Wheeler had never been the patient sort. Within seconds of hearing the geo-cruiser land, he was charging towards the hangar, still stained with blackberry juice, his hands still cut to ribbons.
He needed to see for himself. He needed to see Gregor and have his worst fears confirmed. Linka wanted a frame of reference, she'd said so herself, and Wheeler, idiot that he was, had given her full permission to go out and find one with his goddam Trish lies.
If I'd just been honest with her, it wouldn't have come to this, Wheeler thought as he pushed his way through the overhanging trees. He desperately tried to reason with himself, even as hot, angry blood pumped around his body. If he'd just been honest, and told her how he felt about her, he and Linka might have been together by now. Though probably not, he also reflected painfully. Wheeler wasn't going to kid himself where Linka was concerned. You know she doesn't love you like you love her, his mind told him sadly. She'd have run in the opposite direction, and you would have lost her forever.
When the hangar came into view, Wheeler stared at it intently. In the distance, figures were moving about. Ma-Ti he could pick out easily, being a head shorter than the nearby figure of Kwame, who towered above them all. Kwame was walking towards the main building, gesturing towards the guest quarters, dignified in his movements even from here. Wheeler's attention, however, centred on the man who walked by Kwame's side, a figure he couldn't immediately identify from a distance. He and Kwame seemed to be chatting amicably though, with Ma-Ti pulling luggage and laughing behind them, and for a moment, sweet relief flooded through Wheeler.
Sam. It's gotta be Sam, he thought, and he wanted to laugh at himself for his own jealous stupidity.
Linka wasn't the kind of girl to have sex with one man on one day and then invite another man to sleep with her the next. That wasn't like her at all. Whatever mess their relationship was in now, Wheeler still knew Linka like the back of his own hand, and she was eternally classy and elegant. There was no way she would invite Gregor here to gain a new frame of reference while her last frame's fingerprints still lingered on her body. That wasn't like her at all.
Feeling happier, Wheeler shoved his hands in his pockets, walking towards the main building. He liked Sam and wanted to say hello to him. Sam made Kwame happy, which by default made Wheeler happy, and he knew that one day the two of them would make their relationship permanent. There was no angst or uncertainty in their romance, no jealousy or fear. Wheeler envied them for that almost as much as he respected them for it. He'd never experienced a relationship like theirs before; one where trust walked hand in hand with love. His relationship with Trish had been loving, but tainted by his unwillingness to commit and her suspicion that his affections lay elsewhere. He'd always scoffed at her jealousy before, but now he could see that she'd been entirely right. Trish was smart as a whip, and he wondered anew at how he could have doubted her instincts. Trish had known about Linka long before he did, Wheeler suddenly realised.
Trish. Wheeler felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't thought about her in weeks beyond using her name as a get out clause and he hated himself for it. He genuinely liked Trish. He liked her a lot, in fact, and he wanted her to do well and be happy. He'd always thought one day he'd marry Trish, though whenever tried to visualise what that marriage would look like the image had been hazy and unclear. She was beautiful though, as well as clever and brave, and Wheeler knew he could do a lot worse than to end up with her. They were cut from the same cloth and would be good for each other, Wheeler reflected.
The only problem with Trish is that she's not Linka, his mind abruptly thought, and Wheeler took a deep breath. Thinking about Linka filled him with a kind of warmth and happiness that was absent when he thought about Trish. When he thought about a future with Linka, he could visualise it perfectly, right down to the baseball games they would play on Sundays and the movie nights they would spend cuddling on the sofa. He could picture himself sharing a room and a bed with Linka, could picture himself coming home from work to her, just as he could picture himself marrying her and one day having children with her. At that thought, a delicious thrill went through him. Wheeler was fastidious about birth-control, carrying condoms with him everywhere, and he'd never before made love to a woman without one. Even in the hottest and most fevered of moments, Wheeler remembered to be safe. The thought of deliberating not using one, of fucking Linka raw, made his body tingle with unbridled lust.
It was no good, Wheeler realised, chewing on his lip as he walked. He couldn't stay just friends with Linka, not anymore. He loved her, and trying to pretend he didn't was going to kill him. He couldn't reverse time and undo their recent intimate past, not that he even wanted to. The memory of that night in Paris would stay with him forever, as would their night in Brazil, when they'd been soft and quiet under blankets, their touch gentle and reverent. Even now, looking at his blackberry stained fingers brought a smile to Wheeler's face, because they reminded him of her, and of how she felt — hot, heavenly and clinging — as he'd taken her against a shelf.
He was a lost cause, and so was their friendship.
Stopping in his tracks, Wheeler turned around. He needed to talk to Linka. He needed to tell her everything. He could see Sam later — he'd probably be tired after his trip from Seattle, anyway — and catch up with him over dinner. Right now, his priority was Linka and finally being honest with her.
He felt lighter as he turned around; a weight lifted from his shoulders. Kwame and Gi had been right, he had been a fucking idiot where Linka was concerned. But those days were past, and right now, he had a new personal goal: to tell Linka the truth, and to not let fear get the better of him. He was honest enough to realise that Linka might not feel the same way he did. He was realistic enough to understand that if she didn't love him back — or even feel as though she might further down the line — that their friendship would effectively be over. At this point, though, it was over anyway. They'd crossed a line they couldn't uncross; they'd become something new, and the Linka and Wheeler of old were gone forever. There was a sadness within Wheeler about that, but the sadness was eclipsed by hope. What would it be like to take that friendship, that beloved, steady friendship, and make it into something more? What would it be like to be with a woman he could commit wholeheartedly to? Someone he knew he understood who understood him right back? Someone he loved with his whole heart, and wanted with his whole body and soul?
A noise behind him made Wheeler pause. It was the sound of laughter, and an eloquent Russian voice carrying in the breeze.
Gregor.
In disbelief, Wheeler turned back. He peered with his heart pounding through the shrubbery, finally seeing the earlier figure for who he was.
Gregor and Kwame were sitting on the decking outside the main building, cups of tea steaming before them. They were engrossed in conversation, with Ma-Ti working behind them, laying out the greener blackberries he and Wheeler had picked earlier to ripen in the afternoon sun.
Gregor was here. Linka had invited him, after all.
Staggering back, Wheeler felt something dark and ugly grow to life inside of him. A bleak feeling of despair and rage bundled into one.
Gregor was here, and Linka had invited him. That's why she'd pulled out that goddam white bikini. For Gregor.
Wheeler's fists clenched involuntarily, as he processed the idea that Linka was going to get a new frame of reference after all.
To say Wheeler was livid was an understatement. Within minutes, seconds even, he was banging on Linka's door, his fists still stained purple with blackberries.
"Yankee," Linka said in surprise, pulling a shirt over her bikini - the soft slips of white fabric disappearing beneath her faded Orioles jersey. "What are you doing, banging on my door like that?"
"Thought you might like to know that your date is here," Wheeler said scathingly, leaning against Linka's doorway, staring at her hard.
"My date?" Linka frowned, staring right back at him. "I don't understand.. What do you mean, my 'date'?"
"You would be confused, I guess," Wheeler replied tightly. "I guess 'date' is the wrong word for what you intend, right? There are uglier words I suppose. Uglier, but more appropriate."
"Yankee—"
"Gregor's arrived," Wheeler snapped, before Linka could say another word. "And he looks good for it, Linka. Happy as a fucking clam."
"Gregor is here?" Linka asked in surprise. "What do you mean, Gregor is here?"
"Kwame picked him up. Honestly, Lin, I'm surprised at you, lettin' Kwame run your dirty errands for you. Act as your own pimp when you want some, honey."
At that, something in Linka's face changed, and she pulled on Wheeler's arm sharply so that he lost balance and tumbled into her room. She slammed the door shut behind him, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him.
"Don't you ever talk to me like that again," she seethed.
"I'm just callin' it like it is—"
"Po'shyol 'na hui," Linka swore harshly, her face pale. "You know nothing, you idiot. What gives you the right to come to my room like this, and speak to me like that? What gives you the right?"
Wheeler said nothing, clenching and unclenching his fists as he stood.
"I do not know why Gregor is here, Wheeler," Linka continued, her voice brittle. "I do not know, because I did not invite him. Bozhe moi, do you honestly think I would have Gregor here to... to... to have sex with me?"
"You said you wanted a frame of reference... you said you wanted more experience—"
"Yes, I did, and that is true. But I would never just... just..." Linka threw up her arms, before rubbing a hand tiredly over her face. "And certainly not when you were around, Wheeler. How could you think this of me? How? After all we have been through? With all we are to each other? Do you really think so little of me?"
Wheeler swallowed, a ball suddenly building in his throat.
"I didn't think," he admitted slowly. "I just felt. I saw Gregor, and I didn't think. I just felt, Lin."
Something in Linka's face changed, and Wheeler watched as her anger dissipated into something resembling fear.
"What did you feel?" she asked quietly, her voice now reluctant.
Wheeler sighed, taking a step towards her. He brushed a finger down her cheek, tracing the curve of her face, before he caressed her chin, pushing it gently up so that she was forced to look him in the eye.
"I think you know what I felt, Lin. In fact, I think you've known for a while how I feel."
Linka staggered back, shaking her head and moving away from him.
"You're being ridiculous," she told him, going to her washing basket and drawing from it a bundle of clean clothing. She turned back to him, and though her voice was strong, her face still betrayed her fear and uncertainty. "You are confused because of what we have been doing, that's all," she said as she began folding laundry. "It's nothing."
Wheeler followed her, taking the clothes from her hands and throwing them on the bed.
"Stop it," he said, though there was no harshness to his tone. "Stop makin' up stuff to do and talk to me." He grasped Linka by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him once more. He held her firmly, though he used his thumbs to rub gentle circles on her skin. "Please talk to me about this."
Linka seemed to collapse a little within his hands. "I don't want to," she whispered. "Please don't make me."
"Why?" Wheeler asked, but his voice broke on the word, because he knew why. She didn't feel the same way. He released her abruptly, stepping away from her sadly. "You don't love me, do you Lin?"
At that, she frantically reached towards him. "Yankee—"
He deflected her reach tiredly. "Don't," he said in defeat. "Just don't."
But Linka would not be stopped. "Of course I love you," she said miserably. "Of course I love you."
Wheeler stared at her with empty eyes.
"But not like I love you, right Lin? You love me as a friend. You love me as a colleague. But you don't love me like I love you."
Linka took a deep breath before chewing down on her lip. "Wheeler—" she began, but Wheeler shook his head.
"It's okay," he told her, sitting on her bed and taking a deep breath of his own. "It's okay. This is my problem, Lin, not yours."
For a moment they were together in silence, with only the sounds of the birds calling from outside. Tentatively, Linka sat beside Wheeler, reaching for his hand and entwining their fingers together.
"Part of me is real angry at you, Lin," Wheeler finally said, looking at her. Her head was bowed, golden hair trailing down to her waist, and he used his free hand to caress it away from her face. "You used me. You knew how I felt about you, and you used me anyway."
"I did not know... at least, I was not certain," Linka replied back, leaning her cheek against Wheeler's hand. "All I knew was that when I was with you, I felt safe and warm and... and..."
"And loved," Wheeler filled in for her with bitter irony.
"Yes, and loved," she nodded, staring at him with glassy green eyes. "With you I felt loved. But Wheeler," she sat up, pulling her hand from his and cupping his face. "With you I have always felt loved. Not just in these past few months. Always."
"That's because I've always loved you," Wheeler admitted brokenly. "From that first day I really spoke to you, on the beach, lookin' at those birds. I loved you then, I've loved you since, and I'll love you forever, Babe."
"Don't," Linka sounded miserable, and she caressed Wheeler's cheeks. "Please don't. We can get past this. You'll move on from me. You won't love me forever—"
"Yeah, I will," Wheeler told her. "I'll never not look at you and not love you. I'll never be able to sit in a room with you and not love you. You're part of who I am now, Babe. That's just the way it is. We can't get past this."
Linka inhaled sharply. "Wheeler—"
"I don't know where we go from here," he carried on. "But I know it won't be together. I've got enough of a sense of self-preservation to know that bein' round you now won't be good for me."
"But you are my best friend," Linka whispered. "I can't lose you. You promised me I wouldn't lose you."
"You're my best friend too," Wheeler said, and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. "But I need to let you go."
"No," Linka protested, and now she kissed him, her lips soft against his. "No."
For a moment Wheeler luxuriated in the feel of her mouth moving against his own. For a moment he responded to her advance, clutching at her tightly.
But only for a moment.
"No," he said, breaking the kiss and moving away from her. "No. Don't do this. Don't do this to me. It isn't fair, honey."
Linka took a shaky breath. "I don't want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you."
"I know."
"I didn't want you to fall in love with me."
"I know that too."
"But you did anyway," Linka's shoulders sagged. "You did anyway. And it is all my fault. I confused you with what we've... what I suggested we do. I confused you and now we are all a mess and broken."
Wheeler sighed, reaching for Linka again and hugging her.
"I was in love with you before we ever started doin' what we've been doin', Linka. I just didn't know it. Somethin' would have brought it out eventually. This or somethin' else. It isn't your fault. It isn't either of our faults. It just is what it is."
Linka took another deep, shaky breath. "I am sorry for using you," she said softly. "You are right about that. After Paris, I knew how you felt. I had my suspicions before, but..." she trailed away with a sigh. "But I knew without a doubt after Paris."
"What? You mean you didn't buy my story about Trish?" Wheeler asked, giving a bitter huff of laughter.
Linka chewed on her lip. "You and Trish have something special too, Wheeler. You can't see it now, but you do. But when you spoke about her after Paris, I knew it wasn't true. I knew you were lying to me. I knew you wanted to stop making love to me. And I knew it was because you loved me and were frightened. And I was frightened too. Frightened of losing you," Linka confessed. "Zambia was an accident," she added, her voice soft, "that night, in the tent, it was an accident. I did not mean for it to happen."
"Neither did I," Wheeler admitted.
Linka looked at him openly. "But the night, in the pantry..." she swallowed. "I wanted it to happen. I wore that dress, knowing you would want me in it."
"Wow," Wheeler said, exhaling slowly. "You learned quickly, didn't you?"
Linka sighed again. "I did not think about anything beyond how much I wanted you again, and I am sorry."
Wheeler shook his head. "Is that why you're wearin' this thing now?"
Linka looked up at him in confusion. "My Orioles jersey?"
"No," Wheeler ran a hand underneath the black and red fabric, letting his fingers trace the white bikini underneath. "This."
Immediately, Linka blushed. "Yes," she whispered.
"Because you wanted me?"
She nodded silently.
"You still want me now?"
"Yes," Linka said softly. "And I know..." she paused for a moment, licking her lips. "And I know you want me too."
Wheeler thought for a moment. His heart was broken, and he hurt within. But his body was still his own, and as always with Linka, all rationality and common sense fled when she was within reach. She wants this, he told himself. And I want it too. The only one who could get hurt here is me.
"You wore this, knowin' that when it got wet, you would be on display for me, didn't you?" he asked her, and his fingers continued their quest beneath her jersey, tracing the bikini softly.
"Yes and no," Linka whispered. "I wore this for you, hoping you would remember... and be the one to get it wet."
Without another word Wheeler stood, hauling Linka up and pulling her towards her bathroom. She didn't utter a word of protest, willingly letting him manhandle her into the small tiled room, letting him haul her in front of him and position them so that they stood in front of the square mirror. Wheeler held Linka tight in front of him, paying attention to the rise and fall of her breath, reaching over to the taps and running the cold water.
"Take off your jersey," he whispered in her ear, "slowly."
She nodded, reaching for the hem of the shirt and pulling it up, her movements lazy but deliberate. Her eyes stayed on Wheeler's the entire time, and he rewarded her effort by running his hands just behind hers, stroking her skin as it was revealed to him. Their gaze was only broken when Linka pulled the shirt over her face, and Wheeler used this moment to cup her breasts, flicking his thumbs over her pointed nipples and squeezing softly. Linka gasped, and threw her shirt to the floor, meeting Wheeler's eyes in the mirror again as he continued to clutch and play with her.
"This is what you wanted, right?" Wheeler asked her, and she nodded wordlessly. "This is what you wanted to happen," he added, only to give her nipples a final stroke before removing his hands slowly. He reached over Linka to find the glass she always kept by her sink, filling it with water, keeping his eyes on hers the entire time. "And you wanted this too," he told her, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a sip, before letting the cool crystal rest against Linka's shoulder. She nodded again, panting lightly, and Wheeler tipped the glass against her skin, so that water streamed over her body. She gasped as the cold water made contact with her warm skin, but Wheeler held her hands within one of his own firmly, letting the water continue to dribble down and over her body.
They both watched as the water came into contact with the small triangles of her swimsuit, running over the fabric and dampening it. Linka hadn't been lying; the bikini made its dislike of water known by instantly becoming translucent. She didn't blush or attempt to cover her chest from Wheeler's eyes though, if anything, she stood taller in his arms, her eyes now watching his. He tried to tear his eyes away from the swimwear wetly clinging to Linka's damp skin, tried to tear his eyes away from the pink nipples displayed to him from underneath the sodden fabric, but found he couldn't.
"So fuckin' pretty," he instead whispered into Linka's ear. "Do you know how badly I want you? Can you feel it?"
He ground his hips against the warm curve of her backside, letting her feel the hardness of him against her, and she nodded, looking breathlessly excited. Finally, Wheeler tore his eyes away from the wet and partial nakedness of her chest, putting the glass back on the counter and wrapping both arms around her stomach. He leaned towards her ear again, kissing and biting softly on one lobe before speaking.
"Do you know somethin'?" he whispered hotly against her. "I am going to fuck you so good tonight, no other man will ever compare. I am going to take you right here on your bathroom floor, and you're gonna to be so hot, so turned on and so rammed full of me, that you'll never be able to top it. Do you understand that?"
Linka licked her lips. "Yes."
"And you're okay with that?" Wheeler asked her. He allowed one hand to trail upwards, finding the curve of a breast and tracing it lightly. "I mean it, Lin. I'm going to fuck you hard. I'm going to spoil you for every other man," he kissed her ear again, allowing himself to return his fingers to a nipple, pulling on it from above the wet fabric lightly, "or woman, who comes after me."
Linka leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. "Yes," she whispered, "I understand."
"Open your eyes," Wheeler ordered, "I want you to see this. I want you to watch."
A thrill of pleasure ran through Wheeler when he saw Linka obeying his words, opening her eyes and looking at him in the mirror. She caught his own eyes, holding them, and Wheeler inhaled sharply.
"You're beautiful, do you know that?" he told her, and his voice was soft now, a verbal caress against her skin. "So beautiful that I just can't help myself. I'm a lost cause for you, Babe. An utter lost cause."
"Yankee," Linka whispered back, and she snaked one of her hands up and around his neck, stroking his skin gently. With her free hand she took hold of Wheeler's, holding it for a moment, before kissing his fingers and putting them on her breast.
Wheeler watched Linka in the mirror as he stroked, caressed and pawed at her. Her cheeks were growing pink and her eyelashes fluttered against her cheek as she bit her lip, her hands clutching at his neck as she clung to him. Delicately, Wheeler peeled the wet fabric of her swimsuit away, exposing her nipples to the cool air. When she shivered as he touched her, he kissed her neck. He unhooked her hands from his neck, shifting so that he stood in front of her.
"Keep watchin'," he told her softly, before ducking his head so that he could suck at her breasts. He grounded her by steadying one hand on her hips, using the other to stroke up her back, tugging lightly at her hair. "You watchin'?" he asked, before biting down on her gently, delighting in the shudder that instantly ran through her.
"Yes," Linka panted weakly, taking a deep breath. "I am watching."
"Good," Wheeler praised her, before sinking to his knees, using his teeth to nibble at the damp material of her bikini bottoms. "Keep watchin'. Don't take your eyes off the mirror."
Deftly, he hoisted one of Linka's legs over his shoulder, before making an exploratory lick over the fabric of her hot centre.
"Please," Linka now begged. "Take off my—"
"No," Wheeler cut her off with another lick. "You wanted me to enjoy this," he pulled at the string of the bikini. "So I'm gonna enjoy it."
He indulged himself thoroughly, licking and sucking at her, his fingers digging into her hips and back. Several times Linka appeared to lose balance, buckling in pleasure above him, but he kept her up steadily, determined that she would see herself as he did when she came.
It didn't take long. Within minutes, she was clutching at his hair and swearing lightly in Russian, a shudder running through her. Wheeler, without wasting a second, pulled her to the bathroom floor so that she was on her back, taking care to cradle her head so that it didn't land painfully against the tiled floor. He untied the strings of her bikini, tossing the now useless item to the side.
It was only then that an awful realisation crossed his mind. "Babe," he said, his voice strained. "I didn't bring any—"
"It doesn't matter," Linka replied, reaching for him. "Please."
"We really should," Wheeler told her, though he made no move to tear himself away from her.
"I'm on birth control," Linka offered, "I have been for months now. And we both know we are safe."
For a brief moment, Wheeler deliberated. But it was Linka, and as always, rationality fled when presented with her naked and willing body, and her green eyes, flashing brilliantly beneath him. Without another thought, he pushed into her, closing his eyes at the wet and clinging warmth which instantly enveloped him.
"Jesus," he exhaled, "this is... this is..."
"Yes," Linka agreed, pulling him closer to her. For a moment he rested his body against hers, luxuriating in the feel of her next to him. With a gentle sigh, she ran her hand down his cheek, tracing the outline of his lips. "Kiss me," she asked him softly, and Wheeler nodded, because yes, of course he would kiss her; at that moment, it was the best idea he had ever heard. He kissed her, gently at first, before his mouth became more insistent and searching, and his hips began to thrust without him even thinking about it.
"I am never," he whispered into her mouth, "never, ever, fucking you with a condom on again. Do you hear me?"
Linka nodded, holding him closer, her eyes fluttering closed as she sought out pleasure once more. But Wheeler stopped, shaking his head and kissing her once more.
"Open your eyes," he told her. "Look at me."
As they moved on the floor, the tiles damp beneath them, Wheeler kept his eyes locked on Linka's. He refused to let her look away, pouring all of his love and adoration for her into one gaze as they rocked together. He alternated between being gentle and rough, playful and intense, and when he came, it was with a muffled shout into her shoulder, his orgasm pulsing through him strongly when he realised she was coming too, her legs wrapped tight around his waist.
Afterwards, they lay together on the floor. Wheeler pulled at the towels on the rack by the shower, using them to blanket them as best he could, tracing patterns down Linka's arm and back. She lay in the crook of his shoulder, still staring up at him, her face entranced, bewildered and woebegone all at once.
"That was the last time, wasn't it?" she asked him, her voice cracking.
"Yeah," he replied, and sadness threatened to overwhelm him. "That was the last time."
"I love you, Yankee," Linka whispered, and Wheeler felt a lump grow in his throat. He knew she loved him. She just didn't love him in the way he needed her too. Not in the way he loved her. He kissed her hair softly, knowing that she already knew all this. Knowing that there was nothing more to say or explain, other than one thing.
"I love you too, Babe."
They lay quietly again, and Wheeler thought he must have slept, because he felt warm and content with Lin in his arms, towels draped over his body. He only opened his eyes again when a persistent knocking cut into the quiet of the evening, a knocking that was coming from Linka's door.
"Lenka, are you here?" Gregor's voice called out. "Lenka, ty zdes?"
"Shit," Wheeler muttered, looking down at Linka. She was staring up at him, wide-eyed and fearful. He gave her a regretful glance, before attempting to sit up.
"Don't," Linka pleaded softly. "Don't go."
Instinctively, Wheeler knew she didn't just mean to answer her door. Wheeler knew without being told that she meant in general. She didn't want him to leave. She didn't want this moment to end. She didn't want to lose him.
"Babe," Wheeler said, but found no other words would come. "Babe."
"Please," Linka begged, and to Wheeler's horror, he saw a tear slide down her cheek.
Linka never cried.
"Please," she said again. "Please don't go."
"Babe," Wheeler said painfully, leaning down to kiss the tear from her cheek. "I have to."