When everything stopped moving, he was still alive. Really that was the best outcome Jack had dared to hope for. He took his time coming around, mentally evaluating which bits of him hurt the most and whether they hurt enough to be dangerous. It was too dark to see, but he could hear Calder groaning behind him. The other man wasn't dead either.

“Anything broken?” he asked.

“What?” Calder shouted back.

The whole plane was still rattling in the wind, though it wasn't moving anymore. It was hard to hear much of anything over the groaning, shaking metal.

“Are you dying?” Jack asked, louder.

“No?” Calder didn't sound completely sure, but after another few moments of silence as he inspected himself, he answered with more confidence. “No, I'm all right. What about you?”

“I'll live,” Jack confirmed, rolling his stiff shoulders and rubbing his sore neck. A little whiplash was a bargain to have made it through that. He just hoped his plane had fared as well.

The windshield was covered in snow, kicked up during the impact. The crash landing had been more landing than crash fortunately, but Jack wasn't counting his chickens just yet.

“I gotta check the plane,” he said, pulling up the hood and collar of his coat. “Stay put. Try not to move too much.”

He didn't wait for an answer before he shoved open the cockpit door. A little bent, it stuck, then caught on the snow piled around it. The plane had stopped with its nose buried in a deep snow drift. The wind screamed in through the open door, carrying snow and a blast of icy cold with it. Jack hurried to climb out, closing the door behind him.

His neck complained at the movement and he had a feeling he'd be sore all over by tomorrow. Outside, the ferocious wind was so fast it was almost painful, like it wanted to tear the skin right off of him. He pulled his hood closer, put his head down and ignored it.

Several minutes later, he wrenched open the cockpit and climbed back in, slamming it behind him.

“Oh thank God,” Calder said, flopping back against the inner wall of the fuselage. “For a minute, I thought you weren't coming back.”

Jack decided to ignore that. Calder had found the emergency lantern and cranked it up so they at least weren't sitting in complete darkness anymore. Calder looked mostly unharmed except for a small cut on his head, probably from banging it on the wall.

“I've got good news and bad news,” Jack reported, sitting down and rubbing his arms as he tried to warm up. “The good news is the plane can still fly. She's banged up, but I can get her in the air.”

“That's fantastic.” Calder sighed in relief. “What's the bad news?”

“The bad news is I can't take off until this storm ends.” Jack ripped his gloves off, flexed his fingers experimentally, then dug for the hand warmers in his dash. “And the longer the plane sits here in this wind, the worse it's going to get, increasing the odds that something critical gets too bent out of shape for us to fly.”

“What does that mean?” Calder asked, knowing it was nothing good.

“It means I'm going to be really busy keeping this plane from flipping over or breaking until the storm passes and I'm going to need your help.”

He got Calder outside with a scraper in his hand and taught him how to keep the ice off the wings. He would be doing the same on the other side of the plane, as well as keeping the cold from freezing gas in the tank or the wind from tearing panels off the fuselage or a dozen other things that would keep them from ever making it back into the air. It was tedious, back breaking work, constantly undone by every extra minute they spent exposed in the cold.

They'd been at it for an hour when Calder's scraper slipped. Jack watched the metal tear through the glove of Calder's other hand, his heart stopping his chest for a moment at the sight. Calder dropped the scraper into the snow and fell back, swearing and clutching his hand. Jack stomped through the snow over to the other man as quickly as he could, grabbing the injured hand, though Calder tried to yank it back. He sighed in relief as he saw the superficial damage.

“It's just a scratch,” he said. “You'll be fine.”

“It hurts!” Calder snapped.

“It's barely bleeding.” Jack rolled his eyes and went back to the plane, grabbing a roll of duct tape from under the front seat. “Patch up your glove before you get frostbite.”

“We've been doing this for an hour!” Calder demanded. “What's the plan? Do you even have one?”

“The plan is to keep the plane operational,” Jack replied impatiently. “We can worry about what happens next after the storm passes.”

“And what if that isn't until tomorrow morning?” Calder asked, shaking his head to clear the snow from his eyes.

“Then we work through the night.”

“I can't do that!”

Jack turned back sharply, catching Calder by the front of his shirt.

“Then we die,” he shouted into the other man's face. “If we don't get this plane in the air when the storm clears, we both freeze out here. Is that what you're after?”

Calder threw a punch at him with his injured hand. It caught Jack off guard, a sharp and sudden blow to his jaw. He let Calder go, stumbling backwards with the shock of it. More surprised than hurt, he rubbed his sore jaw experimentally. Calder was stronger than Jack had expected. He entertained a moment of genuine anger and the accompanying desire to leave Calder out cold in a snow bank, then let it pass. 

“You done?” he asked. Calder was puffing like a bull in a rodeo ring, squared up like he was ready to fight Jack right here.

“No!” Calder snapped. Jack opened his arms to the other man invitingly.

“Well, then get it out of your system,” he said. “We have more important things to worry about right now. So if you need to hit me, do it now. And if you're not going to, then dig that scraper out of the snow and get back to work.”

Calder stood there for a moment, heated breath making dragon clouds around his head as he panted. But then he took a deep, cold breath, and held it. After several beats he released it and unclenched his fists.

“Fine,” he said, eyes closed, forcibly un-gritting his teeth. “Are you sure there's no other way to do this? The plane I mean.”

Jack worked his achy jaw, considering.

“Yeah,” he said. “But you're not going to like it.”

“More ice scraping?” Calder asked, dismay apparent.

“Worse, shoveling.” Jack guided him back toward the plane. “I was trying to land in a more sheltered cove before our landing became more of a crash. But we're not far off. If we can get the plane in there it'll make our work a lot easier. But first we have to get it out of this snow bank.”

He rummaged in the back of the plane, grabbing a shovel and tossing it out to Calder, who groaned.

They worked fast, with no other choice, digging out the nose of the plane and packing the snow down into a ramp they could use to pull the plane up onto the top of the snow pack. Jack was relieved he had the skis on today. After Calder had forced that landing last time, he'd decided to be sure they'd be able to land on the snow if they needed to.

When it came to actually getting the plane out, he cut Calder a break and let him sit behind the wheel, manning the gas and steering as Jack pulled and felt his way over snow, making sure the plane would slide evenly over the pack. Once out of the bank Jack cut the engine to save gas and they dragged it the rest of the way, grunting and sweating in the below zero chill, until they saw the jagged rocky outcropping and, with immense relief, pulled the plane the last few feet into its shelter.

As soon as it was in place Jack got back to work, scraping off the ice and checking all the equipment.

“How's it look?” Calder asked as Jack finished up, hiding inside the slightly warmer shelter of the plane.

“Not great,” Jack admitted. “But it'll hold out. Getting it moved might make all the difference.”

“That's a relief,” Calder said with a sigh, reaching up with a gloved hand to push his hair back from his sweaty brow. The glove was still ripped and Jack could see the pale skin of his hand through the tear. “I was really starting to worry we were going to die out here.”

“We're not going to die.” Jack reached past Calder to get the duct tape again. “The radio still works and the tower knows where we are. If I didn't think I could get back in the air, they'd send someone out for us.”

“Then why did you say we were?” Calder asked, clearly offended.

“To motivate you,” Jack replied.

Jack took Calder's hand. The man looked surprised at first until he realized Jack was wrapping duct tape around the tear.

“I told you to do this before,” Jack scolded mildly. “You're going to be lucky not to get cold blisters.”

“Are you serious or is this more motivation?” Calder asked sarcastically. “Ow!”

Jack massaged Calder's hand through the glove, trying to restore warmth and circulation.

“I'm serious,” he said pointedly. “You need to take care of yourself. Little injuries snowball out here, no pun intended. You sprain your ankle at the wrong time out here and it's all over.”

Calder frowned at that, and Jack could almost see his thoughts returning to Avery, worrying about the other man trying to survive in this. Jack looked down at the hand he was holding in his own, trying to work the life back into it.

“I'm sorry for yelling earlier,” he said. “I shouldn't have lost my patience.”

“I'm sorry for punching you,” Calder said with a sheepish shrug. “Not that it seemed to bother you much anyway. What is your jaw made of, cut steel?”

“I haven't been punched in a while,” Jack said with a shrug. “But in my extensive experience, you gave me a pretty good one. You have some experience?”

“I'm a fitness instructor,” Calder said with a shrug. “I may teach yoga, but that's hardly the only thing I know how to do. I'm certified in a couple of different martial arts.”

“I would never have guessed,” Jack said sincerely.

“Cause I'm 'soft,' right?” Calder said. Jack shrugged, not willing to bother denying it. “Not everyone can look like a romance novel lumberjack, you know. That doesn't mean I'm useless.”

“You think I look like a romance novel lumberjack?” Jack raised an eyebrow curiously and Calder turned red.

“Yeah, put you in plaid and you'd look just like the logo on a package of paper towels,” he said, sputtering in indignation. “Don't you have a plane to fix?”

“I'll need to check it again in an hour,” Jack confirmed, climbing into the plane and forcing Calder to move back to make room for him. For a moment they were close enough for Jack to feel Calder's breath. “But I've done all I can for the moment.”

He shut the cabin door behind him and busied himself getting a heater going to warm the inside of the plane, throwing out a sleeping bag he kept in the back in case of incidents like this. Calder had gone quiet and said nothing now as Jack worked, though he eyed the sleeping bag thoughtfully.

“I only have the one sleeping bag,” Jack explained, digging out a spare blanket. “You can use it if you want.”

“Oh,” Calder said. “Thanks.”

Jack frowned at the apparent surprise there.

“What?” he asked. “Did you think I was gonna say we should share? It does get awfully cold out here. Maybe we should, to conserve warmth. We'd better both be naked too, just in case.”

“Shut up,” Calder said through a laugh, throwing the still rolled up sleeping bag at him. Jack caught it and tossed it back.

“Fine, sleep all by your cold lonesome then,” Jack said with feigned offense. “I'm going to be up and down all night checking the plane anyway.”

“Do you need me out there scraping ice?” Calder asked with clear reluctance.

“Nah, I can handle it.” Jack shook his head. “Besides, I don't want you ruining any more pairs of gloves.”

Calder laughed sarcastically and unrolled the sleeping bag.

It wasn't very late yet, but Jack knew it was going to be a rough night and there wasn't much else to do. He updated the control tower on the situation, keeping them informed of his location, then joined Calder in the empty fuselage. He was sitting on the sleeping bag in front of the heater, soaking in the warmth. He'd shed most of his heavy outerwear. The red light of the heater cast warm golden shadows on his face. Jack sat down and pushed a can of Spaghetti-Os into the other man's hand.

“Bon appétit,” he said, pulling the ring tab on his own can.

“This is really all you have?” Calder asked, frowning.

“You're lucky I have two cans,” Jack said with a shrug. “I only brought one fork.”

He took a bite of the cold spaghetti, then offered the utensil to Calder, who shook his head politely and set his can on top of the heater to warm up.

“How long have you been doing this?” Calder asked. Jack could hear a note of solemnity in his voice, a certain faraway look as he stared into the heater. He was thinking about Avery again.

“Bush flying?” Jack clarified. “I'll be thirty-six this year so...a little more than ten years.”

Calder seemed a little surprised by the number.

“And when you were flying rescue,” he asked. “Did you save a lot of people?”

Jack frowned, looking away.

“A few,” he said. “Not as many as I would have liked to.”

“Which is why you stopped?”

Jack's jaw tightened as they returned to that topic.

“Sorry,” Calder said quickly. “You don't want to talk about it, I know.”

“It's fine,” Jack muttered. Silence lingered uncomfortably.

“So, ten years,” Calder said eventually. “In all that time have you been, you know...”

“What?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Alone,” Calder finished, shrugging.

“Are you asking if you're the first client I've asked up to my loft?” Jack guessed. Calder turned red and looked away. “No, you're not. The nights are cold and everyone gets bored, lonely and horny eventually.”

“There have been other guys?” Calder asked. Jack bit his cheek and didn't answer.

“I told you, I don't do relationships,” he said, “and what only happens once, and usually while thoroughly drunk, hardly counts anyway.”

Calder seemed unsatisfied by the answer.

“What about you?” Jack set his can of Spaghetti-Os aside to cast a critical eye on Calder. “You said you split with Avery a year ago, right? Any fresh conquests in the meantime?”

Jack could almost see him swallowing the words 'that's none of your business.'

“A couple,” he admitted reluctantly. “Flings. It never really felt right. I kept thinking Avery and I would get back together.”

Jack nodded in understanding.

“Men, I assume?” he guessed.

“Rude,” Calder muttered. “But yes. What about you? Were your flings all women?”

It was Jack's turn to get a little red in the face. He looked away.

“So, no,” Calder surmised. “Mostly women?”

Jack said nothing.

“Any women?”

“Could you stop?” Jack said a little irritably. Calder looked a little surprised.

“Not one?” he asked.

“No,” Jack confirmed. “Not one, not since I moved north. Are you happy?”

“Just curious,” Calder said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “I mean, I was under the impression you considered yourself straight.”

“I am,” Jack said defensively. “Mostly. I've only ever had relationships with women, all right? I just...haven't felt like pursuing one since I came here.”

“In ten years.” Calder frowned, disbelieving. “But you did feel like having several one-night-stands with guys? What a shining example of heterosexuality.”

“Why are you so stuck on this?” Jack demanded. “My sexual exploits aren't that damn exciting!”

Calder put his hands up innocently and Jack reigned himself in.

“I guess I just wonder how a guy like you ends up alone on top of the world,” Calder said after a moment. “I mean, enjoying the flying is one thing, but ten years up here...”

“You're looking for some kind of tragic backstory?” Jack scoffed. “Well, you're barking up the wrong tree. I didn't have some kind of traumatic relationship that made me spurn women forever and run off to the North Pole. I just took a job out here for the experience and decided I liked it. I like the cold, I like the adventure, and I like living far away from everyone else. No one bothers me up here, and no one asks me stupid questions about how many people I've slept with.”

Calder looked at him thoughtfully, and Jack wondered if he'd said more than he meant to.

“I'm going to get some sleep,” he said impatiently, and taking his blanket, headed for the pilot's chair.

“Wait,” Calder said, stopping him.

When Jack looked back, Calder was spreading out the sleeping bag big enough for two.

“We could still share,” he said quietly. “You know, to conserve heat.”

Jack debated it for a long moment while Calder went slowly scarlet with embarrassment for even suggesting it. Finally, without saying anything, Jack came back over, kicked off his boots, shed his coat, and lay down next to him.

“I told you I'm going to have to get up once an hour to check the plane,” he said quietly as Calder pulled the blanket over them and curled up close to Jack's chest, his back to the other man's belly. “I'll keep you up all night.”

“Maybe that's what I want,” Calder replied, and Jack's heart skipped a beat.

“Don't say I didn't warn you.”

Jack, despite his words, hesitated. He had an arm around Calder's hips and he could smell the other man's hair, clean and fragrant. His skin felt too sensitive, alive with nerves at every brush of contact from the other man. And all his better senses were telling him that this was a bad idea. He should go sleep in the chair. He should at least roll over and try to ignore the anticipatory heat gathering in his belly. Calder had his number and letting himself get pulled in like this was only going to encourage the other man. Calder’s hair glowed red in the light of the heater. Jack wasn't like that, couldn't be like that. His skin was warm under Jack’s hand, his hips felt made for holding. Leading Calder on would be cruel. But he was already pressing kisses to the back of the other man's neck and pulling Calder's hips closer against his own. He was being an idiot and he knew it, but his hand was under Calder's sweater, skin soft and warm, and he didn't want to be anywhere else.

Calder started to roll over to face him and Jack caught him by the shoulder to stop him, offering no explanation. He couldn't look Calder in the eye right now, didn't want to see his face. It was better if he could delude himself into thinking this was someone else.

Fumbling in the dark, face pressed to Calder's hair, he unbuttoned the other man's pants and slid them halfway down his thighs, far enough that he could palm the growing bulge in Calder's underwear. He squeezed lightly and heard Calder gasp, felt the ripple of muscle in his back as he moved into the touch.

He rocked his hips against the other man's backside, grinding against him in unhurried circles while his hand stroked Calder slowly to hardness. Despite the reality that he was sliding his hand into Calder's briefs to hold, he tried to imagine Calder was anyone else. Women he'd dated before moving north. One of the female pilots. Jolene in Tahltan. Soft, feminine curves and a high, responsive voice. The things he should want, and yet even thinking of it now made his movements slow, desire draining. When he opened his eyes, it was Calder in front of him, sturdy and unfeminine, his gasps and groans of pleasure as low as his own. The cock in his hand was hot and rigid and undeniable, and he felt the excitement that kindled in him with a kind of bitter regret. Even as he was loosening his own pants to free his growing erection, feeling Calder's needy thrusts into his hand growing more heated, in the back of his mind self-loathing seethed.

He'd brought lube, a sample packet from the clinic in Anchorage saved in his bedside table and then stuffed into his jacket pocket, and hated himself a little more for the foresight, the resignation he wouldn't be able to resist doing this again. He spread it between Calder's thighs in hurried swipes, then pressed between them, a low groan of satisfaction rumbling against Calder's ear.

His hand, still slick with lube, found Calder's cock again, stroking it in time with his thrusts. Calder's thighs were firm and tight. Jack swore softly under his breath as he rocked his hips to slide deeper between them. Calder shifted against him, pushing back into his thrusts and the strokes of his hand.

Jack struggled with himself, part of him wanting to savor this, his shame and need wanting him to rush and end things quickly. His long, slow thrusts soon became swift, short strokes, fast enough that he could hear the slap of his hips against Calder's backside. Calder murmured breathless encouragement, throwing a hand back to grip Jack's shirt and pull him closer. He twisted to catch Jack's mouth in a brief, needy kiss, and Jack felt his pace stutter as a fresh wave of hot need washed over him. He squeezed Calder close, returning the kiss with one of his own, desperate and bruising, as he rushed toward the end. He felt the hot wetness of Calder's finish on his hand and kept going, stroking Calder through the aftershocks of orgasm as he sought his own. He set his teeth in the other man's shoulder as it overwhelmed him, bucking up into Calder's thighs as he reached his limit.

After, they lay there in silence, catching their breath. Jack kissed the shadow of teeth marks on Calder's trapezius apologetically. Semen cooled in the chilly air, but Jack still felt almost too hot. His arms were still around Calder, holding him close, and Jack thought that, as long as neither of them spoke, they could just remain this way, perfect and warm and uncomplicated. Calder seemed to agree. In the silence they lay perfectly content, indistinguishable from lovers.

The chirp of Jack's watch interrupted them at last, informing Jack that he needed to go check the plane. Jack grumbled but obeyed, letting go of Calder reluctantly, knowing the awkwardness of morning would soon return. He reached for a rag to clean off his hands, then moved to wipe the lube and cum from Calder's thighs. Calder put out a hand to stop him.

“Don't bother,” he said, his eyes knowing. “Hurry back.”

Jack's heart did back flips while his emotions sprinted off in six different directions at once. He said nothing, just nodded, fixed his pants, put on his boots, and went to scrape the ice off the wings. The unpleasant task was made much more palatable knowing what was waiting for him when he got back.