"Wheeler," Linka's hands were clutching his back, urging him on, and he looked down, delighting at the sound of his name on her lips. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back against the pillows, and he moved against her again before pausing, bending his head to mouth at both of her breasts. She gasped at the contact, digging her fingernails into his skin, and he thrust again, feeling himself on the brink of a precipice that both thrilled and terrified him.

He wanted her to enjoy this, he realised. He wanted her to hold a memory of this night to cherish, to keep safe. He wanted her to enjoy this, not as a lingering memory of him, and of what they could be together, but as something for her. He loved her enough that he wanted that for her. For her, and her only.

With a wrench he stopped, pulling out of her completely and rising to his knees. Without even thinking, he lowered his head and began to lap between her legs, determined to eke every ounce of pleasure from her that he could. Her breath began to come in small pants, her fingers now digging into his hair, and he let her control him for a moment, following her direction and where she most wanted him in that moment.

When she came, it was with a throaty moan, and Wheeler, unable to wait a moment longer, moved forward and sank into her once more. He moved quickly and fluidly, chasing his own pleasure now, sweat breaking out on his back and his body aching in the best possible way as he built towards his own orgasm.

Coming inside her was almost otherworldly, he later thought, as he cut short his cry of pleasure against her shoulder. He momentarily bit down, marking her as his, before he kissed the red patch of skin, soothing her. He sank against her dazedly, trying to even his breathing and the rapid beating of his heart, while she absently ran her fingers over his back.

He looked down at her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face lovingly. She pressed her cheek into his palm, her skin warm and sweet, before she laughed, high and clear.

It was the laugh of a woman who was happy, he thought. It was the laugh of a woman who had finally received what she wanted.

If nothing else, Wheeler thought. I'll have this.

"Are you okay?" he asked again, and she nodded, still smiling up at him, although her eyes looked sleepy now; the gentle flush to her cheeks slowly fading.

"Yes," she told him, and she kissed him softly, causing joy to run through him.

Maybe there's a chance for us, he thought hopefully. Maybe she does feel what I do.

But the hope that rose so quickly within him was immediately extinguished.

"It was perfect," she carried on. "But then, I knew it would be. I knew you would take care of me. That's why I asked you."

"Because you trusted me? Not because you're in love with me, or anythin' like that?" Wheeler queried automatically, hating himself for his weakness, and Linka laughed again.

"Bozhe moi, no," she exclaimed. "We've been over this. You know how it is."

"Yeah," Wheeler replied, moving his body away from hers and settling against the bed, suddenly feeling defeated. "Yeah. I know how it is."

"Wheeler?" she asked, sounding concerned. "Yankee, what is it?"

Yankee. Wheeler closed his eyes, taking a moment to reflect, before he spoke the words that he knew would be the death knell for their relationship. Their relationship... whatever the fuck that even was at the moment.

"Babe," he said softly, regret echoing over and through the single syllable. "Lin. We gotta talk."