"I've got to say," Gi remarked, gesturing towards the vials held tight in Wheeler's hands, "that you and Linka hooking up and then you immediately ditching her for somebody else wasn't on my list of things that were likely to happen. Ever."
They were standing in the warm waters of the bay at Hope Island, knee deep in swirling seaweed. The sweet smells of coconut and the salty ocean air were heavy around them, and the sun was pleasantly hot on Wheeler's back. Despite it all, he frowned as he handed Gi a vial.
"I don't wanna talk about it," he mumbled, kicking at a rope of seaweed that had become entangled around his leg.
"I bet you don't," Gi shrugged. "Pretty crummy thing to do, if you ask me."
"I'm not askin' you."
"Linka did," Gi returned pointedly. "She came to me and told me all about your amazing night in Paris. And then she told me about how immediately afterward you told her that you didn't want to be with her again, as you were already interested in somebody else."
Wheeler looked down, scowling at the water. "That's not exactly what happened."
"No?" Gi sounded curious. "Which part wasn't true? The amazing night in Paris? The part where you dumped Linka as soon as you rolled off of her? Or the part about there being another girl already lined up in your life?"
Wheeler frowned again. "Just leave it, Gi."
Gi stared at him quizzically. "I feel like I'm missing something here. I thought you'd given up being a shitty reprobate where women were concerned."
"I said leave it."
Gi shrugged, bending back to the ocean, scooping up another vial of water and staring at it in the light. For a moment there was quiet, with just the wash of the sea against the shore sounding behind them. Wheeler closed his eyes, taking in deep lungfuls of salty sea air, hoping it would soothe his unhappy soul.
"Was she like a toy to you or something?" Gi suddenly asked, and Wheeler's eyes flew open. "You know, like a child on his birthday or something. Was Linka like a toy you wanted for ages, and then when you finally had her, you played with her once and discovered you didn't want her at all? Was that it?"
"Gi," Wheeler groaned, kicking at the seaweed again. "I don't wanna talk about Lin right now."
"Well, who's the new girl then?" Gi carried on mercilessly, still plucking water from the ocean and testing it for chemicals. "The one you dumped Linka for? Or is it not a new girl? Oh my God, is it Trish? Are you and her on again?"
"I didn't dump Linka," Wheeler snapped. "We were never even together."
"Sure," Gi rolled her eyes. "Keep telling yourself that, if it makes things easier for you."
Easier for you. Wheeler exhaled tightly, his hands clenching around the box of vials. The temptation to hurl them across the bay was strong, but he resisted the urge, his fingers clamping down on the box until the whites of his knuckles showed. Nothin' about this is easy for me, he thought miserably. Nothin' at all.
It had been an easy white lie to tell at the time. Linka's eyes, big, soft and green, had stared at him pleadingly, and he'd gazed into them, riveted and tongue-tied. She'd been naked in his arms, her hair soft against his skin, and he'd run a hand through it tenderly, straightening out an errant curl. He'd gone to open his mouth, to admit to her the devastating truth. Linka, I'm so desperately in love with you, and I can't do this again if you don't love me too. But something in her eyes had stopped him, and doubt had crept into his heart. If I tell her, he'd thought to himself, if I tell her the truth, and she doesn't love me back, we'll never recover. Things will get awkward. She already wants to leave the Planeteers; to live life as a regular girl. This could be the thing that tips her over the edge.
And so Wheeler had lied. He told the easiest lie he could think of, the one Linka would find the most believable.
"Babe, this has been great, but I gotta be honest with you. There's someone else on the scene, and we said this would be exclusive, and if it wasn't, well..." he let his words trail off, hating himself when he saw Linka's eyes fill with hurt.
"There is another woman?" she asked him plainly, and he shrugged, trying to seem casual.
"Yeah."
"Is it Trish?" Linka asked pointedly, and in the absence of another name to call upon, Wheeler nodded. Linka instantly shuffled away from him, pulling the blankets across her body, and Wheeler hated that his skin missed hers almost instantaneously.
"Babe..." he began to speak, but Linka shook her head, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"It's fine," she told him, but he could hear the same hurt he'd seen in her eyes in her voice, and he'd winced.
"We had rules; I'm only followin' them."
That at least was the truth, Wheeler thought. He was following the rules. The rules he'd insisted on. Linka never needed to know which of the rules he was referring to though. He'd take that information to his grave, he decided.
Linka nodded, and Wheeler watched her as she stood, searching for her clothes on the floor.
"I should go," she said, and Wheeler stood too, reaching over for her hand.
"You can't go back to the room you're sharin' with Gi like this," he told her. "It's late. Stay here tonight."
"What, with you?" Linka asked, and there was a hint of ice to her voice. "You and your dreams of Trish?"
"Hey, you told me to pretend you were somebody else," Wheeler said without thinking, absolutely committed to his lie. He immediately regretted his words though, when Linka recoiled as though he had slapped her.
"Yes," she said, her voice small. "But you also said that it would... you said it would always be me."
"Life lesson for you," Wheeler replied. "Don't trust what men say when you're naked in their arms."
Linka pressed her lips together tightly, turning away from him. She said nothing more, searching for her clothes and swearing vehemently in Russian when she couldn't find her shoes.
"Stay," Wheeler said again, suddenly full of regret, reaching for her. "Don't listen to me. I'm an idiot."
Linka brushed his hand away from her instantly, shaking her head as she pulled on her dress.
"No," she said firmly, "I am the idiot here. I knew you and Trish were involved... but I thought that when we..." she paused, shaking her head again. "I am an idiot. I should never have started this. We were friends and now I've..." she stopped, looking back at him sadly. "And now I have ruined everything."
"We're still friends," Wheeler immediately said, stepping towards her and folding her roughly into his arms. "We'll always be friends."
Linka said nothing, quiet and still in his arms, and Wheeler looked down at her in a panic.
"Babe," he whispered. "Tell me we're still friends."
"Yes, of course," Linka replied, but her words sounded hollow, and almost automatic. "We are still friends."
"We can get over this," Wheeler added, kissing her head fiercely. I can get over you, he told himself. I can get over you and then things can go back to normal. I won't lose you. I can't lose you. I'm lost without you.
Linka wriggled out of his arms, and when she spoke again, she did so without looking him in the eyes.
"There is nothing to get over," she said simply. "We had sex. Nothing more."
Her words were like a red hot dart to Wheeler's stomach and he inhaled sharply. Grasping for sanity, and this one chance to keep Linka in his life, he forced himself to appear calm.
"Yeah," he agreed. "I'm glad we're on the same page about all this."
"We were on the same page," Linka said as she extradited herself from his arms, "but now we can turn the page and close the book on the whole thing."
He couldn't help himself from bending down to offer her a kiss, but she turned her head, and his lips landed on the cool flesh of her cheek.
"Good night," she said easily, before slipping out of his door and padding quietly to her room. Wheeler stood by his door, numb with shock and unhappiness, before he climbed back into his bed, the smell of Linka still on his skin and sheets. His stomach was turning, his mind was a mess, and he sighed as he lay against his pillow, knowing he wouldn't sleep again that night.
No, Wheeler thought unhappily, handing Gi another vial when she gestured towards him, none of this is easy.
"So, I guess we'll be seeing Trish on the island again soon," Gi remarked, and Wheeler looked at her blankly, his forehead wrinkling in puzzlement.
"Why?"
Gi stared at him. "Umm, because you just dumped Linka for her?"
"Oh. Right."
Gi stared at him harder, her eyes intense upon his face.
"What's going on?" she asked, still scrutinising him. "I'm missing something, aren't I?"
"No. You got it all."
"Hmm," Gi made a non-commital noise, bending again to seize another wave of water into her vial. "I don't know. Honestly, if I'd had to put money on Linka or Trish, if both were available to you, I'd have put my life savings and then some on Lin."
"Trish and I have had some good times," Wheeler retorted, instantly defensive. "She's a good person."
"Yeah, I know. Trust me, we all remember your visits to New York after that whole Trash thing. You and her weren't just rekindled, you were on fire after that."
Wheeler scowled. "We were in love."
"No, you weren't," Gi argued. "That fire with Trish burned out quicker than it even began. Love isn't like that. Love keeps going, like a slow ember, always burning in the background. I always thought Lin was your ember... and you and her seemed ready to burst into flames at any moment, especially recently, when the two of you have been—" Gi stopped suddenly, looking at him curiously. "Wheeler, are you in love with Lin? Honestly?"
Wheeler startled, so much so that he nearly dropped the box of vials into the bay. "What the fuck made you ask that?" he spluttered, and Gi shrugged.
"Just a feeling I've got. A hunch I've had for a few years now."
"I'm not in love with Lin," Wheeler returned, but the words sounded hollow and false even to him, and he sighed. He licked his lips, looking at Gi pleadingly. "Don't tell her," he begged. "Please. She can't know."
With a sigh of her own, Gi waded through the seaweed towards him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Why not?"
"Because we talked and..." Wheeler took a deep breath, "...and she doesn't love me. I was just a... an experiment to her."
"She said that?"
"Not in as many words, no," Wheeler snapped. "But I got it."
"I doubt that. You should tell her," Gi urged him. "Trust me, you can't sink any lower in her opinion right now. Tell her. Give her a chance. You don't know how she feels about you until you speak to her."
"I can't," Wheeler replied. "Trust me, this is the better option. I'll get over her, I'll move on, she'll move on, and we'll be friends again. We can go back to the way things were."
"I'm gonna say it again," Gi shook her head. "You really are a fucking idiot."
Maybe, Wheeler thought, handing Gi another vial to let her know he was done with the whole thing. But at least I'm a fucking idiot who'll get to keep Linka in his life.
A few weeks after Paris and Wheeler and Linka were maintaining a professional and personal distance from which Wheeler took comfort, even if he was inwardly distressed by the whole situation. On the one hand, distance from Linka, from her soft skin and lulling voice and sweet smile, was a good thing. It made the constant yearning he felt for her not less acute, but less present, and he began creating excuses not to be with her, not to work with her, often avoiding her company entirely. His curtains remained resolutely closed now; his door locked. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, it was that he didn't trust himself. On a night he would lie in his bed, picturing Linka in her own bed, not more than twenty feet away. The temptation to knock on her door, to apologise and win her back with kisses and caresses, was strong. He hated the distance between them, but felt it was the only way to rectify the gaping hole in their relationship they had created. A little distance now would bridge the gaps in the long run, Wheeler told himself, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
The first time they slipped up, it hadn't been intentional. He and Linka had been partnered for a mission in the Brazilian rainforest — Kwame's meddling, Wheeler reflected — and at one point, running from Sludge, Linka slipped into a small ravine, her arms clinging to the side. Wheeler was there in an instance, grabbing at her arms, hauling her up, desperately afraid that she would fall into the abyss below. When she was safe on the surface, panting lightly, her arms wrapped around Wheeler's neck, he cupped her face in his hands, checking her over for cuts and bruises. Their eyes met and momentarily locked, and Wheeler's breath caught in his throat. They took refuge in an overgrown part of the jungle, hidden from Sludge and his cronies, setting up just one tent between them.
"There is less chance of Sludge finding us this way," Linka said, but Wheeler knew as well as she did that her words were empty, that the innocence of her suggestion that they share a tent was just a facade for what they really intended. His mind was empty of anything but a need to hold her by that point, and as soon as they were inside the tent, under blankets and ensconced away from the world, he kissed her deeply and stripped her of her clothing, stripping himself of his pretences at the same time. He held up her naked arms and inspected them carefully, kissing the scratches on her skin, before running his hands along the lengths of her legs and across the smooth plane of her stomach, watching with growing satisfaction as she arched her back under his touch.
"We have to be quiet," Wheeler warned her, all rationality having left his mind and body, and Linka nodded, reaching for him once more.
Afterwards, when Linka lay in his arms, breathing heavily, her skin flushed pink, she looked at him with shy eyes.
"Sorry," she said softly. "I don't know what that was. Are you and Trish…?"
But Wheeler could only shake his head, unable to speak.
"We're still on the same page, aren't we?" Linka asked him gently. She brushed her fingertips over his cheek, and he closed his eyes at her touch, lying absolutely still, trying to give nothing away. How can you not have figured me out? He wondered, opening his eyes again to look at her. How don't you know? But he still said nothing, just looking at her, while she stared back at him, soft-eyed and beautiful.
The next time they slipped up, Wheeler was almost sure it wasn't intentional. It was about three weeks after Brazil, and Kwame and Ma-Ti had gone on a supply run, while Gi was off in South Korea visiting Kenly. He and Linka had the island to themselves, and Wheeler, determined not to make another mistake that would jeopardise both his heart and the tentative inroads he and Linka had been making in reestablishing their friendship, kept himself to himself. He ran early, before the sun had even risen, and then returned to his cabin, locking the door and himself away. He watched television alone until his eyes hurt with the strain of staring at the square screen, and only when the sun had set again did he dare to venture out, heading quietly to the common room to grab something to eat and drink. The weather was unbearably and stiflingly hot, the night sticky and humid, and Wheeler wiped his brow as he stood in front of the refrigerator, deliberating on what to take for the long night ahead.
A sound behind him, that of light feet on the cool linoleum floor, made both his heart race and stomach sink. He resolutely stared into the fridge, keeping his eyes trained on a half-finished carton of milk, holding the door handle with an iron grip.
"You are wasting power," Linka's voice came from behind him, chiding but sultry, and Wheeler took a deep breath, closing the fridge door.
"Nah," he replied softly, "I think I was just wastin' time."
He turned to face her and nearly choked on the breath in his throat. She was wearing the blue sundress from weeks ago, the one that had nearly made him lose control and take her on the hangar floor. The paisley fabric was still as skin tight as he remembered, while the strap — that enticing, irritating strap — was still hanging off one of her shoulders, leaving her bare skin exposed. She was barefoot, her hair hanging damp against her neck, and Wheeler nodded to it curiously.
"Your hair is wet," he remarked, trying to sound casual, trying to hide the fact that he was already massively aroused.
"I went for a swim," she returned, and she walked towards him, giving him a soft smile."I haven't seen you all day."
He turned, watching as she walked towards the store cupboard. She was clearly going for the vodka they kept in the chest freezer, and he followed her to the doorway, leaning against it casually.
"I just wanted some quiet time," he told her, and she nodded as she opened the freezer up, pulling from it the frozen bottle. She held it against her neck for a moment, smiling at him.
"Quiet time. Yes, I can understand that. It's so hot tonight," she murmured. "Too hot to sleep though."
Wheeler swallowed heavily. "You got other plans in mind then?"
"Maybe."
They fucked against the shelves in the pantry, and this time they didn't have to be quiet, this time they could be as loud as they pleased. Linka's voice was pleading and encouraging by turns, and Wheeler cursed several times as he thrust into her, shifting her on the shelves to get a better angle, a better sensation, so rough with her that bottles smashed to the ground and tins of food rolled to his feet. Linka shifted one of his hands to her breast, but her dress was so tight he couldn't get to her skin, and she made a sound of frustrated impatience.
"Don't blame me; this dress was your choice," Wheeler bit into her ear, and she shifted again, so that he slid a little deeper inside of her, making them both moan.
"You could just tear it," she suggested, and his fevered mind briefly pondered that idea, before discarding it quickly.
"No," he said firmly. "You look too good in it. So good," he added, punctuating his words with the thrusts of his hip, "that I could eat you up in it."
Linka clung to his neck. "I'm throwing crumbs again."
"No. This is feedin' the beast whole, Babe."
When it was all done, he helped her to feet and pushed her back against the shelves, lowering his head to hers and kissing her softly.
"I should apologise this time," he offered, cupping her face in his hand. "I gotta stop doin' this with you, Babe. Friends don't do this."
"We do, and we're good at it," Linka said, before her cheeks flushed pink. "At least, I think we're good at it. I have no, uh, kriteriy..." she frowned. "I have forgotten the saying you use? I mean only that I have no—"
"Frame of reference?" Wheeler suggested, and Linka nodded.
"Yes. I have no frame of reference to compare us to."
Wheeler swallowed heavily. "You think you'd like one? A comparison? A frame, so to speak?"
Linka blushed again. "I think so, yes."
It was like another knife to Wheeler's stomach and he stepped away from her. He stared at the floor, licking his lips and shaking his head.
"Ma-Ti's homemade blackberry cordial," he said in dismay, taking in the mess on the pantry floor. "He's gonna kill us when he gets back."
"I'll clean it up," Linka immediately offered. "I will make up some excuse. Take the blame."
"No, I'll clean it up," Wheeler replied. "And he's far more likely to blame me than you. Fuckin' awful stuff. He knows I hate it. I'll clean it. You go to bed."
"We can clean together," Linka offered, and Wheeler nodded in agreement, abruptly exhausted. He turned to her, running a hand through his hair.
"I mean it, Babe," he said suddenly, his voice soft. "We gotta stop doin' this. Brazil was one thing, we were both so overwhelmed then... but this..."
"I know," Linka nodded, but something in her eyes remained defiant, and Wheeler felt a seed of worry plant within him. "We will stop. I do not want to get between you and..." she cleared her throat, looking away from him. "You and Trish."
Things went back to a kind of normal after that, to both Wheeler's disappointment and relief. He and Linka returned to professional courtesy, keeping a safe and respectable distance from one another. Gi brought Kenly for a visit to the island, Kwame began a new campaign for Green Planet, seeking to rectify the disappointments of the last convention, while Ma-Ti harvested a few more thousand blackberries, forcing Wheeler out into the hedges with him.
"These berries are loaded with fuckin' thorns," Wheeler complained, when another bramble cut open his thumb, but Ma-Ti shook his head at him.
"You broke thirteen bottles of cordial, Wheeler. You can work to help me replace them."
"I told you. It was an accident."
"Some accident," Ma-Ti scoffed, and Wheeler stopped to stare at him.
"What does that mean, kid?"
Ma-Ti hid a smile. "I mean, when I went to stockpile what was left after your accident," he emphasised. "I found a handprint at the back of one of the shelves. A blackberry cordial handprint."
"So? I made a mess, is all. It just means I need to give the pantry a good scrub. For an environmentalist, I'm not the cleanest at home, you know."
"I just found it interesting. Especially since it was Linka's handprint, and not yours," Ma-Ti finished. "Like I said, some accident."
Wheeler's mouth fell open.
"You and Linka are like two embers at the moment," Ma-Ti carried on, calmly plucking a blackberry from a nearby bush. "We've all noticed it. I keep waiting for you both to burst into flames. And not just because of that," he added, pointing to Wheeler's ring.
Embers, Wheeler thought, suddenly remembering Gi's words. Love is like an ember.
"Linka's not an ember, trust me," Wheeler said bitterly, shaking his head as he reached for another blackberry. "The only one embering around here is me."
Ma-Ti sighed. "I'm younger than you, with less experience in the romance department," he said. "I'm sure you know what you're doing. But Linka is giving off waves of confusion at the moment, and the only time she stops—"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's when she's plannin' her future or somethin' like that, I guess."
"— is when she looks at you," Ma-Ti finished simply. "Take from that what you will."
Wheeler stopped again, his mouth falling open once more. Ma-Ti sighed, reaching over and closing Wheeler's mouth pointedly.
"The blackberries," he said calmly. "They won't pick themselves."
By the time he'd finished picking blackberries with Ma-Ti, Wheeler was tired, grumpy, and covered with tiny thorns. He walked back to his cabin, intent on showering, and stripped his shirt over his head as soon as he entered the safety of his room. He sat on the bed, his head in his hands, mulling over Ma-Ti's words and his own misery, when a flash of white to his side made him look up.
Linka's curtains were open, and — damn it all — so were his. He'd forgotten to close them that morning, and now Linka's bedroom was on display, with her as the prime exhibit within it. She was standing in front of her mirror, her hands behind her back, clearly grappling with something, and Wheeler's mind did a double take when he realised what it was.
She was tying the string of her bikini, he realised, his mouth running dry. She was tying the strings of her small, white bikini. The white bikini, Wheeler recalled, that went transparent when it met water.
Why is she wearin' that? Wheeler wondered, when he knew Linka understood its defect. Why's she wearin' that thing when—?
But he didn't even get a chance to finish his thought before the sound of the geo-cruiser cut over him, and suddenly, his blood ran cold.
Linka wanted a frame of reference, Wheeler remembered. She wanted a frame of reference so she could compare and contrast, like the sometime scientist she was.
Wheeler swallowed, knowing without being told that Linka's frame of reference had arrived.
Gregor.