Uncharted Territories

 

 The Discipline Project

 

 

 

"Come on, guys," John urged, striding into the small airport. "We don't want to be late for our sightseeing flight."

 

The two younger men with him exchanged tolerant smiles.

 

"We have almost forty-five minutes, John," his partner, Dale, said, "and this airport isn't that big."

 

"No, but I know how you two travel," John retorted. "One of you will need a restroom, one will stop to buy film, one will take three tries to get through the security checkpoint, and all of a sudden we'll be running for the plane."

 

"That's three ones, John, and there are only two of us," his brother Jason pointed out laughingly.

 

"Oh good lord, John, we're not that bad," Dale said at the same time. "We haven't missed a plane yet. I'll bet five bucks we're at the gate at least fifteen minutes early."

 

"You haven't missed a plane yet because I've always insisted we allow extra time," John replied with a grin, "and you're on."

 

Forty-five minutes later, they hurried through the gate to where their tour guide waited, talking animatedly.

 

"That's not fair!" Dale protested as John held out his hand for the money. "You were the one who couldn't get through the security point, not us!"

 

"And it took you four tries, not three," Jason pointed out mischievously. "He shouldn't have to pay since you're the one who made us late."

 

"You stay out of this, Jason," John ordered his younger brother with a laugh. "And you should know better than to bet with me, Dale. Pay up," he ordered his partner.

 

Philip leaned back against the cool metal of his small propeller plane and watched his three passengers arrive.  They were bickering good-naturedly.

 

Good, Philip thought with relief. He'd had enough sour flights in the last week to last him a lifetime. Businessmen who were so busy closing a deal that they never looked at the scenic Alaskan wilderness, couples who spent more time quarreling than picture-taking, and sullen teens who never lifted their eyes from their Gameboys. Why did they spend the money on a chartered sightseeing flight if they weren't interested in seeing the sights?

 

He glanced down at his notes. Rainbow Tours, an organization that referred gay couples to gay-friendly hotels, resorts and tour guides, had referred this group. Dr. Newton was apparently on sabbatical and writing a series of articles for the Sierra Club. He had a given them a list of areas that he wanted to see, both from the air and on the ground. Rainbow Tours didn't list the names of his companions.

 

"Dr. Newton?" Philip asked as the trio approached.

 

"Yes?"

 

Two of the men responded at the same time, then laughed.

 

"I'm John Newton," the oldest of the three replied, holding out his hand. "This is my partner, Dale, and my brother, Jason, AKA Dr. Newton the Younger."

 

"Philip Andrews." He shook hands with them in turn. "All ready to go?"

 

"Just a minute," John replied as he took Dale to one side and got a small medicine vial out of his pocket.

 

"He has a little trouble with flying," Jason explained, as Philip watched John hand the younger man two pills and a bottle of water.

 

"And he's going on a sightseeing flight?" Philip raised an eyebrow.

 

"He'll be fine once he has his Dramamine," the younger man replied blithely.

 

"Has he ever flown in a puddle jumper before?" Philip asked as he reached into his flight bag for an airsickness bag. Seeing Jason's confused look, he clarified the term. "A plane with propellers."

 

"Oh, well, no. But he does okay with regular planes, with the Dramamine anyway," Jason said as if it was just another plane.

 

Philip reached down again and brought out several more airsickness bags. This is going to get interesting, Philip thought to himself as he handed the bags to Dr. Newton, the Older.

 

"Dr. Newton, I have the list of places you would like to see.  I'd suggest we see the volcanoes near Cook Inlet, Mount Saint Augustine, Mount Redoubt, Mount Iliamna and Mt. Douglas, first.  There have been reports of steam venting from Mount Iliamna."

 

"That will be fine. Please, call me John.  We have one too many Dr. Newton's. It will get confusing, " John said with a laugh, stowing his camera equipment in the plane.

 

"Wow, a real volcano. Will it erupt while we are here?" Dale asked.

 

"Actually, we have several active volcanoes that have erupted in the past few years, but nothing right now," Philip explained as he secured the camera equipment.  "Go ahead, find a seat and get comfortable.  I'll let the tower know we're leaving."

 

"We're flying over Lake Clark National Park to get to the volcanoes. Look down on the right side of the plane; you'll see some brown bears fishing at the river. Looks like a mother teaching her cubs. Tomorrow, we'll land and you can get some better pictures."  Philip continued his tour, happily answering the three men's questions. It was such a pleasure to be around people who were really interested in what they were seeing and in what he had to say. 

 

Jason had seen enough wildlife and nature to last a lifetime. He was a city boy at heart.

 

They didn't even have a Starbucks in this town!  It was pretty, but a bear is a bear is a bear, and did they have to see every volcano in the area? They all looked the same.  Jason gravitated toward the front to sit with Philip.

 

Philip glanced up, surprised to see that he had a visitor.

 

"Aren't you enjoying yourself back there? Your brother and your friend seem to be."

 

"You've seen one ice-covered mountain, you've seen them all. I'm not really into nature."  That's great, Jason thought to himself, annoy the only single man you've seen since you got here before you find out if he's available.

 

"Oh, I mean, it's all very nice." Jason shrugged a little and grinned. He had really wanted a chance to find out if Philip might be interested in him.

 

"Why did you decide to vacation with them?" Philip asked curiously.

 

"I was presenting a paper at a conference in Anchorage," Jason replied.  "John's on sabbatical and writing some shit for the Sierra Club.  They decided to arrange their trip to coincide with mine so that we could spend some time up here together.  John talked me into it.  He really enjoys doing things to help with the environment."

 

"What was your paper about?"  Philip asked, not really interested in the paper, but definitely interested in the younger man.  His other two passengers were busy taking pictures and whispering to each other.

 

"Factorial Designs in Randomized Trials. Scientists usually don't have a clue about the mathematics needed to analyze their data. I do a little consultant work for an independent research lab in my free time. I enjoy teaching." Jason continued to tell Philip everything about factorial designs.

 

John came forward half an hour later to check on his brother.  He recognized Jason's class lecture voice.

 

"So to calculate sample size n equals z sub 1 minus alpha divided by..."

 

"Jason, Jason," John cut in, before Jason could continue expanding on this subject, knowing it could very well last several hours.   "I know you're a math genius and all, but not to hurt your feelings, most people don't have a clue what you're talking about. Leave the poor pilot alone."

 

"No, it's okay." Philip protested.  "Even though I didn't understand half of what he said, it's interesting listening to someone so passionate about his work."

 

Philip sounded sincere, and Jason looked happy.  John decided to leave them to it.  Returning to his seat beside Dale, John lost himself in the pleasure of sharing the thrilling scenery with his partner.

 

Sharp crackling from the radio interrupted John's pleasant reverie.

 

"Wind shear alert! South boundary winds 180 at 30, north boundary winds 340 at 17.   SIGMET for severe icing below 10,000 feet."  

 

"Weather's changing," Philip announced.  "We need to head back, now." 

 

"What is SIGMET?" John moved up to sit behind the pilot.

 

"SIGMET is Significant Meteorological Statement. When there are significant weather changes, they announce it.  Severe icing can freeze the engines, disrupt the airflow around the wings and change the lift of the plane. I won't be able to keep it in the air. It's best to land when they announce it."  Philip kept his voice steady and confident. There was no point in alarming the others.

 

The rain began as a light sprinkle, just barely misting the windows of the Cessna. 

 

The passengers were lulled into false security by their pilot's confidence and by the gentle raindrops, only to be jarred a few minutes later by a loud thunderclap. They could feel the plane vibrating. 

 

"Shit, what was that?" Dale yelped.

 

"We've hit a patch of rough weather here and the wind has picked up.  Everybody fasten your seat belts. Don't need anyone bouncing off the ceiling just yet," Philip said calmly.  He quickly checked all his engine instruments. "I'll try to fly us around the roughest part of it."

 

The passengers quickly tightened their seatbelts.

 

The plane continued to rock back and forth. John moved back to sit between Dale and Jason. John looked at Dale, noticed his slightly green complexion, and grabbed one of the many airsickness bags that Philip had given him. He put one arm around each of the younger men.

 

"It's freezing rain. The windows are iced over." Jason looked over to John.

 

"Philip's a retired Navy pilot with years of experience. I checked his background and qualifications before we booked the trip.  He'll be able to handle things," John said, more calmly than he felt.

 

They could hear Philip talking over the radio.

 

"I've got strong wind, lightning, having difficulties handling the controls, my wings are icing over. Present location, just off Mount Iliamna."

 

CRACK! Another bolt of lightening danced by the front of the plane. Sparks began to fly off the instrument panel. The radio went dead; the control lights began to flicker.

 

"Everybody put your coats over your head, bend over, your head between your knees, brace for impact.  I've got to land this bird fast." Philip's voice was grim.

The plane was tossed and rolled by the turbulence as the Philip tried to control the landing. 

 

Philip knew the area and headed for the ledge on the south side of the mountain. It was barely big enough to land safely, but it was their one chance. The wind could blow them down the side of the mountain if he didn't do everything right.

 

Philip maneuvered the plane around the mountain, fighting the wind and ice the entire way. Through a break in the clouds he could glimpse the ledge.  Now, to land and stop...

 

Philip dumped his fuel at the last moment and headed straight for the ledge. As his front wheel touched down, he slammed on the brakes as hard as he could. The plane slowed, hit a rock and bounced forward, causing the propellers to dig deep trenches into the rock and ice below, which actually helped slow the plane even more. As the edge came closer, Philip turned the plane so it would head into the mountain and not off the side. The impact caused a small avalanche of snow and rocks to hail down on the plane, breaking windows and knocking pilot and passengers unconscious.

 

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Carl stretched and opened his eyes.  Even though it was only early afternoon, the room was dark.  He could hear the howling wind of the storm and was glad he and Michael had noticed the gathering storm clouds early enough to get extra firewood into the lodge. Spring was usually a calm time for Alaska's weather, but occasionally a freak storm would strike, and if a person wasn't aware of it, he could be in great danger.

 

He smiled and sat up.  Well, he and Michael didn't have to worry.  They were well supplied with food, firewood and medical supplies; they had each other to keep warm.

 

Of course, that would be easier to do if someone were in bed, Carl thought to himself, wondering where his partner had disappeared.  An impromptu early-afternoon lovemaking session had led to a nap.  Usually, Carl was the first one up, and Michael would lounge around in bed. 

 

Carl couldn't help but wonder if the ten-year age difference was finally catching up with him.

 

You're heading towards fifty, Carl reminded himself, and then smiled. Of course with Michael around, you'll never be old.

 

As he began dressing in jeans, a flannel shirt and a pair of soft moccasins, Carl thought about his partner and their retreat to their fly-fishing lodge. No one was around for miles; it was just the two of them, and a chance to celebrate their ten-year anniversary.

 

Ten years.  They'd been together longer than most straight couples they knew.

 

Carl smiled. Opening the bedroom door, he made his way to the kitchen.

 

Michael was sitting at the kitchen table, bent over and focused intently on his project...a project that was going to get him into a load of trouble.

 

"What did I tell you?"

 

Michael jumped and the screwdriver in his hand clattered to the floor.

 

"Jeesh, Carl.  Make some noise, would you?"

 

"I did," Carl assured him, moving to stand in the kitchen doorway. "You were just too busy to hear me. Now, would you mind telling me what you are doing?"

 

"I'm fixing the radio," was Michael's matter-of-fact response.

 

Carl took in the scattered radio pieces...wires, radio tubes, and screws. 

 

"It looks very fixed."

 

The younger man picked the screwdriver up from the floor, turned back to his task, and tried to ignore the deep penetrating gaze of his partner.  He knew it was a futile effort, though.  Between his Delta training and his Inupiat heritage, Carl had the patience of Job. He could stand there all day and into the night waiting for Michael to answer.

 

Michael might have had the same Delta training, but he did not have the patience.  While ten years of living with Carl might have rubbed off on him and Michael wasn't quite as impulsive as he once was, there were times he acted without considering the consequences, and this was definitely one of those times.

 

"What did I tell you this morning...and last night...and yesterday morning?" Carl asked.

 

"Not to touch the radio," Michael admitted, then mumbled, "But I really think you're overreacting."

 

"Am I?" Carl stepped towards the table and examined the scattered pieces. "A broken radio tube, a cut wire, and no replacement parts," the older man stated. "Look at me, please, afagau."

 

Michael scowled and slammed down the screwdriver before he turned to face his partner.

 

"I learned to gerrymander a lot of things in the Deltas."

 

"And you learned that it was only done in dire situations," Carl reminded him. "And this wasn't one."

 

"The static was too heavy!" Michael argued, wishing he still had the screwdriver in his hand so he could slam it down, again.

 

"But we could still hear and talk to people," Carl replied.  "Now we can't even do that, and we are in the middle of a storm and we don't know when it will end."

 

Michael's brow furrowed in thought for a moment, and then the lines disappeared as he smiled slyly.

 

"Couldn't you just turn over a rock and figure out when it will be over?

 

"Your faith in me is flattering," Carl replied dryly.  "You know very well that a radio..."

 

"Is essential when in a remote area," Michael finished. "If the tube hadn't broken, the radio would've been fixed by now."

 

Carl sighed heavily and shook his head.

 

"Michael..."

 

The younger man did not like the expression on his Top's face...it didn't bode well for a certain part of his anatomy. 

 

"We'll be fine, Carl.  We're safe in the lodge. What could possibly go wrong?"

 

As he finished his sentence, a loud crash sounded in the distance.

 

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John awoke with a groan of pain. The only noise he heard was the sound of freezing rain clinking off the plane's metal hull. Lifting his head to assess the situation, he closed his eyes as a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea washed over him.  The memory of the rough landing rushed back to him.   A cold knot of fear settled in John's stomach as his worries immediately turned to his lover and his baby brother. 

 

Slowly, John turned his head and looked beside him in terror. The plane had buckled in on the side his lover was sitting on, and the twisted metal was pressing against Dale's unconscious form. John fumbled with his seatbelt, trying to undo it with shaky hands, the task much harder due to the slick coating of blood from the small gash on his right lower arm.  Just as he was able to finally undo the clasp of the seat belt, he heard a moan coming from his other side.

 

"John, what happened?" Jason groaned.  Before John could answer, Jason spoke again, "Oh my god! We crashed! The plane fucking crashed!" Jason said, his voice rising in fright and agitation.  

 

John winced as he lifted himself from his seat. "Calm down, Jason," he said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

 

"I don't know." Jason said, his voice thin and scared.

 

"I have to help Dale. He looks hurt." John said, torn between wanting and needing to simultaneously help both his lover and his brother.  

 

A voice suddenly sounded from the front of the plane.

 

"John, you look after Dale. I'll take care of your brother," Philip said, catching the end of the conversation between the two brothers as he gained consciousness.

 

"Are you sure? Are you hurt?" John asked from Dale's side.  

 

"I have bumps and bruises all over me, and I think I might have a slight concussion if this dizziness and ringing in my ears mean anything," Philip said, taking stock of his injuries.  "But I'm all right."

 

"Okay. Jason, listen to Philip, he's going to help you," John said, even as he reached out to place a hand on Dale's pale and bloodied face. He was glad it was still light out enough to enable him to assess his lover's injuries.  

 

God, it looked bad. Dale was bleeding freely from a gash about four inches long just above his left ear.  John ripped off a piece of his shirt, doubled it over and pressed it against the laceration to help control the bleeding.  

 

"Dale. Dale, can you hear me?" John asked, trying to sound calm. 

 

Dale moaned low in his throat. John closed his eyes briefly in relief.  It was a sound that he would never forget: The sound that proved his lover was still alive.  

 

"Wake up, darling. Come on, you can do it," John said softly. 

 

"John?" Dale asked weakly.  

 

"Yes, Dale. It's me," John replied, glad beyond belief that his lover recognized him.  That seemed to rule out a serious head injury. 

 

"I don't feel very good," Dale whispered.

 

"Well considering what happened, that's not a surprise, honey," John said gently, hoping to keep the other man calm,

 

"My chest hurts." Dale coughed, wincing in pain from the movement.

 

"Where?" John asked.  

 

"Left side," Dale said weakly. 

 

John could see Dale's eyes closing again.

 

"Stay with me, baby," John said, as he laid his free hand gently on the left side of Dale's chest. 

 

"Oh god, don't touch me there," Dale said, drawing away from the touch in pain. 

 

John frowned slightly. He could feel deformities in Dale's chest.  The implications of that scared him. 

 

"I'm sorry, Dale. I just have to see where you're hurt. I think that you have some broken ribs. How's your breathing?"  

 

"Okay, I think," Dale said softly.  

 

"Is Dale okay?" Jason suddenly asked from the front of the plane.  

 

John looked over his shoulder and could see the pale, scared face of his brother peering at him from his place alongside Philip.

 

"I'm not sure. He's definitely hurt; I think he may have a few broken ribs."  

 

Jason paled even more.

 

"How about you?  Are you hurt anywhere?" John asked, trying to see his brother more closely.

 

"I'm okay, I think.  Is Dale going to die, John?" Jason sounded terrified.

 

"No," John answered firmly, "He's not going to die."  

 

"Let your brother look after Dale, Jason," Philip said, trying to draw the younger Dr. Newton's attention away from the drama unfolding in the back.

 

"Why don't you help me see if I can get this radio working again," Philip suggested, trying to focus Jason on something else.  

 

Jason nodded slowly, his green eyes large and scared. He slowly turned his attention back to the front of the plane.  

 

"There's a first aid kit under your seat, John," Philip said, before turning his attention to the radio as well. 

 

"Thanks." John leaned over and fished around under his abandoned seat for the first aid kit, while still trying to apply pressure to Dale's cut. When he finally grasped the kit, he placed it on his seat, opened it, and rummaged through the various items, searching for some gauze to place over the laceration on Dale's head.  

 

"Dale, I need you to put pressure on the cut on your head. Use your right arm; that's right, you can do it," John said as he encouraged his lover's action. When he was satisfied that Dale was applying enough pressure, he picked up the packages of gauze and opened them.  

 

John covered Dale's hand that was holding the cloth with his own, and slowly drew it and the bloody cloth away from the head. The cut began to bleed freely again, and John quickly placed the gauze over the laceration.  

 

"It hurts," Dale said softly.  

 

"What hurts?" John asked, needing more information.   "My head, my chest, and my leg. It's really hurting now," Dale said, a tear slipping down his face, mixing with the blood drying there.  

 

"Which leg hurts, love?" 

 

"My left leg," Dale moaned.

 

John looked down at the metal pressing into Dale's left leg.

 

"God, how did I miss that?' he asked himself. He decided it was safe to move the leg, as the metal was not digging into the flesh. "There's metal pushing against your leg, Dale. I'm going to move your leg over."

 

"Okay, but be careful," Dale said softly.

 

John placed his free hand on Dale's upper leg and started to move it, but stopped as Dale screamed in pain.  

 

"Don't touch me! Oh God, don't touch me!" Dale screamed in agony.

 

"What's wrong?" a terrified Jason asked from the front seat.

 

"Jason, just a minute. Dale, are you okay?" John asked, frightened that he had hurt his lover badly.

 

"My leg, oh God, my leg hurts. Please, don't touch it anymore. If you love me, don't touch it," Dale begged.  

 

"I have to see what's wrong," John said calmly, trying to reassure his partner.  

 

"No, I don't want you to touch me!"  Dale wailed.

 

"You fucking heard him, John! Don't touch him! God you're killing him!" Jason shouted from the front of the plane.  

 

"Jason, I'm not hurting him on purpose. You need to calm down. You're not helping here," John said, trying to calm his brother, who was on the verge of hysteria.

 

"Jason, you're supposed to be helping me with the radio," Philip said, trying to secure Jason's attention again.

 

"Screw the radio! What the fuck do I know about the fucking radio!  I'm a mathematician, not a fucking engineer!"  

 

"Jason," Philip said sharply, knowing he had to snap the younger man out of his panic. "Calm down, now. You're not helping your brother with your behavior."

 

Jason turned toward Philip. He glared at him for a moment, and then burst into tears.

 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I'm so scared, and I don't know what to do," Jason sobbed.

 

"Jason, it's okay. Philip, just let him be. I can handle this," John said from the back.  

 

"Frankly, John, you can't," Philip said smoothly, even as he laid a reassuring hand on Jason's back.  "You need to concentrate on Dale. He needs you the most right now. I'll keep your brother calm. Just help Dale."  

 

John wanted to argue, but he knew better. He felt like his heart was tearing in two. He was concerned for his brother, so visibly upset, but he knew that his seriously injured lover needed him more.

 

All four men fervently hoped that help was on the way.

 

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The crash sounded disconcertingly close.

 

"What was that?" Michael asked, his eyes wide with surprise.  A gentle but strong hand found its way to his shoulder, radio forgotten for now.

 

"I have no idea, but I guess I should go check it out." 

 

"WE can go check it out!" Michael glared at Carl.

 

"Okay."  A small grin formed on Carl's gentle face. "Let's go, partner.  Just remember, it's cold and wet.  You stay bundled up."                                                                  

                                        

Michael had his boots and coat on quickly.  Carl stopped Michael at the door and pulled the hood of his jacket up firmly.

 

"Don't you know bundled up, sweetheart?"  Carl chided. 

 

"I'm fine, Mom," Michael said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

 

Laughing at Michael's outrage, Carl zipped his own coat and grabbed the binoculars.

 

Carl scanned the horizon.  About a mile to the east, even through the blinding storm, he could see a crumpled plane.  He handed Michael the glasses.

 

"Oh shit, Carl, they gotta be hurt," Michael swore.  "Let's go!" 

 

Carl nodded his head in agreement.

 

"I'll go get the first aid kit, and extra blankets.  You start harnessing the dogs," Carl said.

 

Michael did a double take.

 

"But we'd get there much faster on the snowmobile!"  Michael protested.

 

"In these conditions, the snowmobile is more dangerous, Michael.  Go harness the dogs," Carl repeated.  He got a look of fury from his partner. 

 

"But we can find out what's going on so much faster, Carl.  I can get us there!"

                                                                     

"Michael, you said it yourself.  They've got to be hurt, and we'll be much better prepared to help, with the dogs.  If anybody is hurt badly, we can bring them back on the sled.  We should be getting out there fast, instead of arguing about it," Carl said with a look.

 

Michael looked back, with complete understanding, and headed over to the kennel to start the tedious job of harnessing the sled dogs.  As he was threading and buckling, Carl came in.  After stowing the survival gear on the sled, Carl joined Michael.  Working as a team, the two sets of nimble fingers had the job done quickly.  With Michael manning the dogs, and Carl the binoculars, the pair set off in search of the plane.

 

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Philip swore under his breath as he unsuccessfully tried the radio again.  It wasn't going to work. He had a seriously injured passenger, and another seriously panicking one next to him.

 

Thank God, John is holding strong, Philip thought to himself, as he reached a steady hand out to comfort Jason.  Looking over to gauge Jason's condition, Philip saw movement out the window behind him.  Relief washed over him, and he gave Jason a hard squeeze.

 

"I think we have company, kid. Let's see if we can get this door open."

 

"Who? Where?" Jason said agitatedly, trying to see through the cracked and icy glass.  "What the fuck are those?  Wolves?  Oh, shit, I don't need this, I--"

 

"Jason."  Philip bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep a straight face.  His head ached too much to laugh.  "Jason, take it easy.  They're sled dogs."

 

"Sled dogs?  Sled dogs??  It's the 21st century, for crying out loud.  Who the fuck uses sled dogs?"  Jason's giddy relief that they were not about to be eaten turned quickly to pique.

 

Philip was too intent on trying to force the door open despite its warped frame to do more than roll his eyes at Jason's exasperation. 

 

"Like fucking White Fang!  Jeez!  I don't believe it," Jason muttered.

 

John eyed Dale apprehensively.  If rescue was at hand, he was going to have to move the younger man.  And judging from Dale's earlier protests, he was not going to make it easy.

 

With the teamwork of long experience, Carl and Michael staked the sled on the lee side of the downed plane.  Using a long piece of metal that had sheared off the plane as a makeshift crowbar, Michael pried the door open.

 

"Thank God," Philip said quietly.  "It's good to see you again, Michael."

 

Even at the worst of times, Michael's sheer exuberance was hard to tamp down.  He caught Philip in a bear hug. 

 

"Philip," said Carl, catching sight of the pilot's face over Michael's shoulder.  "How many passengers do you have?  Are they all right? Take it easy, Michael, Philip's okay."

 

Michael released Philip, his relief palpable.

 

"Three men.  One in back's hurt bad," Philip said.

 

"How about yourself?" Carl asked.

 

"Don't worry about me, Carl."

 

Carl looked at Philip.  Philip sighed.

 

"Cuts, bruises, and a hell of a headache.  Almost as bad as the last time I went out drinking with Michael."

 

"He got you, Carl," Michael laughed.

 

"Hey, what is this, a fucking reunion?" Jason whined.  "I'm hurt.  My brother's partner's bleeding to death, and you're fucking telling jokes?  Shit!  Help!  Call an ambulance!  We need to get out of here!"  He glared at the three men.

 

Carl and Philip shook their heads, identical expressions of indulgent pity on their two weathered faces.  Michael was outraged.

 

"Hey buddy, I don't know where the fuck you think you are, but we're the only people within fifty miles of here.  So you'd better watch your mouth, kid.  We're the only help you're getting," Michael said, his voice rising as his agitation grew.

 

"That's enough, Michael," Carl said.

 

Michael stopped mid-tirade.  Took a deep breath.  Closed his eyes.

 

Carl laid a large, gentle hand on his shoulder.

 

"Sorry," Michael muttered, shamefaced.  "'Pologize.  Lost my temper."

 

Philip looked sympathetic; Jason, nonplussed.

 

"Right then," Michael said, rebounding quickly.  "I take it the radio's shot, Philip?"  Michael had noted its silence.

 

"Dead.  I'll take it out; we should take it with us.  You have short-wave back at the lodge, right?"

 

"Um, not exactly," Michael murmured, his wind-reddened cheeks flushing even brighter with embarrassment.  "But I'm sure between the two of us we can rig something up."

 

Meanwhile, Carl had wedged his way into the back of the plane alongside John and Dale. He quickly sized up the two men.  The injured man was in pain, panicky, and not altogether there.  The other man was holding himself together despite his own cuts and bruises.  He seemed oblivious to everything but his trapped and terrified partner.

 

Carl's impassive expression gave nothing away, but he was worried.  The injured man was ghost-pale, hanging onto consciousness by a thread.  Carl had codeine tablets in his first aid kit, but with a serious head wound like that, administering any sort of narcotic painkiller would be a risk.  The injured man's respiration seemed shallow already, although that was probably due as much to the pain of his contorted ribcage as to any central nervous system damage. 

 

The real problem, though, was the man's leg. His lower leg was bent at an unnatural angle, and his jeans covering it were dark with blood.  The side of the plane had buckled inwards, pinning his leg between the interior wall and the partially crushed seat. Tentatively, Carl ran his hand over the two distorted pieces of metal.  No give whatsoever.  They were going to have to ease the injured man out by lowering the back of the seat and lifting him over it.  They were going to have to bend his injured leg in order to free it.

 

It was going to hurt like hell.

 

John clenched his jaw as Dale whimpered anxiously.

 

"Why are you doing this to me?" Dale plucked at John's sleeve.  "Why? Why are you hurting me?"  His eyes were wide and shocky.

 

"Dale, you're injured.  We were in a plane crash, remember?  No one's hurting you," John murmured.  It had to be easier to bear pure physical pain, than to believe you were deliberately being made to suffer. 

 

John's eyes met Carl's; found them soft with the beginning of understanding.

 

"John Newton.  My partner, Dale," John said.  "Sorry I don't have a hand free."  He looked down ruefully.  Dale clutched one hand; the other pressed the square of blood-soaked gauze to gash above Dale's ear.

 

"Carl McDermott.  You okay, John?"

 

"Better than him.  I cut my arm and banged my head.  He's--" John took a deep breath, wanting to be sure Carl understood the seriousness of Dale's injuries, but not wanting to risk panicking Dale further by cataloguing them aloud.

 

Carl seemed to understand John's dilemma.  Silently, he touched his own head, ribs and left leg lightly.  Grimaced.  John nodded his agreement.

 

"We'll have to work his leg out from between the seat and the wall of the plane," Carl said.  "Then lift him head first over the seat."

 

"He won't even let me touch his leg," John said.  "I don't think he's going to be able to bend it."

 

"John, he doesn't have a choice.  We need to get him off the plane and somewhere warm.  The temperature's dropping and the wind's kicking up.  If we don't get him out, he'll die."

 

"Right."  John took a series of deep breaths, trying to gather his strength.  "How shall we do this?"

 

Carl reclined the back of Dale's seat, grateful that the mechanism still worked.  Dale moaned as he was tipped backward.

 

"Hey, buddy." Carl said gently, his warm brown eyes soft with sympathy.  "My name's Carl, Dale.  I'm going to help John get you out of here."  He pocketed his glove, laid his bare hand gently along Dale's jaw.  Registered his clammy skin, the faint, too-rapid pulse in his neck. 

 

"We need you to cooperate, Dale.  John's going to straighten your leg and then I'm going to lift you up. It--"

 

"No!  No!! No!!!  Don't touch me, don't fucking touch me!" Carl pulled his hand back just as Dale turned his head, desperately trying to bite him.

 

"Stop that, Dale!  He's only trying to help you!" John said sharply.

 

"No!  Fuck him, fuck you too, John, leave me alone," Dale screamed.  "Don't hurt me!"

 

Jason had gone white at Dale's first anguished scream.

 

"What the fuck are they doing to him?  John, stop, what are you doing?  Dale!  I'm coming!"

 

Without speaking, Michael caught one of Jason's arms, Phil the other.  They tugged him out of the plane.  He struggled ineffectually to free himself. 

 

"Fuck you!  Help!  Get your fucking hands off of me!  Can't you hear him?  They're hurting him!"  Jason yelled.

 

"Shut up!  Shut up!! Shut up!!!" Michael yelled back, his volume matching Jason's.   "They're trying to help him, you asshole!  They're trying to get him out!"

 

"Michael, lower your voice.  That's enough now," Philip commanded.  Michael went silent.

 

"Jason, stop yelling and stand still."  Jason tried to pull away, but Philip grasped him by both upper arms. "No!"  He shook Jason, hard.  Jason froze in astonishment.

 

John stumbled out of the plane.  Jason's cries, combined with Dale's tortured screams and his own concussion, had gotten the best of him.  He doubled over and bracing his hands on his knees, retched miserably.

 

Jason watched, horrified.  John was never sick.  John was supposed to take care of them!

 

"John," Jason whispered.  "Oh John, what are we going to do?" 

 

Philip heard the note of absolute desolation in Jason's voice.  Without thinking, he loosened his restraining grip on Jason and instead wrapped his arms around him in a comforting hug.

 

"Your brother's okay, Jason. You'll be okay, too. I promise," Philip said gently.  He felt Jason soften into his embrace, comforted by his assurances.

 

Carl stuck his head out of the plane.

 

"Michael!  Take Philip and Jason back to the lodge.  I'm going to help John get Dale out; we'll bring him in on the sled."

 

"We can wait for you, Carl," Michael said.  "We're okay."  He moved closer to the plane.  "I don't want to go without you."

 

"I know, Michael.  But this is going to be bad.  There's no way we can move Dale without hurting him.  It's not fair to John to have to deal with both Dale and Jason at once. "

 

"So let Philip take him back.  He's been up here before; he knows the way," Michael argued.

 

"He was up here when the ground was clear, Michael.  This is different; you know that."  Carl's voice was gentle.  He knew Michael wanted to stay with him; he also knew that Philip and Jason needed Michael's skills as a guide to get safely to the lodge.

 

"Michael.  This isn't open for debate.  Take them back to the lodge.  Now."

 

"I hate you," Michael muttered.

 

"We don't talk to each other like that, afagau." Carl shook his head reprovingly.  "Come here, Michael, that's it.  Give me a kiss and get going." 

 

Michael moved into the doorway of the plane and into Carl's arms.  He dropped his head to Carl's shoulder.  Carl stroked his dark, wavy hair lovingly.

 

"Come back soon," Michael said softly.  "I hate being without you."

 

Carl tipped Michael's head back, kissed him soundly. 

 

"It's just for a little bit, Michael.  I'll be there as soon as I can.  I promise."

 

Sulkily, Jason accepted John and Phil's insistence that he return to the lodge.  Phil and Michael packed the radio and cannibalized the plane for useful parts. The three men set off together across the snow.

 

Despite his injuries and his misgivings, Jason couldn't help but be intrigued by the arctic light bouncing off the sharply inclined planes of ice in random patterns.

 

"I wonder if anyone's ever done a paper on fractals and arctic ice," he mused out loud.

 

"Frat halls?"  Michael looked started.  "You feeling okay, buddy?"

 

Jason stared at him, then grinned broadly. 

 

"Fractals, I said.  Not frat halls, fractals!" 

 

"I thought we were losing you there for a minute, kid," Michael laughed.  "Actually, some artists who were up at the lodge this summer were working with fractals.  They're very interesting."

 

"Do you know--" Jason began to babble happily, caught up in his enthusiasm for fractals.

 

Michael and Philip locked eyes and tried to conceal their amusement.  Anything that kept the kid happy and distracted worked for them.  They slogged through the late winter snow and ice, thinking their own thoughts, as Jason, undeterred by their silence, launched into the soothing depths of higher mathematical thought.

 

John had been relieved to see Jason go. Jason in a crisis situation was a handful, and his hands were already full with Dale.

 

"Go away, leave me alone," Dale moaned fitfully.  "No! John, I didn't mean it!  Please!  Don't leave me!"

 

Carl shook his head.  There was no way to make this easy on either Dale or John.  They were going to have to move Dale, despite his pain, despite his hysterics. His struggles were only making it harder for all of them, as well as worsening his own injuries.

 

"John," Carl asked softly.  "Which would you rather do, hold Dale still or work his leg free?"

 

"I hate handling his leg when it hurts him so much," John said.  "But it's worse seeing his face.  I'll--"

 

"Oh God, John, please, hold me!  I need to see you, John," Dale begged.  "Please, hold me.  I'll be good. I promise I'll be good.  Don't hurt me. " Tears streamed over his face.

 

John swallowed hard and forced himself to sound calm.

 

"Shh, Dale, you are good.  We're going to get you out. Just bear with it a little longer.  I know it hurts, Dale.  I know."  John stroked Dale's fair hair back from his sweaty forehead, wishing he could take the pain from his terrified lover.

 

Crawling deeper into the wrecked plane, Carl positioned himself along Dale's side.  He rotated Dale's ankle, resolutely ignoring his crying.  Unlacing Dale's boot, Carl eased Dale's foot free.

 

"Pull him back, John," Carl instructed.

 

Dale screamed, a shriek of pure animal pain and fear combined.  The line of sled dogs took up his cry, howling, magnifying his anguish.

 

Dale went limp.  John hesitated.

 

"John," Carl said,  "We have to work fast.  It's better for him that he's out; he won't feel anything more.  Pull, John, pull!  I've got his leg."

 

Together, the two men lifted Dale's broken body over the seat. Carl tied Dale's injured left leg to his right leg at thigh, knee, calf and ankle, wanting to stabilize it as much as possible.  Dale was still unconscious when Carl strapped him onto the sled, snugging the last of the blankets on top of him. 

 

"How are you holding up, John? Carl asked quietly. 

 

"Is Dale going to be okay, Carl?" John's blue eyes searched Carl's brown ones for the truth.

 

"He's young and strong, John," Carl said softly.   "He should be fine."

 

John smiled wearily. 

 

"In that case, Carl, I'm fine. I'm better than fine, I'm great."

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

Jason theorized on about the mathematical generation of fractals as the three men trudged through the snow.  Above them, the dark, snow heavy clouds were dropped lower.  Experience told Philip that despite the heavy winds the storm was not going to blow itself out any time soon.  Thank God they had come down near Carl and Michael’s place!  He had some emergency gear onboard, but being marooned on the side of the mountain with a seriously injured passenger was not a pleasant thought.

 

Even though Michael kept them in the shadow of the trees, the snow was deep and they ended up wading through thigh high drifts.  Michael led, doing all the hard work of breaking trail, leaving a path for Jason and Philip to follow.  Philip couldn't remember the last time he worked so hard.  After about an hour the heavy exertion even got to Jason, whose soliloquy slowly wound down and then stopped.  

 

"I wish we had brought extra snowshoes."  Michael groaned, pausing to catch his breath.

 

"Why the hell didn't you?"  Jason growled.  "That was really stupid."

 

"Almost as stupid as going sight seeing in a blizzard," Michael snarled, his temper rising at the criticism.

 

"Fuck off," Jason swore.  "It wasn't my idea to come to this fucking rat hole. I would have gone somewhere civilized.  But oh no, John and Dale wanted to see bears and volcanoes.  So first they drag me to a little shit of a town.  Then they take me up in a tin can of a plane in a blizzard. Then it's not bad enough that we crash, we have to be 'rescued' by a couple of backwoods red necks..."

 

"You ungrateful prick!"  Michael swore, moving towards the other man threateningly.

 

"Enough!"  Philip interceded, stepping between the two men.

 

"Come on, macho man," Jason dared, pushing against Philip in an effort to get to Michael.  "Come on, try to hit me."

 

"I said enough, Jason!"  Philip grabbed the younger man and gave him a shake.  "Settle down."

 

Jason stared defiantly at the older man.

 

"You are way out of line, young man," Philip warned.

 

Jason felt his throat close and his eyes fill with tears.

 

"Sorry," Jason mumbled, suddenly horrified.   

 

Philip watched the younger man for a moment.  He knew Jason was hurting, but it didn't excuse his rudeness.  He wanted to turn the foul-mouthed brat over his knee; however, at the same time he wanted to wrap his arms around Jason and hold him. 

 

Confused by his own conflicting impulses, Philip turned to Michael. 

 

"How much farther to the lodge, Michael?"

 

"It's actually on the other side of this rise," Michael said.

 

"So what the fuck are we standing here for?"  Jason demanded. "Let's get the fuck out of here!"  Not waiting for Philip and Michael, he started up the hill, almost running through the deep snow.

 

"You know he last won't last five minutes at that pace," Michael commented, watching Jason.

 

"He'll probably make himself sick," Philip sighed.

 

"Yup. Stupid fuck."  Michael shook his head.

 

"Cut the language, Michael," Philip warned absently, starting up the hill after Jason.

 

As Michael predicted, Jason couldn't keep up the pace.  Half way up the slope Philip caught up with Jason. The younger man stood bent over, trying to catch his breath.

 

"Easy does it," Philip soothed, instinctively rubbing the younger man's back.  "Between the altitude and the snow you have to take things a little slower.  Let Michael break the trail, he's used to it."

 

Michael couldn't help throwing a triumphant smile at the other man as he passed.  Jason glowered at him; too busy trying to breathe to retaliate.

 

"Michael. Don't get too far ahead of us," Philip warned.

 

"No problem," Michael called back.

 

Philip kept half an eye on Michael even as he continued to rub Jason's back.

 

"It's okay, Jason," Philip soothed, listening to the younger man as he coughed and gagged between gasping breaths.  "Try to take a couple of deep breaths."

 

"Deep...breaths...fuck...I...can't...breath ...at...all," Jason wheezed.  "Shit."  He moaned miserably.

 

"Shh, don't talk," Philip cautioned.  "Just breathe."

 

"Is he going to be okay?"  Michael asked, returning from the top of the hill.

 

"Just give him a couple more minutes."  Philip smiled, grateful that Michael rarely held a grudge.

 

Slowly Jason's breathing calmed and he was able to stand upright.

 

"Better?"  Philip questioned.

 

"Yeah."  Jason nodded, his face pale.

 

"It's only a little bit farther."  Michael smiled encouragingly.

 

"Okay."  Jason straightened up, squaring his shoulders.  "Let's get this over with."

 

"Good boy," Philip complimented.

 

Michael led off, keeping a slow steady pace.  At the top of the hill all three men paused.  Below, nestled among the trees, was the lodge.

 

"Home. Sweet. Home," Michael laughed happily, starting down the hill.

 

Jason and Philip were grinning as they followed Michael down.  Within minutes they were standing in the enclosed front porch, stamping the snow off.

 

"I didn't think we'd ever get here."  Jason sighed, collapsing onto one of the large wooden rockers placed strategically around the porch.

 

"I knew we'd make it," Michael spoke softly as he moved to stare out the door.  Every once in a while when the wind calmed, he fancied he could see the faint outlines of the wrecked plane.  "Now Carl just needs to get home."

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

Jason stood by a window in the great room of the lodge, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that he didn't want, staring intently through the swirling snow as if sheer will could make it part and show him what he wanted to see.

 

"You should be drinking that coffee, not warming your hands with it." Philip came up behind him unnoticed.

 

"I should be there with him," Jason stated, never taking his eyes off the window.

 

"Carl knows what he's doing," Philip told him reassuringly. "If anyone can get them out of the plane and off the mountain, he can."

 

"I failed him again." Jason ignored the other man's comment as if it hadn't been said. "He needed me to be there and be strong for him, like he is for me. Instead, I reacted emotionally. I added to his problems instead of helping with them. What's wrong with me?" he demanded, finally looking at Philip. "I'm thirty two years old and a college professor, for God's sake! So why can't I be more like John, strong and grounded and good in a crisis? Why do I always fall apart and act like a god-damned teenager having a bad hair day?"

 

Philip shifted uncomfortably, uncertain how to respond, not knowing whether Jason actually wanted advice from a stranger or if he was still on an emotional roller coaster.

 

"Different people react to stress in different ways-" Philip began cautiously.

 

"Yeah, and I always react the wrong way," Philip interrupted bitterly.

 

Roller coaster, Philip thought, and patting him on the back and assuring him that he was fine wasn't going to help. What Jason needed was something constructive to do.

 

"A bed," Philip said out loud.

 

"Huh?" The sheer irrelevance of the remark cut through Jason's self- condemnation.

 

"They're going to need a bed for Dale as soon as they get here, and we need something to use as a stretcher to get him from the sled to the house. They're also going to be cold and hungry, so we should build up a fire, warm some blankets and get some more hot drinks going. If you feel so bad about your behavior earlier, make up for it now. Michael!" he called to the absent lodge owner.

 

"Yeah?" Michael entered the room with an armload of wood, which he dropped next to the hearth.

 

"Can you tell us what rooms we should use and where we can find extra blankets?"

 

The lodge owners typically closed off the bedrooms not in use to save on heat. Under Michael’s direction, the other two men chose three rooms, opened heating vents, swept and dusted, and made the beds with clean sheets and blankets. They carried in armloads of firewood, made pots of coffee and tea, chopped meat and vegetables for soup, and hung several blankets near the fire to warm. 

 

"I think that's all we can do for now," Michael announced, setting a more complete first aid kit on the table. "I found a piece of plywood that we can use for a stretcher-"

 

He was interrupted by Jason, who had taken up his position at the window again.

 

"I think I see something," Jason cried excitedly. "Yeah, I see them. They're coming!"

 

Before anyone could stop him, Jason raced out the door, pausing only long enough to jam him feet into his boots.  Philip swore and, grabbing their coats, followed.  He paused on the porch long enough to pull on his own coat and slip on his boots, then went after the younger man who was making his floundering way towards the approaching dogsled.

 

"...bed ready, and warm blankets," Jason was saying eagerly to John when Philip got there.  "How's Dale?" he asked, looking anxiously at the still bundle on the sled.  "He's not - not - "

 

"Just unconscious," John said reassuringly, although his own face was tight was worry.

 

"We need to get him in the house - " Jason began.

 

"Put on your coat, Jason," Philip interrupted, joining them.

 

"Later." Jason made an impatient gesture.  "Where's that plywood Michael found?"

 

"Now, Jason," Philip said firmly, holding up the coat.  Jason sighed but shrugged into the coat, much to John's surprise.  "Go give Michael a hand with the plywood, please.  The sooner we get Dale inside, the better."

 

Jason scowled but headed back towards the lodge.

 

John watched his brother's retreating form with a little frown on his face.  Jason was always a handful during a crisis, and John had never seen anyone redirect him so easily - except for himself.  He glanced over at the pilot with a frown, not at all certain he liked the control that the man was exerting over his brother.

 

Philip stepped over to Carl to help him remove the straps binding Dale to the sled. Carl gave him an amused look; jerked his head in the direction of the retreating young man.

 

"Always had a feeling you had it in you," Carl murmured.

 

"Shut up, you." Philip gave his friend a good-natured glare. He looked down at the unconscious young man.  "How is he?"

 

"Could be worse.  We need to get him inside."  Carl looked up with a smile as Michael and Jason returned with the plywood stretcher.

 

"Good thinking, Michael," Carl said approvingly.

 

"We've got everything ready inside," Michael said, unable to resist hugging his partner tightly.  "I'm glad you're here," he murmured.

 

Carl gave Michael a reassuring hug in return. 

 

"I told you I'd be here as soon as I could, afagau."  Carl released Michael and, with John's help, carefully transferred Dale from the sled to the plywood stretcher.

 

"The three of you take a corner and, on my signal, lift," Carl instructed John, Jason and Philip.  "Michael, take care of the dogs, please."

 

Michael nodded reluctantly.  He wanted to stay with Carl and help him, but knew that the dogs required his attention.  After their exertions, they needed to be released from their harnesses so they could eat and rest.  Carl was needed to look after the injured man; there was no one else who could do the job.  He led the team towards the shed behind the house.

 

Carl grabbed one corner of the plywood, visually checking to make sure that the other men had a good hold on their corner.

 

"On three," Carl said, and then counted off.  They lifted smoothly and slowly made their way the short distance to the lodge.

 

Dale was no sooner deposited on a bed than John finally felt his knees giving way. He more or less fell into a chair that had thoughtfully been positioned beside the bed.

 

Damn. John rubbed his face with one hand, trying to get rid of the exhaustion and the weariness and the weakness he suddenly felt, but finally he had to give in. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

 

John felt a hand on his knee. He opened his eyes to find himself looking directly into Jason's huge, concerned eyes.  Jason was crouched beside him, looking intently up into the face of his big brother, barely able to suppress the fear that once again rose in him. John silently reached down and pulled his brother into a tight hug, giving comfort, as well as seeking his own strength in the familiar embrace. He closed his eyes and let his head rest on Jason’s, grateful for a few seconds of peace before he had to concentrate his energies once again on his severely injured lover.

 

It was Jason who pulled out of the embrace after a few moments.

 

"I’m going to get you something warm to drink," Jason said quietly and slipped out of the room.

 

Philip had already prepared a tray with bowls of broth, mugs of tea and some sandwiches.  He was just about to bring the tray into the bedroom when Jason showed up in the kitchen, threw his coat on an empty chair and grabbed the tray.

 

"I’m doing that," Jason said curtly, tightening his grip on the tray when Philip didn't immediately let go.

 

Knowing better then to fight with somebody with a tray full with hot liquids and pleased that the younger man was trying to do something useful, Philip finally left the tray to Jason and followed the younger man into the bedroom.

 

Carl had started a brief examination of their patient as soon as he had taken off his coat.  He flickered a small flashlight in front of Dale’s eyes.

 

"How is he?" John worriedly asked, glad for Jason's momentary absence.

 

"As well or as bad as to be expected, considering his condition and what he went through." Carl saw a tinge of impatience on John's face at his ambiguous answer and sighed inwardly.

 

"What I mean is, John, his vitals are not bad, and we seem to have some luck with his pupil dilation. I don’t think he has a concussion. He is still unconscious, and to be honest, I hope he will stay that way until we can peel him out of his clothes and get him treated."  Carl turned to face John directly.

 

"You're hurt too, John. You should lie down for a little while. Philip can help me undress Dale."

 

"No." John bent forward, took a small, pale, cold hand in his bigger one and rubbed gently. "Dale needs me around when he wakes up. He will be terrified if I’m not here."

 

Carl decided not to argue for the moment. He knew John wouldn’t be able to rest until he had checked out the battered body of his beloved, until he had seen the injuries that were still mercifully covered by clothes. Carl hoped desperately that everything would turn out not to be nearly as bad as the little voice in his head wanted to make him believe.

 

"So let’s get him out of these wet.... Oh, tea and sandwiches, wonderful."  Carl smiled at Jason, who put the tray on a small table and brought his brother a mug of hot tea.  Jason crouched down beside the chair, slightly leaning against John’s side, his eyes full of dismay at the sight of Dale’s motionless body.

 

John took a few sips of the hot liquid.

 

"Dale will be fine, Jason. Trust me. Have I ever lied to you?" John reassured his brother.

 

Jason smiled weakly.

 

Carl spoke up, trying to sound cheerful.

 

"Okay, let’s get this young man stripped.  There is no need for him to stay in cold, wet clothes." He took a pair of scissors from the nightstand and started to cut off the wet and bloodstained clothes from his patient.

 

From his position against the doorframe, Philip had watched the short interaction between John and Jason. He couldn’t quite identify the feeling he had when he saw the closeness between the brothers. How calm Jason was able to act, despite the horror that was always visible in his eyes. He knew that this calmness was only superficial, but, nevertheless, his brother’s presence seemed to help him. Philip also saw the weariness in John’s eyes and his movements. The man was exhausted and perhaps more injured then he pretended to be.

 

"C’mon, Jason, let them take care of Dale. No need for us to hang around here and stand in their way," Philip said, meaning only to be helpful. He held out an inviting hand to Jason.

 

"He can stay here." The answer to Philip’s request came immediately and sharply, not from Jason, but from John, who put a restraining hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.

 

Carl took in the unspoken challenge that passed between Philip and John. A pissing contest was the last thing they needed, not when they had an injured young man who needed their attention.

 

"John, you don't want Jason to have to see Dale's injuries, do you?" he asked.

 

"He doesn't need Philip to babysit him," John said, glaring at the pilot.

 

"I'm only trying to help," Philip said, exasperated.

 

"I'm sure you are," John responded sarcastically.

 

Carl had had enough. 

 

"Jason, please wait for Michael in the living room? Philip, stay and help us.  Two of us will need to lift Dale, while a third person pulls his clothing from under him."

 

"John?" Jason asked warily, looking between his brother, Carl and Philip.

 

"Go on, Jason," his brother told him. "Do as Carl says."

 

The younger man nodded and started towards the door. He stopped when he reached Philip's side and gave the pilot a questioning, confused look. Philip smiled reassuringly and squeezed Jason's shoulder.

 

"Jason," John spoke sharply. "Please, go to the other room."

 

The younger man hurried from the room.

 

"There was no need to speak to him like that," Philip challenged.

 

"Excuse me?" John asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

"You heard me," Philip said.

 

"My brother is not your concern," John said, annoyed. "You were hired as a pilot, not a guardian for my brother."

 

"Enough," Carl said firmly.  "I would appreciate it if you two would postpone your discussion and help me with Dale before he wakes up."

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

Michael entered the lodge and pulled off his jacket and gloves; hung them on hooks by the door.  He made his way into the living room, where he found Jason pacing in front of the fireplace, a mug in his hands.

 

"What's going on?" Michael asked, gesturing towards the bedroom.

 

Jason rolled his eyes.

 

"Let's see...I was forced to come along on a trip I didn't want to take, ended up in a plane crash, was forced to walk across the wilds of Alaska, only to find myself in a scene out of Grizzly Adams. On top of that, I have my brother's partner dying in the other room, while John and Philip glare at each other." He cast his own glare at Michael. "How's that for what's going on?"

 

Michael suppressed his urge to smack the other man.

 

 "What do you mean, Dale is dying?  Is that what Carl said?"

 

"No.  Everyone says he'll be fine, but you only have to see him..."

 

"If Carl says he'll be fine, then he'll be fine," Michael replied matter-of-factly.

 

"I feel so much better," was Jason's sarcastic reply.  He took a long sip of liquid from his mug.  "I'm going stir crazy."

 

"Sorry if we're not entertaining enough for you," Michael snapped.

 

"I thought about listening to the radio, but apparently someone broke it," Jason replied, as if Michael had never spoken. He nodded towards the radio pieces still on the kitchen table.

 

"It wasn't working before I took it apart," Michael replied defensively.

 

"I take it that's the only radio you have?"

 

"Yes," Michael said shortly.

 

"Well, you have to have a computer."

 

"Nope," Michael answered, wondering if Jason was always this annoying.

 

Jason looked at him disbelief.

 

 "What is this place? A third world country? No, forget that, even third world countries have computers," Jason said sarcastically. "You belong to some type of cult?"

 

Oh yeah, he'd really like to smack this guy, Michael decided.

 

"I have a notebook computer, but it's in town being upgraded. Anyway, Carl and I are up here to spend time by ourselves, away from all distractions."

 

"Not even a cell phone?" Jason asked hopefully.

 

"We're too far out of range..."

 

"My God, haven't you people heard of civilization?" Jason shook his head in disbelief, the reality of their situation hitting him even harder.

 

"You'll notice we have electricity and running water." Michael glared at the Jason, his patience finally gone.

 

"But no central heating.  I suppose we should be grateful there's indoor plumbing," Jason groused. "You do have an indoor bathroom, right?"

 

"Yeah, but if it's not grand enough for you, you can always hike back to the plane and stay there," Michael replied coldly.

 

"I was merely making an observation.  You don't have to get all bent out of shape," Jason snapped and entered the kitchen to get himself another drink. "You don't get a lot of company, do you?"

 

"Not if we're lucky," Michael said, noticing the bottle of scotch the other man was pouring into his mug.  "Who the hell opened that?"

 

"I did," Jason said.  "At least you have something decent to drink."

 

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Michael pulled the bottle from Jason's hand, staring at it in disbelief.

 

"What? It's just some scotch," Jason reasoned, taking a step back from the enraged man.

 

"It's not just some scotch!  It was mine, you stupid..."

 

"Who the hell are you calling stupid, Mr. Mountain-man?  You probably couldn't even tell me what the derivatives of arctrigonometric function are if your life depended on it!"

 

"Maybe not, but I can show you how to shove a scotch bottle up your..."

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

John, Carl and Dale had just settled Dale under the covers when the yelling from the living room peaked.  It had been quite awhile since Carl had heard his lover so angry.

 

"Stay with Dale," Carl told John.

 

Carla and Philip entered the living room just in time to hear Michael tell Jason what he could do with a bottle of scotch.

 

"Michael!" Carl bellowed, as Philip shouted Jason's name.  "What's going on out here?  We have an injured young man in the other room who is in need of peace and quiet."

 

"I don't know what's going on," Jason said. "I'm standing her, minding my own business and he goes off on me."

 

"Why do I have the feeling there is more to it than that?" Philip asked.

 

"Oh yeah, take his side since he's your friend!"

 

Carl gave his partner a worried glance. Michael's face was red with anger, his breathing labored, but his eyes were filled with pain.

 

"Afagau, would you care to tell me what happened?"

 

"He had the nerve to go through our cabinets and open my bottle of scotch!" Michael yelled.

 

"Excuse me for wanting something with a kick," Jason said snidely. "I've had a difficult day."

 

"I can give you something with a kick!" Michael exclaimed and advanced again; he was stopped by Carl's hand on his shoulder.

 

"Enough!" Carl warned.

 

"Take his side, why don't you?"  Michael hissed, pulling away from Carl and storming out of the lodge.

 

"What is his problem?" Jason asked coldly.

 

"I'll go after Michael," Carl told Philip, pulling on his coat and grabbing Michael's jacket from its hook.  "Why don't you explain a few things to our young uiyuala there?"

 

"He's such an asshole!" Jason exclaimed angrily.

 

"Excuse me?" Philip stared at Jason in disbelief.

 

"Not Carl.  Michael."

 

"And what makes such a comment acceptable?"  Philip asked. "You had no right to open that bottle of scotch," he added.

 

"It's a friggin' bottle of scotch!"

 

"Not to Michael, and you had no right to open it without asking!"  Philip said, his tone hard.

 

"And you have no right to speak to my brother in that way!" John said angrily.

 

Philip turned and looked coolly at John.

 

"Excuse me?" Philip asked, wondering if rudeness ran in the family.

 

"I said," replied John in a heated tone, "You have no right to talk to my brother like that. Just who exactly do you think you are? As I told you before, you were hired to fly the plane and that was all. Now leave my brother alone!"   John was flushed red and breathing hard.

 

Philip looked at John calmly.

 

"You are quite right, John, you did indeed employ me to fly the plane and that was all. But let me stress, while you employed me to fly the plane, you did not buy me. I am not your servant, John. I, like you, am an adult male with the right to voice my opinions and to act as I see fit."  Philip took a deep breath.

 

"Due to the trauma your partner has suffered, I am making allowances for you.  However, I do NOT take kindly to you thinking you have the right to dictate to me on any level. Your brother is an adult; he can tell me himself if he finds my attentions and interactions unwanted. Are we clear here, John?"

 

John stood in the doorway, thoroughly abashed. Rarely in his adult life had anyone spoken to him like that. Normally he was the one who spoke to others, not the one spoken to.

 

Jason looked at his brother and Philip, waiting for John to speak out.  John's lack of response scared Jason even more than everything else that had gone on. Jason threw the glass of scotch down and started to scream.

 

"Stop it stop it stop it! You can't do that! You can't talk to John like that! John, tell him! Tell him, John! It was only a drink and I'm sorry and don't let Dale die, please don't let Dale die."

 

Harsh, shuddering breaths shook Jason.  John looked at Jason and then looked at Philip, who was already moving towards his little brother.

 

"Shh, Jason," John said. A strange double echo was heard as Philip said the same words almost in tandem with John.

 

"It's okay, Dale will be okay, I promise," John said quietly.  "And Philip was right to say what he did as well, Jason. Calm down now, little brother, deep breaths."

 

Philip, by this point, had pulled Jason into his arms and was holding Jason tightly to him. Jason cuddled closer to the pilot; not realizing what he was doing and looking at John with tear-flooded eyes.  Philip gently rubbed Jason's back in a soothing motion, trying to calm his tortured gasps.

 

John looked into Philip's eyes and taking a deep breath, gently nodded his head towards his brother.

 

"I need to go back in to Dale now, Jason, it's going to be okay. Philip will look after you, and you DO owe Michael an apology by the way."  John smiled ruefully at Philip.  "Philip, my apologies. Please look after Jason for me."

 

Philip smiled gently and nodded his own head in response.

 

"No problem, John. You are under a lot of stress. I will take care of Jason as if he were my own."

 

John stopped mid turn and made eye contact once again with Philip. In that instant, John saw what he was truly having problems with. Here was a man like himself, a man strong enough to carry his brother when needed, a man strong enough to take on his little brother. That shook him on a level he didn't want to acknowledge, but knew he would soon have to. For now John only nodded once in acknowledgement and turned back towards his Dale.

 

Had Dale's brother, Pete, ever felt like this?  Or maybe this was what parents felt. All John really knew was that Philip had better take damn good care of Jason, or else John would kill him in such a way as to make the plane crash feel like a ride in Disneyland!

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

Carl sighed as he left the lodge in search of his partner.  This planned vacation with his lover had certainly gone off track. Dale's injuries were critical, but John could deal with him for now.  There was no way that Carl would leave his own partner out in the cold, either literally or figuratively.

 

As he expected, Carl found Michael with the dogs. In the dimly lit surroundings of the kennel, his lover looked miserable. Carl was torn.  He knew how much that bottle of Scotch had meant to Michael. Michael was in need of comfort as well as discipline. This moment, and really it could only be a moment, was not for the latter.

 

"Afagau, I know today..."

 

Turning to fit into the taller man's embrace, Michael sniffed around the big lump in his throat.  He hugged Carl fiercely.

 

"I saved it for so long, Carl."

 

"Yes, you did, but Jason didn't know that. Afagau, remember about five years ago when we were replacing the kitchen cupboards and that entire shelf collapsed?"

 

Michael swallowed noisily but didn't say anything. Carl continued.

 

"Every other liquor bottle broke; the scotch bottle bounced.  That wasn't its time to be wasted on concrete.  Today, Jason needed something. He's scared.  He was involved in a plane crash less than two hours ago, he and his brother are sore and bruised, and his brother's lover is hurt badly.  If you can't drink scotch on that occasion, when can you?"

 

That comment provoked a small chuckle from Michael. Carl closed his arms around his partner tightly before kissing him gently.

 

"I have to go and take care of the other young man inside who needs me.  Be good," Carl admonished.

 

"I'm *always* good," Michael responded cheekily.

 

"Except when you're being bad." Carl grinned and released his partner.

 

"Carl, thanks."  Michael pressed a fleeting kiss to his lover's jaw.

 

"I'll accept them now, because I know you won't be thanking me later. We've unfinished business between us, afagau, and before you protest, let me finish.  I know there's a snowstorm blowing through, but with a working radio, we might've been able to notify people that Philip's plane came down. We might've been able to call for help for Dale."

 

Michael knew that tone of voice.  It meant that after Carl had taken care of Dale, it would be his turn.  Biting the inside of his lip, Michael focused on the warmth he still felt from his partner's embrace and not his guilt.  He knew he should not have toyed with the radio, but it had been irresistible. Squatting, he petted the two lead dogs.  He was in no hurry to go back inside.

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

Philip continued to rub Jason's back gently while the young mathematician cried out his fears. As the crying jag came to a sniffly close, Jason stiffened awkwardly and tried to tug out of Philip's arms, but Philip wasn't having any of that. Even though Jason couldn't see the motion, he felt it as Philip shook his head.

 

"Stay put a moment, Jason, I want to talk to you. You shouldn't have opened their liquor without asking, Jason.  You need to apologize to Michael. Maybe you can ask him why that bottle of scotch was so important to him."

 

"I don't think it's any of your business," Jason muttered, trying again to pull away.

 

"I do. I've known Carl and Michael for many years.  They are my friends, and you will not be rude to my friends.  Friends who've just helped all of us, by the way."

 

Jason's protest subsided as he listened to what the Philip was saying.  In truth, he didn't want to leave this man's arms.  There was something about this man.  A curl of attraction that he hoped was reciprocated. 

 

Jason liked how Philip had just faced down John.  This was the first man who had every stood up to his brother. Although he had been occupied with other concerns at the time, he had noticed that Philip had hovered close to him since the crash.

 

"If you give him a chance, you may find that you and Michael have a lot in common," Philip finished.

 

Flustered by his distracting thoughts, Jason tuned back into the pilot's words.

 

Carl chose that moment to come in through the cabin's door.  With a curious lift of his eyebrow, he took in the scene before him while divesting himself of his jacket.

 

Philip placed both his hands on Jason's shoulders and urged him around to face the lodge's owner.  A press of the hand on one shoulder prompted the young mathematician to speak.

 

"I'm sorry," Jason said in a wobbly voice, still hoarse from crying.

 

If he had hoped for forgiveness from Carl, he was disappointed.

 

Carl acknowledged the apology with the merest tilt of his head, preoccupied with his concern for the injured young man in the bedroom.  Although he hadn't confided in the others, he was severely worried about Dale's broken leg, his broken ribs, the amount of blood the young man had lost and the possibility of internal bleeding.

 

"I did what you said and he didn't say anything. He's still mad at me."  Jason glared at Philip, his expression a mixture of hurt and embarrassment.

 

Nothing was ever simple or easy, Philip thought to himself.  Although he did not blame Carl, he sympathized with Jason's obvious disappointment.

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

The wind continued to howl as snow buffeted the lodge, forming drifts up and over the patio.   Jason sat hugging his knees in the kitchen chair where Philip had told him to sit, the storm raging inside him as furious as the storm raging outside. 

 

Actually, Philip had told him to go to bed in one of rooms that he had helped freshen up earlier, Jason remembered, staring intently at the crystals of the snow-covered window. Philip must have seen the alarm on his face at the thought of being alone, because he had relented and instead suggested waiting in the kitchen with Michael. 

 

Even the redneck's company was better than being alone in a strange, dark room under these conditions.  

 

Michael hadn’t said much to him after Jason’s apology for drinking the scotch. Jason watched Michael fiddling with the components of the two radios strewn across the kitchen table.  It was a mass totally foreign to him. 

 

Jason turned back to the isometric design on the window and sighed forlornly.  He didn’t see Michael raise his eyes in exasperation.

 

Philip reentered the rustic kitchen, carrying a basin of water.  He turned his back toward Jason, anxious to hide the sight of the blood-tinged water from him and drained the basin wearily. 

 

Over the last few hours, there had been many runs around the lodge to collect various aids for medical treatment: Boiling water, alcohol for sterilizing needles, the sewing kit with its scissors and thread and various household items to convert into splints and bandages.

 

"How is he?" Jason demanded. He asked the same anxious question of whoever came from Dale’s room.  Mostly it was Philip or Michael, finding supplies for Carl. 

 

"Okay," Philip said, turning toward Jason with a reassuring smile. "He’s not quite as restless as he was."

 

Each time Philip had returned to their patient, Jason had followed, despite being told repeatedly to stay put in the kitchen.  Jason had only caught glimpses of the pale and bloodied Dale, glimpses of the horror of what was being done in a desperate attempt to help him, before being shooed from the room. 

 

"Well, I sure as hell hope not! Christ, Carl was poking needles into him and sewing him up like a torn shirt.  And setting his leg..." Jason went on and on, panic hiking his voice higher.  "You guys don’t even know what you’re doing…and…"

 

"Jason.  Jason!"  Philip raised his voice over the mounting hysteria. Turning to Jason, he took him by the shoulders and shook him, hard.  "I know this is hard to take.  I told you before; Carl, Michael and I know something of basic emergency medical care from our days in the military.  We’ve been able to help Dale.  He’s going to be okay."

 

Jason took a deep breath, looking deeply into the hazel eyes looking back into his. 

 

"I know.  I know."  Jason brought his hands up to cover Philip’s wrists, holding on.  More calmly he said, "I know you’re just telling me this to calm me down.  I know how bad he is, how bad he could be. I’m not stupid, Philip.  You don’t need to keep lying to me.  I know I’m panicking, but I am not stupid.  I know how serious this is.  He has to get medical treatment." 

 

Philip’s gaze faltered a second as he opened his mouth to speak.

 

"Dale’s holding up well, Jason.  As far as we can tell, his life is not threatened.  He lost a lot of blood, but your brother said he was very healthy and strong." 

 

Jason nodded solemnly, acknowledging Philip’s words.

 

Michael had come up beside Philip, also looking for reassurance. Philip released his hands from Jason's grip and put an arm around each of their shoulders.

 

"He’s going to be okay," Philip said again, looking at each of them in turn. Giving them each a reassuring squeeze, he returned to the bedroom.

 

"He’s going to be okay." Jason repeated.

 

"Yeah," Michael said, willing it to be so.

 

Carl and Philip returned to the kitchen a half-hour later.  Carl handed Michael a stack of bloodstained towels.

 

"Laundry room, please, afagau." 

 

Michael complied quickly.

 

Wearily, Philip emptied more bloody water into the sink and began washing it down.

 

"How is he?"  Jason asked, yet again.

 

"He’s resting now," Carl said, glancing up at the clock above the stove. Two a.m.  He grimaced. Bringing his gaze back to Jason’s, he said, "We’ve done all that we can for now.  We’ve stopped the bleeding, set his leg and wrapped his ribs."

 

Michael came up to him and massaged his tired shoulder muscles.  Carl gave an appreciative smile.

 

"Is there any coffee left?"  Carl asked Michael. 

 

"You’ll never sleep if you drink coffee now," Michael informed his partner. 

 

"I'll come to bed soon," Carl promised, running his hand over his face wearily.  "First I want to take a look at John."

 

"What’s wrong with John?"  Jason exclaimed, alarmed.

 

"I’m fine, Jase," John answered from the doorway. 

 

Jason whirled around to see his big brother and rushed over. John looked bloody and exhausted. Jason knew without having to ask that most of the blood was Dale's.

 

"Is there any coffee?"  John echoed Carl's request.

 

"Yeah, I’ll get you some.  Why don’t you sit down?" Michael poured two cups and handed them to Carl and John.

 

"Great, Michael.  Thanks. I need to get back in case Dale wakes up.  I just wanted to stretch my legs a moment.  Jason, you doing okay?"  John asked his baby brother.

 

"Yeah," Jason tried to reply confidently, aware of Philip watching. He knew he probably was making a poor show of it.  Mustering his courage Jason said, "Why don’t you have Carl take a look at you, John, and then get some sleep?  I can watch Dale for a little while.  I’ll wake you as soon as he wakes." 

 

Philip watched as Jason looked hopefully into his brother’s eyes.

 

A smile spread over John’s handsome features as he brought his hand up to softly tousle Jason’s brown hair, disheveling it further. 

 

"Thanks, little bro, but I’ll take first watch," John said softly.

 

"John, why don’t you get washed up?  Jason and I can sit with Dale for a few minutes." Philip gazed at John levelly. 

 

"Michael, would you mind getting something of mine for John to wear?" Carl asked.

 

Michael took a quick look at John's frame, similar in size to Carl's, and headed to their bedroom.

 

"I’ll lend you some clean clothes and wash yours up tomorrow," Carl continued, moving toward John. "John, I want to check those sutures I put in your arm; you’ve been using it too much.  How’s your head?"  

 

Jason’s eyebrows went up worriedly.  John lifted his sleeve up and showed Jason the suture job.  Frankenstein immediately came to Jason’s mind.  He swallowed audibly. 

 

"I thought it was excellent work myself," John said wryly. "Head’s doing okay too."

 

Carl looked at the stitching and seemed satisfied with his work.

 

"Thank you, Carl, I’m going to go wash up and change.  Would you sit with Dale for a few minutes for me, Jase, like you offered?" 

 

Jason agreed with a broad smile and left the room.

 

"Are you sure that was a good idea, John?" Philip asked.  "You sure he’s not going to panic when he sees Dale?" 

 

"He’s a big boy, he'll be okay," John said.  "I hope."

 

"If it’s okay with you, can I sit with them?"  Philip asked, his eyes seeking John's.

 

John hesitated for a brief second and then, with a deep sigh, nodded his agreement. 

 

Jason crept slowly into the room.  Poor Dale. Nowhere in sight was the ready smile Jason associated with his brother’s partner. Dale looked small and pale.

 

Jason knew he and Dale didn’t always get along. Dale was jealous of John’s attention to him, and sometimes Jason was jealous of Dale's special bond with John.  Never would he ever wish him hurt though, especially not like this.

 

Jason didn’t see blood, but then Dale was covered neck to toe in heavy blankets. Under the blankets was a long lump where the splints were attached to Dale’s leg. His blond hair had been cut away along the area where Carl had stitched up the gash above his ear.

 

Another Frankenstein job. Dale wasn’t going to like that when he woke up, Jason thought with a wry smile. Dale was pretty meticulous about his hair. Jason stroked his finger gently over Dale's forehead, pushing aside the fringe that was usually jelled in place.

 

Poor, poor, Dale. 

 

"Hey," a voice whispered.

 

Jason jumped about a foot. 

 

"Damnit!"  Jason whispered fiercely at Philip.

 

"Shh!"  Philip admonished.  

 

"You shush.  Jeez, you scared the fucking crap outta me," Jason complained in a hushed voice.

 

"You swear too much." Philip’s eyebrows furrowed. "I’m checking on Dale."

 

"Well it’s my job now, so you go away," Jason said crossly. He opened his mouth to say something nasty about minding his own business, and then caught himself.  "Go away."

 

"I was checking on you, too," Philip informed him.

 

"I’m fine now.  No more hysterics." Jason turned away, crossed his arms and stood looking down at Dale.

 

"Good.  I was just worried.  We’ve all been through so much today,"  Philip said.

 

Jason hugged his chest tightly. 

 

"Well, if you need someone to talk to, you can come to me.  I’m going to go to bed now, but you can wake me if you need to. Good night, Jason."

 

Jason turned to Philip, but John had just come in the doorway wearing Carl's worn jeans and sweatshirt. 

 

"Good night, John," Philip said in passing. 

 

"He hasn’t moved since I’ve been here, John," Jason told his brother, forcing his attention from the now empty doorway

 

"I suppose the longer he sleeps the better," John replied quietly,

 

They both gazed down at the wounded man, one as a lover, and the other as a friend. 

 

"John…he looks scared." 

 

"I know, but I think he knows I’m here for him."  John smiled sadly.  He came up behind his young brother and put his arms around his shoulders, resting his cheek in the soft curling hair.

 

"Yeah, he knows." Jason replied after a minute of silence

 

John let go much too soon for Jason’s liking.

 

"Why don’t you go to bed, Jase?" John could see how tired Jason was. "You can’t keep your eyes open.  Come on, I’ll walk you to your room."

 

With John’s encouragement, Jason got into the strange bed and exhaustion quickly won.  He was soon sleeping. 

 

John walked back to Dale and brought his chair close.  Taking Dale's hand in his, he sat vigil, staring at his precious partner.  It wasn’t too long before a tear fell down his cheek as his tired thoughts turned to how he had almost lost his Dale. How he could still lose him.

 

It was a few hours later when Dale first groaned. The sound instantly jerked John's attention to the bed and his partner. Sliding down on his knees next to the bed, he knelt there and stroked Dale's hair.

 

"Hi babe," John said softly.

 

"Hi," Dale whispered back, his voice rough and dry. "You look like hell, love."

 

"You don't. You look beautiful," John said, smiling down at Dale, his voice rough with emotion.

 

"Are you okay? Is Jason okay?"

 

"Everyone's fine babe, we're safe and warm and going to be okay." John whispered back, reluctant to break the silence.

 

"Good." Taking a deep breath, Dale grimaced. "Ribs?"

 

"They're okay. Just a bit banged up, but nothing permanent."

 

"I'm glad you're okay."

 

"I'm good, babe; better now that you're awake," John said softly. "I love you."

 

"I know, I love you too." Closing his eyes, Dale slowly fell into a healing sleep.

 

John knelt on the floor for another ten minutes, hoping that his partner would awaken again. Finally giving up, he stood stiffly and resumed his watch from the chair by the bed. As he looked out the window, he noticed with a smile that the darkness was finally breaking and the first rays of the sun were slowly emerging.

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

Jason groaned. Further sleep was impossible. A few hours of rest had given him a new perspective on his actions of the night before. He was bitterly ashamed.

 

Jason couldn’t believe how immaturely he had acted. He knew that Carl and Michael had probably saved their lives. And he knew that if a stranger had come into his home and started going through his liquor cabinet he would have been just as angry as Michael had been. And maybe there really was a story behind that stupid bottle of scotch.

 

Tired of listening to his conscience, Jason decided to get up. He found Michael in the kitchen, putting on his coat.

 

"Morning. I’m going out to take care of the dogs," Michael said.

 

"I’ve never been around sled dogs before. Can I go with you?" Jason asked, wanting a fresh start with Michael.

 

"Sure. Just remember that these are working dogs, not pets. Be careful."

 

Shrugging into his coat, Jason followed Michael out through the snowdrifts to the kennels. He could hear the dogs barking.

 

"Does everyone out here use sleds?" Jason asked.

 

"Yeah, most people have a handful of sled dogs and a sled," Michael answered.

 

"I would have thought that snowmobiles would have replaced them."

 

"Both have their uses. Snowmobiles cause a lot of pollution, both noise and air. It’s fun to go mushing and useful when hauling large loads."

 

Jason had to agree. It was nice and quiet, except for the dogs barking.

 

"They seem impatient," Jason observed.

 

"Yeah, it’s breakfast time," Michael laughed, leading the way. "Since we don’t race them, we don’t have to worry about special diets. We can just give them kibble from the store. We have some friends who race the Iditarod. They make their own dog food.  Sometimes I think their dogs eat better then we do."

 

Jason helped feed and water the dogs as Michael scooped the pens. Michael talked to each of the dogs. Jason enjoyed the quiet sharing of chores. He began to think that maybe Michael wasn’t so bad.

 

"I really want to apologize about yesterday. I know I made you angry and…." Jason said as they left the kennels.

 

Michael hunched his shoulders, pretending he hadn’t heard. It hurt too much to talk about that scotch.

 

"The others should be up by now, Jason.  Maybe one of them will have started breakfast. Race you!" Michael took off for the house.

 

Carl looked up as the two young men clattered into the house, panting and laughing amicably.

 

"Coffee’s on, grab a cup while I finish making breakfast," Carl suggested.

 

"Michael, would you mind if I looked at the radio? I’ve had a little experience with things that don’t work," Philip asked, surveying the jumble on the table.

 

"Sure, why not?  We were getting a lot of static, so I took ours apart to see if I could fix it. The parts from your plane's radio are there, too.  See if you can figure it out," Michael responded with a rueful grin. "Maybe you'll have better luck than I did."

 

The early morning light continued to filter softly into the room where John kept a vigil over his stricken lover. The soft light from the sun's morning rays landed on Dale's face, emphasizing the paleness of his complexion.

 

A knock at the door drew John's attention from Dale.

 

"Come in." John took just a moment to collect himself and make sure his voice was steady.

 

Carl and Philip entered the room. Carl carried a cup of coffee and Philip was balancing a glass of water and three vials of pills.  Carl walked over to John and handed the coffee to the obviously tired man.

 

John accepted the warm mug and took a grateful sip.

 

"How was his night?" Carl asked, nodding at Dale.

 

"He was out of it for most of the night, but he did manage to wake up a few times. He fell right back into sleep, or unconsciousness.  I'm not sure which," John said, sighing as he reached out with his free hand to brush a few strands of hair off Dale's forehead.

 

"Rest is very important right now," Philip said reassuringly. He paused before he continued, trying to gauge John's mood. "We need to wake him up and have him drink something. He's lost a lot of blood and we need to replace some of that fluid loss. I've also brought some Tylenol, Demerol, to help him with his pain, and some Gravol."

 

"Demerol? Don't you think that's a little strong?" John tried not to look at Philip critically.

 

"No, frankly, I don't.  Not in Dale's case, considering the extent of his injuries. He will need something to help with the pain and I really don't think that Tylenol alone is going to do it."

 

"But a narcotic?" John argued feebly.

 

"If you're worried about the Demerol because of what you've heard about addiction, don't let it scare you. There is a very, very low chance of addiction when you are in as much pain as Dale is experiencing. It's like this: If your body is in pain, the drug is used for pain control, and only pain control," Philip said, setting the medications on the bedside table.  "He's your boyfriend, so I'll leave the choice of what drug to use to you."

 

John wanted to argue with Philip on the matter, more for his own reassurance, but he knew the other man only had Dale's best interest at heart.

 

"If it makes you feel any better, John, the Demerol is mine. I was prescribed it after an accident of my own when I broke my wrist. It helped a great deal with the pain. It made me a bit groggy and nauseous at times. The Gravol is to stop the nausea," Carl explained.

 

"We also need to examine his injuries," Philip pointed out, "and it will be better if he has had something for pain before we start poking and prodding him."

 

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could still hear Dale's tortured screams from when they had set his leg.

 

"Okay, let's get this over with," John said, composing himself for the task to come.

 

Carl laid a comforting hand on John's shoulder.

 

"You're doing the right thing, John. You really are. You have enough stress on you right now to cripple ten men, but you have managed to hang on. I haven't known you for very long, but I can tell you have a lot of strength. And if it makes you feel any better, Philip is going to help Michael fix the radio after we are done in here. The sooner the radio is fixed, the sooner we can get Dale to a hospital."

 

John took a moment to take this all in.

 

"You wake Dale and give him the medication, and then Philip will do a quick examination." Carl smiled reassuringly at John and squeezed his shoulder. "Well, you two don't need me hanging around, so I'm going to check up on Jason and Michael."

 

"Thank you, Carl." John nodded wearily at Carl before the other man left the room, then placed the cup of coffee he was holding on the nightstand.

 

John leaned closer to Dale.

 

"Dale? Dale, I need you to wake up,"

 

Dale moaned softly and turned his head away from the noise.

 

"Dale, honey, it's time to wake up. I have some pills that you need to take." John placed a hand on the shoulder closest to him and gave it a slight squeeze.

 

Dale's eyes fluttered open and shut almost immediately. After a moment, his eyes opened again.

 

"John?" Dale asked hoarsely.

 

"Yes, babe. It's me. I have some pills for you to take. They are going to help with the pain."

 

"My throat hurts and my leg hurts," Dale complained softly.

 

"I have some water to help with your throat; it is probably really dry. And the pills will help with the pain in your leg. Can you help me give you the pills, Dale?" He took the glass and pills from the nightstand

 

Dale nodded and with John's help, propped himself up.

 

"Open your mouth, babe," John said, quickly placing the pills in Dale's mouth. Holding the water glass to Dale's lips, he tipped the glass carefully so that Dale could sip. John managed to get Dale to drink half the glass, before Dale started objecting to drinking anymore.

 

Dale lay back down on the bed with a sigh of pain.

 

"Hi there, Dale." Philip moved to the other side of the bed and smiled at the young man. "It's Philip.  You remember me, right? I just want to ask you a few questions and take a quick look at some of your injuries. Is that okay with you?"

 

Dale nodded calmly, but reached out his hand for John to take, obviously frightened about the possibility of more pain.

 

John quickly took Dale's hand in his own as Philip asked his first question.

 

"What's your name?" Philip asked simply.

 

"Dale."

 

"Do you know what the date is?"

 

"I...I think it's Sunday. But I'm not sure.  I'm not sure." Dale sounded distressed.

 

"That's okay," Philip said soothingly. "That's good enough.  Do you know where you are?"

 

"A cabin. A man helped us at the plane, and we're at his cabin."

 

"Very good, Dale," Philip said encouragingly, pleased with the answers he received. At least Dale was alert and orientated; a very good sign. "Now, I just want to look at your stomach and legs and feet. Is that okay with you?"

 

"Why do you want to look at my stomach?" Dale asked tiredly.

 

"I just want to make sure everything is okay there," Philip said, not wanting to alarm the younger man by telling him that he was looking for signs of internal bleeding.

 

"Okay, do it, but don't hurt me." Dale turned and looked away from Philip to John, only to see a reassuring smile on his face.

 

"I promise that I will try my very best not to hurt you in any way, Dale."  Philip drew down the bed covers and lifted up the shirt that they had dressed Dale in the night before. "Okay, I'm going to press down on your stomach now. I want you to tell me if anything hurts."

 

Philip pressed around Dale's abdomen for a few seconds, pleased that it felt soft and pliable, not hard, which could indicate an internal injury, but the possibility of a bleed was still there. Philip pulled the shirt down and smiled at Dale.

 

"Everything feels good there. I'm going to look at your leg next."

 

Dale nodded and squeezed John's hand tighter, anticipating pain.

 

Philip pulled the covers up from Dale's feet and looked at the splint that was placed around the younger man's broken leg. Philip suspected that Dale had a tibia and fibula fracture, and he was concerned about the possibility of decreased blood flow to his foot. Placing his fingers on the top of the foot of the broken leg, he felt around for a pulse in the foot, smiling when he found it. The pulse was weak, but it was there. Placing his fingers on the inner aspect of Dale's ankle, he looked for the pulse there and again smiled when he found it.

 

Both pulses were equally weak, but at least they were there. And with any luck, they would have Dale in a hospital before any complications arose from the fractured bones in his leg.

 

Philip glanced at the fracture site. He thanked the heavens, once again, that the bones had not pierced the skin, increasing the risk of complications.

 

"Well, everything looks as good as I expected. You need to drink some more fluids, Dale, and we can rig something up for when you have to go to the bathroom. I'm going to leave you in John's hands and go help Michael fix that radio," Philip said as he drew the sheets back over Dale's legs.

 

"Thank you," Dale whispered, still holding John's hand.

 

"You are more than welcome. Try to get some rest as well; that will help, too."

 

"Thank you, Philip, for all your help," John said sincerely.  His feelings toward Philip were torn. He was extremely grateful for his military medical expertise and help for Dale, but at the same time, he was resentful of the pilot's attitude towards his younger brother.

 

Philip smiled at John.

 

"Why don't both of you try to get some rest, and I'll check on you later," Philip suggested as he walked from the room, leaving Dale and John alone once more.

 

Philip walked quietly down the hall to the kitchen. The first thing he saw was Jason.

 

"How is he? How's Dale?" Jason came to him quickly; pulling a hand threw his dark curls.

 

Philip put a hand on each of the young man's shoulders. Jason reached up and grabbed a wrist in each of his hands, needing the connection.  Their eyes locked.

 

Jason's eyes were so very blue, Philip thought. They were beautiful. He forced himself to focus on Jason's question.

 

"Dale's doing surprisingly well. No head injury or internal bleeding that I can see." Philip smiled softly. "For all that his leg's broken, he's really a very lucky young man."

 

"We all are," Jason said sleepily, sagging against Philip. "Thanks to you, and Carl and Michael..." His head drooped forward.

 

"I think you could do with a little more sleep," Philip said softly, slipping an arm around Jason’s waist and escorting him to his room.

 

"Whaaaat?" Jason was having difficulty focusing. He finally just gave up.

 

"I think I'm falling in love with you," Philip said.

 

"But you can't be," Jason said, surprised and uncertain.

 

"Why is that?" Philip softly replied.

 

"Because, because I'm, I'm such a--a baby!" Jason stammered.

 

Philip just pulled him close, and smiled real big, and hugged real hard.

 

"You're perfect," he whispered in Jason's hair.

 

Jason pulled just enough away so he could look up at him, and smiled. Then he reached up, and on tiptoes, brought his lips to Philip's, and kissed him lightly. Philip slowly deepened it, and soon their tongues went seeking each other. They were standing so close; they could feel each other getting aroused.

 

Philip took Jason's hand and pulled him down the hall to the bedrooms. Once outside his door he stopped, and looked down questioningly. Jason just opened the door, and this time he pulled Philip, into the room.

 

Not taking their hands off each other, they slowly made their way over to the bed. Philip fell into it, bring Jason down on top of himself. He grabbed Jason's hips, and aligned their engorged cocks. He bucked his own hips upward a few times, making Jason squirm and cry out.

 

"Oh God! Philip! I want you inside of me, now!"

 

"I don't have any lube, honey, we can't", Philip replied, breathlessly.

 

"I don't care! I can take you! Please, Philip, please!"

 

Philip rolled, pinning Jason underneath himself this time.

 

"I care, honey, I'm not taking a chance on hurting you."

 

"But, Philip..."

 

"Hush, we're doing just fine." Philip took a couple of quick and well aimed thrusts.

 

Jason came, loudly, pulling Philip right along behind him.

 

"Phil," Jason moaned, clutching his pillow tighter. "Please, Philip..."

 

Muffling a cry, Jason came suddenly awake, startled to find himself alone. The dream had been just so real.  He ran his hand ruefully over his damp crotch. Shit. He was too old for wet dreams.

 

I wish it were true, Jason thought wistfully.

 

Suddenly feeling enormously lonely, Jason tugged on his jeans and crept down the hallway into the bedroom where John sat with Dale.

 

John held Dale's hand without speaking. He was proud that Dale had tolerated the medical exam so well. The Demerol had made Dale more comfortable, but the tight lines of pain around his eyes lingered.

 

"John, I need to talk to you. Alone." Jason tried to speak calmly, but his voice edged involuntarily towards a whine.

 

John sighed as he felt Dale tense. Even in the best of times, Dale got annoyed when Jason intruded on what Dale considered their private time. But Jason's blue eyes were overly bright. His brother obviously needed to talk. Reluctantly, John let go of Dale's hand.

 

"No, John, stay here." Dale objected petulantly.  "Jason, go 'way now. I need John. Bother someone else."

 

"I'm not bothering---" Jason spluttered indignantly.

 

"He's not bothering me, Dale," John said quietly.  "I'll be just outside the door. You can stay by yourself for five minutes."

 

Dale sulked. He hurt. He had no intention of sharing John with Jason when he himself needed John badly.

 

"No, John, don't leave me! I don't feel good! I'm hurt! Jason, you can't do this to me!" Dale's voice grew louder and more agitated.

 

"Fuck you, Dale! Just forget it, John, I don't need you!" Jason spun on his heel and stomped out of the room.

 

John turned to follow his brother.

 

"John!" Dale twisted abruptly, grabbing for John.  Gasped in pain; went suddenly white and silent.

 

"What did you do, Dale? What hurts?" Hastily, John knelt alongside Dale and taking his chalky face in his hands, turned Dale's pale, watery eyes to meet his own piercing blue ones.

 

"My chest. Oh god oh god oh god," Dale wheezed.

 

"Wasn't that foolish, Dale?" John scolded. "To make that kind of fuss and re-injure yourself, just because Jason needed a few minutes of my time?"

 

"Oh God, don't be mad at me, John," Dale moaned. "My ribs hurt, my head hurts, and my leg hurts. I don't feel good. "

 

John mustered every bit of patience he had.

 

"The medicine will help you feel better, Dale, but you have to help yourself, too. No more sudden moves.  Lie quietly and do what I tell you. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

 

"I don't feel good," Dale sniffled. "I hate Jason."

 

"You do not hate Jason," John corrected Dale. "Jason is your friend, even though you don't like to share me with him. Don't say things you don't mean."

 

"I do hate him! You're not helping me! You're yelling at me!"

 

"Dale, none of that's true. Enough!" John's slightly harsher tone snapped Dale out of his self-pitying rant.

 

"I'm sorry," Dale said softly. "I really don't feel good, John."

 

"I know, Dale, I know. Shh..." John stroked Dale's cheek gently.

 

"Hold me," Dale begged. "I'm scared, John."

 

John seated himself on Dale's bed and leaned his back against the headboard. Eased Dale's head from the pillow into his lap, mindful of the jagged gash Carl had carefully sutured.

 

"I don't feel good," Dale mumbled, his eyes closing tiredly. "Sorry, John. I'm being a brat. "

 

"My good brat," John said gently. "Shh... Just rest Dale. I've got you."

 

John held Dale as he slipped back into uneasy sleep.  He was worried about his lover. Dale was not usually this needy.

 

"Phil?" John called quietly. "Philip?"

 

Philip materialized at the doorway.

 

"Would you take another look at Dale for me? He's not reacting normally. There's something wrong."

 

Philip looked Dale over cautiously, then spoke softly to John.

 

"Stay with Dale. I'm going to get Carl."

 

Carl stood at the old-fashioned kitchen sink, looking out the window into the storm. He arched his back, trying to ease its nagging ache. Straightened the counter mechanically, taking comfort from the small act of reestablishing order.

 

Michael sat glumly at the kitchen table, surveying the two eviscerated radios. If there had ever been a chance of reassembling the lodge's old short wave, it was long gone. The radio from the plane looked as if it had been gut shot.

 

"We've got a problem, Carl," Philip said without preliminaries. "The cut on Dale's head is swelling."

 

"Motherfucking pieces of shit!" Michael slammed his hand down among the detritus on the table and stormed from the room.

 

"Michael!" Carl exclaimed, as the front door slammed.

 

"Your little tuunbaq's spinning out, Carl," Philip said, shaking his head. "Go on, nab him before he gets into more trouble."

 

"I know Michael," Carl sighed. "He's probably harnessing the dogs."

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

Jason backed hastily into the feed room as the kennel's door swung open. He was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to out here alone with the dogs, but the lodge offered no good hideaways for sustained sulking. And between his disturbing fantasy of Philip and his rejection by Dale, Jason had plenty to sulk about.

 

"I broke the radio; I need to get help," Michael chanted to himself, guilt making him rash. Setting off in the snow alone was a risk, but how dangerous could it really be? Didn't Carl always stress the importance of taking responsibility for his actions?

 

 

"I broke the radio; I need to get help," Michael repeated, tugging the harness onto the lead dog. He knew Dale was in bad shape.

 

"Oh no, Michael. You are not going anywhere." Carl strode into the kennel. His warm, strong voice cut across Michael's guilty mumbling.

 

"Michael, afagau, what you're doing is foolish. A broken radio - that I might even overlook. But you endangering yourself by taking off alone in this weather? I don't think so."  His face sorrowful but resigned; Carl tugged his belt from its loops and doubled it.

 

"Come here, Michael. Take down your pants. I am going to make very sure you are never tempted to try something this foolhardy again."

 

Jason watched, nonplussed, as Carl seated himself and slowly drew Michael over his knees.

 

Ohmygod! He's going to whip him! Ohmygod!

 

Jason fled the kennel and flew for the lodge. He flung open the door, nearly flattening Philip.

 

"Philip, Philip, come quick! Carl is beating Michael! He's going to hurt him!"

 

"That'll be the day," Philip laughed heartily.  "Jason, Michael may not sit comfortably for a day or two, but Carl would never, ever hurt him."

 

"That's just sick! " Jason gaped at Philip. "You're telling me Michael lets Carl beat him? You can't be serious; I don't believe this shit! What the fuck kind of a relationship is that?" Jason's voice rose in agitation.

 

"Jason, quiet! You'll wake Dale!" A worried John emerged from the bedroom. "What's the matter?"

 

"Do you know what's happening out in the kennel? Carl is beating the shit out of Michael. And Philip doesn't even care!" Resolutely, Jason refused to think of the warmth in Carl's voice, of the relief he had seen cross Michael's face at Carl's appearance.

 

"Carl has never beaten Michael in his life," Philip said quietly. "John, Carl cares for Michael like you care for Dale. That's all it is. I swear it."

 

John stared at Philip, stunned at his perceptiveness.  He had seriously underestimated the man.

 

"Not even Jason knows about me and Dale," John said.  "How did you guess?"

 

"Once you've seen one discipline relationship, it's easy enough to recognize another," Philip said with a shrug. "Whatever works. If it makes you both happy, I'm all for it."

 

"John?" Jason looked at his brother, horror slowly replacing the confusion. "No, John, not you. You wouldn't hurt Dale. You love Dale."

 

"Listen Jase." John stepped towards his brother, frowning, as the younger man backed away.

 

"Say it isn't true," Jason demanded. "Say it isn't true!" Jason repeated when John didn't answer. "You said you loved Dale. I heard you tell him. Damn it! How can you love him if you do that to him!"

 

"Jase." John heard the familiar tinge of hysteria in his younger brother's voice. "It's not what you think."

 

"Don't touch me!" Jason yelled, backing up, his eyes darting around looking for an escape. "Don't fucking touch me."

 

"Jase." John tried again. "Calm down."

 

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Jason's voice broke on a sob. "You lied. You fucking lied to me. You don't love Dale. You don't love me."

 

"That's enough Jason," Philip broke in realizing that Jason was not going to listen to John.

 

"You're right!" Jason laughed hysterically as tears ran down his face. "Enough. Enough lies." He dodged around the two men and headed down the hall. "I hate you, John! Do you hear? I hate you!" The slamming of the bedroom door reverberated through the lodge.

 

"Well, that went well." John muttered, running a tired hand across his face.

 

"I'm sorry," Philip apologized quietly. "I shouldn't have outed you."

 

"Not your fault," John sighed, staring down the hall towards the door his brother had disappeared behind. "Dale and I had talked about telling him, but the time was never right."

 

"It's a private matter between you and your partner," Philip assured the other man. "You have no obligation to explain to anyone."

 

"No?" John turned back to look at the other man inquiringly. "Jason is my little brother. I'm all he has."

 

"Maybe." Philip shrugged. "However, Dale is your partner and you've made a commitment to him."

 

"Dale understood." John straightened his shoulders and frowned at Philip.

 

"You would know," Philip temporized.

 

"I should go talk to him," John sighed again, looking at Jason's closed door.

 

"He won't listen to you right now," Philip counseled.

 

"And you think he'll listen to you?" John questioned sharply.

 

"Maybe." Philip shrugged. "Listen, John, I know you don't think it's my place to say, but you need to concentrate on Dale. He needs you."

 

"Jason needs me, too," John said, his voice strained.

 

"Yes. But he doesn't want you right now," Philip told him bluntly. "Jason is angry and confused. He doesn't know what he wants. Let me talk to him."

 

 

"Jason is a good kid.  He's just scared," John stared appraisingly at Philip.

 

"Terrified," Philip agreed. "Go back to Dale."

 

"Don't hurt him," John warned.  He turned and moved tiredly back into Dale's room.

 

"I couldn't," Philip whispered. Standing alone in the lounge, Philip wondered what in the world he had gotten himself into. He had never interfered in other people's business like this before. However, he couldn't stand the pain and confusion in Jason's eyes. The younger man's fear ripped at his heart. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to pull Jason close and protect him.

 

Philip sighed. Jason needed protection from himself more than from anything or anyone else. That man was his own worse enemy.

 

Taking a deep breath, Philip straightened his shoulders. He had promised to talk to Jason; standing thinking about it wasn't going to get it done. Delaying only long enough to collect the Tylenol, a glass of water and a wet washcloth from the bathroom, Philip headed down the hall.

 

"Leave me the fuck alone!" Jason yelled at his knock.

 

Philip ignored the order and opened the door.

 

Jason lay on his stomach across the bed, his face buried in a pillow. The shaking of the younger man's shoulder's told Philip the emotional storm was still raging.

 

 "Go away!" Jason's voice was muffled in the pillow.

 

"No." Philip suppressed a sudden urge to smile. Jason sounded like an irate six-year-old. Setting his supplies on the bedside table, Philip moved to sit on the edge of the bed.  "We need to talk, Jason."

 

"No we don't." Jason buried his face deeper into the pillow, wrapping his arms tightly around it.

 

"Enough is enough, Jason." Philip settled more comfortably on the bed.

 

"Fuck off," Jason swore.

 

Philip sighed, tired of the younger man's limited vocabulary.

 

"How old are you Jason?" Philip asked.

 

The body on the bed froze.

 

"Thirty-two," Jason said.

 

"Thirty-two?" Philip repeated.

 

"Yes, damn it, thirty fucking two years old," Jason spat, rolling onto his back and glaring angrily at Philip.

 

Philip blinked, his mind going blank as he stared down at the tear-stained face and disheveled hair. Even angry and distressed, Jason was beautiful.

 

"Stop staring at me!" Jason yelled, startling Philip out of his momentary fugue.

 

"I'm sorry," Philip apologized, reddening.  Jason was not going to make this easy.

 

"Are you gay, Jason?" Philip asked.

 

"What fucking business is it of yours?" It was Jason's turn to blush.

 

"Well, are you?"

 

"Yeah, I'm gay." Jason looked away.

 

"So am I." Philip said.

 

"Okay, so we're both gay."  Jason glanced quickly back at Philip, his cheeks flushing even redder.   "Carl and Michael are gay. John and Dale are gay. We are all gay! So what?"

 

"Have you ever been in a committed relationship, Jason?" Philip asked.

 

"What is this, Twenty Questions?" Jason glared at Philip, who merely raised an eyebrow.  "I've had a couple of boyfriends, but nothing that has lasted, okay?" Jason muttered, breaking eye contact.

 

"Same here," Philip said.

 

Jason looked up at him, surprised.

 

"The longest I've dated anyone was about eighteen months," Philip continued.

 

"Eighteen months!" Jason's mouth dropped open. "My boyfriends don't last more than six."

 

Philip eyed the younger man thoughtfully, wondering for a moment what kind of guys Jason had been dating.

 

"Okay, Jason. So neither one of us has been in a long-term relationship. How long have John and Dale been together?"

 

"A couple of years," Jason mumbled.

 

"Carl and Michael have been together for ten years," Philip said.

 

"Carl's been beating Michael for ten years?" Jason sounded horrified.

 

"No, they have been loving each other for ten years," Philip corrected.

 

"That's not what it looked like to me," Jason said flatly.

 

As Jason tried to move off the bed, Philip took his wrist and held him back.

 

"What did you see, Jason?" Philip asked softly.

 

"Carl beating Michael with his belt."   There! The awful words were out.  Jason looked at Philip, his confusion obvious. "If they love each other, why would Carl hurt Michael like that? Why would Michael drop his pants and lie over Carl's lap and let himself be beaten? That's not love."

 

Philip saw the confusion in the younger man's eyes and felt his own heart contract sympathetically. 

 

"Jason, what was Michael doing when Carl came in?"

 

"Doing?" Jason looked bewildered.

 

"What was Michael doing when Carl came into the kennel?"

 

'He was getting ready to harness the dogs. He was going to go for help." Jason frowned. "I was going to say something. I mean, it's a blizzard outside. Going out alone is just stupid."

 

"Okay. So, Michael was going to go out alone into the storm with the dogs, to get help?" Philip asked.

 

"Yeah. Even I'm not stupid enough to try something like that," Jason snorted.

 

"So, Carl came in and caught Michael harnessing the dogs?"

 

"Yes." Jason nodded.

 

"What did Carl say?"

 

"Something about Michael endangering himself and about making sure Michael was never going to try something so stupid again." Jason fell quiet.

 

Philip let the silence stretch unbroken for a time.  Finally, he lifted Jason's chin, forcing the younger man to meet his eyes.

 

"Jason. Michael is a very smart young man. However, he has a quick temper and sometimes acts without thinking things all the way through. Carl knows it and he loves Michael anyway."

 

"But he was going to beat Michael." Jason frowned, confused.

 

"A long time ago, Carl and Michael agreed between themselves that certain actions were unacceptable. They agreed what the consequences for those actions were going to be." Philip tried to find the right words. "Apparently, the consequences for Michael risking his life foolishly involve spanking."

 

"Spanking?" Jason said incredulously.  He blushed, remembering how Michael had dropped his pants and willingly lain across Carl's lap.

 

"I've known Carl for a long time, Jason.  He would never beat Michael," Philip said softly. "Michael will probably remember how important his life is to Carl every time he sits down for the next few days, but really, he'll have no more than a sore bottom."

 

Jason bit his lip, suddenly remembering a hundred little things about his brother John and Dale's relationship. He remembered how mouthy Dale had been when John first met him. He remembered all the nasty tricks Dale had played on him and all the apologies John had made the younger man make.

 

Most of all he remembered how tenderly John brushed Dale's hair out of his eyes when he fell asleep on the couch. How adoringly Dale looked up at his brother's face when he thought no one was looking.

 

"John must hate me," Jason moaned, bursting into tears and throwing himself flat on the bed.

 

Philip sighed. He had hoped to avoid more tears, but it was obvious the younger man was too wound up to control his emotions. Softly he rubbed Jason's lower back, offering comfort without intruding on Jason's tears. After a while the tears slowed.

 

"Philip?" Jason's voice was tired.

 

"Yes, Jason?" Philip continued to rub the younger man's back.

 

"Would you tell John I'm sorry?" Jason shifted under Philip's hand, settling deeper into the pillow.

 

"You can tell him when you wake up," Philip suggested.

 

"Don' wanna sleep," Jason muttered, sighing.

 

"Just a little nap," Philip suggested. "You'll feel better."

 

Jason's only answer was a very small, soft snore.

 

Philip covered Jason with the blanket. Although he wanted to stay with Jason and watch over him, he knew he had to leave. John would be worried to death.

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

Philip sat at the table nursing a cup of coffee and thinking about the hazards of relationships. Was he really ready for one, he wondered? Did he really want someone depending on him that much?

 

At the moment, he had some doubts. From what he could see, both Carl and John had their hands full.  Michael wasn't letting Carl get more than two feet from him; Dale didn't want anyone to touch him but John.

 

In addition, since he had filled Carl and Michael in on Jason's discovery, Michael wouldn't meet Philip's eyes, John wouldn't meet Jason's, and Jason couldn't look at anyone in the room without turning red and mumbling incoherently.

 

"Michael, sit down," Carl ordered calmly, as he stepped backwards into his Brat for the third time. "This pan is hot and I don't want to burn you."

 

"I'm sorry," Michael apologized for the third time. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

 

"Pour John another cup of coffee."

 

"Thanks, but I need to be getting back to Dale," John said, holding his hand over his cup. "He'll be waking up soon and he frets if I'm not there. Jason, why don't you walk back with me? I'd like to talk to you for a minute."

 

"No, I'd better stay here. Carl might need me to do something."

 

"I can take care of whatever Carl needs," Michael told him jealously, and Philip rolled his eyes.

 

"I'll go sit with Dale," he announced firmly. "He can deal with me instead of John for a few minutes. John, why don't you and Jason go into the living room? There's a nice fire in there and you can have a quiet talk. Carl, you and Michael stay here and make dinner."

 

"Yes, SIR!" Carl said with a laugh, saluting snappily. "Michael, why don't you set the table for me?"

 

Michael grumbled, but started getting plates out.

 

"Let's go, Jason," John said firmly, drawing his brother out of the room.

 

That was better, Philip thought smugly, heading down the hall to Dale's room. All they needed was a little guidance.

 

Jason sat down on the couch in the living room, feeling his stomach twist into a knot. What he had learned about John and Dale's relationship had left him feeling both confused over why anyone would want that kind of relationship, and envious that Dale had someone he could turn to when he needed help. Sure, John had always been there for him, but he was Jason's brother and it just wasn't the same. Besides, John had Dale while Jason had no one. Maybe not even John, considering the last thing Jason had said to him.

 

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, as John settled on the couch beside him. "I didn't mean it. About hating you, I mean."

 

"I know you didn't, Jase. You were scared and confused and wanted to hurt me." John reached out to pull his brother into his arms.

 

"Forgive me?" Jason buried his face against John's shoulder.

 

"Of course I do," John replied. "Haven't I always forgiven you, no matter what you said or did?"

 

"Don't know why you bother with me," Jason muttered, still not looking up.

 

John sighed, recognizing this mood. He didn't know which was worse - Jason in a foul temper or Jason in repentant mode. Heaven knew that both were fatiguing to deal with, and he had little energy left to spend on soothing Jason's insecurities.

 

John caught himself glancing towards the door, looking for Philip. If he could hand Jason over to Philip for reassurance, then he could get back to Dale and maybe even catch a few winks while Dale slept. He flushed with guilt as he realized that he'd thought about foisting his brother off on a stranger, and then frowned at how easily the thought of turning to Philip had occurred to him. The man was a complete stranger, an unknown - how could he even think of turning Jason over to him to deal with?

 

Because Philip was good at dealing with Jason, John admitted to himself in the interest of fairness. From the moments following the crash through to the most recent crisis of Jason finding out about John and Dale's situation, Philip had been quick to step in and redirect the younger man's attention, and he'd gotten Jason to listen to him when he wouldn't listen to his own brother. John didn't know how much of that was Philip's natural personality and how much was due to Philip's interest in Jason...

 

John hesitated at that thought. Was Philip interested in Jason? Why on earth would he have thought that? Rapidly thinking over their interactions, he admitted that it hadn't been anything Philip had said or done, just a certain something he'd recognized in the man's eyes when he looked at Jason. The same sort of look he saw in Carl's eyes when he looked at Michael and, he suspected, the same sort of look he himself got when he looked at Dale.

 

But did Jason return the interest? There hadn't been any flirting between the two, no exchange of signals or any of the usual subtle signs of interest. Not that Jason was inclined towards the subtle. He'd witnessed the onset of enough of Jason's romantic flings to know that the younger man tended to go directly for what he wanted. The fact that most of the time the partners he targeted were less than desirable or just plain wrong for Jason didn't seem to matter. So, more than likely, Jason wasn't interested in the pilot. John felt a rush of sympathy for Philip, and it washed away the lingering jealousy and resentment he'd felt toward the man.

 

Jason felt the increased tension in John's body and cursed himself silently. Of course he knew why John bothered with him.  Because Jason was his brother. Because he *had* to. John put up with him and his moods and his problems, the way he'd always done since the death of their parents, because John was a responsible man, and Jason was his responsibility.

 

Jason pushed away from his brother, carefully not looking at him.

 

"Sorry," Jason murmured. "You've got enough to worry about without me blubbering all over you. Wouldn't want to mess up that fine shirt you're wearing - you going for the Mountain Man look or something?"

 

"Hey, it was a loan from our hosts!" John grinned and ruffled Jason's hair, relieved that his mood had shifted. He glanced down at the plaid flannel shirt he was wearing and then grinned at Jason. "You're right - it *is* pretty bad." He hooked a hand around the back of Jason's neck, making his brother look at him, and said softly, "We okay?"

 

"We're good," Jason nodded, forcing a grin.

 

John let out a relieved breath.

 

"I'm glad. I'd hate for you to feel uncomfortable around me and Dale."

 

"He's lucky he has you," Jason said, a little sadly.

 

"We're both lucky," John said simply. "I'm going back to sit with him.  I'll see you at dinner, okay?"  John got up and headed towards the door.

 

"Right," Jason said even as his stomach clenched. How could he possibly sit at the table with John and Carl and Michael, knowing they were all happily involved with someone while he was tolerated as a *responsibility*?

 

He was totally useless. He couldn't help with taking care of Dale or fixing the radio or anything else that needed to be done to get them rescued. And they *had* to get rescued - soon. Dale's life might depend on it, not to mention Jason's sanity.

 

Maybe Michael had had the right idea earlier.

 

Dinner was a rather quiet matter.

 

Jason propped one elbow on the table and braced his head in his hand. The other hand unenthusiastically stirred the stew. From time to time, he glimpsed at the other three men at the table from under lowered lashes, carefully trying to avoid any eye contact.

 

John hadn't spoken a word with any of them since he'd reluctantly allowed Philip to sit with Dale while he ate. He sat quietly bent over his bowl and slowly and methodically ate his stew. Jason had slouched deeper into a huddle over his bowl and watched John intently and secretly. He had hoped for some kind of conversation, a bit of comfort and a smile. But John looked strained and tired and totally lost in his own thoughts.

 

Way to go, boy, Jason thought to himself. John is close to collapsing from exhaustion and worry, Dale is severely injured, and all you can do is get hysterical and throw one tantrum after the other. No wonder John doesn't want to deal with you anymore. You are only a nuisance. You are superfluous.

 

Jason felt the sting behind his eyes that usually accompanied tears ready to be shed. He blinked a few times, hoping to spare himself any more embarrassment. He could imagine how smug Michael would look if he suddenly burst into tears. He could imagine how annoyed Carl would look if he once again drew everyone's attention by behaving like a spoiled child.

 

Jason couldn't remember getting even one friendly word from their host since they had arrived here. Carl must have the worst impression of him.

 

And Philip...Jason felt his face flush when he thought about the pilot. Pilot! Jason's snort came out as a small sob. Nanny would fit better. Jason was sure that despite his seeming patience and kindness, Philip was majorly pissed at having to play nursemaid to a thirty-two year old baby.

 

He had to do something, Jason thought wretchedly. He was on his way to winning the "Wimp of the Year" award, if he didn't get his butt in gear and change something. Perhaps his former thought of completing what Michael had started that morning wasn't so idiotic after all.

 

Carl clearly had overreacted. Well, from what he'd learned that day, the so-called Tops in these weird relationships seemed to be overprotective. One reason more to become active, Jason thought sullenly. These guys with their safety rules and their delusions of grandeur would hinder any attempt to get them out of this fucking situation. Somebody could get a scratch, God forbid.

 

The more Jason thought about his idea, the more enthusiastic he got about it. He would take the dogs, he decided. They knew the area; they would lead him, safe and sound, to civilization. And this night was the right night for his plan. The snowfall had stopped an hour ago and the moon was shining.

 

Jason vaguely remembered Carl telling John that they were due some more heavy snowfall that night, but he pushed that information aside. These Top types were all safety freaks and their warnings were doubtlessly totally exaggerated, Jason reminded himself.

 

Forgetting about his misery in his enthusiasm over his plan to prove his mettle, Jason stopped stirring his stew and started to eat with newborn determination. He knew he would need a full stomach for his task. He even took a generous second portion of the stew.

 

He met Michael's quizzical look with a knowing smirk that made the other man glare at him. As Jason's smirk deepened, Michael suddenly flushed and dropped his eyes, concentrating again on his own half-finished meal, his face still hot.

 

Why the fuck did Jason have to know? Michael fumed miserably.

 

John watched with relief and approval the sudden change in his brother's demeanor.   Jason finally seemed to have come to terms with his new knowledge.

 

If John had not been both overtired and overwhelmed with Dale's injuries, he would have recognized Jason's false bravado for what it was.

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

It was quiet and dark in the lodge.  Jason flinched as he bumped hard into a huge vase, barely managing to prevent it from falling down and shattering on the floor. Jason stood motionless for a minute or two, but no sound announced the approach of a concerned resident. He slowly crept on. When he reached the sickroom, he stopped.

 

The only light came from the door of the room where John still kept watch over the injured Dale. The door wasn't completely closed, and Jason couldn't keep himself from taking a look through the small gap between door and doorframe. The light on the nightstand was covered with a cloth to dim the bright light a bit. Dale was sleeping restlessly. His face showed clear signs of distress and pain, even in sleep. A film of sweat covered his forehead.

 

John, who sat on a chair beside the bed, had obviously had lost his battle with sleep. His chin had sunk down on his breast, and he was snoring. Jason stood for a few seconds longer, letting the picture sink in

 

Don't worry, you two, Jason thought to himself.  I'm going to rescue us.

 

The task of harnessing the dogs was more difficult than Jason would ever have expected. The dogs obviously were not thrilled about the nighttime activity. They were even less thrilled about the strange, clumsy guy with the awkward hands.

 

Jason fought hard with the leather straps, which put into the right order should theoretically form some kind of harness. He haphazardly strapped the dogs into their traces, ignoring inconvenient details like size and fitting. After a solid half-hour of sweaty, frustrating activity, Jason finally forced the last reluctant dog into a more or less fitting set of straps.

 

Jason knew Carl and Michael always kept the sled fully equipped with everything they needed on a longer journey. Michael proudly had told him so the day before. Jason now had only to join dogs and sled and he would be ready to move off.

 

In total ignorance of the lead dog-principle, Jason tied the surprised leader-of-the-pack, an elder and experienced bitch, at nearly at the end of the line, and placed a young and impetuous young male at the very top of the long rope that was fastened at the sled.

 

Jason stepped back to admire his handiwork. Not bad, Jase, he praised himself. He would show them who were the wimps here! He threw a contemptuous look at the dark and peaceful lodge.

 

I can't wait to see their faces when I come back with a rescue squad or even a helicopter, Jason thought smugly.

 

The moon glowed over the snowy landscape. There was enough light to travel safely at night. However, the young male sled dog, mistakenly placed at the top of the row, had other plans. Excited that there was no old and boring lead dog in front of him to curb his energy and inborn instinct to run, he didn't even wait for the would-be musher to climb onto the sled and give the command "Go!"

 

All of the sudden, the eager young dog bolted off, pulling his pals with him.  Excited at the prospect of a long run, the pack had no intention of stopping.

 

With a dismayed yelp, Jason bolted after the quickly escaping dogs. He tried to jump on the sled, but only managed to grab one of the handles. Clinging to the handle with all his strength, unwilling to let go whatever might come, Jason was pulled face down through the snow, tossed left and right, while the dogs enjoyed themselves by running a race against an opponent only they could see.

 

Despite his determination to hang on, it took barely half a minute until Jason was forced to let go of the handle. His body bounced over the snow until it came to rest. Jason didn't allow himself the luxury of waiting until the world around him stopped spinning before he struggled to his feet. He saw the dogs and the sled vanish behind a hill in the distance.

 

Jason stood, unstable and dizzy, and yelled after the fleeing dogs.

 

"Stop! STOOOOP! You hear me!"

 

The dogs showed no interest in obeying.

 

"YOU GODDAMNED BASTARDS, COOOME BAAAAAACK! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!"

 

The dogs showed no interest in reappearing.

 

Jason stumbled forward. With every step he sank knee-deep into the snow. After a few yards, his strength left him. Breathless, Jason glared at the empty horizon, his lips starting to tremble.  Against his will, tears of frustration started to flow.

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

Michael drowsily opened his eyes and sat up abruptly. He had heard somebody screaming somewhere outside. He sat motionless, looking into the dark and concentrating. He heard nothing except the wind, which had once again picked up.

 

"What's wrong, afagau?" Carl asked sleepily.

 

"I thought I heard something," Michael snuggled back against Carl. "Somebody screaming."

 

"I'll go check on John and Dale. You stay in bed."  Carl whispered, as he silently left the room.

 

Michael stared at the ceiling. After a few seconds, he slipped out of bed and went over to the window, pulling the curtain aside.  A look outside told him that it had started to snow again. Huge flakes danced outside, chased around in a whirl by the wind that got stronger from minute to minute. Michael shuddered.

 

Good to know that there was a warm bed waiting for him. Michael loved these nights when the snow fell heavily and the wind sang its eerie song. He treasured the times when he could curl up with Carl in front of the fire or on the love seat or, even better, in their large snuggly bed.

 

Michael thought of people who weren't so lucky and had no warm fire, no cozy cushions, and no Carl to curl up with. Poor guys that lived under bridges or in the ruins of big cities. Exposed to the cold and wet without real shelter.   Michael let the curtain drop again and crept back into bed. A few seconds later the door opened and Carl returned.

 

"Everything's okay. John and Dale are both sleeping. You must have been dreaming. Or maybe you heard the wind," Carl said, as he slid back into bed and pulled Michael close. "And I thought I told you to stay in bed, afagau?"

 

Michael stiffened in surprise. Carl COULDN´T know.

 

"You have ice-cold feet," Carl finally offered in explanation.

 

Michael quickly withdrew his feet form Carl's legs.

 

With an exasperated sigh, Carl pulled Michael close again and captured his cold feet between his legs to get them warm. Swatted him reprovingly.

 

"Sleep now," Carl ordered. "Stop imagining screams outside. Except for the six of us, there is not another soul within a hundred miles."

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

Jason groaned as the first snowflake touched the tip of his nose. He wiped his tears angrily with his sleeve and looked around. The world had rapidly vanished in a whirl of white flakes.

 

"Great!" Jason muttered to himself. Now you can chose between freezing to death out here or being killed when they find out about the dogs. He narrowed his eyes and looked around, trying to find the direction of the lodge.

 

At least you finally have proof that you are a total failure. And where the fuck is the fucking lodge? Jason vaguely remembered that the direction the dogs had taken had been downhill, so he turned until he found the direction that led him up the hill again. Panting he forced his way one yard after the other through the deep snow up the hill until, after what seemed to be an eternity, he could see the outlines of the kennel.

 

Great!  Wonderful!  Jason thought sarcastically. He decided to take shelter in the kennel while he planned his next steps. After all, he couldn't simply mention the loss at the breakfast table.

 

"Oh, before I forget it, the dogs are gone. Can somebody please hand me the syrup?" Oh yeah, that would work.  Not.

 

Jason trudged the last yards to the building, stumbled through the door and locked it after him. It was pitch black around him. He knew that there was a kerosene lamp hanging from a ceiling beam. He found it quickly; carefully grabbed it with his gloved hands, and took it down. He took the tip of one glove between his teeth and tugged until he got his hand free.  He searched in his jeans pockets for a lighter and carefully lit the lamp. A warming gleam of light soon illuminated the small room.

 

Jason put the lamp on a board and then tried to bring life back into his chilled hands by warming them at the lamp's glass ball and rubbing them together. There was a pile of blankets in one corner. After life had returned back into his hands, he put one of the blankets around his shoulders, huddled into the corner, and thought about the miserable situation he was in.

 

There was no way to avoid the fact that he had messed up. He didn't even dare to think about what Carl and Michael would have to say about the loss of their dogs. Jason only could hope that the dogs would come back. Soon. Preferably within the next hour. That way nobody would even know about his little nighttime escapade. 

 

Jason hunched deeper into the corner and tightened the blanket around his shoulders. He stared sulkily at the ground. At least he had taken the initiative! He had tried to do something useful to help, instead of sitting around in the lodge and waiting for Dale to live or die.

 

The loss of the dogs was nothing but bad luck. Nobody could expect him to be able to handle them. If Carl hadn't prevented Michael from taking the dogs, the chances would have been good that Michael would have made it to the next settlement. Carl had been too overprotective. Dale could die here and nobody would even lift a finger to get him professional medical care.

 

He had to talk to John about this. If John's relationship to Dale really was the same as Carl's to Michael, he should have the same instinct to protect his partner. So why didn't he make use of this instinct? Dale was badly injured, and John only sat at his bed and held his hand, instead of trying to move heaven and hell to get him out of here.

 

Bang!  The door of the kennel flew open and icy cold air and snow blew into the kennel. Jason jumped in surprise.

 

The moment his elbow touched the board with the kerosene lamp, Jason knew that it was too late. The impact was too hard. The board was lifted several inches, and the lamp slowly tipped over. Jason watched in frozen shock and dark fascination as the lamp fell to the ground. For a short moment, he hoped that the fall would put the fire out, but the lamp burst into pieces and the burning kerosene spread over the ground. Within seconds, it had reached the pile of blankets Jason had sat on.

 

Jason slowly crept backwards, his panic-stricken eyes glued to the flames that grew bigger and bigger.

 

Bang! The storm outside suddenly slammed the door shut behind him. The second impact broke Jason loose from his frozen terror.  He jumped, turned on his heels, ran to the door, opened it and bolted outside. Somewhere between the lodge and the kennel he stopped and turned around. He didn't need to be an expert to see that there wasn't much hope left for the kennel.

 

Jason sighed and then, taking a deep breath, yelled at the top of his lungs.

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

Michael had wriggled his way closer to Carl and begun kissing the other man's neck.

 

"I thought I said sleep," Carl growled.

 

"Can't," Michael replied, nipping along his lover's jaw. "Want you to help me sleep."

 

"I can get you a mug of warm milk," Carl chuckled.

 

"Rather have a warm Carl," the younger man replied, running his hands under his lover's T-shirt.

 

"We have a long day tomorrow, isabu."

 

"With other people," Michael said mournfully.

 

Carl heard the need in his partner's voice. Their whole reason for spending time at the lodge was to be alone together. It was a time to remember how important they were to each other. How important their relationship was.

 

"I'm sorry this hasn't turned out to be the vacation we planned," Carl said, running his hands along Michael's hips.

 

"It's not your fault. I know you didn't plan the airplane crash. I just wish..." He shook his head and ran his hands over the strong shoulders of his lover.

 

"Wish what?" Carl urged gently.

 

"That Jason didn't know about us," Michael whispered. "At dinner he kept looking at me as if I was something he wiped from the bottom of his shoe."

 

"Jason is a confused and scared young man."

 

"That's what they said about Menendez Brothers," Michael groused.

 

"So you want me to help you get to sleep?" Carl flipped them over so he lay on top.

 

"Please, ataniq." Michael sighed happily as Carl kissed him. He quickly deepened the kiss, urging Carl's tongue to explore his mouth.

 

As Carl's mouth became more insistent, so did his hands. His fingers moved under Michael's shirt and began caressing and pinching his nipples. Michael moaned and arched against his lover.

 

Then all movement stopped.

 

"Help! FIRE! HELP!"

 

"That was a scream," Michael exclaimed. "And it wasn't me."

 

An explosion sounded.

 

Carl and Michael ran out of the bedroom. Michael practically crashed into Philip, who was leaving his room.

 

"What was that?" Philip demanded.

 

The front door was open; John was already outside. The three men followed at a dead run and then froze at the scene before them.

 

Flames ravaged the kennel. And between the kennel and the lodge stood Jason, his pale tear-stained face bright in the fire's glow.

 

"Are you all right?" John quickly made his way to his brother's side.

 

Jason threw himself into his brother's arms and sobbed.

 

Michael's attention moved from the sobbing young man back to the kennel.

 

"The dogs!" Michael cried, as he ran toward the burning building.

 

"Michael! No!" Carl yelled and took off after his partner. He caught the younger man and pulled him into his arms. "It's too late."

 

"NO!" Michael screamed, struggling against Carl, trying to reach the dogs. "Tamnar! Silas!"

 

"It's too late." Carl repeated. His arms tightened protectively as Michael sagged against him.

 

"They weren't in there," a voice behind them whispered hoarsely.  Jason was exhausted, his eyes bright with panic.

 

"What do you mean?" Carl demanded.

 

"The dogs weren't in there," Jason repeated.

 

Michael raised his head from Carl's shoulder, the faintest glimmer of hope in his eyes.

 

"Where are they?"

 

"I don't know," Jason admitted.

 

"Then how do you know they aren't in the kennel?" Philip inquired calmly.

 

"Because they aren't," came Jason's exasperating response.

 

"Where are they?" Michael screamed.

 

"Shh, afagau, Shh," Carl ordered gently. "That isn't the way to get answers."

 

"What did you do with the dogs, Jason?" Philip asked.

 

Jason fidgeted nervously as he appealed to John for understanding.

 

"I was trying to help. Dale needs real medical attention, and I was going to get it for him."

 

"And how were you going to do that?" John asked sternly.

 

"I was going to take the sled," Jason said defensively. "I was going to finish what Michael couldn't.  I would have too except the stupid dogs wouldn't listen and ran off with the sled." Jason sounded increasingly petulant.

 

"You harnessed the dogs to the sled?" Philip asked in disbelief.

 

"It was easy," Jason said proudly. "Everything would've been fine, but those ill-behaved mutts took off. I tried to stop them. See..." He pulled back his sleeve, revealing his reddened wrist.

 

"You could have been killed!" John reprimanded his brother.

 

"If he can handle a sled, so can I!" Jason replied, glaring in Michael's direction. "Only Carl didn't trust him to go for help."

 

"I trust Michael completely. He is an expert musher and he knows the land. It was the weather I didn't trust," Carl told Jason sternly.

 

Michael was tired of the discussion and tired of Jason.  He wanted to know where his dogs were.  He advanced on Jason and would have moved right into the other man's space, if not for Carl's hand on his arm.

 

"Kimi would never let the dogs take off with the sled. What did you do to them?" Michael demanded.

 

"Go ahead and blame me. I guess your dogs can do no wrong," Jason muttered, embarrassment fueling his anger.

 

"The only thing wrong here is you," Michael countered.

 

"No more, afagau," Carl warned. "Let's go inside and warm up. There's nothing more we can do out here."

 

"What about the fire?" John asked. "Shouldn't we do something?"

 

"It's beginning to die down.  Once the wood has burned, nothing will be left...nothing."  Carl shook his head sadly.  As the others headed back into the lodge, the Inupiaq's eyes drifted to the collapsing building.  He winced.

 

Michael saw the pain that crossed his partner's face. He knew Carl was hurting and this caused his anger to grow.

 

"We will rebuild it and it will be better than ever. We can make all the additions we talked about," Michael whispered, hugging his partner

 

"I'm beginning to think my grandfather was right when said the white man brings nothing but trouble." Carl smiled at his lover and kissed the top of his head. It was an old joke between them.

 

"I hope that's not every white man," Michael laughed, as he always did.

 

"There are a few exceptions," Carl said. Affection filled the older man's voice.

 

They turned their attention back to the kennel and watched in silence as it burned.

 

"We have to find the dogs, Carl. It's dangerous for them to be out alone, harnessed to the sled."

 

"That's a little hard to do, since our only other means of transportation was in the kennel."

 

"The snowmobile. That was the explosion." Michael blew out a breath of air and threw his head back in exasperation.

 

"The gasoline tank," Carl nodded.

 

"What are we going to do, Carl?"

 

"The dogs will come back, Michael. We don't have a place to put them, but they'll come back," Carl assured him, taking his hand and leading him back to the lodge.

 

They could hear the yelling before they opened the door.

 

"It wasn't my fault! I was trying to help!"

 

"And looked what happened!" John yelled. "Their kennel has been destroyed, and their dogs..."

 

"I don't give a fuck about their dogs! If they were better behaved, none of this would've happened!" Jason raged on.

 

"Maybe you should be more concerned about your behavior than the dogs's behavior," Philip said sharply.

 

Jason glared at the pilot.

 

"Who the fuck do you think you are to say that to me?"

 

Carl stepped into the middle of the living room and focused his attention on the angry young man.

 

"I have excused your behavior because of everything you've been through, but I've had enough. Neither that language nor that tone will be used in our home."

 

"Just because you think you can order your boyfriend around, doesn't mean you can tell me what to do." Jason's eyes narrowed in challenge.

 

A raised eyebrow and hardened stare was the only change in Carl's expression.

 

"Michael is my life partner, my mate. I do not order Michael to do anything. Your brother is too exhausted and rightfully preoccupied with Dale to assume responsibility for your behavior.  And you don't seem able to do it yourself. And so yes, someone does need to start telling you what to do.

 

"Well, it sure the hell isn't going to be you!" Jason replied angrily. He turned his glare on Philip. "It sure the hell isn't going to be you, either!"

 

"Jason, enough!" John warned.

 

"Why?" Jason demanded. "You don't care! All you care about is Dale! How can you stand there and let them talk to me like this?" Jason glared at Michael. "He may need a daddy, but I don't!"

 

"What is your problem?" Michael demanded. "We saved your lives, we're giving you shelter, and all you can do is bitch and whine!"

 

"Fuck you!" Jason squared his shoulders and smirked. "You think you're so high and mighty. Well you weren't so high and mighty lying over your daddy's lap while he spanked you."

 

Michael's eyes widened. That Jason knew was bad enough. But that he was taking something private and important was and sneering at it was worse.

 

Carl moved protectively to his partner's side and looked directly at Jason for a long minute. When he finally spoke, his voice was hard and cold as steel.

 

"Among my people, it is a dishonor to bring another's personal life to the attention of others.  We show respect to others and their ways. Whether or not you understand us, you will respect both Michael and me."

 

Any sane person would have backed down. But at that moment, Jason was not sane. He was unsure of himself and who he was. He was aching to be cared for but afraid of admitting his need. Simply put, he was a brat on the edge.

 

"Respect?" Jason spat angrily. "Respect for your sick S and M games?"

 

Several things happened simultaneously.

 

"Be quiet, Jason!"  John ordered.

 

"That's enough, Jason!" Philip yelled.

 

"John, what's going on?" a very wobbly Dale whispered from the doorway.

 

And from outside came the faint sounds of dogs barking.

 

"Fuck all of you! I won't be quiet! No one is listening to me!" Jason shrieked angrily.

 

"You little brat," Philip said sharply. He grabbed Jason's shoulder and pushed him into the adjacent room, closing the door behind him with his foot.

 

Philip turned Jason around to face him as gently as he could muster the strength to.

 

"Maybe we're not listening because we're hearing no apologies. Maybe we're not listening because you've been nothing but abusive to all of us. Jason, you don't talk to people like that. Especially when you are so far in the wrong."

 

Jason fought against the arms holding him, tears starting in his eyes.

 

"I know this is all my fault! Fuck, Philip! I lost their dogs; I burned down their kennel! After they've been taking care of Dale, and John, and putting up with me, all from the goodness of their hearts. But really, I didn't mean all that to happen. I thought I could help. But instead, I just made things worse!"

 

Philip looked into those frustrated, hurt eyes, and all he wanted was to make Jason feel better.

 

"Come here." Philip pulled Jason onto his lap, startling Jason.

 

"Philip," Jason pulled back with a half-laugh, "I appreciate the thought but…"

 

Philip gave him a hard hug, cutting off his words,

 

"It's going to be all right, Jase. We can make it right, trust me."

 

"How the hell can I make this right? I fucked up so badly this time!" Jason replied, looking at Philip in disbelief.

 

Philip grabbed at an instinct. A little unsure of himself, but wanting desperately to do something to help Jason feel better about everything.

 

"Maybe you can't. But I can," Philip said, trying to be firm. He reached down to the button on Jason's Levi's and fought it loose.

 

"Excuse me?" Jason said, struggling off the other man's lap, shocked. "As tempting as the offer is, Philip, I'm not really ready to sleep with you yet. Plus, I don't know if this is the right place." Jason laughed nervously, trying to make light of the suddenly serious situation.

 

"The way you've been acting is completely unacceptable, Jason," Philip replied, still working on the zipper.

 

Jason jerked back and pushed his way off Philip's lap, looking at him coldly.

 

"I really don't know what the hell you think is happening or why you think I came in here with you, but whatever it is, it's wrong. I was just looking to talk. You were listening. I feel bad about how I've screwed up the last couple of days, but this isn't the answer."

 

"Jason, you're acting like a Brat. And Brats get spanked when they screw up."

 

Jason looked at Philip, obviously struggling to hide his shock and outrage.

 

"Excuse me," Jason finally said, "did you just call me a Brat and tell me you intended to spank me?"

 

"Ah, good, Jason, you're getting the idea." Philip replied, reaching for Jason again. "Do you know what I am truly upset about?"

 

"Me embarrassing Michael? Acting like an immature jerk? Burning down the shed? Losing the dogs? Hell, Philip, get in line about being upset about those things," Jason shot back. "I’m pissed at myself about them. And, no offense or anything, but I have to tell you that John being upset with me, and my own disappointment in myself, is much higher on my list then *your* feelings on this matter."

 

"NO! Damnit, Jason, I was worried about you!" Philip yelled.

 

Shit. Realizing that he had seriously lost it, Philip worked on calming down.

 

"Jason, did you really think it would help John, all ready worried to death about Dale, to have to worry about you out there in the ice and cold as well?"

 

"John's not even thinking about me!"

 

"Goddamnit, Jason! Are you telling me that all this was a temper tantrum because you were not getting enough of you brother's attention!"

 

"WHAT?" Jason shouted back, "I have NO fucking idea what you're talking about. A temper tantrum?  Attention? No. I took the dogs, planning to go for help, for exactly that reason. TO – GET – HELP," he said slowly, enunciating each word as if speaking to an idiot child. "It wasn't for attention, it wasn't to upset John, it sure as hell wasn't meant to upset you. I was thinking that Dale needed help and that I could get it for him. Pure and simple." Jason paused and swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly.

 

 

"It was stupid, I know that now. I take full responsibility for that," Jason said unhappily. "But, the motive behind it was good. It wasn't some temper tantrum or a way of vying for attention. I love Dale, and I am really worried about him, too.  And I guess I did think, if we could all just go back home, everything would be back to normal?" There was an open honesty in Jason's face and words.

 

Philip finally understood. Jason's actions of the last few hours weren’t a play for attention; they weren’t some childish acting out. They were the actions of a man caught in a bad situation, trying to help someone he loved the best way he could.

 

"I’m sorry Jason," Philip said, his mouth acid with regret. "I was out of line to judge your actions.  I was out of line to judge you."

 

Jason stood there, not coming any closer, but watching Philip evenly.

 

Philip swallowed hard.

 

"I was wrong, Jason. I was wrong to try to spank you or to even say that you deserved it. It’s not my call. We don’t have a relationship, and we sure as hell don’t have any sort of agreement or understanding that would give me that right."

 

"It’s okay. Let’s just forget about it," Jason said with a small frown and dismissive wave of his hand. "I can’t deal with it tonight. I’m dead and my emotions are just shot anyway."

 

"Please, Jason, come sit down with me and we’ll just be quiet together for awhile." Philip moved over to the edge of the couch, "No tricks, I promise. Just some companionship."

 

"That sounds nice." Sitting down on the couch, Jason smiled wearily. "Yeah, just sitting here sounds good."

 

Philip noted with a small glimmer of hope that while Jason was careful not to actually touch him, he wasn’t at the other edge of the couch either.

 

"I don't think they can forgive me, Philip. I did too much damage. What am I supposed to do? Just apologize?" Jason said wretchedly five minutes later, breaking the silence.

 

"I think that’s all you can do, Jase. That and try to repair the damage or make reparations as best that you can." Philip said gently. "I’ll go with you if you like."

 

"Thanks," Jason said with a resolute smile. He stood up and offered the other man his hand to pull him up. Then Jason, with Philip at his back, opened the door and walked back out into the living room.

 

Meanwhile, a wobbly, wounded Dale had been soundly reproached by John.

 

"What the hell are you doing out of bed, young man? Don't you have any sense at all?"

 

John reached the space where his seriously hurt significant other stood precariously. Wrapping his arm gently, but firmly around Dale's waist, John tried to lead Dale out of the room.

 

"How did you even get out of the bed! If you have caused yourself more injury, Dale, I swear..."

 

"Please, John," Dale said, trying to talk over his impassioned and scared lover, "Tell me what's going on? All the noise, I can hear dogs and I thought I heard an explosion, what's going on?  Where was everyone? I woke up and there was all this noise and I called you but you weren't there and I thought that something had happened..." Dale continued in a quivering voice, full of fear and shock and not a little pain.

 

"Shh, shh, darling," John said, "Calm down now, baby, it's okay. I'm here. I'm sorry you were frightened.  Come on, let's get you back to bed now and we'll check out those injuries and I will explain everything."

 

Carl had moved to John's side; he smiled down at Dale.

 

"Tell you what, John. I will give you a hand back into the bedroom with Dale, so that I can check that with all his sneaking around he hasn't dislodged those splints I spent so long on!"

 

Carl looked over Dale's head and gave a comforting wink and nod to John, as he wrapped one of his arms around Dale as well.

 

"How you got out of the bed and out here amazes me; that leg must have hurt something fierce, Dale! Or is it just that with everything going on, natural curiosity overrode the pain sensors?" asked Carl, in an attempt to distract Dale from the pain he would now begin feeling as his fear gave way to relief. 

 

Before Dale could answer, Carl looked back over his shoulder to his own lover, hovering just behind him.

 

"Michael, can you get me some clean warm water, please, and maybe some fresh bandages in case I need them. Bring them into me in John and Dales room? And Michael? Don't even attempt to go outside to find the dogs.  Am I clear, Michael?" Carl gave him what could only be termed The Look. "They will come back soon and then we will go out together and sort them out. Are we clear on that?"

 

"Yes, Carl," Michael quietly muttered. He looked into Carl's eyes and nodded, whispering,  "I promise."

 

Carl smiled back at him and nodded his head, too, in an assent that also meant, "I love you" and "I trust you." Carl's love filled Michael with a warm glow.  Michael cherished the knowledge that he was cared for always, regardless of actions or situations. He never had to earn this love, but that it was always freely given, unlike so many previous things in his life.

 

With these thoughts uppermost in his mind, Michael returned to the kitchen, put the kettle on the stove and looked outside. The snow was falling lightly and it appeared that it would soon stop. He could hear the faint barking getting louder. If he listened closely, he could even identify which dogs were barking. Torn about the safety of their dogs but knowing he had made a promise to Carl, Michael clenched his hands anxiously.

 

He made a quick circuit from the stove to the kitchen table, then back to the window. From this side of the house, he couldn’t see the burnt kennel, but he knew it was there. He spared a moment’s thought to thank Carl for his foresight. The generator that provided their electricity was oil-powered and was located in a small isolated shed near the tree line. If that generator had been lost... Michael shuddered at the idea.  Things might have gone south very fast.

 

The barking was getting louder. Michael knew the dangers of having the dogs harnessed together and running without guidance. He pressed his lips together firmly and looked at the kitchen door leading to outside. His dogs were now a danger to themselves.

 

Michael had raised Tamnar and Silas from pups, two runts of their litters who had grown into strong, capable mushers.

 

However, it was Kimi’s absence that tore at Michael. Carl had given him Kimi a few years ago.  Michael had taken one look at her brown velvet eyes and he had lost his heart. If the dogs' harness caught on a tree stump or wound around some deadfall, the dogs would be trapped outside in the snowstorm and they might die.

 

Taking an indecisive step in the direction of the outer doorway, Michael hesitated.  What he most wanted to do would be a serious breach of trust. Carl would definitely not be happy when he found out. But how long could he sit helplessly and hope for his beloved dogs to return?

 

Although sitting, helplessly or not, would be uncomfortable, if not impossible, if he followed his impulse to take off after his dogs. Michael shook his head wryly.

 

"Afagau?" Carl’s raised voice easily carried to the kitchen. "Is that water ready?"

 

"Yes, Carl, on my way." Michael bit his lip, putting off the decision.

 

Reentering the bedroom, Michael took in the controlled chaos. Dale’s impromptu trip had torn open some stitches, and he was bleeding again. John gripped Dale's hand and tried to assist Carl by keeping Dale still.  Dale wasn’t having any of that. He squirmed away from the Inupiaq’s probing fingers.

 

"Dale, you have to lie still, babe," John coaxed.

 

"I can't," Dale moaned piteously.

 

"You might want to, Dalelove. This stunt you just pulled was unacceptable," John reprimanded, his tone slightly harsh.

 

"I’m sorry, John. I’m…Ouch…" Dale’s eyes filled with tears. "OW!"

 

Carl’s fingers had found a still-tender bruise. Michael handed over the warm water and some cloths and stood by, awaiting further instructions.

 

Twenty minutes later, Carl straightened after he finished applying a fresh bandage to his injured houseguest. He rubbed the small of his back tiredly.

 

"Do you want me to take a look at your injuries also, John? See if you busted anything open while we were moving him back to bed?"

 

"Sure," John said stiffly. He stood and unselfconsciously opened the borrowed flannel shirt so Carl could examine him.

 

"Philip’s a good man." Carl said offhandedly, as he checked John's injuries. "He’s been a good friend of ours for many years."

 

Neither man knew precisely what had happened in the adjacent room. A single glance had been exchanged between John, Carl and Michael, and by mutual agreement, they had decided not to discuss it.

 

For John, however, anger, not acceptance, prevailed. This person, Philip, was a stranger. Although it appeared that the pilot had taken Jason in hand, John was not sure if Jason felt the same desire for Philip. Even if he did, Jason was a tenured professor, living in an urban sprawl with coffee shops on every other corner and symphony or theater performances every weekend, while Philip’s idea of rush hour might be four cars on a two-lane country road. John

just couldn’t see how it could work; the galaxies they inhabited were just too distant from each other.  He was damned if he would see his brother hurt.

 

Carl finished his examination in silence since John did not respond to his conversational gambit.

 

"Thanks, Carl, I appreciate all you’ve done for us. My brother is impetuous and acts before he thinks. I want you to know that we will foot the cost of replacing the kennel." The examination over, John roused himself from his thoughts.

 

"That should be the least of your concerns right now," Carl said reassuringly. You stay with Dale; I’ll get breakfast started." Carl gathered his medical supplies. At the bedroom door he turned. "John.  No one would ever have expected an Inupiaq male with strong tribal ties and a white American ex-Delta to have a successful ten-year relationship. All I’m suggesting is that you back off a little and let Philip and Jason sort it out. Philip’s an honorable man and he likes Jason. Your brother may be younger than you, but he’s not a qitunbauraq.  He’s old enough to make his own decisions."

 

"Quit what?" A smile creased John’s tired countenance, as he tried to twist his tongue around the word. Sitting next to a now calm and quiet Dale, cradling his lover’s warm hand, John could almost believe this was a normal vacation and that he was getting an impromptu language lesson from his host.

 

"A bauraq, a baby. You have to offer him the same chance with Philip as Dale probably had with you."

 

Raising his hand and scrubbing at his face tiredly, John was about to answer when Jason appeared in the doorway. His face was pale.

 

"I need to apologize," Jason said, forcing himself to meet Carl's eyes. "I’m really sorry I took your dogs and even more sorry about the fire I started and the damage to the snowmobile." Jason chewed on his lip uncertainly, and then finished in a rush  "And I apologize for insulting you and your partner about a personal lifestyle choice. Please forgive me."

 

John was never prouder of his brother than at that instant.

 

"Thank you, Jason," Carl said gravely.  "I accept your apology."

 

"Really? Wow, thanks, Carl. I’ll help fix the kennel, really I will." Jason's megawatt smile was something to see.

 

Nodding again, Carl left Dale’s bedroom, his hands full of medical supplies. He needed to see to his own partner. Passing Philip on his way to the kitchen, Carl inclined his head. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, they would talk. Philip looked like a man who had just jumped off a tall cliff and had realized in mid-flight that a soft landing might not await him.

 

"Is Dale okay?" Jason asked John anxiously.

 

"He’s getting the best care we can give him, under the circumstances," John sighed.

 

"Oh John, I'm so confused. I never knew anything about this Thing you're into," Jason muttered vaguely, wringing his hands nervously. "Didn’t you trust me, John?"

 

"Jason, this was a joint decision between Dale and me. We aren’t ashamed of our lifestyle, we just weren’t sure you’d understand," John said.

 

"You were right about that," Jason said ruefully.  "Considering that the minute I find out, I accuse you of playing sick S and M games."

 

"It’s not S and M. It’s not about subjugation or masochism," John said.  He opened his arms, "Jase, little brother. I know it’s really confusing…"

 

Jason rushed into his arms and hugged him tightly.

 

"How do you feel about it?" John asked, careful to make his words non-judgmental.

 

"Confused?  I don't think I've ever been... spanked? As punishment?" Jason blushed at the word.

 

"It's about more than just spanking," John said.

 

"John?" Jason asked tentatively.  "Do you think Dale would mind talking to me about ...stuff?"

 

"I’m sure he won’t mind, Jason. Maybe this will even ease some of the tension between you," John said.

 

"I have to find Michael and apologize to him also." Jason tunneled deeply into his brother’s embrace for another minute and then released John reluctantly.

 

"I’m proud that you’re taking responsibility for your actions, Jason," John said.

 

"Thanks," Jason said awkwardly.

 

Finding Michael was easy; his face was pressed to one of the front windows of the lodge. Jason stood to one side, unsure of how to approach him.

 

"They haven’t come back yet," Jason began awkwardly.

 

Michael was absolutely sure he could hear Kimi yelping as if she were in pain. He turned angrily to Jason. He was going to enjoy ripping him a new one.

 

One look at Jason’s woebegone face quelled that desire. Sighing, Michael raised his eyes to meet Jason's.

 

"Michael, I’m sorry," Jason said, wincing at the pain in Michael's eyes.

 

Michael strained his hearing; yeah, that was a distinct whine from one of his dogs. They must be trapped somewhere near the treeline, close enough for him to hear, but too far away to see.

 

"Sure you are. Do you know how much those dogs mean to me?" Michael went back to his vigil at the window, his eyes peering through the darkness.

 

Jason stood near him, hoping for a gesture that did not come.

 

"Jason?" Philip said, entering the living room and interrupting the stalemate. "Why don’t you come and have some breakfast."

 

"Okay." Jason hurried away, eager to escape the accusatory silence emanating from Michael.

 

"That goes for you too, Michael. Carl would like some help in the kitchen."

 

The four men ate a sober breakfast. The barking from the dogs remained at a constant level, which meant the dogs weren’t getting any closer to the cabin.

 

"Do you think they’re trapped?" Michael tilted his head up, listening to the noise.

 

Jason winced at the desolation he heard in the young man’s voice. He had done this. With his impetuous act, he had caused this man pain.

 

Carl rubbed his partner’s shoulder soothingly, "In another hour and a half, it’ll be light enough to see clearly outside and you and I will go and find them."

 

"Can’t we go now?"

 

"No, afagau. It’s still too dark and it’s still snowing. We’ll wait."

 

"Carl, I can hear Kimi whining. She might be hurt," Michael begged.

 

"No," Carl returned with steely tone. "Michael, I suggest you stop. Now!"

 

From across the table Jason and Michael locked eyes. Jason, feeling guilty about his contribution to the current situation was determined to rescue the dogs as soon as Carl was distracted.

 

Michael knew Carl could read his mind, especially at those times when Michael couldn’t quite sort out his own thoughts.  The fantasy of going to rescue the four-legged members of their family by himself or with the help of their uninvited houseguest evaporated quickly. 

 

Carl stuck like glue to Michael for the time before daybreak.  Whenever Michael turned to look out the window, Carl pulled him away to a mindless task.  Damn, Michael felt like Cinder f’in Rella. He fumed as he sat before the fireplace, mending a pair of pants Carl had assigned to him.  At least that brat Jason had been stuck with a shirt of John’s to mend, too.

 

Whining every few moments that he didn’t know how to sew, Jason kept looking at Michael in mute appeal.

 

Okay, so the guy was sorry, great, thought Michael. If it weren’t for him, my pups wouldn’t be out there suffering. 

 

Finally the first rays of the sun lightened the sky and Carl released him from the monotonous stitching.  Michael bounded from his chair and shrugged into his outerwear and gear before Carl could finish saying, "Okay now."

 

"Wait!" Jason called in alarm.  He waved his arm, red and black flannel leaping up and down.  Somehow he’d managed to sew a section of John’s shirt to his own.  Philip practically fell off the couch laughing, Carl smirked and Michael rolled his eyes with disgust; his only thought to get to his dogs without further delay.

 

"Jason, why don’t you stay here," John suggested as he came from Dale’s room to see what the commotion was about.  He bit back a laugh of his own as his shirt looked like it was going to take flight.

 

"But I have to help!" Jason pleaded, bright red with embarrassment.

 

Philip took hold of Jason's flailing arm and used a pair of scissors to cut away the misplaced stitches.  Jason looked beseechingly up at Philip.

 

"Please? I want to make it right," Jason said quietly.

 

Calming from his unexpected mirth, Philip looked into the doe eyes that pleaded with him and wondered if he could resist any request of this man’s.  Breaking his gaze away, he looked across to John. 

 

"The snow’s stopped. I think Michael and Carl will be able to handle things, but it’ll be good to have an extra pair of hands, if there’s a need. I’ll keep an eye on him, John," Philip said.

 

"How far away do you think it’ll be?  It shouldn’t be too far, right?  We could hear the barking," John said.

 

"Sound travels in this open country but it really shouldn’t be too far.  We know what we’re doing.  Jason will be okay.  I'll look out for him," Philip offered again.

 

John looked at Jason who stood quietly next to Philip, seemingly accepting being Philip’s responsibility.  After a moment, John nodded his agreement.

 

"Okay, just be careful.  I’ll have something hot for you when you get back."

 

Philip nodded and Jason gave his big brother a huge grin as both headed outdoors.

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

The dogs were safe, the house was quiet, and Jason was miserable. 

 

Jason rubbed his eyes for a moment before going back to the figures in front of him. Wind speed, air speed, fuel consumed and remaining, Bernoulli principles and rates of descent filled the pages in front of him. Even with Carl and Michael's map showing their exact position in Alaska, it was painstaking work to sort out exactly how far they had come from their original departure point -- and thus how long it would take to get Dale to a major medical center. He got to the last calculation, adding up the mile bits and kilometer bits and converting all to one distance-time measure.

 

Six days. Six days back to civilization, as defined by Anchorage. If he defined it by the outpost of Iliamna, it would only take four days, but from what he could see, Iliamna had no better medical resources than a bare-bones clinic. It also had an airstrip, which, he supposed, would be an improvement, but all things considered, he didn't think four days on a dog sled would do Dale any good. His misadventures with the outrageous octet of canines tended to confirm that hypothesis.

 

And all of these calculations relied on steady, clear weather for the whole stretch of time.  Somehow, Jason didn't think that such a stretch happened that often in the early Alaskan spring.

 

The figures were not what Jason had been hoping for.

 

In fact, they were pretty depressing.

 

Jason sat back down at the table, propped his elbows on it, and put his head into his hands. He was starting to wallow in self-pity when the big female dog, Kimi, summarily shoved her nose in the space between arm and table. Reflexively, he reached down, buried his fingers in her soft, thick fur and started to scratch. She arched up into the caressing hand, then pulled back a bit so that just her nose was under it, clearly wanting it scratched. Jason chuckled and complied, sliding down against the exterior wall where the dogs had grouped together.

 

Jason shivered a little at the temperature disparity, but as he petted and scratched the pack, he soon realized why they had clustered in the coolest part of the house. Used to their kennel, the dogs had much heavier coats than their flatland, indoor pet counterparts. The lodge, comfortable for the humans, was uncomfortably warm for the dogs, who instinctively sought out the coolest part of the house. Even there, several of the larger, more heavily built, anchor males were still panting and obviously uncomfortable.

 

Guilt overwhelmed Jason again.

 

"Aw, guys," he said quietly, reaching out to the dogs, who eagerly licked his hands and nudged their broad, dark heads underneath, "I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I'm so sorry." He curled up into a miserable ball on the floor, and the lead female came over and fit herself under his arms, licking the tears that welled unbidden from his eyes. "I'm so sorry, m'sorry. M'sorry... Kimi. Is all my fault." The miserable, self-flagellating litany repeated over and over, and Kimi whined in sympathy.

 

She didn't understand this two-feet. Anyone with a nose ought to have been able to tell she was the pack-leader. This was the creature that had put her in the back of the line -- what a nuisance re-sorting the pack hierarchy was going to be -- but she hated to hear any two-feet so upset and hurt. This one sounded disturbingly like one of her puppies, Kodi, did whenever he couldn't quite keep up with the group. She whined a bit more loudly, and licked his face the way she had Kodi's, to try and comfort him.

 

Carl heard the whines as he headed for the kitchen to start dinner. He came in and saw the puppy pile. He suppressed the chuckle that had risen unbidden, seeing how miserable Jason looked. Quietly, he crossed over the floor, stepping over Silas, spread out on his back with all four paws in the air like some kind of breathing rug.

 

"Jason?" Carl asked gently, quietly, "What's wrong?"

 

"They're miserable." Jason looked up, tears welling in his eyes, and immediately looked back down at the dogs. "And so are Michael, and Dale and John, and it's all my fault. I shouldn't have insisted on doing the paper. All of this -- all it -- is my fault. All. M'just useless."

 

Carl nudged Rowdy aside, slid down next to Jason, and pulled the younger male dog into his arms, gently petting and, for all appearances, absorbed in the dog.

 

"Hmm. Okay. Let's look at this logically, shall we?"

 

Jason didn't look up, so Carl went on.

 

"Now, John needed to come up here to do his research. And you needed to deliver that paper somewhere, yes?"

 

Jason nodded, still not looking up.

 

"Now, I've known Philip for years. He loves flying the way Michael loves mushing and snowshoeing. They're in their native elements in the air and the snow, respectively. His plane is insured, and I promise, just as soon as we get you back into town, he's going to be filing a claim and getting a new one. And it's nobody's fault about the weather, now is it?"

 

Jason nodded again.

 

"Now, you did cause the fire in the kennel, and gave these guys the biggest adventure they've had in months." Carl chuckled as his hand stilled, and Rowdy insistently nudged to get him to start scratching and petting again, "But, and I want you to answer honestly, Jason, do they look any worse for wear? Really? I mean, they're not thrilled to be in the warm, but they've got plenty of water and the coolest part of the house. And you've promised to help with rebuilding the shed, so they're going to have their kennel back in short order, mmm?"

 

Jason nodded again, still stroking Kimi gently.

 

"Then I'd say that we have ample evidence to disprove both the claim that this is all your fault -- and that you're just useless." Carl's warm, reassuring voice took in the papers on the kitchen table. "And it looks like you've been trying to help as best you can with your expertise in math. It looks like you've been doing a lot of hard work. And it looks like you're tired."

 

Jason nodded yet again.

 

"But I think," Carl went on gently and relentlessly, "That something else is bothering you as well."

 

"Shit," Jason said, startled at Carl's insight.

 

"Come on, asik, something else is obviously bothering you," Carl said kindly.  He stood up and started pulling out ingredients to make chili. "Want to tell me about it while you chop onions, Jason?  It'll give you an excuse for those red eyes, if anyone asks. Come, help me make dinner."

 

Jason petted Kimi one last time, got up, and came over to start peeling and chopping. He chopped tomatoes, onions, chives, carrots -- carrots? Who puts -CARROTS- in chili? Jason wondered -- for about twenty minutes.

 

"It's Philip," Jason finally admitted, as he scraped the last of the leavings, skins and leftover bits into the compost bucket.

 

"Okay," Carl said encouragingly, sauteing the onions, and opening half a dozen cans of tomatoes to supplement the three or four fresh ones that Jason had chopped. "What about him?"

 

"It's just..." Jason hesitated, then asked in a very small, quiet, almost scared voice, "We hadn't talked about us or um, anything else, before he..." He broke off and blushed furiously.

 

"Before he tried to discipline you?" Carl asked, not making a big deal of the matter.

 

Jason nodded.

 

"It made me feel like he didn't respect me. Like he saw me as inferior. Young. Adolescent. I mean, I know I'm not the most mature guy in the universe, but I'm not completely childish. Or completely selfish." He looked at Carl, his face worried. "Am I?"

 

"Not at all," Carl firmly replied. "Not that I've observed."

 

Jason went back to cleaning up from chopping, and started on the cornbread to go with the chili.

 

"I guess it's a matter of perception. I've known my brother for thirty-two years. And we went to grad school not just miles but nearly a country apart -- he was back east at MIT and doing his field work at Wood's Hole and I was out at Cal Tech -- and when he came back west, he'd already met Dale. And I've never once seen him treat Dale with anything less than total respect." Jason sighed.

 

"Dale's no scientist, granted, and he hates his day job with a vengeance, but when he wanted to start writing, John was there to support him emotionally. He kept encouraging him and firmly assuring him that he thought Dale could do anything he set his mind to. I guess..." Jason broke off again, and said wistfully, "I guess I just hoped that when I fell in love with someone, I'd have the same kind of relationship with him."

 

"Oh, asik," Carl paused in his stirring and gathered Jason into his arms. "You will. And if it's not with Philip, it will be with someone. I promise." He hugged Jason, gangly and tall as he was, lovingly and reassuringly. "There's someone for you, I promise. Now," Carl added firmly, "You might want to spread that batter and put it in the oven. The chili will be ready in half an hour and the cornbread needs to be done at the same time if it's going to taste right."

 

"Okay." Jason turned back to the batter and the oven.

 

"And Jason?" Carl added, stirring the chili thoroughly, mindful of the heat from the wood-burning stove. "For whatever it's worth, I think you and Philip could work out really well. And if there's anything you want to talk about, just ask me.

I'll be here. And it'll be okay. Promise."

 

Somehow, Carl's firm, reassuring, absolute confidence that things would work out and that Jason deserved the same kind of loving relationship that Carl, Michael, John and Dale had, helped Jason believe it for himself. At least for a little while. He finished cleaning up and set the table, and with something approaching his more usual good-natured humor, went to call the hungry hordes to the table.

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

Carl stood at the living room window and took in the quiet of the cabin. Dinner had been eaten, and the dishes were washed. The occupants of the lodge were scattered in various rooms, each seeming to need their own piece of quiet.

 

John was settled in his room feeding Dale some broth.  Jason had disappeared into his room, a book in hand.  Philip could be heard in the kitchen getting himself a cup of coffee. As for Michael and the dogs, Carl was watching them playing out in the snow, getting last minute exercise before going to bed.

 

Carl smiled as his partner chased the dogs around the yard. He had to admit he was proud of how good Michael was with the animals. Patient and caring, yet stern when needed.

 

"Why aren't you out there with him?" Philip asked, handing Carl a mug of coffee.

 

"This is Michael's time," Carl said. "He likes the solitude. He says it's his time to reflect." Carl took in Philip's wistful expression. "Are you okay?"

 

"I've been better," Philip said. "I made a bad mistake earlier."

 

"Hmm," was the Inupiaq's noncommittal response.

 

"I tried to discipline Jason."

 

"I know."

 

"I figured you did...You don't approve, do you?"

 

"It's not my place to approve or not," Carl answered.  "I do know Jason was concerned, though."

 

"He talked to you?"

 

Carl nodded.

 

"What did he say?" Philip asked.

 

"It's not my place to discuss the conversation."

 

"I know you're the soul of discretion.  That's why I trust you. I just wish I knew how Jason feels now.  Shit. I thought he needed it, Carl; I still think he does."

 

"But it's not your decision alone," Carl told Philip firmly. "It's Jason's choice, too."

 

"So how did you and Michael decide on a discipline relationship?"  Philip asked his question tentatively. Although he had known the two men for years, their discipline aspect of their relationship was kept private. They followed the Inupiaq tradition of maintaining strict privacy regarding their personal lives.

 

Carl's eyes drifted back to his partner, playing in the snow.

 

"We both shared in the decision, but the ultimate decision was his. And Michael and I were in a relationship for two years before we made the decision. It was the right thing for both of us, and he'll tell you that, even if he does argue when the time for discipline arises.  But we knew each other very well before we began."

 

"I feel as if I know Jason." Philip ran a hand over his face and sighed.

 

"There's an enormous difference between a couple of days and a couple of years," Carl reminded him.  "Michael sees the need for it; Jason may not."

 

"Come on, Carl." Philip shook his head in disbelief. "The boy is waiting to self-destruct."

 

"He's not a boy, Philip. He's a man. If you go into this expecting to play daddy and save him from himself, then you are doomed. That's not what it's about."

 

"I wasn't doing that," came the defensive response.  "It's just...he bowled me over, Carl. This beautiful, energetic, smart-mouthed, intelligent young man...I haven't responded to someone like this...well, ever. And I watch him hurt emotionally and I want to protect him. But, it's not easy when he's hurting himself." Philip's green eyes appealed to Carl. "Does that make sense?"

 

"A lot, and I understand. Michael had the same effect on me."

 

"Exactly," Philip exclaimed. "Michael and Jason are so much alike that I figured..."

 

Carl raised a hand, forestalling any additional comments.

 

"That's part of the problem. You can't interchange Michael and Jason. They aren't the same.  True, they are both impulsive, but Michael will take responsibility for his actions. He will get in your face and admit he did it. Hell, he'll get in your face and admit he did something he didn't do in order to protect someone else. When I met him, he walked around with the biggest chip on his shoulder...ready to fight anyone. Now, I don't know Jason very well, but I don't believe that's his personality. Their backgrounds aren't the same, their experiences aren't the same." Carl chuckled. "Do you see Jason surviving the Delta's boot camp?"

 

"No...not really." The thought of Jason getting up early and taking a twenty-mile hike made Philip smile.

 

"He is a wonderful young man though," Carl said gently.

 

"Could you imagine yourself in a relationship with him?" Philip asked.

 

"I can only imagine myself in a relationship with Michael. He is my spirit's other half." Carl's face softened at the thought of his lover, his life partner, his best friend.

 

"I want the kind of love, the kind of permanence, that you and Michael have. I didn't realize how much until I met Jason." Philip gave a wan smile.

 

"Then you will have it, suunaaba. And maybe it will be with Jason, but you can't force it."

 

The door banged open and the room's noise level rose as Michael and the dogs flew into the lodge. The younger man looked at the two men.

 

"What's up?" Michael asked.

 

"Nothing. Just talking," Carl said, smiling at his partner.

 

"Right." Michael nodded knowingly.

 

"What do you mean, right?"

 

"I know you, afayuq. That's your preacher face you're wearing, old man. The Gospel according to Carl," Michael teased, as the dogs settled onto the floor as far as possible from the hearth.

 

"I'll show you old," Carl threatened.

 

"What?" Michael beamed. "Going to take me to bed and break some of the commandments?"

 

"Go, you two," Philip sputtered. "I'm going to finish my coffee, then go to bed myself."

 

The couple left the room, and Philip turned back to the window and stared outside as he thought about Carl's words.

 

Evening deepened, darkening to night. The snow continued to fall in slow, steady drifts.

 

Kimi sprawled before Carl and Michael's closed door, an occasionally twitching ear the only indication that she was dog and not rug.

 

John dozed next to Dale's bed. Philip and Michael had dragged the lodge's most comfortable armchair into the small bedroom, well aware that John seldom left Dale's side.

 

Philip lay morosely on the couch in the empty great room, watching the hearth fire die back to its embers. He had made a bad mistake and he saw no way to make it right.

 

He thought unhappily of the many times that he had criticized Adam, his brother Lindsey's boyfriend.  Damn, it was harder than he had ever realized to deal intimately with anyone as volatile as Lindsey.

 

Like Jason.

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

"Goddamn motherfucking sonofabitch!" Jason punched his pillow viciously, vainly attempting to mold it into a comfortable shape for sleep. "Fuck him! I am not a 'brat.' I am not some kind of sicko who lets some asshole beat the shit out of him! I am not--OW!"

 

Jason's fist missed the pillow and struck the headboard, hard.

 

"Ah, shit. Just what I needed. Ah, fuck, it's swelling already. With my luck, I broke something.  Ah, shit, I need some ice. At least that's one thing we've got plenty of." Jason moaned his way quietly to the front door, careful not to rouse the weary household.

 

Philip stirred from his half-sleep as cold, fresh air from the open door swept into the house. The dogs came instantly awake as well. They pressed eagerly past Jason and out into the new snow.

 

"No! No!! No!!!" Jason wailed. "You fucking furballs, get back here!"

 

"Down! Stay!" Philip managed to grab the two slowest dogs by their ruffs.

 

Kimi barked sharply at her master's door. Michael was up and out in a flash.

 

"What the fuck did you do now?" Michael snapped at Jason. "Shit! Come on, Kimi, let's get them!"  Luring the escapees into a game of chase, Kimi and Michael quickly herded the pack back inside.

 

Michael banged the door shut and glared at Jason.  Carl moved smoothly between the two men.

 

"Why, Jason?" Carl asked softly.

 

"I needed some ice. I hurt my hand," Jason said, too embarrassed to meet Carl's eyes.

 

"May I see?" Carl asked quietly, extending his own hand, palm up. Jason swallowed hard and placed his injured hand in Carl's.

 

Carl studied Jason's swollen hand; manipulated his fingers gently.

 

"It's badly bruised, Jason, but I don't think it's broken," Carl said.

 

"You're a disaster waiting to happen," Michael spat at Jason. "No wonder Philip was tempted to tear a strip off you. You could drive a saint to violence!"

 

"Shut up! Just because you're into kinky games doesn't mean--"

 

"Enough!" Carl interrupted both agitated men.  "Michael, please go to our room. Jason, will you allow Philip to dress your hand?"

 

Jason hesitated.

 

"Please, Jason, I'd like to help you," Philip said.

 

"All right," Jason agreed softly.

 

Carl followed Michael into the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him. For a moment, voices rose and fell within. Then there was only silence.

 

Jason and Philip looked at each other.

 

"I didn't mean to let them out!" Jason said defensively. "I just wanted something cold for my hand. I wasn't looking for attention. I'm not a brat--"

 

"Shh..." Philip's voice was steady and kind. "I know that. Please, Jason, stop. I'm sorry I ever said that." Sorrier than you'll ever know, Philip thought to himself.

 

"I was way out of line, Jason, and I understand you're angry at me. I'm not judging you now, though. I only want to help you. Will you sit down on the couch and let me see to your hand?"

 

Jason blinked back tears of pain and mingled shame and fury.

 

"Why'd you have to be such a fucking jerk?" he asked Philip miserably.

 

"I made a mistake, Jason," Philip said sadly. "I'm sorry."

 

An agonized howl rent the night air.

 

"Make it stop! Please John, make it stop! Help me, John! John!!" Dale's screams echoed through the lodge.

 

"Help!" John's added plea brought all four men to Dale's bedside at a run.

 

Dale fought desperately to free himself from John's restraining arms, even as he screamed for John to help him. His eyes were glazed and unseeing.

 

"He's delirious," John said. "He's burning up!"

 

Carl moved quickly to the bedside to add his strength to John's in an effort to control the younger man's thrashing.  The heat pouring off Dale's skin almost burned his hands.

 

"We've got to get his core temperature down, now."  Carl's voice was sharp with worry.

 

"An ice bath?"  John suggested desperately.  "We could wrap him in snow."

 

"No, too extreme."  Carl shook his head.  "We want to cool him down without bringing on shivering.  Michael, go get the rubbing alcohol.  Philip, more towels.  Jason, go get a bowl of water. Cool, not frigid."

 

The others scattered leaving John and Carl to struggle with Dale.

 

"John!  Stop them!  Please stop them!"  Dale's face was bright red and a sheen of perspiration gilded his forehead.  Furiously he wriggled and flayed, trying to break the two men's hold.

 

"Dale, I'm here.  You're safe."  John tried to sooth the younger man while holding him still.

 

"This isn't working."  Carl gritted his teeth as Dale's arm smacked him across the face with his arm.  "He's going to hurt himself."

 

"What can we do?"  John panted tiredly, shifting his grip on Dale.

 

"I'm going to slip behind him and pull him against my chest, then I can hold him from behind."  Carl maneuvered Dale into a sitting position.

 

"I. Should. Do. That,” John protested breathlessly, even as he almost lost his grip.

 

"No!  John!  Where are you?  I need you?"  Dale's voice was becoming hoarse, but he still struggled wildly.

 

"He needs to see you, John."  Carl moved back against the headboard of the bed.  Shifting the younger man as gently as he could, he wrapped his arms firmly around Dale's arms and chest.

 

"NO! NO!"   Dale shrieked in protest, his head thrashing back and forth. Carl had to tip his head backward to avoid being slammed in the face.

 

Philip dropped the extra towels on the end of the bed and grabbed Dale's good leg as the younger man tried to kick. Catching Carl's eye, he frowned.

 

Both men knew Dale was in serious trouble.  Holding an injured person immobile was dangerous.  In other circumstances it would have been better to let him thrash.  However, they needed to get close enough to cool him down.  Aggravating his injuries was less of a concern than the fever. 

 

This high a fever was dangerous.  It might well indicate a severe infection. Dale needed more medical help than they could hope to provide and he needed it fast. Time was running out.

 

"Here's the rubbing alcohol."  Michael skidded into the room, barely missing Jason.

 

"Fuck.  Watch it, you jerk!"  Jason snapped, pulling his bowl of water out of danger.

 

The others ignored them, concentrating on Dale. 

 

Wetting a towel, John pulled open Dale's shirt and gently wiped him down.  The heat from Dale's body quickly warmed the saturated the cloth.

 

"Let me do his chest," Philip offered, shifting his grip on Dale's leg.  "You use the rubbing alcohol on his neck."

 

"John?  Why aren't you here?"  Dale's voice was hoarse, his protests quieting even as his struggles continued.

 

"Hush, honey, I am here," John murmured gently, as he cooled his lover's neck.  "I'm here, Dale. I'm here."  

 

"Please, make it stop.  It hurts so bad," Dale pleaded, his body twisting violently in Carl's arms. 

 

"Please be still, Dale."  John tried to soothe his terrified lover. "Please, Dale. You're going to hurt yourself.  Lie still."

 

Slowly, Dale's frantic thrashing subsided, allowing Carl to loosen his grip. Dale was still hot, but his searing fever had abated.  Carl felt the younger man slip into a light doze.  For the first time Carl looked up, his eyes automatically seeking Michael.

 

"Michael, please take Jason into the kitchen and fix his hand," Carl said quietly. 

 

"We..." Michael had to pause to wet his tongue.  "We'll make some breakfast."

 

"Good idea."  Carl forced himself to smile.  "It's almost daylight."

 

"Come on Jason."  Michael gently maneuvered the other man out of the room.

 

Brushing the hair back from Dale's face, John smiled down at him. "Feeling better?"

 

"Yeah, much," Dale said, smiling back.

 

"God you scared me," John said ruefully.

 

"Yeah, I would imagine. I don't know what happened, I was improving and then all of a sudden I was sick again," Dale said, sighing.

 

"Who knows? It's just your body's way of dealing with trauma, I suppose.  At least your temperature is back to normal again and your color is good," John said, relieved.

 

"I feel a lot better, just tired," Dale said softly.

 

"Good. Why don't you get some sleep? I'm just going to be out in the living room talking to everyone for a minute. Call me if you need anything." Standing up, John left the room, lightly shutting the door behind him.

 

"Something needs to be done," Philip said evenly.  "The storm has cleared and while Dale is improving, he still needs medical attention."

 

"I agree with you, Philip. Unfortunately, there's not much we can do from here. It would be stupid to try to walk out," Carl said.

 

"I don't think there's a reason to talk about walking out," Jason countered. "Someone has to have noticed by now that our plane hasn't returned. Surely they'll send out search parties when they discover that we haven't landed at a different airport?"

 

"Yeah, you're right Jason," Michael nodded.  "It's the twenty-first century. Even if we're cut off from civilization, civilization is still out there and will be looking for us."

 

"With the wreckage still on the mountain, not to mention the torn trees, it's not going take them much longer to find us," Philip agreed.

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

"Adam, I don’t care what that asshole Anchorage air traffic controller said! I know my brother!" fumed Lindsey Andrews, "If Philip hasn't called in, something has happened."

 

Adam LePoint, manager of Iliamna Airport, besieged partner of Lindsey Andrews, sighed wearily.

 

"Lindsey, stop, enough already. You know that storm blew in fast. Anchorage said they didn’t have any plane losses yesterday or today. Philip probably landed somewhere to wait out the storm. You know Denali has all those unmanned small landing strips. You said he was showing those city people scenic places..." Adam replied in his best Iliamna airport manager voice.

 

Lindsey was not mollified.

 

"Philip has radio. He would have called in," Lindsey insisted.

 

"Lindsey, there is absolutely nothing we can do until the storm clears! You know that," Adam said, his patience wearing thin.

 

Lindsey stomped angrily out to his car.

 

With a sigh, Adam picked up the phone. He hoped Lindsey's tantrum would run its course quickly.

 

"Denali Search and Rescue, Mac here, how may I help you?"

 

"Mac, this is Adam LePoint, from Iliamna airport. Philip Andrews's plane is overdue by about eighteen hours. He might have gotten caught in the storm. Have you guys heard anything?"

 

"What was his flight plan?"

 

"He and three passengers were touring Denali National Park, up around the Ring of Fire."

 

"Fax me the details, his flight plan, plane identification and anything else you have. I haven't heard anything, but I know a couple up in that area. I’ll give them a call and see if they’ve heard or saw anything. Did the pilot have a working Emergency Locator Transmitter?

 

"Yes. Philip is ex-Navy; he's good about checking his gear before going up. Thanks, Mac, I really appreciate it," Adam said. "Lindsey Andrews is really worried about his brother."

 

"No problem. If I don't get a response, I'll call in an alert and ask for search volunteers," Mac said.  "Tell Lindsey we'll find his brother."  Mac turned to the radio.

 

"WX523, calling WX523, Carl McDermott, you there? Over." Mac waited a few seconds. "We have a report of a missing plane in your area, over."

 

Silence.

 

I think it's time to declare the plane missing, Mac thought to himself.  He reached for the waiting form on his desk.

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

"The pilot's name is Philip Andrews.  Here are the specifics," Mac said, debriefing his search volunteers as he handed out papers. "By the way, has anyone heard from Carl and Michael recently? I’ve been trying to get them on the radio, but I'm not having any luck."

 

"I talked with them a couple days ago. They had bad static on their radio. It might be out," a voice from the back of the room replied. "I'm sure they’re okay. They just stocked up a week or so ago."

 

"Well, anyway, if anyone is in their area, go ahead and check in on them," Mac continued. "I want the landing strips in Denali checked, both the unmanned and the private strips. If they iced up in one of the passes, it’ll be hard to find them with all the snow we had up in the mountains. So let's get started."

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

"Base, we’re over the Ring, we’re picking up an ELT signal, but it’s bouncing and we are losing it. It will take some time to track it down."

 

Adam sat listening to the emergency radio, watching Lindsey pace back and forth.

 

"I told you he was in trouble, Adam. Why didn’t you listen to me? They should have been out looking yesterday," Lindsey complained yet again.

 

"Lindsey, enough. I did listen to you yesterday. This was the earliest they could have gone up. You know they can’t start searching until the weather clears."

 

"What do they mean by the signal is bouncing, Adam?" Lindsey asked.  "I thought with the ELT they just found the plane."

 

"ELT signals will bounce off mountains and other large objects and they can be blocked by the same. They are flying through the mountain passes, so the signal is being blocked when a mountain is between them and the transmitter. Don’t panic yet. Ninety nine percent of the ELT signals that are picked up turn out to be false alarms. It might not even be Philip's," Adam said.

 

Lindsey was not reassured.

 

The radio crackled again.

 

"Base, we've got a possible crash site.  I see some wreckage and downed trees. I think we just found Philip."

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

Philip stood in the doorway and silently watched the huddled figure in front of the fireplace. It was near midnight and the other inhabitants of the lodge had gone to bed some time ago. Only the call of nature had forced Philip out of bed. He had noticed the slight flicker of fire coming from the open door to the main room.

 

Philip had assumed somebody had forgotten to put out the fire in the fireplace. Instead, what he found was Jason, snuggled into a blanket, morosely staring into the flickering flames and from time to time stirring the burning ashes with a poker.

 

Philip leant against the doorframe and continued to watch the younger man, who sat there, lost in his own thoughts and oblivious to the world.  Although Dale was the most physically injured of any of them, Jason might have the hardest time processing what had happened over the last few days. Emotional injuries often healed much more slowly than physical injuries. And the emotional stress Jason had been under was enormous.

 

And he had played a role in making Jason's a lot harder, Philip thought regretfully. Carl was right. They had nothing close to a relationship; his daring to attempt to discipline Jason had been totally out of line.  Philip wondered what had ever possessed him.

 

The fire was nearly out; the glow of the embers cast a faint shine on Jason's face and made him appear younger than he was.

 

Philip felt his heart grew heavy. He really felt something for this young man. He was past just feeling protective; the thought of losing Jason really hurt. And as soon as the rescue squad arrived, they would go their separate ways.

 

"May I join you, Jason?" Philip asked softly.

 

Jason looked up, startled. Seeing Philip, he quickly lowered his eyes and produced something between a shrug and a nod.

 

Philip sat down with crossed legs and joined Jason before the dying flames.

 

"I'm sorry," Philip said awkwardly

 

Jason felt his face grow hot. He didn't want to think about The Episode anymore. The mere memory was embarrassing. Angrily, Jason poked the embers harder.

 

"All right. I don't want to talk about that anymore." Jason cursed himself inwardly for being not able to be a bit cooler and more nonchalant.

 

"That's not what I meant," Philip tried to explain. "Although of course I am sorry about that, too.  But I am also sorry about something else."  He paused briefly and continued in a quiet voice.

 

"I am sorry that I blew everything." Philip combed his fingers through his hair in a rather desperate gesture.

 

"YOU blew everything?" Jason stared at Philip, dumbfounded. "What the hell are you talking about? I think it is a proven fact that I am the disaster area here."

 

"That's not what I meant." Philip got to his feet, angry with himself because it was so difficult for him to come to the point.

 

Jason looked at Philip, curiosity piqued, but with a hint of distrust in his eyes.

 

"I just wish that things between us had developed...differently." It took Philip a moment to force the words out.

 

"What do you mean, 'differently'?" Jason asked suspiciously.

 

Philip had congratulated himself on merely getting the words out. Now he was confused. Confusion quickly turned to desperation when he realized that Jason didn't understand his confession.

 

"Different in a way that would have made you want to see me again, after we are rescued." Philip said as fast as possible. He avoided Jason's eyes, staring into the fire instead.

 

A long pause following his words. Jason picked up the poker again and reduced the logs in the fireplace to ash. He seemed deeply engaged in his task.

 

Philip started to feel ridiculous.

 

"I'm sorry, Jason. Maybe we should just forget this," Philip said.

 

"Who says that I don't want to see you again?"

 

Philip's head jerked round and he stared at Jason, who still seemed to be obsessed with pulverizing every log.

 

"Do you want to see me again?" Philip knelt down beside Jason and looked into his eyes, hastily trying to explain himself before Jason changed his mind. "Jason, I am really sorry about what happened. And it would be wonderful if you would give us a chance to get to know each other better."

 

Jason continued poking. He was confused. He might have once wished that Philip might have real feelings for him, but he had never imagined his wish would come true. Perhaps this Protective Thing Philip had going had been more than, well, a Protective Thing.

 

"Jason, could you please stop playing around with this thing. I'm trying to tell you something important."  Philip took the poker out of Jason's hand and put a fresh log into the fireplace.

 

"I already started to have feelings for you when we talked, that very first time, in the plane. And they got stronger over the time we spent together. I like you, Jason, and I want to get know you.  The real you, the professor and scientist who lives in the real world, apart from plane crashes, injured friends, snowstorms and bullying pilots who overstep their boundaries."

 

A smile played briefly over Jason's face.

 

"I can't promise anything, Philip." Jason looked at Philip with earnest blue eyes. "But I'd like to give it a try. I'd like to get to know you." Jason smiled again. "I might even like to explore this Protective Thing you pulled. Somehow." Jason shrugged awkwardly.

 

The log Philip had put in the fireplace a moment before flared up suddenly. The sudden brightness made both men shut their eyes.  When they reopened them again, their eyes met and held.

 

Philip and Jason sat for a long moment, looking deep into each other's eyes. Philip finally forced his eyes away from the beautiful blue depths of Jason's eyes.

 

"I think we should go to bed. We have an exhausting day ahead, whether or not a search party arrives." Philip reached towards a strand of hair that fell into Jason's face, but stopped himself in mid-gesture. It probably was too early for this.

 

If Jason had noticed the small movement, he didn't acknowledge it. He was torn between a growing feeling of happiness and a nagging feeling of unease.

 

Going to bed was probably a good idea, Jason thought. He had enough to think about. He pretended to suppress a yawn as he got to his feet and stretched ostentatiously.

 

"You're right, Philip. It is late. Good night."

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

The sun was just rising from behind the mountains. The air was clear and cold. The early morning light reflected off the shiny surface of the Bell 407.

 

"I am going with you and there is nothing you can do about it!"  Lindsey's agitated voice cut through the morning quiet.

 

Lindsey stood nose to nose with an older woman in a bright orange overall. They stared stubbornly at each other, neither willing to budge.

 

"Louise, come on, let him come. After all, it is his brother who's missing." One of the other two men tried to intervene on Lindsey's behalf.

 

"That is exactly my point," said Louise, the acting head of the rescue unit. "We don't know what we will find out there and we don't need hysterical relatives around if things get ugly."

 

The younger man paled visibly.

 

"That was heartless, Louise," the other man chided.

 

"Fine, Fred," Louise said, conceding defeat. "He's your responsibility." She scowled at Lindsey's champion, who grinned and patted the younger man's back.

 

"Come on, Lindsey, get aboard so that we can get this bird into the air. Don't worry. I am sure they made it to Carl and Michael's lodge. Quigley said the plane was in decent shape. And your brother knows the territory up there."

 

The helicopter slowly rose into the air and swung into the direction of Mt. Iliamna, quickly picking up speed.  It took about half an hour until the secluded lodge came into view. A small column of smoke wound from chimney to sky, the only sign of human presence.

 

"Look at the kennel!" Fred yelled. "What the hell happened there?"

 

The helicopter was fifty yards away from the lodge when the door opened and three men, clad only in jeans and shirts, ran out into the snow.

 

"That's my brother, that's Philip!" Lindsey nearly jumped out of the helicopter, but a helpful hand grabbed the back of his parka and held him back until the engine shut down and the wings slowed. Finally released, Lindsey ran to Philip, who waited for him, arms open, grinning.

 

Lindsey jumped on Philip, wrapping his arms around him.

 

"I knew you would make it, I knew it!" Lindsey repeated, over and over again. He grabbed Philip by the ears and planted an enthusiastic kiss in the middle of his brother's face.

 

"I knew you would make it, I knew it!"

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

Jason was woken up by a rhythmic, rattling noise. He stretched lazily and yawned, a smile slowly creasing his face as the events of the last night came to mind.

 

Philip.  A warm feeling spread through Jason at the thought of the pilot. He was snuggling back under his covers when he finally realized what the rattling sound outside was.

 

A helicopter! Jason jumped out of bed and ran to the door. He toed into his boots, grabbed his coat and ran outside. He brushed past John and Michael, eager to reach the helicopter that had rescued them.

 

Jason saw Philip. Philip with a young, fair-haired guy in his arms. Jason saw the young, fair-haired guy kiss Philip.

 

For a moment, Jason froze. Then, in three quick steps, Jason reached Philip.  Jason opened his mouth a few times, outrage and hurt preventing his words

from flowing.

 

Jason planted his hands on Philip's chest and pushed as hard as he could. The pilot fell backwards into the snow.

 

Jason turned, stomped back into the lodge and slammed the door shut behind him as hard as he could.

 

Louise smiled at the sight of Philip, sprawled in the snow, wearing a dumbfounded expression.

 

"Who the hell was that?" Lindsey demanded.

 

"A friend of Philip's?" Louise suggested dryly. "With a temper like yours, Lindsey. Hello, Carl. Michael. Is everyone okay?"

 

"No," Carl said. "We've got an injured man inside. Broken leg, fever, possible internal bleeding."

 

"Lindsey, radio the hospital to stand by. Fred, get the stretcher and my bag!" Louise called over her shoulder, heading toward the lodge.

 

"I’ll help!" Michael grabbed one end of the stretcher.

 

John offered up a silent prayer of thanksgiving.  Dale was going to be all right.

 

Jason scowled at his bed and kicked it once more, hard, for good measure. The rescue team was here and they would soon be back to civilization. Dale would get help and he'd be rid of Philip.

 

"Lying, manipulative, sonofabitch," Jason muttered. He took a deep breath to begin another rant.

 

"Would you mind telling me what the hell that was about?" the focus of his anger inquired.

 

"Like you don't know, you fucking hypocrite!" Jason glared at Philip.

 

"Hypocrite?"

 

"Yes. Hypocrite. Mr. 'I-want-to-get-to-know-you-better-Jason.'"

 

"I do want that," Philip assured him, thoroughly confused.

 

"Yeah? Well, tough shit. Fuck you, Philip.  Now why don't you go back to your boyfriend?"

 

"Boyfriend?" Philip was utterly confused. "What boyfriend?"

 

"What boyfriend?!" Jason exclaimed in disbelief. "Your little blond slut!"

 

"My little blond slut...do you mean Lindsey?"

 

"How the fuck do I know what your boyfriend's name is, you--"

 

"Lindsey is not my boyfriend," Philip said, not sure whether to laugh or to scream.  No one had frustrated him this much in...in...No one had EVER frustrated him this much.

 

"Lindsey is my brother, Jason," Philip said evenly.

 

"What?" Jason stared at the older man. His brother? That was his brother? The more he thought about it, the greater his anger grew.

 

"Lindsey is my brother, Jason," Philip repeated.

 

"And you didn't tell me?!" Jason was outraged.

 

"You didn't give me a lot of time for introductions," Philip responded dryly.

 

Once again, Jason pushed the other man, but this time he went down with him...right onto the bed...and kissed him...and kissed him...and kissed him.

 

It was with great reluctance that Philip pulled away.

 

"As much as I want to continue this, the rescue copter will be leaving soon," Philip said regretfully.

 

"But you want to continue, right?" Jason asked sheepishly.

 

Philip's took in the younger man's flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips.

 

"Oh yeah, Jason. Most definitely."

 

Michael helped lift Dale's stretcher aboard the helicopter. In just a short time, Dale would receive the medical attention he needed and be safely on the road to recovery.

 

John climbed in next to his injured partner, smiling his first real smile since the crash.

 

Michael stepped back to make way for Jason and Philip.

 

"What are you doing?" Jason asked. "We have to go."

 

"Yes, you do, but I'm not going," Michael said.

 

"What do you mean you're not going?" Jason demanded.

 

"The dogs need me," Michael replied.

 

"But you can't stay here!" Jason appealed to Carl. "You're going to make him come, right? You can do that. He has to listen to you."

 

Carl gave the younger man a reassuring smile.

 

"Michael is right, Jason. We can't just go off and leave the dogs."

 

"But you don't have a radio!" Jason's eyes widened in horror at the thought of their two rescuers stranded in the wilderness without a means of communication.

 

"We have to go!" Lindsey snapped.

 

"Jason!" John ordered. "Please, get into the helicopter. Now!"

 

"But we can't leave them! They helped us!"

 

"I am grateful to them, but Dale is my priority and he needs medical attention! Now get in the helicopter, Jason!" John's frustration at being so close to help yet still not aloft caused him to snap at his brother.

 

Philip turned the distressed young man to face him.

 

"As soon as we land, I'll come back with a radio for Carl and Michael," Philip said.

 

"Promise?" Jason asked uncertainly.

 

"Promise," Philip assured Jason. "I'll borrow JT's plane, Carl."

 

"Take care of your injuries first," Carl ordered gently.

 

"They're already healed," Philip replied. "I'll see you both soon."

 

Carl and Michael stepped away and watched as the helicopter took off.

 

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

 

Philip dropped his pen and shoved the papers across the desk, resisting the urge to shove them right into the wastebasket. The amount of paperwork he'd done in the past week was overwhelming, first for the FAA and now for the insurance company. There had been fewer forms to fill out when he'd bought the plane in the first place!

 

Philip got up and refilled his coffee mug, his mind turning once again to Jason, as it so often did. He hadn't seen the young man since they'd returned to civilization.

 

First, he had kept his word and gone back to Carl and Michael with a new radio. Carl and Michael had decided to remain at the lodge for a while, enjoying the privacy that had been interrupted by the crash and its aftermath. Once they had the radio, they had been able to arrange for additional supplies to be flown in to them, including building materials for the new kennel they were constructing. Jason and John had made good on their promises to foot the expenses.

 

The long flight had given Philip a chance to do some hard thinking about himself and Jason and what had happened between them. He was attracted to the young man, perhaps more than attracted, but was it possible for them to have a relationship?

 

Not only had they gotten off to a rocky start, but they came from two different worlds. How could they reconcile that? And how could he be sure that Jason was truly attracted to him, not just reacting to the pressure and stress of the situation?

 

After some inner turmoil, Philip had decided that the best thing to do was to back off, to give Jason some time to think, and let him make the next move. He

had kept track of Dale's progress, phoning the hospital daily, but other than that he had left them all alone.

 

Maybe that had been a mistake, Philip thought. Maybe Jason thought he was staying away because he wasn't interested, or because he regretted what had happened between them.

 

Philip ran his hand wearily through his hair, wondering when life had gotten so complicated.

 

"Philip?"

 

He looked up to see the young man he'd been thinking about standing in the doorway, as if he'd been conjured by the older man's thoughts.

 

"Jason!" Philip started toward the young man, hands outstretched in welcome, then stopped and dropped them self-consciously.

 

"It's good to see you again, Jason. How's Dale?" Philip asked awkwardly.

 

"He's doing a lot better. They released him from the hospital and we're leaving for home today or tomorrow. As soon as we get a flight and John convinces him to get on another plane," Jason said with a wry smile. "He can't wait to get home, though, so that should make it a little easier."

 

"That's good." Philip perched on the edge of his desk. "What about you? Are you glad to be going home?"

 

"Yeah, I am." Jason replied. "This wasn't exactly the relaxing vacation I was looking forward to."

 

"No, I don't suppose it was," Philip agreed, his heart dropping. "Well, have a good trip."

 

"Thanks. Uh-- Philip?" Jason came further into the room, then hesitated. "I thought-- I was wondering-- I mean--" Jason took a deep breath and started over. "I've been thinking a lot about-- you know, and I'm going to be doing some talking with John, and with Dale, too. And I was wondering if you were interested-- if you'd like-- Hell! Here's my card."

 

Jason handed Philip a small white rectangle.

 

"It has my address and phone number on it and I wrote my email address on the back. I'd like to hear from you. And if you want, maybe I could come back on my next vacation. If you want," Jason ended uncertainly.

 

"If I want??" Philip jumped off the desk and pulled the young man to him in a bone-crushing hug.

 

"I guess that's a yes, huh?" Jason asked, as he kicked the door closed behind him.

 

The End