"Ellison, get back there!"

"Maybe I can..."

"No. There's nothing you can do here but distract me. I think I can put us down in that clearing. It's not going to be much more than a controlled crash, but it's the best I can do. Now get the hell back there and buckle in."

Ellison nodded and made his way awkwardly to the right rear seat. In the left-hand seat, Sandburg was bracing himself with both hands, his eyes wide and wild in a ghost-white face. His muttered litany was easily audible to the sentinel. "I am calm. I am... I am calm? Who the hell am I kidding? Aw, man, this is not good. This is so not good."

Ellison felt the same way but by sheer force of will he kept his voice steady as he laid a hand on his partner's arm. "Easy, Chief. Try to relax."

Sandburg turned disbelieving eyes on him. "Relax? Are you nuts, man?"

"Tony's going to put us down in a clearing, but it's going to be a rough ride. Your body will handle the impact better if your muscles are relaxed."

The plane bucked again. From the front the cockpit, Tony shouted, "Crash position! This is it!" and then the world disintegrated into a tangled rush of howling motion that sent Ellison's senses reeling out of control.

His next awareness was of struggling out of a seat that was canted at so sharp an angle that he'd been practically lying on his side. Sandburg's voice filtered gradually into his awareness.

"Jim? Come on, man. You're scaring me here."

"Sandburg?" Ellison shook off the fog and focused on the young man peering worriedly into his face. "I'm ok. Senses went a little nuts there for a minute. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm good. Whoa! What a rush! That was insane. We must have hit a rock or something `cause, man, I swear we did a complete back flip before we came back down! I gotta check on Tony. I think he's unconscious. I can't believe he landed this thing in one piece."

"Hold on a second." Ellison's hand shot out to grip his partner's arm. His senses were stabilizing, and the stench of blood told him the cockpit was the last place he wanted his sensitive partner. "I'll check him out. You get out through that door if you can, and give this bird a once-over. We need to know if it's leaking fuel anywhere." He dug his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket. "And see if you can get a signal on this thing. Can you handle that?"

"Got it," Sandburg said, and disappeared through the opening.

Ellison worked his way forward. As he'd expected, the scene in the cockpit wasn't pretty. The force of the impact had brought a snag down on the nose of the aircraft. There was no doubt that the pilot had died instantly when the fractured stub of a limb had pierced his throat, pinning him to his seat as effectively as a Chopec spear.

Ellison regarded the body silently for a moment, and then, with the efficiency of long practice, set the emotional fallout aside. It wasn't dangerously cold yet, but it would be before the night was out, and the rain moving in from southwest was likely to be snow at this elevation. It was too late in the day to expect a rescue before morning, even if the ELT was transmitting properly. The radio looked like a lost cause. Judging by the colorful language outside, the cell phone was equally useless. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Ellison was beginning to feel the inevitable assemblage of bruises and sore muscles. Sandburg couldn't be much better off. They were in for an uncomfortable night at best. Without some quick planning it could still be fatal.

The plane was clearly the first option for shelter, but Ellison could smell the fuel leaking from it. If they holed up in it they'd have to keep any fire well clear of it. Not to mention the grisly scene in the cockpit. It would take some work to get the pilot's body out and covered and there was no time for that now. If he could spare Sandburg the ordeal of spending the night cooped up with that horror, it would be worth slightly more primitive accommodations.

A hasty search turned up the pilot's emergency gear. A plastic tarp, a battered pot, a tightly rolled surplus sleeping bag, a couple of ancient MREs and a couple of bottles of water, along with a first aid kit, flashlight and military surplus wool blanket. Steeling himself to face the cockpit one more time, he came up with a travel mug, a cigarette lighter, and half a bottle of aspirin. For the first time since the crash, he allowed himself to relax a little. He and his partner were uninjured and thanks to the pilot's foresight, they had everything they needed for a safe, if not entirely comfortable night. Later he'd have to deal with the guilt that welled up at the thought of the pilot's sacrifice, but for now he swallowed hard and forced it to a far corner of his mind. The dead had nothing but time. The living were running a little short of it at the moment. Gathering the gear into the tarp, he hauled it to the doorway and lowered it to the ground.

Sandburg was facing away from him, but turned at the clatter, shoving a hand impatiently through his hair. "I'm getting nothing here. Maybe the weather's messing with the signal. How's Tony?"

Ellison jumped to the ground, delaying the inevitable as long as possible. But finally he raised his eyes to meet his partner's. "Tony's... uh... He didn't make it."

Sandburg looked at him as if he thought he'd gone insane. "What? What do you mean, he didn't make it? Are you sure? I mean, maybe he's just..."

"Whoa." Ellison moved to block his forward movement, and planted his hands on his partner's shoulders. "I'm sure, OK? Just... I'm sure."

Sandburg kept pushing forward. "Maybe we should..."

"Don't," Ellison tightened his grip. "Trust me, Chief. Just... trust me, O.K.? Don't go back in there."

Sandburg looked up at him for a moment longer with wide, disbelieving eyes, his body still taut against Ellison's restraining hands. Then he closed his eyes and turned away. Ellison let him go. Sandburg only moved a few steps away, before he spun to face his partner again.

"God, Jim, that is so not fair! That's just... Shit!"

Ellison's jaw clenched against his own roiling emotions. The more he tried to protect his young partner, it seemed, the more the kid was forced to deal with. "Yeah," he said. "It's damned unfair. But there's nothing we can do for him now and there's weather moving in on us. We need to get under cover."

Sandburg drew a long breath and nodded. "Yeah. I'm with you, man."

"Good. I'm looking at those boulders up the ridge there. They practically form a cave on their own. Between them and the tarp, I think we'll be fairly dry. Give me a hand with this stuff."

"Right."

There wasn't much and none of it was very heavy, so it was no great task to haul it the short distance up the ridge. The boulders Ellison had seen from the crash site formed a shallow cave, fairly wide, and high enough for a man to kneel upright in, if he didn't make any sudden moves. Ellison began immediately to work on rigging the tarp to keep the shelter as dry as possible. The attached cords allowed him to anchor it to nearby trees in a way that extended the shelter a little. While Ellison worked on the shelter, Sandburg set about collecting whatever scraps of wood looked dry enough to burn. The wind was already picking up, and they were losing the light when Ellison heard Sandburg's voice from behind him.

"Jim?"

Preoccupied with adjusting the tension on his final tie, Ellison spoke without looking up from his task. "Yeah."

"Jim?"

"Yeah, Sandburg. What is it?" He turned to find his partner regarding him with an oddly puzzled expression.

"I think maybe there's something... I don't... I don't feel so good." Time stopped for an instant, and then Sandburg was lying in a boneless heap.

"Blair?" Ellison stumbled across the short distance that separated them, and fell to his knees beside his partner. "God damn you, Ellison! What the hell were you thinking?" It all fell into place suddenly. The energizer bunny act. The complete absence of Sandburg's usual panic response when he'd just lived through his worst acrophobic nightmare. He'd said he was ok. He'd *acted *ok, and Ellison had been so relieved to see it that he'd never questioned it, never given a thought to the signs that should have screamed shock to any half-trained medic. He cradled his unconscious guide's face in his hands. "Come on, buddy. I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me where it hurts." Sandburg didn't move. His heartbeat was strong, but his breathing was a little shallow. Frantically, Ellison ran his hands over his partner's head and limbs, but there were no obvious injuries. He hesitated then, reluctant to expose the unconscious man to the cold air by removing the layers of clothing he was wearing. Finally he settled for unzipping the jacket and sliding his hands under the flannel shirt and the thermal shirt beneath it.

Sandburg gasped and shot upright. "Geez, Jim! Your hands are freezing, man!" Then he looked around and his eyes widened. "Jim? Jim, tell me we didn't just fall out of the sky in a freakin' plane?"

Ellison caught his partner by both shoulders. "Well, it was more like a controlled glide. Easy. Let me get a look at you."

Sandburg shrugged off the contact. "Nah, man. I'm fine."

"Fine? Is that what you call it? You collapse right in front of me and you're telling me that's -- what? Normal?"

Sandburg shoved an impatient hand through his tangled curls. "God! Would you chill? I'm a little shaken up, that's all. I got this thing about heights, in case you hadn't noticed."

Ellison ran a hand over his face. "Shit. I'm sorry. I'm just..."

"Scared?"

"Concerned."

"Right. What was I thinking?" Sandburg waggled an eyebrow and grinned at him in a transparent attempt to divert his concern. "But I'm telling you, man, you tell the guys I fainted like a girl, I'm gonna wash all your shorts in scented detergent."

"Sandburg..."

A sudden gust of wind threw a scattering of raindrops at them. Ellison looked up in alarm. "It's going to be wet in a minute. Think you can move?"

"I told you I'm ok. Give me a hand up. The muscles are starting to stiffen up." He put out a hand.

Ellison got to his feet and then gripped his partner's hand and hauled him up. Together they finished dragging the gear into the small shelter. Though it made the already small space even more crowded, Ellison dragged the wood Sandburg had collected in after them and stacked it under the tarp, both to keep it out of the rain and to provide a little extra protection for the open end of the shelter. Unfortunately it also plunged the inside of the shelter into near-total darkness. Ellison barely noticed it, but the way his partner crouched against the rock wall with wide, nervous eyes, told him Sandburg was essentially blind. Ellison switched on the flashlight. They'd have to ration the batteries, but they could afford a few minutes of light to let Sandburg adjust to the situation.

"Thanks," Sandburg said. Able to see again, he finished adjusting the limited gear to maximize the living space.

"All right," Ellison said, "I still want to have a good look at you, and then let's get you into that sleeping bag."

"No way, man." Sandburg shook his head. "You'll be feeling every pebble. At least the sleeping bag will give you a little padding."

"I'll dial it down. You're already shivering. And don't sidestep the issue. Let's have a look."

He reached out, but Sandburg pulled away roughly. "Will you knock it off! Yeah I'm cold and I'm bruised up. I'm stiff as hell, and I really, really wish I were someplace else right now. But it beats the alternative all to hell, so just leave it alone, all right?" He was panting, his eyes flashing in the dim light.

"Chief..."

"What?"

"There's nothing we could have done."

"What the hell's that got to do with anything?"

OK, that was a mistake. Ellison looked into his partner's furious eyes and bit back the harsh response that was on his lips. "Look, I don't want to fight you on this. I just want both of us as comfortable as possible, OK?"

The stubborn set of his partner's chin softened a little. Ellison took advantage of the moment to say, "Toss me that blanket, will ya."

For a moment, Sandburg didn't move. Then he said, "If you don't mind sharing, I think our best bet might be to fold the blanket up to sit on and cover up with the sleeping bag." He was already folding the blanket to demonstrate.

Ellison nodded and reached for the sleeping bag. "Good thinking. But you keep your hands to yourself, Junior."

"That's disgusting," Sandburg said, crawling in beside him. "You are so not my type, man."

Ellison chuckled, feeling chilled muscles begin to relax as the warm weight of his guide settled against his side.

Outside, the storm struck in earnest, early rumbles of thunder giving way to a snarling wind and the steady roar of hail against the ridge. The tarp rattled and strained against its ropes, but Ellison had chosen well. The brunt of the wind was at their backs, pounding against the stone without penetrating the shelter.

"We should probably save the light," Ellison said.

Sandburg looked up at him and nodded, understanding the unspoken question. "I'm good."

Ellison switched the light off and darkness settled around them. Ellison heard the slight increase in his partner's heartbeat and gave him a quick, concerned look.

"Don't," Sandburg said sharply.

"Don't what?"

"You know what. Dial it down. Do you have any idea what thunder's gonna do to you when you when you're in the friggin' cloud?"

"Got it covered," Ellison said.

Sandburg sat up straight and glared at him. "I'm not kidding, man. Dial it down!"

"All right. Relax already. I'm dialing."

"Down to normal. Below normal."

Ellison gave a low growl. "Fine. If it'll shut you up, I'll dial it down to halfway between profoundly deaf and hearing impaired. Satisfied?"

"Ecstatic." Sandburg coughed lightly and settled back against the wall. "You know I'm right."

"Yeah, I know. It's just..." He shook his head, knowing Sandburg couldn't see the gesture in the dark.

"Just what?"

"After what happened... You know, at um... at the fountain."

"After I died."

"No! You didn't... You weren't..."

"I did. I was."

Ellison looked away. "Yeah, well." He paused for a long moment, still unwilling to enter those waters. Finally he admitted, "Makes me a little edgy to see you there and not be able to hear your heart beating, hear you breathing." He waited for the outburst but it didn't come. Instead, Sandburg took his hand and guided the fingers to his wrist, where the life force rushed and pulsed at the surface.

"As close as that. OK?"

For a moment, Ellison was glad Sandburg couldn't see his face in the dark. He swallowed hard before he said, "If you want to hold my hand, Sandburg, at least buy me dinner first."

Sandburg chuckled, then abruptly pushed away from the wall again. "Oh. Hey." He rummaged around beside him and came up with an MRE. "Got your knife?"

Ellison couldn't help laughing but he handed the knife over. Sandburg slit the heavy plastic, then stopped suddenly. "I think you'd better do the honors. I can't see a thing."

Ellison took the package from him and fished through the contents. "Hot or cold?"

"Man, hot sounds good, but maybe we should save it. We don't know how long we'll be stuck here. We're in pretty good shape for now."

"Smart thinking. OK. Cold it is then. We got peanut butter. We got fake bread. We got... No, I'm not telling you what this is. It's a surprise. We got Skittles. We got applesauce. We got gum. Don't chew the gum. Trust me. Anything sound good?"

"What's wrong with the gum?"

"You don't want to know until you need it. What'll it be?"

"How fake is that bread?"

"Feels weirder than it tastes."

"Gonna break the bank if we go for a peanut butter sandwich with applesauce for dessert?"

"Nah. We can afford it, but it'll have to be an open-face sandwich."

"I can live with that."

Ellison tore the peanut butter and bread packets open with his teeth and smeared the peanut butter over the bread. He broke off half of the resulting mess and handed it over, then used his knife to slit the peanut butter packet down one side. "You can lick the spoon," he said, offering the packet with its thin coating of peanut butter.

Sandburg chuckled but shook his head. "Go for it. I'm saving room for dessert."

They ate in silence, savoring one bite at a time to make it last. With the sleeping bag turned back a little for convenience, Ellison could feel slight tremors running through his partner's body. It reminded him of the bottle stashed in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out and shook two tablets into his hand. "Here -- appetizer."

Sandburg coughed once, apparently having made the mistake of trying to talk around a mouthful of dry bread and sticky peanut butter. "What is it?"

"Aspirin. It'll take the edge off the bruises. And don't argue with me. I know you don't like it, but I seem to have left the willow bark tea in my other jacket."

"Funny. You're a real funny guy," Sandburg muttered, but he didn't refuse the tablets.

They finished off the bread, shared the small packet of applesauce, and then settled against the wall again, pulling the sleeping bag up to their chins. Ellison allowed his guard to drop a little. This wasn't so bad. They were chilly, but their shared body heat under the sleeping bag kept the threat of hypothermia at a safe distance as long as it didn't get much colder. There was enough in the two MREs to keep them in decent shape for several days.

"Jim," Sandburg said, bringing him back from his thoughts.

"Hm?"

"What are we going to do if they don't find us? We're in the middle of nowhere here, man."

"They'll find us. We'll probably be showered and shaved in time for lunch."

"I heard about this plane that went down in the Bitterroots. People saw it crash. It was supposed to have a fortune in it -- diamonds or something. So there were all these treasure hunters looking for it constantly. It took them forty years to find it."

"Forty years ago they didn't have the technology we have now. Besides, even if the transmitter doesn't work and no one else knows where we are, I know where we are. I was Special Ops. You think I wouldn't have taken a good hard look at where we were going down? We can walk out if we have to. But we won't have to. How you doing? You cold?"

"I was born cold, man. I'm O.K., though. You?"

"Yeah. Hey, listen. It's quieter. I think the worst is over for now. Maybe we ought to stretch out and try to get a little sleep while we can."

Sandburg shivered and nodded. "But you keep things dialed down. It'd be a pretty rude awakening if we get more storms."

"I told you I would. Here, take this and shift over a second." He pushed the sleeping bag toward his partner, and unfolded the blanket they'd been sitting on, spreading it out to give them room to lie down. "OK. C'mon back."

Sandburg joined him on the blanket and dragged the sleeping bag awkwardly over both of them. He was shivering again from the brief exposure, but Ellison felt the tremors slow and cease as the makeshift nest warmed around them. "Better?" he said.

"Oh yeah. You ok?"

"Couldn't be better. Get some sleep."

"Right." Sandburg shifted closer, instinctively gravitating to the warmth of his partner's body. Ellison could feel the bass note of his heartbeat vibrating through the points of contact. He followed the steady beat down to the relaxed state Sandburg had taught him to reach when he needed it.

Sandburg had looked exhausted, but now he couldn't seem to settle in one position. Ellison had slipped into a light doze but his partner's constant restless motion began to worry him. He raised himself up on one elbow to look down at him.

Sandburg was instantly alert and sitting up beside him. "What's wrong? You OK?"

"I was going to ask you the same question," Ellison said. "You haven't spent more than a minute in one position since we settled in."

Sandburg shrugged. "I'm still a little on edge, and it's not exactly a Tempurpedic we're lying on."

"You sure that's all it is? Maybe you'd better let me..."

"Jim. For God's sake. I'm cold and stiff and a little bruised up, and I'm trying to sleep on a bed of rocks just like you. You can't really be surprised I'm not sleeping beauty here. If you'd just taken the sleeping bag like I wanted you to, I wouldn't be keeping you awake."

His irritation was real and it made it hard to tell whether he was lying. Worse, he was absolutely immune to Ellison's intimidating stare. Hell, he probably couldn't even see it in the dark. Ellison gave up on the stare and softened his tone. "This is not about you keeping me awake. The way you passed out earlier... I just want to be sure you're OK."

"We fell out of the damn sky. Believe me, it would have been a miracle if I didn't go into shock. I'm sure it's not the first time you've seen that kind of reaction."

"You'd tell me, wouldn't you? You wouldn't pull some boneheaded macho act? Because we're in the middle of nowhere here and if you're not OK, I need to know."

Sandburg rolled his eyes. "If there's a boneheaded super-jock here it's not me. And it goes both ways, man. If you're not OK, I need to know, too. I'll just bet you have a few bruises you haven't mentioned. Go back to sleep."

Ellison watched him for a moment longer. "A little on edge" fell a long way short of describing the tension vibrating through his partner. Sandburg had been spoiling for a fight since Ellison had broken the news about the pilot. It was beginning to take all of Ellison's patience not to give it to him. That would be a serious mistake. Sandburg's worst demons were sharing the shelter with them tonight, and the worst of them all was guilt. For a man who believed in karma, Sandburg was amazingly stubborn about taking responsibility for the fates of those around him. Ellison had seen it before. This rage against his own inability to protect everyone close to him from the vagaries of an unjust universe. Given time to process it, he'd settle down. In the meantime, Ellison might not be able to keep him from beating himself up over it, but damned if he'd let the kid use him for a stick.

"All right," he said, finally. "But I think we can make things more comfortable for you. We'll be warm enough under the sleeping bag if we stay close together. If we take the jackets off and put them underneath, it'll pad the rocks a bit, and the jackets will be warm and dry when we want to get up."

Sandburg chewed on his lower lip for a moment, clearly reluctant to give in to anything without a fight. But the suggestion was a reasonable one, and gave him nothing to shove back at. "I guess that makes sense," he admitted.

He stripped off his jacket. Ellison did the same, and they both shifted to spread the jackets on top of the blanket. In the morning, Ellison, thought, he'd cut some evergreen branches to lay the blanket over, and maybe try to salvage some seat cushions. Despite what he'd said to reassure his partner, he had a feeling they'd be spending at least one more night in the shelter.

They settled back under the sleeping bag. For a moment, Sandburg lay stiff and guarded, but comfort quickly overcame pride and he moved in close for warmth.

"Better? Ellison said.

"Yeah. Thanks, man." He coughed once as he settled in and Ellison frowned at the sound. That was it. The thing that had been nagging at the back of his mind.

"Chief?"

"Hm?"

"Call me a mother hen, but... When did that cough start?"

"Geez Jim, what is with you man? The elbow he jabbed into Ellison's ribs wasn't hard enough to hurt. "You know damp air makes me cough since the fountain thing. And I've coughed, what? Twice? Give it a rest!" He rolled onto his side, not willing to give up the warmth of contact, but still making a point of turning his back on his partner. "And dial it the hell down," he tossed back over his shoulder. No matter how angry he might be, and Ellison had seen him practically frothing, his first and last thought was always for his partner's wellbeing. It was one of the things that made Ellison so protective of him.

Ellison sighed and settled back again. "If you say so, boss."

Despite the rough conditions, exhaustion caught up with him fairly quickly and he drifted off. With no sense of passing time, his next awareness was of being pummeled by his panicked partner. Shifting in his sleep, Ellison had instinctively thrown a protective arm across Sandburg, who was now firmly pinned and in the throes of full-blown panic attack. With his hearing dialed down and the wind howling around the shelter again, Ellison hadn't wakened at the first increase in his partner's heartbeat, as he normally would have.

He shifted to his knees and moved quickly to catch Sandburg's flailing arms. "Whoa! Easy there, buddy. Slow down. Deep breaths. You know the drill."

But Sandburg didn't calm as he usually did. Instead, he fought the restraint, gasping, "Let me up! Can't... Let go!" He shoved violently and Ellison was forced to release him. Sandburg sat up, still gasping for air and put a hand out toward him. It took a moment for Ellison to realize that the gesture wasn't intended to ward him off, but only a blind search for support. Ellison caught hold of the hand and drew the panicked young man to him.

"I'm right here, Chief. Slow down and breathe. Come on. We've done this before. You just need to slow your breathing down."

"No... It's not... Lied to you, man... Sorry."

"You lied to me? Is that what's got you in all in a panic here? Settle down. Whatever it is, we'll talk about it."

"You don't... understand. I lied, man... sorry... thought I had more... t...time." He collapsed against his partner's shoulder, the gasping breaths giving way to harsh coughs.

"Blair!" Ellison shifted his partner's convulsing body in his arms, desperate to get him into a position where he could get a look at him. "Come on. Keep breathing for me. You're gonna be OK." He managed to get him turned around, so that he could support him against his chest. Sandburg was still conscious and as Ellison had hoped, the half-upright position eased his breathing almost immediately.

"That's it," Ellison said. "Lean on me." He rested his chin on his partner's tangled curls. "Just lean on me." He loosened the tight control he had on his hearing, and focused on Sandburg's gradually slowing respiration. There was a rasp to it that he didn't like, but what bothered him more was an odd double note as if the lungs weren't working entirely in unison. He suspected it meant that one wasn't expanding fully.

Sandburg shifted in his arms in a half-hearted attempt to pull away. Ellison tightened his hold. "Just stay put for a minute. OK? Better?"

"Yeah," Sandburg said, but Ellison never heard the rest of his answer. It was drowned out by a crashing wave of sound that became pure exquisite pain tearing through his eardrums to batter his brain. He was aware of nothing more until Sandburg's voice filtered through, and then he realized he was doubled over with both hands clamped over his ears. Sandburg was kneeling in front of him, one arm wrapped around his ribs, the other hand on Ellison's wrist. His eyes were wide and frightened, but his voice held only calm reassurance.

"Listen to me, big guy. Focus on me and dial it back. I know you can hear me. I kinda need you here with me. All right? You OK?"

"Just dandy, Chief." Ellison took his hands away from his ears and straightened up. Ouch. Like he needed a headache on top of the bruises.

Without warning, Sandburg shoved him. Hard. "God damn it, Jim! I told you to keep it dialed down! I told you!" He was shouting to make himself heard over the storm, and he was as angry as Ellison had ever seen him. "Why won't you ever listen to me?"

"Listening to you is exactly what I was doing," Ellison shot back. "Because I sure as hell can't trust you to tell me what's going on with you, can I?"

"Well pardon me all to hell for not being a fucking whiner!"

The wind rose to a shriek around the shelter and the ground shook with the force of the thunder, while the two men glared at each other in the darkness. Sandburg broke first, shifting to sit back against the rock wall. "Ouch."

Ellison's anger evaporated instantly. He knelt beside his partner. "God, what are we doing?"

Sandburg gave him a wry smile. "Fear based responses, man."

"Yeah, well," Ellison growled.

"You know, it's really dark in here," Sandburg said. "It's creeping me out, man. I can't tell if you're still pissed at me."

"I was never pissed at you. I was just..."

"Scared?"

"Concerned."

"Right."

Ellison reached out and cuffed him lightly on the side of the head. "Don't quit your day job, Chief. Come on. Let me get a look. You're already shivering and I'm not far from it."

Sandburg sighed. "I guess there's no point anymore, huh?"

"There never was."

Sandburg shifted against the boulder and tugged up the layers of shirts he was wearing. "I'm sorry, Jim. I just didn't want you to be... concerned."

"Funny, Sandburg."

"I thought it was. Didn't you think it was? He laughed, then winced. "Ow."

"Yeah. Ow. You did it up good, Chief. We're going to have to keep you still as much as we can. Not much else we can do for you, under the circumstances." He pulled the shirts back down over the ugly bruise. He risked dialing up the hearing long enough to hear what was going on beneath it, but he couldn't be sure what was causing the problem. If the lung was just bruised, Sandburg would be uncomfortable, but it wasn't likely to kill him. If it was punctured, leaking air into the space around it, nothing short of emergency surgery would keep him from suffocating. Ellison was reasonably sure it hadn't been punctured in the crash. Sandburg was in some pain -- more than he was admitting to, no doubt -- and he was having some breathing issues, but he wasn't nearly as bad off as he'd be if he'd suffered a punctured lung hours ago. That was a good sign. But there was enough swelling in the muscle to prevent Ellison from making a clear assessment of the ribs. They seemed to be intact but if he was wrong, if there was a fracture there, and Sandburg's panicked struggle had caused a puncture, it might not be immediately obvious.

"Jim?"

He'd forgotten the darkness. He'd been silent too long. "Sorry. Just thinking."

"Do I want to know?"

Ellison looked up sharply at the tremor in his voice, but it was only that he was shivering. Annoyed with himself for forgetting, Ellison reached for the sleeping bag. "Nothing to worry about," he said. He tucked the sleeping bag around his partner. "I think your ribs are OK. The lung's probably bruised on that side. That's why you're having some trouble breathing. You're going to have to focus on taking full breaths. I know it hurts, but if you don't, you could end up with pneumonia."

"Now that I'm officially whining, I don't suppose I could have a couple more of those aspirin?"

Ellison considered it and reluctantly rejected it. "I'd rather not risk it right away. It acts like an anticoagulant. It could make things worse."

Sandburg nodded. "I hate it when you make sense." He coughed, and then added, "Probably because I'm not used to it."

"Keep it up, Darwin."

Sandburg grinned at him. "I'm freezing here, man. You coming back or what?"

"In a minute. We need to rearrange a little first. Shift over for a second." He shook out the blanket and refolded it to provide more padding, then rolled up the two jackets. "OK, come on over here."

With the jackets between their shoulders and the chill of the rock they settled side by side on the blanket and dragged the sleeping bag up over them. Ellison knew they'd be better off if he settled against the wall with Sandburg resting against him. They'd both be warmer and he'd make a more adjustable pillow than the unyielding rock wall. But Sandburg, for all his talk of free love, wasn't comfortable with a lot of physical contact beyond the mock-aggression that passes for affection between men. He wasn't a big man and had probably always been small for his age. Ellison could imagine what it must have been like for an undersized kid with an over-demonstrative single mother, always on the move, always the new kid. If he had a bit of the banty rooster syndrome, who could blame him? Ellison glanced down at his partner. "Warm enough?"

"Getting there," Sandburg said.

"Think you can sleep now?"

Sandburg shivered. "Not anytime soon, man. I keep expecting to be blasted out of existence."

"Not gonna happen, Chief."

"So you say."

"Trust me, buddy. You're a long way from being the tallest thing on the ridge."

"Ouch. Don't make me laugh."

Ellison chuckled. "Sorry. Lean on me if it's more comfortable."

"Nah. I'm good, man."

They huddled in silence for a time. The storm had settled directly over the ridge. The thunder reverberated around them like munitions blasts. Ellison felt his partner's body jerk beside him at every blast, and his own frustration mounted. Sandburg had no business being here. He belonged in a library somewhere, or bumping knees under the table with some perfectly proportioned coed, not lying here cold, injured, scared. And for what? Ellison couldn't begin to convince himself that it had anything to do with Sandburg's dissertation. Sandburg could have written half a dozen dissertations with the data he'd already collected. He was here for one reason and one reason only -- because he knew his presence would make the trip easier on Ellison. A part of Ellison's mind realized that there had been nothing inherently dangerous about the flight, but a larger part recognized that fact as irrelevant. All too often he allowed Sandburg to be placed at risk because it made his life more convenient. It had to stop.

Another round of thunder shuddered over the ridge. Ellison felt an answering shudder go through the sturdy body beside him. He reached across and squeezed his partner's shoulder with one hand. "We could turn the light on."

Sandburg gave him a startled look. "Tell me you're not listening in."

"No, Sandburg, I'm not listening in. I don't need to, the way you jump every time the thunder hits."

Sandburg made a sound halfway between a cough and a chuckle. It wasn't a reassuring sound, but his voice was a little stronger when he said, "We don't need the light. Save the batteries."

The storm played itself out an hour later and rumbled off into the east. Sandburg gave a soft sigh of relief and fell immediately into an exhausted sleep. Ellison focused his hearing on the sleeping man's breathing. It was only marginally worse than the last time he'd checked and Ellison muttered a brief thanks to a god he wasn't sure he believed in. No puncture. Sandburg wasn't going to be a happy camper for a week or so, but he'd be all right. All Ellison had to do was to keep him from moving around too much until help arrived. No problem there. The kid wasn't going to feel like moving anytime soon.

It was still raining, but it was a soft, steady sound now, and the temperature was dropping again. It would be snow before morning. Ellison put an arm around his partner, settling him against his shoulder where he'd be warmer and more comfortable.

"'S early, man," Sandburg protested. One hand groped blindly over the sleeping bag for a moment and then went still as Sandburg subsided without really waking.

Ellison couldn't help chuckling at the familiar movement. At least this time it didn't end with something flying at Ellison's head. Sandburg had better aim half asleep than most men had fully alert. Tucking the sleeping bag closely around both of them, Ellison allowed himself to drift, and eventually sleep claimed him.

He woke to a cheerless dawn. Sandburg was awake already, still resting against him. He flashed a quick smile when he saw that Ellison was awake.

"'Bout time, man. I gotta move. My neck's killing me." He held up a hand to ward off the comment that was already on Ellison's lips. "I know. I didn't want to wake you." He levered himself up from Ellison's shoulder, coughing as he did so. He was clearly hurting, but that was no surprise. Most of Ellison's body was protesting too.

"You shouldn't have worried about it. How are you feeling?"

"Like the game went into overtime. You?"

"Like I'm too old to be playing the game to begin with. I think the rain's stopped. What would you say to a fire?"

"I don't know. It sounds like heaven, but as soon as we move, we're gonna freeze. And it's still dark."

"We're just in the clouds. You stay put and keep warm until I get a fire going."

Ellison moved out from under the sleeping bag, dragging his jacket with him, and then tucked the edge back around his partner. He had to shift the wood in order to crawl out of the shelter. Outside, he stood and stretched, already shivering as he shrugged into his jacket. There was an inch of snow over the whole ridge, and the thick layer of fog had the visibility down to a few hundred yards, even for his enhanced vision.

He stood for a moment studying the set-up. Last night's construction had been a hasty affair, driven by the threatening storm. It kept the shelter dry, but didn't do much for warmth, and the tarp was too flammable to be used in close proximity to a campfire. Ellison untied the ropes that held the front edge taut, and folded the whole tarp back over the boulders. Then he cleared a space near the front of the shelter, ringed it with a few rocks, and in no time at all, had a small fire crackling. Satisfied, he crawled back into the shelter, where his partner was watching the proceedings in hopeful silence.

"Breakfast in ten, Chief," he said, and Sandburg mustered up a grin for him.

"I think it's my day to cook."

"I'm feeling domestic. Hand me that pot, will you, and the MRE bag."

Sandburg handed them over, then rummaged under the sleeping bag for his jacket. "I'll join you, now that you've done all the work. Anyway, I have an idea."

"I don't want you moving around too much," Ellison cautioned. "There's no puncture in that lung, as far as I could tell, but it's bruised at least and you don't want to be irritating it any more than it is."

"It'll be fine," Sandburg said, "As long as I don't try lying flat again any time soon."

Focusing his hearing, Ellison heard the rasp in his breathing, and the awkward, uneven rhythm as the left lung struggled to keep up with the uninjured right one. He didn't need enhanced senses to see that Sandburg wasn't feeling anywhere near as good as he was pretending to, but there was nothing they could do about it. Ellison's jaw clenched. It was so damned frustrating. A broken bone, a bloody gash, he could treat, at least feel like he was doing something. But this... All he could do was watch the kid suffer through it and try to keep him from making things worse.

"Knock that off before you break your teeth," Sandburg said. He scrambled out of the shelter and paused to hold his hands out to the heat of flames, then set about gathering flat rocks.

Ellison looked up from his task of filling the pot "Why don't you stay put and tell me what you need?"

Sandburg shook his head. "And delay the coffee? No way. I got it covered." A few more rocks seemed to satisfy him and he returned to where Ellison was nestling the pot near the fire. Stacking the rocks on either side of the small blaze, he then grabbed two fairly straight, sturdy branches from the wood stack and laid them across the top. "There ya go. They'll burn eventually, but not before the water boils."

"Not bad," Ellison said. "I never took you for a cub scout."

"Just boil the water." Sandburg grumbled, holding cold-reddened hands up to the fire. "Ouch. I think I'll sit here and guard it for a minute."

"You do that." Ellison ducked back into the shelter to retrieve the travel mug he'd salvaged. By the time he got back, the water was hot. He dumped in the coffee packet from the open MRE, stirred it quickly with his knife and poured half into the mug along with the sugar and creamer packets from the MRE. He handed the mug to his partner, who was huddled beside the fire, shivering in the damp air.

"Thanks." Sandburg took a cautious sip, then a deeper draught when the first sip didn't scald him. It didn't seem to do much about the shivering.

"Why don't I drag the sleeping bag out here for you," Ellison said.

Sandburg shook his head. "Look around. There's no way anyone's flying in this stuff. We need to keep the bedding dry if we can."

"You're shivering."

"I'm always shivering. I'll warm up in a minute."

Ellison sipped the weak coffee from the pot. He wasn't as sensitive to cold as Sandburg. His jacket kept him fairly comfortable near the fire, but the hot liquid still felt good sliding over his throat to warm his belly. Beside him, Sandburg seemed to be hypnotized by the flickering flame, his blue eyes half-closed and distant. His way of escaping the cold, maybe. Ellison watched him worriedly. The kid was right. No one would be flying in this pea soup. Even if they could fly safely, there would be no point. They wouldn't be able to see anything on the ground. It was still early though. With a little luck it would lift out by the afternoon. He glanced at his partner again and suddenly couldn't stand to see him shivering any longer. Draining the last of his coffee, he scrubbed the pan out quickly with a handful of snow then set it down and went to retrieve the blanket from the shelter.

Sandburg looked up in surprise when the blanket settled around his shoulders.

"They'll be here," Ellison said. "Let's try not to get hypothermic in the meantime."

For a moment he thought Sandburg would protest, but Sandburg pulled the blanket around him gratefully. "Did you say something about breakfast?"

"You bet." Ellison set more snow on to melt and dug out the entree box from the MRE. Beef stew. Could be worse. By the time he'd found the heater, the snow had melted. He poured the water into the heater and sealed things up again.

The process lured Sandburg out of the lethargy he'd fallen into. "Man, that thing smells weird. Tell me that's not breakfast."

"What, you're getting finicky on me now? Ellison teased. "Here. Feel it." He handed it over.

Sandburg's eyes widened. "Whoa. That is just too cool, man."

Ellison laughed. "Yeah well, the novelty wears off after the first couple hundred you get stuck with."

When the bubbling and steaming subsided a bit, Ellison opened the meal packet and sealed the heater back in the box. "Tuck that in your jacket."

Sandburg obeyed and Ellison saw him relax as the heat soaked in. They shared the meal from the pouch, taking turns with the spoon. Sandburg had fallen silent again but when they'd finished eating he sighed and turned toward his partner. "I've been thinking."

"So I noticed."

"We should leave. Head down the ridge."

"What? No. We stay put. They'll look for us near the plane. And you're in no shape for a hike."

"I'm in better shape now than I will be later. It'll be warmer down lower, and the river corridor might be clear." Sandburg coughed and caught his lower lip in his teeth for a moment until the pain subsided. "We can leave a message at the plane. Tell them our plans."

"It's early. The cloud cover might lift."

"Then they'll find the plane and come after us. Think about it. What have we got to lose?"

"You think about it, Darwin! You can barely breathe as it is. Dragging you all over this mountain's likely to kill you. We stay put. We've got decent shelter here. We've got a fire. They'll be here."

"They won't. Not today, and you know it."

"Then tomorrow."

"This time of year, these clouds could be here for a week. We could get a foot of snow tonight. Down lower it'll just be rain. And we're what -- 8000 feet here? It's gotta be making it tougher to breathe."

Damn him for playing that card. Ellison was forced to consider it. Sandburg was right about some of it. It would be warmer. They'd be out of the wind. But it was probably wetter off the ridge too, and here they had a stash of dry wood that hadn't been drenched overnight, not to mention the boulders that provided a shelter nearly as dry and secure as a cabin. And there was still the hike. It wasn't worth the risk. "No," he said. "No way. You could end up with a collapsed lung or worse. We're not taking that risk, OK? So just stop. This discussion is over."

He stood abruptly, suddenly needing physical activity to drive out the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. Sandburg knew him well enough to let him go. He didn't have to go far to reach a stand of lodgepole pine and douglas fir. His abused body protested at first, but as he worked at cutting a supply of flexible branches, the activity warmed him and loosened up the stiff muscles. He worked aggressively, hacking at the branches until he'd purged his emotions and was able to gather up his harvest and return more or less calmly to the camp.

Sandburg was melting a pot full of snow over the fire. He'd found one of his hair ties somewhere and pulled his tangled curls back from his face. He looked up when Ellison approached, but the question in his eyes stayed there and didn't make it to his lips. Ellison answered it with a nod and saw the tension leave his guide's shoulders.

As if nothing had happened, Sandburg flashed him a welcoming grin and gestured toward Ellison's load. "What's with the greenery?"

"A little experiment. If it works, I'll tell you. You a little warmer now?"

"Nothing like a good fire," Sandburg said, and Ellison had dropped the load and crawled halfway into the shelter before it occurred to him that the kid hadn't answered the question. Under the circumstances, Ellison wasn't surprised.

Dragging the freshly cut branches into the shelter a few at a time, he laid them out with the concave sides down, so that the curved branches formed a springy platform wide enough for the two of them to lie side by side on. He'd cut enough for several layers, but the result didn't satisfy him. One more load did the job. He laid the sleeping bag over the makeshift mattress and stretched out to test it. It was a long way from goose down, but a vast improvement over last night's bedrock and pebbles. It would have to do.

Ellison headed back outside. His partner's silence was beginning to worry him. Sandburg quiet meant Sandburg in bad shape. Ellison wasn't sure how much of it was processing and how much was physical pain. He settled beside him and gave the younger man's blanket-covered shoulder a squeeze. "Talk to me, partner."

Sandburg gave him a quizzical look. "Did you have a particular subject in mind?"

"I need to know how you're doing."

"'Subtlety never was your long suit."

"Goes with being a Neanderthal."

"That's Neandertal. If you weren't such a primitive throwback you'd know that."

"Nice try, Einstein," Ellison said, "But I'm not the witch doctor who still boils sticks and leaves when there's perfectly good aspirin five feet away."

"Got me there." Sandburg's quick grin vanished into a harsh cough. His fingers tightened on the edges of the blanket, and he shifted closer to the fire, seeking comfort in the warmth.

Ellison's hands clenched in frustration. There was no sign of a break in the weather. It should be getting warmer, but if anything the temperature was dropping. He moved behind his partner and settled both hands on his shoulders, kneading the taut muscles. Sandburg flinched and let out a little gasp of pain. Ellison froze. "Sorry."

"No, man," Sandburg grated out. "Keep going. It's good. It's just... Ah, God... Ow... That shoulder was all knotted up."

Ellison put his full attention on the muscles beneath his hands, letting his sensitive fingers find the knots and soothe them away. He was rewarded by hearing Sandburg's breathing slow and deepen. It still wasn't right, but it was better. Ellison gave his shoulder a final perfunctory rub and came around to sit beside him again.

Sandburg looked up at him. "That helped. Thanks."

"Now answer the question."

"I'm cold, and I feel like crap. About like you, I'd say."

"Damn it, I'm serious. How am I supposed to make decisions if you won't give me straight answers?"

"You're not. We make decisions. Together. We're partners. Don't treat me like I'm some kid you have to protect from the truth."

"Who's protecting who from the truth?"

Sandburg met his gaze defiantly for a moment, then lowered his head. "Touche."

"I've been thinking," Ellison said. "You might be right about moving. There'd be less wind down in the trees. If the weather doesn't lift out, we might be looking at a night or two. But we've got solid shelter here, and I'm not willing to give it up on a whim. If you think you'll be OK for a couple of hours, I could do a little recon and see if there's a better spot to hole up in."

Sandburg looked up sharply. "I don't think we should split up. We'll both go."

"What part of, 'Moving around too much could kill you' don't you understand? If I find something we'll get you down to it nice and slow, but until then you stay put."

"I don't like it. What if something happens? What if you zone or..."

Ellison gave an exasperated growl. "Sandburg, I was walking and talking all on my own before I met you."

"You were totally out of control before you met me."

"So were you. I got better."

"Ouch! That's cold, man."

"I'll be gone for a couple of hours, tops, and I'll be within shouting distance most of that time. Nothing's going to happen, OK?"

"Of all the god-damned, stupid..." Ellison let out a frustrated snarl and chucked a rock at the nearest tree. How could a guy bright enough to survive the Peruvian jungle not be bright enough to walk across a few rocks without landing on his ass? The ass in question had a few new bruises on it, but it was the throbbing in his right ankle that worried him. He'd tried to put his weight on it, and it was immediately clear that he'd given it a good wrench. It wasn't broken, but it wasn't going to be a fun trek back up the ridge. Ellison hauled himself up and balanced awkwardly on his one good foot, scanning the area for a likely crutch. The best he could find was a weathered branch too heavy to be really practical. It would have to do. He wasn't equipped to cut a green staff and most of the dry, weathered wood scattered over the ground was too brittle to take his weight. Ellison hefted the awkward staff and glanced up at the formidable expanse of the ridge. God, just this once, let Sandburg stay where he was told. Driven by that thought, Ellison set off as fast as his limping gait could carry him.

It wasn't fast enough. By the time he'd covered half the distance, the clouds had lowered over the ridge and the light was beginning to fade. Ellison could feel the sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades while he stood panting and steaming in the cooling air. Leaning heavily on his staff, he tried to tune out the hiss of his own breathing and send his hearing out across the ridge. All quiet. He stood for a moment longer, catching his breath, then pressed on up the ridge. Stay there. Just stay there. Don't do anything stupid

The wind picked up as he got higher on the ridge. Twilight deepened around him and the wind spat a few soft pellets of snow in his face. Ellison wasn't too worried about it. The exertion kept him warm enough, and he could see the tree line only a few hundred yards ahead. Not far now. He stopped to breathe again, preparing himself for a last push to the finish line. And then he heard it. Off to his left and only a short distance above him. A faint shout.

"Damn it!" Ellison exploded. Why the hell couldn't the kid listen to him just once in his life? "Sandburg!" He changed course and picked up the pace and before long he was hearing the sounds of his partner's progress, made awkward by panic.

"Jim! Where the hell are you, man? Jim! Hello? Jim! Hang on, man. I'm coming."

"Sandburg! Over here!" Ellison shouted over the wind, but Sandburg didn't have his hearing advantage and continued blundering over the ridge, shouting himself hoarse between fits of coughing. Ellison raised the branch he was using for a staff and slammed it down once, hard, before pulling himself together and hobbling toward the speck of light he could finally see bobbing along the ridge. Moving as quickly as he could, shouting as often as he could spare the breath, he was finally rewarded by a change in Sandburg's tone.

"Jim? Is that you? Do it again. I think I heard you."

Ellison stopped moving and shouted back. "Sandburg! Sandburg, stay there! I'm OK! Just stay put and I'll come to you!"

"Yes! Jim! I can hear you, man. I'm coming!"

"No, damn it! Just stay... ah, hell!" Ellison hobbled uphill, stumbling in his haste to get to his partner.

They finally met just below the tree line. The snow had begun to fall in huge wet flakes that slapped at their faces and hands but melted as they reached the ground.

Sandburg was a mess. He was shivering. His hair had come loose from its tie and hung in a wild wet tangle around his face. He was practically sobbing in relief, gulping air as if he couldn't get enough of it.

Ellison caught him by the shoulder. "Easy! Slow down. It's all right. I'm OK."

"Thank God!" Sandburg pulled back to look at him in the beam of his flashlight. "What happened? Man, I thought you were dead or something! What...?"

"Breathe, Chief. I twisted an ankle trying to take a shortcut through the talus."

"OK. All right. Let's..." He looked around once, assessing the situation. "Here, lean on me and we'll get you back to camp. It's just up..." He hesitated. Full darkness had fallen over the ridge.

"That way," Ellison said, pointing off to the right.

"Right. That way." Sandburg shifted the flashlight to his left hand, so he could get his right shoulder under Ellison's left arm. "Come on. I got you."

The move caught Ellison off balance and for a moment most of his weight settled across Sandburg's shoulders as Sandburg had intended. Sandburg was braced to take it but his brief grimace and the soft huff of pain as he straightened up gave him away. Ellison jerked away from him, anger flaring in him at the sound.

"What the hell are you thinking? You shouldn't even be here. Are you trying to kill yourself?" Sandburg drew back, stung, and Ellison swore in frustration. "Look, I didn't mean to... I appreciate you coming looking for me. But, you're in no shape to be doing this."

"Neither are you, but we're all we got."

Ellison shook his head. "I can't argue with you there, Chief. All right. Let's get moving. The weather's not getting any better."

They made their way up the ridge. Sandburg stuck close to Ellison's elbow, leaning in to offer support when logs or rough ground challenged Ellison's ability to maneuver. Ellison pushed himself to the limit and beyond, driven nearly to panic by his partner's ragged breathing and increasingly frequent bouts of coughing. At first Sandburg kept up an encouraging monologue, but by the time they reached camp he had long since fallen silent, needing all his energy to keep moving forward.

The camp was cold, the fire no longer burning. Ellison's heart sank at the sight. Sandburg was shaking with the cold and Ellison knew his wool jacket had to be soaked through. Sandburg looked up at him, clearly sensing his disappointment.

"'S OK. I banked the fire and covered the wood. You hungry? You gotta be hungry. And we should put some snow on that ankle."

And he'd accused the kid of running off after him without thinking. "I'm more worried about you right now. Let's get you warmed up."

"We can... I mean, I fixed..." Sandburg gestured vaguely toward the shelter, then dropped to his knees to crawl inside. Once out of the weather, he collapsed onto the springy mass of evergreen boughs and lay where he fell, shivering and coughing, but too exhausted to bother shifting to a more comfortable position.

Following him in, Ellison saw what he'd been trying to say. He'd rearranged the shelter to allow for a tiny fire in one end. They wouldn't be able to have more than a few embers safely, but if they were careful they could keep just enough to warm the small space without keeping a blaze in the ring outside. Casting a worried glance at his partner, Ellison retrieved a few embers from the ash-banked fire and soon had a small bundle of kindling burning in the stone enclosure Sandburg had built. Then he turned his attention to Sandburg. Now that he wasn't trying to walk on it, his own injury offered only a dull ache that was no more than a distraction. He shook his partner's shoulder gently.

"Sandburg. Come on. Don't go to sleep on me just yet."

"Too cold to sleep," Sandburg grumbled without moving. "I just gotta catch my breath for sec."

"Can you sit up? You ought to get out of that wet jacket. I've got a fire going. You'll be warmer under the sleeping bag."

Sandburg didn't move. "Nah. I'm good, man. Gimme a minute and I'll wrap that ankle for you." A couple of harsh coughs convulsed his limp body.

Ellison grimaced at the sudden tang of blood in the air. He caught his partner's arm and tugged. "Come on. You can rest in a minute, but you gotta work with me here." He was aching with exhaustion himself and not really up to the task of manhandling the younger man through the whole process, so it was a relief when Sandburg roused enough to cooperate. Ellison stripped him out of his jacket and sodden tennis shoes, then stripped off his own jacket and boots. Sandburg had had the foresight to lay the blanket out and replace the sleeping bag on top of it before he left camp. With a little coaxing, Ellison got him between the layers, then crawled in and settled the younger man against him, partially upright to ease his breathing. With the evergreen cushioning between them and the cold stone, Ellison warmed up quickly. As usual, Sandburg took longer, shuddering with chills long after Ellison was comfortable. Eventually they both drifted into sleep, too tired to think about eating.

Ellison woke a few hours later, sweating and feeling as if he'd taken a blast furnace to bed with him. The source of his discomfort was all too quickly obvious. Sandburg was still tucked against his side, and the young man's body was radiating a ferocious heat. For an instant Ellison gave in to despair. Then he brushed a hand over the tangled curls, and gave his partner a nudge. "Sandburg? Hey, wake up."

"Wha...? Sandburg muttered.

"Wake up, buddy. You got a fever."

Sandburg opened one eye long enough to glare at him. "No shit, Jim. What was your first clue?"

"You should have said something."

"Like we could do anything about it."

Ellison scrubbed a hand over his short hair. "For a bright guy, I swear..." He slid out from under the sleeping bag and raided the first-aid kit for the aspirin bottle he'd put in it earlier. He cut open the second MRE pack in search of the oversized cracker it contained, and retrieved a water bottle from the corner. Thus supplied, he turned back to his partner and pushed the cracker into his hand. "OK, pal. Don't fight me on this. We need to get some aspirin into you, and you won't keep it down without something to buffer it."

Sandburg gave him a pained look, but to Ellison's relief, he broke the cracker in two and ate one half without a fight before he handed the rest back. "Here. You ought to take some of that aspirin too."

"Finish it if you can," Ellison said.

Sandburg rolled his head back and forth wearily.

Ellison frowned but he didn't push. Instead, he handed him two aspirin and the water bottle. Sandburg swallowed the tablets obediently and handed the bottle back. "Your turn."

He was right, though Ellison hated to admit it. The injured ankle was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and he didn't need the distraction. He took a couple of tablets with a swig of water and a cracker chaser. "Happy?" he said.

Sandburg nodded, coughing, then closed his eyes and settled back against the wall. Ellison laid a few more bits of wood on the small mound of embers before slipping back under the sleeping bag. "Why don't you slide on over here and lean on me. I'm a little softer than the rock."

"You're like an electric blanket, man. Cold rock kinda feels good right now. I'm OK. Go back to sleep."

Ellison watched him for a moment longer, listening to the increasing rasp in his breathing.

"I don't need to see you to know that look," Sandburg said. "I'm tired. I'm going back to sleep. You can stay up and watch if you want, but don't expect me to do any tricks."

Ellison chuckled. "Point taken. Get some rest." He settled back, a little relieved to be able to stretch stiff muscles and lie flat now that he wasn't supporting his partner. He didn't like the fever. It was bad news however you looked at it. But Sandburg was still alert enough to be annoyed and that was reassuring. Maybe the aspirin would be enough to keep it under control.

Ellison closed his eyes and tried to relax. Sandburg had already drifted off, exhausted enough to sleep through even the harsh coughs that were coming with increasing regularity. Ellison couldn't sleep through them, but he dozed between bouts, one ear tuned to the steady heartbeat of his sleeping partner.

Near dawn, Sandburg called for him, bringing him bolt upright in an instant. "Sandburg? You OK?"

"Jim?" Sandburg peered up at him in the near total darkness.

"Right here, buddy."

"Yeah." He paused to stifle a cough. "You think you can do without me at the station today? 'Cause, man, I really feel like shit. I think I'm coming down with something."

Ellison chuckled. "I think I'll manage. Let's see if we get a chopper before we worry about it. Y'OK? I thought I heard you call."

"Yeah... Yeah, have you seen my red pen? I just put it down for a second, and now I can't find it."

Ellison's blood froze in his veins. The kid wasn't joking. Ellison laid a hand on him and shuddered at the waves of heat rippling over his skin. He shifted the hand upward to brush Sandburg's cheek and then pushed the curls back from his face. "We need to get you cooled off, pal."

"What? No. I just need my pen. I got sixty exams to get back today. I'll never finish if I don't find that pen." He sat up to rummage frantically through the bedding. Ellison tried to ease him back, but Sandburg shoved at his hands. "Come on, man! Help me look. I gotta have it."

"Take it easy," Ellison said. "I'll find it, OK? I'll be right back."

"Yeah. OK. Yeah." His wildly pounding heart slowed a little.

"Good. That's good. You just relax. I'll be right back." Ellison grabbed the pot and reached out through the front of the shelter to fill it with snow. He left it near the small mound of embers to melt while he grabbed a triangular bandage and the aspirin from the first aid kit. Hurrying back to retrieve the pot before the water could heat too much, he dropped the bandage into it to soak while he dug a granola bar from one of the MREs.

Sandburg looked up anxiously when Ellison knelt beside him again. "Did you find it?"

"No, but listen to me. Rainier's shut down for the day. This snow's wreaking havoc on the roads. So you can sleep in. We'll find it later."

"Aw, maaaan! I told you I need that pen!" Sandburg's heartbeat shifted into high gear. His breathing turned to a shallow panting that threatened an all out panic attack. Before Ellison could stop him, he struggled free of the sleeping bag, intent on searching the shelter. At this rate he was liable to crack his head on the rock above him and give himself a concussion on top of everything else. Ellison wrapped both arms around him from behind, praying he was right about the ribs not being broken. "Easy. Easy, Chief. Settle down. Listen to me."

Sandburg quit struggling and twisted to look at him as if were out of his mind. "Jim, what the hell, man? I just need my pen."

God give me patience. "No. You don't need the pen. You gotta trust me here. OK, buddy? You trust me?"

Sandburg shook his head. "What are you talking about?" He closed his eyes, brow furrowing in confusion. "Aw man, Jim, I don't think I can drive to class. My brain's fried."

"Yeah, you're running a pretty good fever. Why don't we do something about it? Ellison coaxed him to settle back and bullied him into swallowing a few bites of granola bar in the hope of getting a dose of aspirin to stay down. The tablets followed without a struggle but Sandburg's clumsy attempts to help get his shirts off made the process take twice as long as it should have. Afterward, he drifted into a restless half sleep that worried Ellison but made his task easier. At least it meant Sandburg wasn't fighting him while he sponged him down with the melted snow. The cold water chilled his fingers until they were stiff and aching, but Sandburg's parched skin seemed to warm the cloth faster than Ellison could soak it. Already exhausted, Ellison caught himself more than once on the edge of a zone as he tried to monitor his partner's labored breathing. He knew he hadn't eaten in far too long. Concern for his partner didn't leave him with much of an appetite, but he couldn't afford to be out of commission. Not now, with Sandburg so helpless. He paused to polish off the rest of the granola bar and wash it down with a few swallows of water, then roused Sandburg enough coax a few sips into him as well.

It was well into another grey morning before Ellison began to feel a decrease in the heat rising from Sandburg's body. There was no dramatic improvement but Ellison's sensitive fingers registered the gradual change of a degree or two over a half hour and he knew the immediate crisis had passed. He set the cloth aside, noting with some surprise that his own hands were shaking with exhaustion. His injured ankle was throbbing and he was chilled to the bone. He moved back against the wall and drew the sleeping bag up over both of them. Sandburg stirred slightly, grimacing in pain when the movement jarred his injured side, but he settled again without really waking. Ellison moved in close enough to provide a little support. Moments later he was dead to the world. He woke in full daylight with his partner resting against his chest. Ellison laid a hand against the young man's back and was relieved to find it much cooler than it had been. He closed his eyes to focus all his energy on listening. The left lung was still not expanding fully, and the ominous rasp was more pronounced now. Equally worrisome was the faint but distinct wheeze in the uninjured lung, clear evidence that last night's exertion and exposure to the elements had taken its toll. Sandburg was sleeping deeply, and Ellison hated to risk waking him, but his bladder was insisting that he get up and attend to it. He shifted cautiously, doing his best not to jostle his human blanket any more than necessary.

Just when he thought he was home free, Sandburg stirred, coughed, and mumbled, "Jim? Wha's wrong? Y'OK?"

Ellison gave his shoulder a quick squeeze through the sleeping bag. "Just answering Mother Nature. Go back to sleep."

"Mmph."

Ellison chuckled. "That's what I admire about you, Chief. Most eloquent man I know."

"Fuck you too, man." Sandburg muttered.

"I heard that," Ellison said, tugging on his wet boots.

Behind him, Sandburg laughed. He sounded weak, but coherent. A moment later, though, his voice rose in panic. "Jim?"

In the close quarters of the shelter, Ellison had to roll over to get to him. "I'm right here. What is it?"

Sandburg's heart was pounding double-time. "What happened last night? Something happened last night. You got hurt. I don't..." He scrubbed both hands over his face. "It's like the whole night's a blur, man. But I remember you got hurt."

"Take it easy there, buddy. I'm fine. I twisted an ankle down in the rocks. It's just a little stiff this morning. You, on the other hand, just about did yourself in coming after me."

"Oh. I guess that'd be why I feel like I went six rounds with Mike Tyson?"

Ellison shook his head in exasperation. "Yeah, I'd say that's a pretty safe bet. Stay put. I'll be back."

He grabbed his jacket and crawled out of the shelter into the twilight world of another fog-shrouded day. His ankle protested when he put his weight on it, but he was able to limp around on it without too much pain. That, at least, was a relief. Being incapacitated now would have raised the stakes drastically. He hadn't heard an aircraft of any kind since they'd crashed, which meant the weather they were dealing with wasn't just a localized ground fog. And Sandburg was right, though Ellison wouldn't say so in front of him. A small aircraft in this wilderness could lie here for weeks or even months before the light happened to be just right when someone flew over it. They could hope for a bit of luck, and they just might get it, but in the meantime, survival would be tough enough without both of them being out of commission.

Ellison finished his business, scrubbed his hands clean with a handful of snow, then set about getting the fire burning again. Sandburg's foresight in banking the coals with ashes had kept a few embers alive in spite of the weather. It took a while, but Ellison managed to coax them to catch in a few twigs, and then in some kindling. When he was sure it wasn't going to sputter out, he ducked back into the shelter to check on his partner. Sandburg had fallen asleep again after he'd left him, and Ellison's arrival didn't wake him. He looked bad. The dark circles under his eyes and the unshaven stubble along his jaw stood out too sharply against the ashen pallor of his skin. The fever had left him dehydrated, with the gaunt look of a man who's been starved for a week. Ellison watched him for a moment, wondering whether to let him sleep, or wake him. The kid needed to eat, and get some fluids into him, but he looked exhausted. At least Ellison could let him sleep until he had breakfast sorted out.

Turning away, Ellison found the pot and emptied it outside. He scrubbed it clean with gravel and snow, then delved into the second MRE pack for the packet of mixed fruit. It wasn't meant to be heated, but he wanted Sandburg to have something warm, and he doubted the kid would be up to the spaghetti-and-meatballs entree. Setting the pan just close enough to the fire to warm slowly, he went back into the shelter and gave his partner's shoulder a gentle nudge. "Hey, buddy, think you can wake up and have some breakfast?"

Sandburg drew a long breath and came awake slowly. Ellison saw in his eyes the moment that awareness of pain and exhaustion and their situation returned to him and for an instant he hated himself for waking him. He hated himself even more when Sandburg banished that awareness from his expression and summoned up a cocky grin for Ellison's benefit. Hated himself for being relieved by the grin, and even more for needing the reassurance of it.

"Hey," Sandburg said, "Did you say breakfast? And where the hell's my shirt? I'm freezing here, man."

"Sorry. You're lying on both of them. You got pretty warm last night. I had to strip you down. Stuffed them underneath you so they'd be warm when you woke up."

"Thanks." Sandburg wriggled under the sleeping bag, almost comical in his attempt to find the shirts and get into them without exposing his bare shoulders to the cold air. Getting the thermal over his head was an awkward process.

Ellison winced in sympathy. "How about breakfast in bed?"

Sandburg looked up from tugging his flannel shirt over the thermal. "No way, man. I spoil you like that, you'll be expecting it every Sunday."

Ellison couldn't help chuckling. "I'm serious."

"So am I." Sandburg paused to stifle a cough and held up a hand. "Give me a hand up. I want a piece of that fire."

Ellison helped him up, then shrugged out of his jacket and dropped it around his partner's shoulders.

Sandburg gave him a startled look.

"Yours is soaked," Ellison said. "I don't want you getting chilled."

"So I'll grab the blanket. What's with the mother hen routine all of a sudden?"

"Don't give me a hard time here, Chief. I remember last night, even if you don't. Put the jacket on."

"All right. Geez. Relax."

He scrambled outside to huddle on a rock beside the fire. Ellison followed him out. The fruit was well heated by then. Ellison tugged a sleeve down to protect his hand while he pulled the pot away from the fire. "Here you go. It's weird, but it's warm."

Sandburg raised his head. "Go ahead and finish it. Too early for me to be hungry." He shifted closer to the fire and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"Come on. This is a special recipe. I spent all morning slaving over a hot fire."

"Yeah? What kind of special recipe?"

"All right, so it's mixed fruit. But it's in the only pot we have, so we can't make coffee until it's gone."

"That is so not fair, man."

Ellison moved over beside him and offered him the spoon. Sandburg glared at him, but swallowed a couple of spoonfuls before pushing it away.

"Finish it, will ya, Jim? I can't eat any more right now."

"Yeah. All right. You're pretty dehydrated from the fever. You'll feel better once we get some fluids into you."

"I'm OK. Just tired. We ought to have a look at your ankle. Why don't you let me try some reiki on it?"

"Some what? You're not in any shape to go out hunting leaves and berries here, Chief."

Sandburg laughed, which started him coughing, so it was a few moments before he could choke out, "It's not like that." He stopped to catch his breath. "It's like... balancing your energy fields, to help your body heal itself."

"I don't know. Sounds kinda out there. And you need to rest."

"There's nothing to it. I just relax and let the energy of the universe flow through me. I've seen it do some amazing things. Just because you can't buy it in a bottle..."

Ellison raised his hands in surrender. "OK. Fine. But let's get you comfortable somewhere first. I'll get a little heat going in the shelter, and you can lie down in there."

"I don't need to lie down. I need coffee."

"All right. Hang on then."

Ellison polished off the last of the fruit and scrubbed the pan out with snow before refilling it and setting it up on Sandburg's makeshift rack. When the water had boiled, he made Sandburg take a dose of aspirin with the weak coffee. Sandburg nursed the coffee until it started to cool, then he drained the last of it and said, "Let's see that ankle now."

What the hell. If chanting over his foot would reassure the kid, why not? Ellison stripped off his boot and sock and rested the injured ankle across Sandburg's knees. It was a little swollen, but not discolored. Sandburg studied it critically. "I wish we had some comfrey. It doesn't look too bad though. The reiki should help."

Ellison raised an eyebrow. "So what exactly are we going to do here?"

"Relax. Just relax and breathe, and be open to being healed."

"Healed? You sound like a damn faith healer."

"It's not quite that dramatic. It just sort of facilitates your body's ability to heal. It should feel a little better right away, and it'll heal a little faster than it would without it. That's all. It's not a magic healing spell."

"All right. Well, go ahead and do... whatever it is you do."

Sandburg nodded. Ellison recognized the slight settling motion that indicated that Sandburg was doing what he called "grounding," and then Sandburg held a hand a few inches above the injured limb. "Relax," he said, and began moving the hand in long stroking motions along the limb, never quite touching it. Ellison felt nothing but the warmth of his hand. Still, the slight warmth moving rhythmically over the injury was soothing. More importantly, he heard Sandburg's heart slow and his breathing ease a little as he slipped with practiced ease into the light meditative state he often used to "process" disturbing information. Ellison decided then and there to lie through his teeth. He'd proclaim this reiki stuff to be nothing short of a miracle, if the process relaxed Sandburg and got him to stay put for ten minutes.

After fifteen minutes or so, Sandburg sighed and opened his eyes. "That's enough for now. I'll do it again later if you think it helps."

Ellison wiggled the foot and smiled. "I gotta admit, I don't buy into all this airy-fairy stuff, but it does feel better. Thanks."

"No problem." Sandburg drew his legs up and rested his forehead on his knees. He'd lost the hair tie last night and his hair hung down to hide his face completely from Ellison's sight.

Ellison pulled his sock and boot back on, then stood and looked up at the blank, white wall of fog that surrounded them. It looked the same, but he had a sudden feeling that something had changed. He shivered, knowing the shudder had nothing to do with his lack of a jacket. When he looked back down, Sandburg was watching him curiously.

Ellison shook his head to reassure him. "Sorry. Just thinking."

"You saw something."

Ellison smiled. "No such luck. I'm just a little concerned about this weather hanging in like this. I think maybe I should get in a little more wood, in case we're stuck here for another night." He also wanted to return to the plane to see about salvaging some seat cushions, but he wouldn't mention that.

Sandburg nodded. "And we ought to do something to make us more visible. Something reflective, or some kind of bright color. Maybe we could do something with the tarp."

"We can't afford to give up the tarp. But you're right. We're pretty well camouflaged here, unless they pick up the smoke from our fire."

Sandburg looked up at him. "Maybe... maybe there's something in the plane." He managed to get the words out with no more than a slight tremor in his voice, but Ellison saw the shadow lurking behind his eyes.

"Good thinking. I'll check it out."

Sandburg shook his head. "I'll go. You ought to stay off that ankle." The stubborn set of his jaw was completely at odds with the fear in his eyes. It made him look like a kid psyching himself up to cross a cemetery at midnight, and Ellison felt an overwhelming surge of protectiveness toward him.

"I know it's tough for you to be sidelined, Chief, but my ankle's in better shape than you are right now. A repeat of last night won't do either of us any good."

Sandburg held his gaze for a moment longer, searching, Ellison knew, for both truth and reassurance. For any hint that Ellison was bluffing to spare him an ordeal, and for reassurance that he wouldn't lose Ellison's respect if he backed down. Finally he nodded. "All right. I guess you're right."

"If you'd listen to me more often, you'd know that's usually the case."

"You just go on thinking that."

Ellison glanced at the sky one more time. "I'd better get moving. We were late getting up, and I have a feeling we won't see a lot of good daylight."

"Better take your jacket. No telling what the weather will do."

"Yeah, but you wrap up. And let's get your jacket drying by the fire."

Sandburg was struggling to control a fit of coughing, but he waved a vague acknowledgement with one hand while he handed off the jacket with the other.

Ellison pulled the jacket on, then pointed at his partner. "You stay warm. And drink some water."

Still coughing, Sandburg nodded and waved him off impatiently.

Reluctantly, Ellison turned away and set off down the ridge. His injured ankle slowed his progress a little, forcing him to choose his footing carefully. Whatever fuel had been leaking had likely evaporated by now, and Ellison thought again about returning to the plane for shelter. It was intact, but for the shattered windshield. They could use the tarp to wall off the damaged cockpit, turning the rear portion of the aircraft into cramped, but fairly secure survival capsule. Sandburg could handle the few hundred yards down the ridge without too much effort. Whether he could handle the proximity to the dead pilot was another question. Ellison wished he could do something about giving the body a dignified burial, but the only real option on this ridge would be to lay it out and cover it over with rocks. That would be an arduous, time-consuming task that he could ill afford under the circumstances.

Reaching the downed plane, he steeled himself for the sight that had haunted his dreams for the last two nights. At least the cold weather was in his favor. It preserved the body and kept the stench to a minimum. Ellison scrambled up to reach the doorway. His first glance into the cockpit settled all of his doubts. Unless it meant the difference between death and survival, he would not subject Sandburg to this. He took a look around the main cabin. It was larger than the boulder shelter, but there wasn't much open space. The shelter allowed them the luxury of stretching out side by side, and Sandburg's modification meant that they could pull the tarp down to close the open end, and still have enough of a fire to keep warm and heat water.

Decision made, Ellison set about doing what he came to do. His knife made short work of separating the padding from the seats. Then he turned his attention to making a thorough search for anything that might prove useful. He'd searched immediately after the crash, but it had been a hasty search, concerned only with getting them through the night in anticipation of a morning rescue. Now, with no sign of a break in the weather, they couldn't afford the luxury of depending on a rescue that could be delayed indefinitely.

A search of the rear compartments turned up half a box of plastic trash bags and a pair of grease-stiffened leather work gloves. The pilot's tool kit was there as well but the contents were designed for minor engine repairs and didn't offer much in the way of survival value. Ellison grabbed a few bolts that might serve as stakes or weights and a heavy wrench that would make a fair hammer. The rest he left, not wanting to haul unnecessary weight.

A compartment near the cockpit provided an unexpected bounty -- the pilot's stash of junk food. There was a large plastic container of spiced beef jerky, still half full, a couple of packs of peanut butter cheese crackers, three Snickers bars and four plastic sleeves of nuts -- two of peanuts and two of cashews. Ellison shoved the lot of it into a plastic trash bag, along with the other things he'd gathered together. He still hadn't found anything large and bright enough to attract attention from the air. They'd have to rely on fire after all.

He dropped the bag out through the doorway and jumped down after it, trying to land mostly on his good leg. Still, it was too much for the injured ankle. He landed awkwardly and stumbled forward onto one knee. Only the cushions in the plastic sack saved him from adding a knee injury to his collection of strains and bruises. He scrambled to his feet and stood for a moment studying the plane.

The windshield drew his eye. Could sections of the shattered glass be used as signal mirrors, or to create a reflective pattern that a passing aircraft would recognize as artificial? It was worth a try. Ellison pulled on the leather gloves and took an empty plastic sack with him to collect a few of the larger pieces.

Enough. He'd been away too long already. Ellison slung the two sacks over his shoulder and headed back up the ridge. He could see the faint blue smoke rising from the fire, but his partner was nowhere in sight. Ellison hoped it meant Sandburg had retreated to the blankets to rest. The kid had been expending far too much energy keeping up a front for Ellison's sake.

It was clear when he reached camp that Sandburg hadn't exactly been resting. The stack of firewood had doubled in Ellison's absence. Sandburg's wet jacket was hanging from two branches propped up beside the fire. Ellison stifled his first instinct to call for his partner. No point in waking him if he was sleeping. He set down his load and ducked into the shelter, where he found Sandburg huddled into a shaking ball under the sleeping bag.

"Blair? Ellison gripped his shoulder through the sleeping bag. "You OK?"

"Jim?" Sandburg raised his head to look at him. He was shivering so hard he could barely get the word out. "Yeah. I'm OK. It got cold, all of a sudden. I just... I can't get warm."

"Damn it." Ellison ran a hand over his face, then reached out to confirm what he already knew. "Your temp's up again. Hang on just a minute." He found the aspirin bottle and a bottle of water and returned to the sack outside for a packet of crackers, then crawled back into the shelter.

"Come on. Sit up." Ellison tore open a packet of crackers. "You know the drill. Crackers first."

Sandburg propped himself up on one hand. "Maybe we ought to save that stuff for emergencies. I'll warm up soon enough."

"No can do, buddy. If we don't get this into you, you're going to be a hell of a lot warmer than you want to be. Don't make me do this the hard way."

Shivering and coughing, Sandburg still summoned up the energy to say, "You know, you have some real alpha male issues going on there, Jim. You should work on that."

Ellison gave a long-suffering sigh. "Take the damn pills."

"Hoo-yah, Sarge."

"That's Captain, you bozo. Army Rangers. Don't you make me out to be some pantywaist marine."

"What's the difference?" Sandburg groped for the support of the rock behind him, and slid up it, laying his head back against it. "It's all part of the same military industrial complex that's killing democracy in America, man." He downed the tablets with a swig of water, grimacing at the taste.

"Damn peacenik punk," Ellison growled.

Sandburg pulled the sleeping bag tighter around him. "Any luck at the plane?"

"Some. Turns out Tony had a pretty good stash of junk food. And there was nothing colorful, but I got some glass we might be able do something reflective with."

"That's cool. Oh, hey, I got us some wood."

"I saw that," Ellison said. "I thought you were going to rest."

"I thought you were going to stay off that ankle."

"The ankle's fine."

"So am I." Sandburg coughed and flashed Ellison a rueful grin. "More or less."

"More less than more," Ellison said.

Sandburg stared at him. "Say, what?"

"Never mind." Ellison shook his head. "Hang tight a minute. I got something you're going to like."

"Yeah?" Curiosity flared in the blue eyes. The kid might be down but he wasn't out yet.

Ellison went back outside and spent a few moments arranging the salvaged padding inside a couple of plastic trash bags to form a makeshift mattress that was more or less waterproof. He dragged it into the shelter and chased Sandburg off the evergreen platform so that he could lay the padding on it and the blanket over that. "Give that a try," he said.

Sandburg stretched out on it. "Oh, god. This is heaven. You just paid your karmic debt to the universe, man."

Karmic debt. Ellison looked at his partner and took in the pale, gaunt face, the tremors still running through him, the harsh rasp of his breathing. All because Sandburg was trying to make life convenient for a selfish bastard of a cop who just let him do it. Ellison swallowed hard. No, kid. This doesn't even begin to touch that debt.

"Jim? You ok?" The excitement had faded from Sandburg's eyes and he was watching Ellison worriedly.

Ellison pulled himself together and quirked a smile. "Fine. Look, I'm sorry. This never should have happened."

Sandburg snorted. "You didn't exactly plan it."

"No. I know. But you didn't have to be here. I could have made the trip alone. The only reason you came along..."

"The only reason I came along was because I wanted to come along. Jim, don't do this, man."

Ellison almost backed down from the intensity of his gaze, but he'd have to get to it eventually.

"I think we have to do this. You can't keep... I can't keep putting you at risk for my own convenience."

"It's not about your convenience. It's about..."

Ellison held up a hand. "Don't tell me it's about your dissertation. We both know you had what you needed for that long ago."

"Yeah, well maybe it's not about that either. You ever think about that? You ever think maybe it's about more than a damn job?"

Ellison flinched. "For God's sake, Blair. Why do you think I'm..."

Sandburg threw both hands up to cut him off. "I can't do this right now." He shoved the sleeping bag aside.

Ellison caught his arm. "Where are you going?"

"To see if my jacket's dry."

"I'll get it."

Sandburg pulled away from him. "I need some air, man." With that he was out through the opening, leaving Ellison looking after him in frustration.

Well, that went well. Nice work, Mr. Sensitive. Sandburg had to be the easiest person in the world to get along with. He was the most accepting man Ellison had ever known. He couldn't hold a grudge for more than ten minutes, and if you left him for five minutes and came back, his whole face lit up with that brilliant smile, as if your arrival were an unexpected gift that had just made his day. So why couldn't Ellison seem to talk to him without wounding him? Ellison pulled his knees up and buried his face in his folded arms. As hard as he'd worked on learning to control what Sandburg called the zone-out factor, there were times he wished he could zone at will -- just shut the world out and drift in that timeless state where nothing could touch him. Unfortunately, It wasn't that easy and after a moment he pulled himself together and went to find his partner.

He didn't have to look far. Sandburg had retrieved his jacket and was crouched on a rock, resting his chin on his knees and poking pensively at the remains of the fire with a stick. He was still shaking with chills and looked about as miserable as a man could look and still be more or less upright. Ellison reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder, but thought better of and drew it back. Sandburg knew he was there. The fact that he didn't acknowledge it sent a message that even Ellison wouldn't entirely disregard.

"Come on back inside," Ellison said. "This wind isn't doing you any favors."

Sandburg looked up at him. He didn't look angry anymore. Just tired and a little lost. Ellison put out a hand. Sandburg accepted it and let Ellison help him up. He didn't say a word until he was settled back in the blankets, with one arm thrown over his eyes. Then he said, "Sorry, man."

"Don't," Ellison said, stirring up the embers in the small enclosure. "None of this is your fault." He set some water on to heat and foraged a tea bag from one of the MREs. He'd been saving the two teabags but this looked like a good time to bring one out. He wished he'd been more careful and saved one of the sugar packets. One of the MREs had a Gatorade packet but the other had a packet of orange juice substitute instead. Ellison considered it. It didn't sound too bad. He tore the packet open and poured a little of it into the travel mug.

While the water heated, he turned back to Sandburg, who had been quiet for too long. "Stay awake for a minute, OK?" Sandburg grunted an acknowledgement without moving. Ellison reached over and jiggled his knee. "Hey. Come on."

"M'wake." Blair mumbled.

Ellison finished making the tea, taking care not to let it steep too long, so that he could get another cup out of the bag later. Then he nudged Sandburg awake again. "Come on. Sit up and see what I got for you."

"I'm really not up for eating right now," Sandburg said from under the arm that still covered his face.

"I know. Come on. It's just tea, and you're already dehydrated."

Sandburg sighed and pushed himself up against the rock wall of the shelter. Ellison pushed the mug into his hands. Sandburg sniffed at it, then took a cautious sip. His eyes widened and he looked up at Ellison.

"Hey, that's not bad."

"I have my moments." Ellison grabbed a strip of jerky and settled against the wall beside Sandburg.

Sandburg wrinkled his nose at the sight of the jerky. "Even out here you manage to find Wonder Burger."

"We still have pasta but I'm saving it for dinner. What do you say? Spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, with Snickers for dessert?"

"Sounds great," Sandburg said. He set the mug aside, still more than half full. "Mind if I have a nap first?"

"You warm enough?" Ellison asked. Sandburg nodded, but Ellison tucked the sleeping bag closer around him anyway. Get some rest, then."

Sandburg closed his eyes and was asleep almost immediately. Watching him, Ellison sighed and let his `reassure Sandburg' face fade into a worried frown. He could see him weakening by the hour and it was getting harder and harder to get food into him. The aspirin Ellison was giving him to control the pain and fever was probably not helping on that score. It couldn't be sitting well on a nearly empty stomach. But stopping it might let the fever rise dangerously, and without the aspirin to take the edge off the pain, Sandburg would have a lot more breathing trouble than he had now. Forcing food on him when his stomach was on edge wasn't a much better option. It'd probably come right back up again, and with bruised ribs, that was not going to be a good scene.

Ellison buried his face in his hands. God, he was tired. If only he could have a hot shower and sleep for a solid three days, he might be in some kind of shape to make these decisions. And yeah, he knew Sandburg was a grown man capable of things Ellison would have no clue how to handle. And yeah, he knew Sandburg would ream him a new one if he knew Ellison was sitting here agonizing over decisions he should have a voice in. But, damn it, even lying there, stinking of dust and sweat and illness, with his hair in a tangle and two days stubble darkening his jaw, somehow he still looked like an innocent. Ellison couldn't look at him without wanting to protect him. He supposed it was a sentinel thing. Some genetic imperative to protect the guide. Then again, maybe it was just a Sandburg thing. Simon griped about the anthropologist and bellowed at him on a daily basis, but god help anyone else who raised a voice or a hand against him. Maybe guides gave off pheromones or something. Some chemical signature that said, "Protect me. I'm a guide." No. Don't go there. Way too weird. Way too tired.

Ellison gave up the futile speculation and forced himself to move. He wanted to collect more wood. Something big was on its way and he wasn't holding out any hope of a miraculous rescue before it hit. He also wanted to find a patch of clean snow. The area around the shelter was mostly bare or too heavily trampled to melt for drinking water. The two tasks occupied him for most of two hours.

By the time he finished, his ankle was complaining with a dull ache. A glance through the front of the shelter told him that Sandburg was lying where he'd left him, his heart beating in the easy rhythm of deep, dreamless sleep. Ellison hoped he'd slept straight through. At least while he slept he wasn't cold or scared or hurting. Ellison wouldn't call him back from that refuge any sooner than he had to. Instead, he set the trash bag full of clean snow beside the entrance, then stirred up the fire and settled beside it, flexing his chilled hands in the welcome heat to work out the stiffness. The clouds scudding over the ridge were lower and darker now than they had been only a few hours ago. What should have been the height of an indian summer day was beginning to look like a winter evening. When the wind began to pick up, Ellison rose reluctantly. He studied the shelter and adjusted the tarp to leave a small opening at the highest point. It might let a little water leak in, but it would keep the shelter from filling with smoke if they had to seal off the entrance.

When he'd made what preparations he could outside, he returned to the shelter, restarted the small fire and got some water heating. Finally, unable to delay any longer, he gave his partner's shoulder a squeeze.

"Blair. You're going to have to wake up."

Sandburg opened his eyes. For a moment he looked puzzled, as if he wasn't sure where he was or how he got there. Then he met Ellison's eyes and the confusion left him. "Jim? Everything ok?"

Ellison nodded. "Yeah. For now, anyway. We got some weather moving in."

Sandburg hitched up against the rock. "What time is it? How long was I sleeping?"

"About three hours."

"Sorry, man. I didn't mean to sleep so long."

"It's all right. You needed it." He laid a hand briefly on Sandburg's brow. "How are you feeling? Your temp's down a little."

Sandburg nodded, but immediately turned his head away, grimacing as a harsh cough escaped him. As though they were one person, Ellison felt an icy knife twist in his own chest and he turned away for a moment to hide the emotions he didn't want Sandburg to see. He should have known better.

"Relax, man," Sandburg said. His blue eyes radiated concern. "It's all good."

Ellison had to clear his throat before he could say, "Hey, who's the mother hen now?"

"Just survival instinct. Simon'll kill me if I don't bring you home in one piece."

"'Damn right, and don't you forget it. I'd have let you sleep longer, but you really need to eat something."

Sandburg looked away. "Yeah. I will, but I think I need to find a tree first."

Ellison didn't buy it but he couldn't argue with it. Sandburg pushed the sleeping bag aside and pulled on his jacket and shoes, then crawled out through the entrance. He used the boulder to haul himself to his feet and stood there for a moment, adjusting to being upright.

Ellison joined him at the entrance. "You all right? You need a hand?"

"Geez, Jim. You want to hold it for me, or just watch?"

Ellison snorted. "I won't dignify that with a response."

Sandburg headed off behind a rock, and returned a short time later, scrubbing his hands with a chunk of snow. He didn't look any too steady, but he avoided the hand Ellison put out to support him, and made his way back inside on his own.

"OK," Ellison said. "Food. Now."

Sandburg sighed, or tried to, anyway. It ended in a harsh cough and he folded his arms over his injured side. "Look, man, I'm really not into eating right now."

"I don't give a damn whether you're into it or not. You're going to eat if I have to shove it down your damn throat!"

Sandburg's eyes widened in shock and he recoiled as if he expected Ellison to do just that.

Ellison scrubbed a hand over his face, making a supreme effort to control his frustration. "I'm sorry, OK? I'm sorry."

"I think it's the aspirin," Sandburg ventured apologetically. "If I eat anything, I swear to god I'm gonna heave it." His blue eyes pleaded for understanding.

"I know." Ellison sighed. "Just try a couple of bites, ok?"

Sandburg nodded, wanting to please him, to ward off his impatience. Ellison hated that. It made him feel like a monster. But if it got the job done, he'd take it.

Fifteen minutes later, Sandburg was on his knees in the snow outside, his face a mask of misery and both arms clenched around his ribs. Ellison got an arm around him to help him up, but Sandburg swung at him, forcing him to let go.

"Will you just leave me alone? You've done enough."

"Blair..."

"No! Just go." His voice softened a little. "I'm OK, all right? Just go."

"The storm..."

"I know. I know about the storm. I just need... Go, OK?"

All of Ellison's instincts screamed against it, but he squeezed Sandburg's shoulder briefly, and backed off. He was halfway back to the shelter when the soft call came from behind him.

"Jim."

Ellison stopped without turning around. "Yeah, Chief."

A huff of frustration, then, "Shit. Help me up, will ya?"

Relief flooded through Ellison. He turned back and went to help his partner.

Apologies had never come easily to Ellison. Neither man spoke while Ellison helped Sandburg back to the shelter and fluffed up the pile of evergreen boughs and cushions to make it more comfortable. Completely done in, but hurting too much to sleep immediately, Sandburg lay with his eyes closed, only his too-rapid heartbeat telling Ellison that he was still awake.

"I shouldn't have forced you," Ellison said finally. "It's just this storm may keep us here awhile. You haven't eaten in most of two days and I was getting..."

"Scared?" Sandburg said without opening his eyes. At least his sense of humor was still intact.

"Yeah," Ellison said. "Scared."

"Welcome to my world, man.

A long silence and then, "Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe you should leave. Hike out before the weather hits for real. It won't be so bad once you get down below the snow level. You could make it to the road."

"No."

"You could send..."

"No."

"Will you just hear me out? I feel like crap, but it's not like I'm totally helpless here. I can keep a fire going. I can melt snow to drink and you can leave me with some of the food."

"No."

Sandburg gave an exasperated huff. "Is that all you can say?"

Ellison had been pointedly not looking at him. Now he turned and fixed him with a hard stare. "It's all there is to be said. We're not going to argue about this, so just -- no."

Sandburg glared back at him for a moment, then shook his head wearily. "Whatever, man. I'm not up to butting heads with you."

"You never were, kid," Ellison said in what he knew was probably a futile attempt to defuse the tension.

"Hey, just `cause I'm not a cop..."

"Join the force, Luke," Ellison intoned.

Sandburg opened his eyes and turned his head to look at him. "That is just... That is so bad, man. Seriously."

Ellison laughed more in relief than amusement and reached over to give him a playful swat. "Gimme a break, Groucho. You're not a barrel of laughs today either."

Sandburg's soft chuff of laughter told him he was probably forgiven. But then, maybe that was the problem. Blair forgave him far too often and far too easily. Not that it didn't go both ways. The trouble was, Ellison always seemed to be forgiving Blair for things that weren't Blair's fault to begin with. He wasn't sure that counted. "Blair," he said.

"Hm?"

What was he going to say? What could he say? "Nothing. Never mind. Get some rest. I just want to check the weather."

The snow was getting heavier. It was falling in flakes now, instead of pellets. Each flake was unique, a delicate crystalline sculpture, reflecting light from a hundred facets and scattering it into a glittering net. They spun on the wind in a silent mesmerizing dance. Somewhere behind him, Ellison heard Sandburg's voice. He couldn't make out the words, but it didn't really matter. It was a familiar, soothing sound, and he let it wash over him to blend with the silent dance of the crystalline snow. It was a comfortable place to drift until a sudden sharp pain brought him back.

"Ouch, damn it!" The snow was up around his ankles. Sandburg was kneeling beside him. And his hand hurt. Ellison stared at Sandburg in disbelief. "You bit me!"

"Sorry, man," Sandburg said. "Couldn't yell anymore." And then he fell over, face first, into the snow.

The sudden collapse drove the last remnants of disorientation from Ellison's mind. How long had he been standing there zoned out while Sandburg was killing himself trying to bring him back? He dropped to his knees and rolled the unconscious man over. "Blair? Come on, buddy. Give me a sign here." He brushed the snow away from Sandburg's face, and shuddered at the feeling of cold, wet flesh under his fingers. Don't go there, he ordered himself. You can hear him breathing. He's just cold from lying in the snow. Ellison's teeth were chattering, but although Sandburg felt even colder than Ellison's chilled hands, the young man wasn't shivering. That couldn't be a good thing. Ellison lifted Sandburg's head and shoulders clear of the ground and tugged him into the shelter, fastening the tarp down behind them to keep out the weather. He hoped the manhandling would rouse the unconscious man but Blair remained a silent dead weight in his hands while he stripped him of his wet clothes and covered him with the sleeping bag. The shared body heat needed to warm him would have to wait a moment longer. Ellison was a little short on body heat himself. He stirred the embers of the warming fire to life and hastily broke up a few bits of kindling to keep it going. With the tarp sealed down, the shelter should warm up a few degrees.

Ellison tugged off his wet boots and stripped to the skin, leaving only his boxers on. Shivering in the icy air, he slid under the sleeping bag and pulled Sandburg against him. The young man still felt cold and the contact made Ellison shiver all the harder. He tucked Sandburg's head against his chest and pulled the sleeping bag up so that the Sandburg was completely cocooned in it. "I know you're not going to be a happy camper if you wake up like this," he said, "But trust me, pal. It's the only way. And don't think this is fun for me either. All that cold wet hair isn't exactly cuddly, you know."

He rubbed at Sandburg's back and arms. It was a useless gesture, but it filled his need to do something to ward off this helpless feeling before it drowned him. He could feel Sandburg's heart beating against his chest and hear his breathing - hoarse and much too slow, but steady. As the nest of blanket and sleeping bag warmed around them, Ellison's shivering subsided. He held his partner close to share as much warmth as possible and kept up a running monologue, both to keep himself sane and to reassure Sandburg, in case the unconscious man could hear him. At first he only muttered soothing nonsense, but after a time he found that the silent, vulnerable presence beside him opened doors he'd always been careful to keep locked, and he began to speak of things that mattered. He talked about how glad he was that Blair had come to him. About how much better his life was as a result of Blair's help. He told him how much he'd come to value the friendship that had grown between them, how proud he was of the way Blair handled himself on the job, and how he admired the grad student's ability to juggle school, and teaching and his responsibilities at the station. Finally, he felt a tremor go through Sandburg's body and all at once, the young man was shivering violently. Ellison gave a sigh of relief and held him closer. "Yeah, you hate being cold, don't you, pal? Wake up and tell me how much you hate it, huh?"

Sandburg shifted against his chest, the restless, uncoordinated movement of a man on the verge of consciousness. Ellison ran a gentle hand up and down his back, hoping to ease the transition. Ten minutes passed in silence and then Sandburg raised his head a little.

"Jim?"

Ellison grinned. "Who were you expecting? Stay put until you're a little warmer."

"It's really dark in here."

"Your head's covered up, Darwin. Relax."

Sandburg shifted against him again. "What happened? Is Simon O.K.?"

"Shh." Ellison planted a hand on the back of Sandburg's head to keep him still.

"Shouldn't he be here by now? Maybe we'd better go look for him."

"Uh-huh. You're still out of it. Take it easy, hotshot."

"Shot? Who shot me?"

Ellison ruffled the still-damp curls. "No one shot you. You're fine."

Sandburg settled his head back on Ellison's chest. A moment later he lifted it up again. "Jim?"

"Yeah, Sandburg."

"You O.K.?"

Ellison sighed. "I'm fine. You're fine. Simon's fine. We're all fine. Everything's just... fine."

"You're really hot, man."

Ellison choked. "O.K., that's too much information."

"S'posed to be cold but you're hot. Like the fire people." There was a soft huff from under the sleeping bag, but whether it was fear or laughter wasn't clear.

"No fire people here, Chief. I'm sure you're too out of it to have a clue what I'm talking about, but you're hypothermic. I feel too warm to you because you're too cold. I'll explain it all again when your brain warms up past first gear. But if it's all the same to you, let's see if we can skip the combative stage, O.K.?"

"Sure, man. I'm down with that. Are we sleeping?"

"What?"

Before Ellison could translate the cryptic question, Sandburg convulsed in a fit of coughing interspersed with harsh gasps as he struggled to get a breath. Ellison sat up, hauling Sandburg with him until Blair was resting mostly upright against him. The frightening gasps subsided, and after a moment Sandburg got the cough under control.

Ellison released the breath he was only now aware that he'd been holding. "O.K.?"

"This really sucks, man," Sandburg mumbled.

Not sure whether to laugh or cry, Ellison tightened his arms around him. "Not gonna argue with that, Chief." He pulled the sleeping bag up around them. Sandburg sighed and relaxed against him, already drifting off again. Ellison tried to stay awake but it was a losing battle from the start.

When he next woke, the shelter was dark. Sandburg was still deeply asleep. He'd stopped shivering, and his skin was warm under Ellison's sensitive fingers. Ellison hated to disturb him, but Sandburg would be mortified to wake up lying against him in the altogether. He hadn't been lucid enough to notice the last time he was awake but he was bound to notice now. Ellison slipped out from under the sleeping bag. With a little luck he might be able to get the kid into his boxers at least without waking him. He stirred up the fire and added a few sticks to it. He didn't need the light but the warmth was welcome. He dressed quickly in his own clothing. His jacket had kept him dry, though the jeans were damp to the knees. Sandburg's outer clothing was still wet. Ellison put it aside. The boxers were dry and the t-shirt only damp. The jacket was mostly dry too. The kid hadn't had the sense to put it on before he went out to rescue his idiot, zoned-out partner. The socks were soaked, but could be dried near the fire. Ellison turned back the sleeping bag and managed to get Sandburg dressed in the boxers and t-shirt. That would be enough to satisfy his modesty. Ellison could dry the rest over the fire a bit at a time. He replaced the sleeping bag and laid both jackets over it. Then he set to work drying the wet clothing over the fire. The fire was too small to just prop things up over it. Each item had to be held close to dry one small patch of it, and then shifted to start on another. It was a tedious job, but Ellison welcomed the excuse to keep his hands busy. It helped still the accusing voice in his mind. The one he knew was his own, though it sounded disturbingly like his father's.

Sandburg slept through most of the night, waking only twice before morning. The second time, he seemed more or less lucid. Ellison reassured him and got him to sip a little heated Gatorade. Still a little groggy, Blair was unusually passive and took the warm liquid down without a fight. Ellison was afraid to give him too much at once. It would be worse than useless if he didn't keep it down. A little was better than nothing, though, and the sugar and electrolytes couldn't hurt. When he'd given him all he dared, Ellison put the mug aside and settled in beside him. Blair leaned on him willingly, weak enough to put aside any embarrassment about the contact. Ellison thought he'd gone back to sleep immediately, but when he glanced down at him, he saw that Sandburg was awake and watching him.

"You O.K.?" Ellison said, pulling the sleeping bag higher around them. "You warm enough?"

Sandburg's nod was barely perceptible. "You?"

"Couldn't be better."

Sandburg drew an odd, shaky breath. "You were zoned a long time." The words were slow and oddly distant.

Ellison tightened his arm around his partner's shoulders. A part of him wanted to apologize, to beg Blair's forgiveness. The medic in him knew this wasn't the time. "You brought me out of it in plenty of time," he said. "I was just a little damp and chilled, that's all."

"Thought you were dead, man. I couldn't get you to come back."

"Hey," Ellison said, squeezing his shoulders again. "I'm sorry if I gave you a scare, but you handled it fine. We're both O.K."

"Yeah." Blair drew another slow breath. "It's all good now."

Something about the way he said it chilled Ellison to the bone. He looked down at him sharply. Blair caught the look and squeezed his hand. Ellison felt him draw himself up as if he had to engage his whole body to summon up a ghost of a smile. It was the most terrifying expression Ellison had ever seen.

He struggled to keep his voice steady. "It's a damn good thing you're here with me. If you weren't here, there's no way I'd make it. When I get this tired, it's like I'm on the edge of a zone all the time. If you weren't here to keep me grounded... Well there's just no way."

Blair looked up at him and finally seemed to really focus on him. The pain and exhaustion that Ellison had so hated to see in his blue eyes returned, and Ellison nearly wept with relief when he saw it. He struggled to find words. "I'm sorry, Chief," was what came out and neither of them had any illusions as to the reason.

Blair shifted against him and sighed. "I know. It's O.K."

Ellison pulled him closer, for once not bothering to hide his affection behind rough words and mock aggression. Words were out anyhow. He couldn't have spoken if he'd wanted to.

"Jim," Sandburg mumbled into his shoulder.

"Hm?"

"Love ya, big guy, but if you want me to stick around, I'm gonna need some air."

Jesus. No one but Blair. Ellison laughed and let up on the chokehold.

By morning Sandburg seemed more stable, his heartbeat strong and steady, his breathing steady if still impaired. All he wanted to do was sleep and Ellison let him. There was nothing much to be awake for anyway. The storm wasn't letting up and the temperature had dropped into the teens. Ellison wished he could sleep himself, but the stiffness and bruising from the crash were healing and unlike Blair, he'd been eating regularly. Ellison had a restless nature at the best of times. Being pinned down in a shelter barely wide enough to stretch out in would have had him climbing the walls if they'd been high enough to be worth climbing. He woke Sandburg near what he guessed was noon. Sandburg woke readily enough but he wasn't entirely lucid. That was no real surprise. He'd been in and out of it since last night, and it was pretty much a crapshoot whether he made sense on any given waking. Ellison got him to sip a little more Gatorade. He'd abandoned the aspirin regimen, hoping that skipping it and getting some electrolytes into him would give him a better chance of getting him to take some solid food. "You with me here, Chief?" Ellison said when Sandburg's gaze drifted as if he'd forgotten Ellison was there.

Sandburg made an obvious effort to focus on him. "Is it still snowing?"

"Yeah. Still coming down."

Sandburg nodded. "You don't have to stay with me. I'm just gonna sleep. You might as well go on to work."

"I'm not going anywhere, Chief. We're still on the mountain. Remember?"

"Oh. Right."

"I've got something here I've been saving for you." His morning fidgeting had unearthed the treat he'd hidden away the first night as a surprise.

Sandburg perked up a little and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

Ellison tore the packet open with his teeth and broke off a tiny corner of the dry block. "Give this a try. Slowly."

Sandburg gave him a skeptical look. "Swear to god I'm losing it, man. I smell chocolate cake. And mint."

Ellison grinned. "You're not losing it. Go on."

Sandburg took it and gave it a cautious taste. "Oh man, that's... that's really awful. It's like... chocolate mint cake that's been mashed flat and left to go stale. You got any more of that?"

Ellison laughed, and this time the laughter was genuine. If the kid was actually hungry he wouldn't be going anywhere just yet. "Yeah. Plenty more where that came from." He broke off a good third of the bar and handed it over. "Enjoy. There's only one, but it's all yours."

Blair stopped chewing. "You're not having any?"

"Hey, I saved that for you for three days. I'm not taking it away from you now. Besides, I've had my share of them."

Sandburg resumed chewing but regarded him suspiciously. "You're not lying to me?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because we're still here and the food's running out."

Hell of a time for him to become lucid again. "We're O.K. for another few days."

"How long...?" Sandburg began, but he shook his head and didn't finish the question.

"How long what?"

Sandburg ducked his head, looking embarrassed. Now what the hell was that about?

"Go on. It can't be that bad."

"I don't know how long we've been here."

"Understandable. You've had it pretty rough. We're in the third day. Tonight will be the 4th night."

"Hell of a lot of use I've been." Sandburg looked away.

"Hey," Ellison said, and when Sandburg didn't look at him, he reached out and gave his shoulder a little shake. "Hey. Who got all the wood? Who set us up to have a fire inside the shelter so we aren't freezing to death right now? Who saved my ass when I was standing in a blizzard, zoned out? Who got me back to camp when I got hurt and put Riker on my ankle so I could walk on it?"

Blair gave a reluctant chuckle. "Reiki."

"Riker, Reiki, Riki-Tiki-Tavi. You did it and it worked. You've done as much I have and more, so I don't want to hear any more crap about you not pulling your weight, O.K.?"

"You suppose Simon's O.K.?"

Damn it. He was sliding off the deep end again. Every time he was lucid for a few minutes, Ellison couldn't help hoping he was back for good. He sighed and tucked the sleeping bag in a bit. "He's fine, Chief. We got him out. He's back home."

"What?" Sandburg raised an eyebrow. "You O.K., Jim? You're not making a lot of sense here."

"What?" Welcome to the Twilight Zone.

Sandburg stared at him. "Got Simon out of what?"

"What were you talking about?"

Sandburg was still looking at him as if he had two heads. "I just meant I hope Simon's not too freaked. You guys are like brothers, man, and he's gotta be wondering if you're dead by now. What were you talking about?"

Ellison laughed out loud in sheer relief. "Never mind. I've got a news flash for you. Simon worries as much about you as he does about me."

Sandburg snorted. "The man barely tolerates me."

Ellison shifted back to lean against the wall beside him. "You know Sawyer from Vice?"

"Only too well."

"Well about three months ago Simon overheard him making a crack about you. I'll tell you, Simon had him up against a wall so fast he never knew what hit him. 'Detective,' he says, `Let me tell you a story about that little girl who tags after Ellison. You're talking about a man,' he says, `who doesn't get a paycheck or even a thanks-very-much from this department. But he walked ten miles into the woods in a downpour, unarmed, faced down four armed felons and took a bullet for me because he figured it was the right thing to do. So if I hear one more crack out of you about him,` he says, `I promise you, you'll be walking a beat until you retire.' Now that ought to tell you something."

Sandburg didn't respond. Ellison glanced down at him and sighed. "How is it you never seem to hear the good stuff?" He shifted the sleeping man into a more comfortable position and laid a hand briefly on his head. "When we get out of this mess, we're going to have a long talk."

The day dragged on with no let up in the storm. Ellison dozed off and on, keeping the small fire alive and trying to get a little nutrition into his partner whenever he was alert enough take it. As the dim light of the overcast day gave way to full darkness, he came to the decision he'd been hoping he wouldn't have to make.

They had to get out. As soon as there was a break in the snow, they had to get out. If they stayed here, they could be trapped for weeks and Sandburg didn't have that kind of time. He'd make a travois. He could keep Sandburg warm and dry if he used the tarp to keep the sleeping bag dry. He'd head down the drainage to the river corridor, and follow that out until he hit a road.

The decision at least gave him something to do. He filled the pan with water and shredded beef jerky, and set it on the fire to simmer. The concentrated broth would be portable in the travel mug they'd scavenged from the plane, and it would be easier than trying to rouse Sandburg enough to take solid food. With that detail attended to, he took out two trash bags and stuffed them into his boots. When the time came, he'd pull the tops of the bags up to serve as gaiters. He sorted through the rest of the gear. They'd take the cooking pot, the first aid kit and all of the remaining food. They'd been careful to keep the fire burning at all times, so the lighter was still mostly full. He'd take that as well.

The wind was still howling outside but the sharp sound of snow being flung against boulder and tarp had long since given way to the faint sound of snow on snow as it built up around them. Sandburg was asleep, or unconscious. It was hard to tell which anymore. Ellison pulled a branch from the stash of firewood and began methodically cutting it down into pieces small enough to burn in the tiny enclosure Sandburg had built for them. Silence, broken only by the sounds of their breathing, settled over the shelter.

"Jim!"

Sandburg's shout brought Ellison up so fast that he slammed his head on the rock above him. "Ouch, damn it! Blair? What is it? What's wrong?"

"Jim!" Sandburg shouted again, and there was real panic in his voice.

Ellison went to him and caught his flailing hands. "Easy, Chief. I'm right here. Talk to me."

"Help me. Please! My partner's out there. Jim! Jim, hang on! I'm coming! I'll find you."

Ellison caught him by both shoulders. "I'm here, Chief. Look at me. I'm here."

"We gotta go after him. He's gonna die out there! And I never told him. I never told him. I should have told him and I never did."

"What, Chief? Should have told me what?"

Sandburg was fighting tears, choking on the words. "'S all about family, man... He's not my job. He's my brother. Jim! Jim, hang on! I'm coming! Jim!"

"Oh, Jesus. Blair! Listen to me! Come on. Look at me! I'm here. I'm right here." Ellison pulled the younger man to him, crushing him against his chest, hoping the contact would get through to him, but Sandburg struggled until Ellison was afraid of hurting him and had to let him go. It took an eternal fifteen minutes before Sandburg exhausted himself and the heartrending calls ceased. By then Ellison's emotions were flayed raw and he was nearly as exhausted as his partner. He stretched out on the platform beside Sandburg. His senses were erratic, the imaginary dials he used to control them seemingly out of reach. He struggled to focus on the beating of his guide's heart. Gradually, the steady rhythm centered and grounded him and he regained some semblance of control. He was actually relaxed and half-dozing when it started again.

The second round was bad. The third drove him to the edge of sanity, but he made his way back, knowing that Sandburg needed him intact and thinking clearly if they were going to get out of this. When most of two hours went by in blessed silence, Ellison felt the muscles he'd been clenching begin to relax. If he never had to hear anything like that again it would be too soon. He worked around the sleeping man, adjusting the makeshift bed to make him more comfortable. Then he rummaged a packet of cashews from the supplies and ate through it slowly, one nut at a time, making it last. When the last one was gone, he stuffed the empty packet into the pocket of his jacket, and leaned back against the rock wall. He could tell the snow was deepening around them. It muffled the slight sounds he made as he shifted to get comfortable.

"Jim?"

Oh God, no. Not again. "I'm right here, buddy."

"Jim! Where are you, man? Jim! Someone help me! My partner's out there! Jim!"

"God!" Ellison drove a hand into the rock, drew it back bloody. "Leave him alone! God, just leave him alone! Can't you see he's been through enough?" Shaking with rage, he buried his face in his hands, then clamped his hands over his ears, knowing even as he did so that there that nothing on earth could keep him from hearing his guide's pleas for help. Finally he crawled across the shelter and gathered the young man into his arms. Sleepless and exhausted, he sat there through the night, rocking both of them in a mindless rhythm that brought neither peace nor comfort to either of them, while the storm drew a silent shroud over the ridge.

Morning brought a little hope. The blizzard had moved on, leaving the air cold and still. Sandburg was groggy and difficult to rouse, but when Ellison managed to wake him he seemed to be more or less oriented. He swallowed a few bites of cracker dipped in broth, and even chuckled weakly at Ellison's impersonation of an arrogant French chef. Ellison did his best to explain his plan to get them out, then built the warming fire up a little and made sure Sandburg was as tucked in as comfortably as possible. It took a little while to dig out from under the snow that had buried the shelter's entrance. Ellison paused once and looked back to see Sandburg watching him silently, dilated pupils making huge dark pools of his eyes.

"Almost there," Ellison said, but there was no response and he set back to work at a faster pace.

Once outside, he trampled an area in front of the shelter to give him room to work. Nothing in the immediate vicinity would do, so he took his knife down into the trees and cut some sturdy poles, then returned to camp. He'd need the ropes from the tarp to secure the tarp and blankets so he used his knife to drill through the poles and peg them together with the crossbar. He poured water into the joints, hoping the wood would freeze and swell, then cut a trash bag into broad strips, which he twisted into makeshift cords to secure the joints. Finally he attached the tarp, stretching part of it across the frame and leaving the rest free to wrap over the bedding. As an afterthought, he wedged the ends of a flexible lodgepole branch into the top of the frame, so that he'd be able to form a sort of hood if the weather turned on them. Might as well go first class.

The few supplies they'd carry went into a bag, which he tied to one pole. Then he returned to crouch beside his partner. He gave Sandburg's shoulder a gentle squeeze to get his attention. "Time to go, Chief."

Sandburg coughed and then shook his head without opening his eyes. "You go. I can't make it. Been a hell of a ride, man. No regrets."

"Don't you start that shit with me," Ellison said. "That's not a road I'm going down again. You hear me?"

Sandburg opened his eyes. "Jim... I can't walk outta here."

"You're not walking anywhere, buddy. Your ride's right outside. I just need to pack up your bed. Come on. Help me out, here."

Sandburg roused a little and let Ellison help him sit up against the wall, well wrapped in the blanket. Ellison secured the padding and the sleeping bag on the travois, then returned for Sandburg. It didn't take long to get him zipped into the sleeping bag and covered with the blanket. Ellison pulled the free edge of the tarp over the blanket, effectively encasing Sandburg in a warm weatherproof cocoon, with only his face open to the weather. "Comfortable?" he asked, and Sandburg managed a grin for him.

"Bug in a rug."

"All right then. Hang on. It's going to be rough for a minute, until I get you up. Then it's smooth sailing all the way." Ellison moved to the front of the travois and hefted the two poles. The weight wasn't too bad, and the travois was designed to distribute it comfortably. The lower elevations would be warmer and wet instead of snowy. Piece of cake. For the first time in two days, Ellison was feeling optimistic. They were going to make it after all. Both of them. "Hang on," he said and started off down the ridge.

Later, Ellison could never say quite how he made his way off the ridge, nor how long he walked to find the river, but he'd been walking through a clearing for what seemed like a long time when he stumbled into a tree. Too beat to bother lifting his head, he backed up a step, and then moved blindly forward. Perversely, the tree seemed to shift just enough for him to walk into it again. On the third try, he realized it was talking to him.

"Whoa. Hold up there, big guy. You can stop now."

Ellison raised his head and blinked. A pair of eyes blinked back at him, and then a face came into focus. His tree was tall and lanky, dressed in Nomex and a cowboy hat. He had both hands braced on Ellison's shoulders to hold him back.

Somewhere behind Ellison, another voice said, "Jesus. Is he alive?"

"Breathing," said another voice, "But not very well."

Ellison coughed once and ran his tongue over his chapped lips. "My friend needs a doctor."

The young man holding on to him said, "We'll take care of him. What about you? Are you hurt?"

Ellison shook his head. "Just tired."

The man who had been holding Ellison let him go and shifted his grip to the poles of the travois. "My name's Mark. Why don't you let us take him now."

Ellison shook his head. "If I let go, he can't breathe." OK, that made no sense. He saw the way they looked at him and he didn't blame them. He forced himself to concentrate and tried it again. "He can't breathe if he's lying flat."

Mark gave him a quick startled look, then nodded. "I understand. It's O.K. We'll keep him propped up."

Ellison clenched his hands around the poles of the travois. "I'm not leaving him."

"All right. Walk with us then, but let us take him. You're exhausted. You want to tell me what happened?"

Ellison allowed them to take over the travois, but he kept a hand on his partner as they walked. His mind was gradually emerging from the exhausted fog. "I'm Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade, P.D. He's Blair Sandburg, civilian consultant with Major Crimes. Our plane went down. The pilot's dead. We were going to stay put and wait for help, but the weather closed in and Sandburg was getting worse. He couldn't afford to wait any longer. I had to try to get him out." He pulled a glove off and smoothed Sandburg's tangled curls back with a blistered hand. "The trip out wasn't easy on him. I hope to God I made the right decision."

Mark nodded. "If you're the ones they were looking for over in Big Elk, you did. The weather's had the choppers grounded, and the fixed-wings couldn't get low enough to see through the cloud cover. You'd have been in there for awhile."

They'd reached the vehicle by then -- a pale green Forest Service six-pack -- and someone pushed a sandwich and a bottle of water into Ellison's hands. He started on the sandwich without tasting it. "Can we get a chopper in here?"

"We're going to try," Mark said. He opened the door and grabbed the mike. The others clustered around Sandburg, instinctively offering comfort, though Sandburg was beyond any awareness of their presence. Ellison was grateful for their efforts. A corner of his mind monitored his partner's steady heartbeat while he stood with Mark to answer any questions the dispatcher might raise.

"We've got the individuals you've been searching for," Mark told the dispatcher. "One is conscious and ambulatory. We could transport him in the six-pack if we need to, but the other one needs immediate evacuation. We'd like to request Life Flight."

"Copy that, Mark. Could you confirm please -- You've got all three individuals?"

Mark glanced at Ellison. "We're only requesting transport for two individuals at this time."

There was a long silence as the dispatcher registered the implication of the words. "Stand by," she said. The radio fell silent for another moment, and then the dispatcher was back. "Can you give us an idea of the nature of the injury you're requesting Life Flight for?"

"Male, late twenties. Unconscious, and having some trouble breathing." He glanced at Ellison and added, "Sharon, could you also let them know, we can transport the other individual if necessary, but he may need medical attention as well. If they can make room, I think he'd prefer not to be separated from his friend at this point."

"Understood. Stand by."

"Thanks," Ellison said.

The tall firefighter nodded. "No problem. You sure you're not hurt?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Sandburg got hurt when we went down. Looked like a bruised lung. He wasn't too bad at first, but then he spiked a fever and... Well, you can hear how he's breathing. I'm pretty sure it's pneumonia from the injury. That part's my fault. I did some scouting the day after we crashed and I twisted my ankle. It slowed me down. He got worried and came looking for me." He shook his head. "Damn it!"

The dispatcher's call brought their attention back to the radio. "Go ahead, Sharon," Mark said.

"What are the flying conditions like?"

"Not great down here on the river, but you shouldn't have any problem getting in to Six Mule. My thought was to leave three of our crew here to finish the culverts. Thompson and myself would run the two individuals up to Six Mule to meet Life Flight, then come back down and pick up the rest of the crew."

"Sounds good, Mark. We'd like you to go ahead with that plan. Stay on Tac 1 for now, but go ahead and monitor air to ground, so Life Flight can talk to you once they're in the area. Also, we've contacted the Cascade folks. They'll be meeting Life Flight at Douglas."

"Do you have an ETA on the chopper?"

"Looks like about an hour."

"Copy that, Sharon. Reynolds."

"KCG947."

Mark turned back to Ellison. "Let's get your friend loaded up. You can ride up front with me and we'll have Dennis ride in the back with Mr. Sandburg. I know you'd probably rather be with him yourself, but you look pretty well done in. I think, given his breathing issues it would be better to have Dennis ride shotgun to make sure he stays upright on some of the curves O.K.?"

Ellison wanted to protest. Relinquishing control to a stranger went against every instinct he had. But Mark was right. It made more sense. He nodded reluctantly. "Just make sure he doesn't let go."

"Not for a second," Mark said.

They unwrapped the tarp and the filthy blanket and sleeping bag. One of the firefighters produced a clean yellow sleeping bag from a pack in the back of the rig, and between them they got Sandburg wrapped in it and loaded in the back seat of the six-pack with a stocky red-haired firefighter beside him to help keep him upright. Ellison climbed reluctantly into the front seat, hating even the couple of feet that separated them. Mark took the driver's side, giving Ellison an understanding nod before turning to give his full attention to the road. The combination of the engine and the assorted rattles of the six-pack as it bounced over the washboarded road drowned out Sandburg's breathing and heartbeat. It was all Ellison could do to keep from climbing over the seat before they finally made it to the top of the saddle. When they stopped, the buzz of the approaching helicopter was already audible to Ellison if not to the others. If it hadn't been for his hard-ass reputation, he'd have hugged both of the firefighters right then and there. As it was, he settled for laying a hand on Sandburg's shoulder and murmuring, "Hear that, Chief? That's our taxi coming and you're getting a nice warm bed inside this time. You just hang on a little while longer for me and we'll both be drinking fresh coffee and sleeping in clean sheets tonight."

"You can have the coffee now," Mark said, pulling a thermos bottle from under the seat. "Roger always stashes some for later. Under the circumstances, I don't think he'd mind."

"Tell him I owe him." Ellison said. He sipped the strong coffee gratefully, while his senses reached out to the incoming helicopter, trying to drag it closer by sheer force of will.

And then it was landing and Sandburg was surrounded by a frenzy of activity. Someone strapped a hard hat on Ellison's head. Almost before he could register what was going on, he was buckled into a seat, and the chopper was lifting off and the jungle was falling away below and a voice was saying, "Take a last look, Captain. You're going home. You're a hero back in the States, Sir." The dead pressed around him, staring at him with accusing eyes, and Blair was with them. Only Blair's eyes weren't accusing. They were just hurt and confused. The others turned their backs on him and walked away. Blair looked at him for a moment longer, then turned to follow them. Ellison reached for him but it was too late. He was already out of reach.

"Blair!"

Ellison bolted upright, heart pounding, and found himself looking into a familiar pair of brown eyes. "Simon."

"Welcome back," Simon said. "I was beginning to think you'd sleep the week away."

"Where..."

"ICU, as a precaution. He's going to be fine. They're giving him fluids and antibiotics."

"I want to see him."

"No problem. Let me get a nurse to take out the IV for you. They took advantage of you being asleep to get some fluids and electrolytes into you without an argument, but they say you're free to go any time. I've got some clothes for you. Unless you'd rather give the ICU nurses a backdoor show."

"I've set up IVs under fire. I think I can take one out without killing myself." Ellison removed the IV carefully then pushed the sheets aside and climbed out of bed. "I owe you one, Simon." He sobered suddenly. "More than one, I have a feeling. We'll talk. I just need to see Blair first."

"Easy, Jim. You don't need to be on duty this instant. Go see the kid."

Their eyes met, and Simon gave him a nod and a half smile, that told him there really was nothing to say after all. Ellison looked down at his bare feet and then looked up again, a broad grin spreading over his face. Simon slapped him on the shoulder.

"Ellison, if you're even thinking about hugging me, put some damn pants on."

Still laughing, Ellison dressed hurriedly in the jeans and Cascade PD sweatshirt Simon had brought for him and went in search of his partner.

The nurse at the ICU station recognized him instantly and met him with a brilliant smile. "Detective Ellison! You're looking better. Blair's this way."

"It's just Jim."

She looked back at him quizzically. "Sir?"

He shook his head. "Never mind." It was just a fact of life. He was always Detective Ellison. Sandburg was always Blair, spoken with that instinctive affection that he seemed to arouse in everyone he came in contact with.

They reached Blair's bedside then, and all other thoughts left him. He hadn't been sure what to expect. Sandburg looked better than he had when Ellison had last seen him. For one thing, he'd been thoroughly bathed and someone had meticulously combed the tangles out of his hair. He was breathing easier, thanks to the bottled oxygen flowing to his abused lungs. But his waxen pallor and utter stillness raised demons Ellison wasn't ready to deal with by a long shot. The nurse drew the curtain for privacy and left them alone. The movement barely registered with Ellison. He leaned on the metal rail of the bed and reached out with two fingers to brush a stray curl back from Sandburg's cheek.

"Hey," he said softly, torn between his need to see Sandburg awake and talking to him, and his reluctance to disturb his badly needed rest. "We made it. I told you we would, didn't I?" It was only when he said the words that the reality of it finally came home to him. He shuddered as images of the last two nights on the mountain slammed unmercifully into his carefully built walls. Ellison clenched his jaw, refusing to give in. Both hands gripped the bedrail until his knuckles went white and his shoulders shook silently. A single sob escaped, nearly choking him.

"Detective? Are you all right?"

Ellison nearly jumped out of his skin. He coughed, and swiped a hand across his face, shifting to keep his back to her. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? If there's anything I can..."

"I'm sure." He straightened, took a deep breath and turned to face her. "Everything's fine. Thank you."

Her look of complete understanding was nearly his undoing, but she retreated and drew the curtain again before he lost it entirely. Ellison turned back to the bed and reached over the rail again to run his fingers lightly over the soft curls, driven against his will by an overwhelming need to convince himself of the physical reality of his guide, safe and breathing in front of him.

Sandburg stirred and his breath quickened slightly. "Jim?" he said, without opening his eyes.

"Yeah," Ellison said. "It's me, Chief."

"I thought I heard Simon."

"He was here earlier. He stayed with you until I could get here." He really needed to stop petting the kid like a kitten, but his fingers ignored him and continued their gentle stroking.

Sandburg's eyes fluttered open and focused on him. "Are you O.K.? We're in a hospital, aren't we?"

Ellison reluctantly drew his hand back. "Just for a couple of days. We'll both be home soon."

"I wasn't sure. I thought maybe we'd gone... you know. Someplace else."

Ellison forced himself to chuckle. "Nope. Sorry, Chief, but it's back to the ol' grind for both of us."

Sandburg regarded him silently for a moment. "Long's it's both of us, man."

"Isn't it always?

Sandburg's brow furrowed. "You O.K. with that?"

Ellison smiled down at him. "Wouldn't have it any other way, Chief."

Epilogue

"Nah," Ellison said. "Sandburg was worried, but I knew we'd make it. I knew you guys wouldn't give up on us, so it was just a matter of hanging in there until help arrived."

"Oh, come on," Brown prodded. "You saying there wasn't a single moment of that whole ordeal when you were scared?"

Ellison thought about it. "Well, I guess there was one moment."

"I knew it," Rafe said. "What was it?"

"We got caught out in a storm. Sandburg wasn't dressed for it and before I could get him to shelter, he was soaked and so hypothermic I wasn't even sure he was alive. I stripped him, and got him into a sleeping bag, and climbed in with him, hoping that would be enough to save his life."

"Man," Brown said, "Yeah, I can see how that would have you worried."

"Oh, that wasn't where it got scary."

Joel Taggart raised an eyebrow. "It got worse?"

"Oh yeah. So there we are. He's lying practically on top of me, and I got my arms around him, trying to get him warm. I mean, I'm trying to save his damn life, right?" There were nods all around and Ellison continued, "So he's lying there, butt naked, up against me, with his head on my chest, when all of a sudden he comes to and says, 'Jim, you're really hot, man.' And that, gentlemen, is when I got scared."

"No way!" Sandburg leaped off the desk he was sitting on. "You are such a liar, man!" But his protest was lost in the general roar of laughter.

"Come on, Jim," Joel said. "You're just yanking the kid's chain."

Ellison held both hands up. "I kid you not. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got four cases that aren't going to solve themselves."

Finis

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