If it weren't so cold, Blair figured he could actually sleep. Polar bears did that all the time, didn't they? No, wait. They had fur.

Okay, if it weren't so cold and he had lots of fur, Blair figured he could sleep. He curled his undamaged leg closer to his chest, ignoring the pain in his broken leg and tried not to think about the time he'd seen a fatally injured dog on the side of the road. He'd been six. He'd asked Naomi why the dog had been shivering, all curled up on a hot August day.

No. He wasn't dieing. Blair forced the memory down. He lifted his head and listened for Jim. The inside of the plane was growing darker. He didn't like being alone.

Blair rested his head on the hard pilot logbook, which made a lousy pillow. Ignoring the current wave of shivers that raced up and down already exhausted muscles, he let his thoughts wander far from their current dilemma. He had first discovered television at the tender age of six. Blessed with a more than average memory, Blair hummed the song, then sang it softly, his voice clear in the tiny cabin.

"Hee Haw? You were, what, a year old when that aired?"

Jim was back. He had to be freezing. He'd been working outside, taking care of the... the... bodies.

"Reruns. Naomi was good, man. But even she couldn't keep me from watching TV twenty-four seven."

Oh god, Jim was going to do it again. Blair tried to keep the cold air out, but Jim was relentless. The blanket lifted and freezing hands slipped under Blair's shirts and too thin coat, pushing gently. Still, it hurt and Blair's protest slipped out.

It was so damn hard to act normal, like he wasn't terrified, like Jim. Jim could ponder the weather while sitting on the deck of a sinking ship.

Finished with Blair's leg, Jim tucked the blanket back in place.

What was Jim talking about now? Blair blinked the unwanted tears away. Real Women?

"Of course they were real, what do you expect back in the sixties? Muppets?" Blair asked breathlessly.

"I meant it was pre-cosmetic surgery. Back then when you saw a nice set of melons, it was the real deal."

Laughter bubbled up from within. Blair tried not to let it hurt his bruised body, but it wasn't easy. "D-don't make m-me laugh... h-hurts."

"Sorry."

"J-jerk." Maybe it was because Jim was back with him or maybe Blair was just getting used to their situation, but Blair was having a hard time focusing.

If it wasn't so damn cold...

Jim was moving around, shifting things and making noise. Blair closed his eyes. No way could he sleep now. Jim was talking again. Blair opened his eyes and watched his friend's silhouette work. He didn't catch whatever Jim had said; only that he was being teased in Jim's typical style. Blair played along, clueless.

"Why?"

"Because I'm your bed warmer tonight."

Well, that made sense. The plane was small. Not a lot of places to lie down. No way would he let Jim sleep outside in the snow.

"Nah, you'll just end up stealing my body heat." His teeth chattered and he couldn't stop it.

Jim's hands touched his good knee, gently straightening his leg. He moved the broken one next. Even with the splint Jim had put on it, it felt like a sack of broken glass ripping apart his muscles and tissue. Blair tried not to gasp, not to cry out. He was only partially successful.

He was not going to cry.

The blanket got heavier over his shoulders and the edge was tugged out of his grasp. Then Jim was at his side, pulling him close.

Cold, cold, cold. All of Jim was cold. Blair sucked in his breath and stiffened. He missed the next few words Jim spoke.

"... Produce more body heat then this masculine he-temple that women have traveled far and wide to worship?"

What was that? He-temple?" The preposterous image that caused brought more laughter. "Ow, ow, ow." Blair gasped. "I said... d-don't make me laugh."

The scent of Jim was strong, mixed with pine sap, mountain air and aviation fuel. Jim had the nerve to crack a lame joke about how cold Bair was. What a joke. Blair answered, suddenly distracted by the distinct wave of warmth. Where was that coming from? Uncurling numb fingers, Blair let his hands follow the heat to its source. Oh, blessed heat.

Jim was warm!

"Shee-it! You could warn a guy," Jim blurted out.

Guiltlessly, Blair tried to get all he could, a caveman discovering fire for the first time. He offered a pathetic apology.

"Blair?" Jim shifted. "You okay?"

"Am now," Blair murmured.

"You know what day it is?"

"Friday."

"Where are we?"

Ah oh. If he wasn't careful here, Jim would go into his medic persona and start prodding and poking and pinching again. Blair forced himself to string together more than a one word answer. "In a plane that just crashed. Don't ask me where it crashed, coz I don't know."

"Who's the president?"

"It's still that idiot."

To Blair's ultimate delight, Jim hugged him even tighter. If only Blair could soak up some of Jim's courage.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"We're going to be okay, right?"

"Right."

"Just checking." Stiff shoulders relaxed. A peace settled in Blair's chest. Yeah, he still hurt, but he'd been hurt before. He'd been in scary situations in the past and survived.

Besides, Jim said they were going to be okay.

That earlier ridiculous comment resurged. "He-temple?"

"Go to sleep," Jim grumbled.

"I can't believe you said he-temple. Wait till I tell Brown."

"Did I mention we're very close to a cliff? I could toss you."

"He'll stop calling me `Hairboy'."

"And I'll tell everyone I was the only survivor." In opposition to the threat, Jim squeezed him tighter.

Blair released a happy sigh and drifted into a warm sleep.

Blair relished the feeling of warmth, of soft pillows under his head, the luxury of being clean, and the fact his leg didn't throb relentlessly.

That was some nap.

Opening his eyes the true cause became apparent. He was in a hospital room.

"Sandburg?" Simon asked, coming into view.

Working chapped lips, Blair tried to talk. It was more of croak. "S-simon."

"You feeling okay? Any pain? I'll call the nurse." Simon pressed an unseen call button located at the top of the bed.

Reaching for the bed rail, groaning when all his muscles protested the movement, Blair tried to roll up onto a hip and look for Jim.

"Hey, stay down." Simon held him in place easily.

A straw poked his lip.

"Drink."

The water helped chase the last of the fog from his brain. He turned away when he was satisfied. "Where's Jim?" He still sounded like a frog.

"He'll be right back. He had to get a clean bandage."

Band... age...

Shit! Jim had been hurt?

"Hey, I said settle down, damn it," Simon exclaimed. "God, how does Jim stay sane?"

Blair tried to squirm out from under the captain's hands. "Whadaya mean?" he bleated weakly. The desire to find Jim and see his sentinel with his own eyes didn't allow room for another thought.

"Simon? Blair? What's wrong?"

A new hand caught Blair's chin and forced eye contact. "Relax before you screw up your leg," Jim ordered firmly.

Blair stilled. "Jim?"

"Yeah." Jim quirked a smile. "You're not going to start singing Hee Haw again, are you?"

"Simon said you were hurt," Blair accused.

"I did no such thing." Simon responded from the opposite side of the bed. He offered Jim an innocent shrug. "I was starting to tell him you spilt coffee on your bandage."

"What happened to you?" Blair insisted.

Jim held up his left hand. "Nothing. I got a splinter. The doctor thought it needed to be covered."

Blair squinted at the Scooby-Do bandage in disbelief then looked own his own body and spied the pristine cast that covered his leg from toes to hip and hung in traction. He dropped his head back onto the pillow.

"Gloom, despair, agony on me..." he sang off key.

Simon stepped back. "Do either of you even know how to have a normal conversation?"

End.

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