After breakfast, once Jack was feeling a little more like a human being, regret set in hard. He shouldn't be doing this. He'd promised himself never again. And this man was heading into nothing but disappointment. There was no way this was going to end well. But it seemed like Jack didn't have shit for choices at this point. It was go with the idiot or let him kill himself.

He told the office to give his deliveries to someone else for the day. He held out a wild hope that Calder would give up once he got out there and saw how huge the mountain was, how unlikely they were to ever find anything on it. Maybe he'd be back in time to pick up some late flights.

It was a bright, cold morning, the air clear and the wind sharp. Calder shivered in his heavy coat, the fur lining brushing against his cheek, while Jack did final checks on his plane.

“Ann,” Calder read from the side of the fuselage. “Did you name her for someone special?”

“Ann Bancroft,” Jack replied around the toothpick clenched in his teeth, bent over a checklist where he and the base quartermaster were in dispute over how much fuel he needed. “First woman to ever reach the North Pole.”

“Huh.” Calder rubbed his arms with his gloved hands, trying to warm himself. “Figured it would be a girlfriend or something.”

“I don't do relationships,” Jack said and, giving in to the quartermaster's demands, wrote down a final figure. The other man stomped off to fetch what Jack had requested. “But if I had to pick a woman, it would be Ann Bancroft.”

“She's that good looking?”

“She's all right,” Jack shrugged. “She’s also sixty-one and an out-and-proud lesbian. But she's one of the finest adventurers of the modern age. First woman to the North Pole on foot and sled, one of only a handful of people to have reached the pole multiple times, first to cross both polar ice caps, led the first all-female expedition to the South Pole, and first woman to ski across Greenland and Antarctica.”

“I bet you're really good at trivial pursuit,” Calder said.

“She's God-damn amazing,” Jack said, climbing into the pilot's seat. “And if I had to spend the rest of my life joined at the hip to someone, I'd want it to be someone who's out there doing something exciting.”

“That makes sense,” Calder agreed, and climbed in behind Jack.

The Ann was a small craft, single seater, its cabin cramped even with all nonessentials torn out. The fuselage was a narrow, bare space, normally crammed full of mail, packages and supplies. Today it was empty, but still managed to feel cramped with only two men in it.

The Ann had no copilot's seat and normally no passenger seats either. There was one flip down seat in the fuselage, little more than a plastic tray with an attached seatbelt, and this was what Calder strapped himself to, for all that he looked very unsure about the situation. He eyed the bare metal bones of the walls around him and looked like he was reconsidering this entire endeavor.

Jack talked details with the control tower and did his preflight checks while the plane was fueled and a runway cleared. As soon as control gave them the go ahead, the plane began to roll forward down the runway and Jack's heart began to beat faster. For a moment as he accelerated down the short, uneven runway he forgot where he was headed and who was sitting in the back of his plane. There was only the thrill, the sensation of glorious freedom the moment the wind caught under his wings and pulled him up into the sky. The first few take offs after he'd started learning to fly he'd shouted and pumped his fists and laughed aloud at the wonder of it. Now he just smiled and felt, deep down in his soul, like he'd come home.

“So what's the plan when we get there?” Calder asked once they'd reached cruising altitude, shattering the peaceful moment. Jack didn’t answer for a moment, checking his readings busily and pulling another toothpick from his jacket.

“I'll do a couple of fly overs,” he said, settling it between his teeth. “See if we spot anything.”

“We can't set down on the actual mountain?” Calder asked. He leaned forward in his plastic seat, frown drawing his dark brows down over his eyes.

“Of course not,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Way too dangerous. If I had a helicopter maybe, but the wind speeds near the peak would tear this plane apart. If I tried to land we'd probably go nose over landing gear. Even if I landed without crashing I'd never get in the air again. There's no safe runway.”

“What about one of the lower base camps?” Calder suggested, urgency in his voice, his hands clenched into fists against his legs. “Avery might have returned to one of those.”

Jack sighed, rolled the toothpick to the other side of his mouth, and deliberated whether it was worth fighting the man about this. Looking at the stubborn set of his jaw Jack didn’t think so. Calder was clinging to hope like a bulldog. Like a drowning victim to the only life preserver in a vast, cruel sea.

“We'll see how it looks when we get there,” Jack offered, feeling guilty for even encouraging the other man. “No promises.”

Calder leaned back in his seat, momentarily satisfied, and Jack focused on the flight and the steady stream of information from the radio, keeping him abreast of the latest weather developments. Until he got out of range of Ptarmigan’s tower it was mostly the other pilot’s griping about having to take his deliveries or discussing the validity of bets made a year ago when Jack had quit flying rescue about how long it would take him to go back. Jack was relieved when he reached the edge of their broadcast range. From there the silences were longer, the gaps between towers greater. When he did come into range, it was usually a quick exchange, his position and heading in exchange for air conditions and a heads up on any other craft in his path. It was a long flight, but Jack was happy to spend it in silence as he did his delivery runs.

“So what attracted you to this line of work?”

Jack sighed as Calder broke the silence again, having apparently reached his limit for it after about a half an hour. He considered ignoring the question but he had a feeling Calder would just ask again.

“Flying,” Jack answered, deciding to keep it plain and simple and, for the most part, honest. “I wanted to make my living flying. At first I was planning to log enough flight hours up here to apply for a commercial job in the lower States. But I liked it up here so much I decided to stay.”

“Isn't it really dangerous?” Calder asked. “And living this far north has to be lonely.”

“That's why I like it,” Jack replied.

Calder was silent for a moment, as though expecting Jack to add more. When Jack didn’t, Calder continued on his own.

“Why rescue in particular?” he asked. Jack flinched and chewed harder on his toothpick.

“I don’t fly rescue.” He chose not to count the current expedition, which had only been taken under extreme duress.

“But you used to,” Calder pointed out. “You were the best. So you must have enjoyed it. Was it just a danger thing? The thrill?”

Jack shifted in his seat, removed the now thoroughly splintered toothpick from his mouth and tossed it out the window. The question made him uncomfortable, but he was far more concerned about the question that would inevitably follow it. He struggled for a way to avoid both and couldn’t find it.

“I just like helping people,” he said at last, terse and prickly, hoping Calder wouldn’t press.

“You don’t really seem like the type,” Calder said, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t really know me that well,” Jack said, turning to share a nasty grin with the other man, hoping he’d take the hint.

“There’s got to be more to it,” Calder insisted, seemingly oblivious to Jack’s mood.

“Well, there isn’t,” Jack huffed. “I just liked the work. I liked the challenge, I liked the excitement, I liked getting to be a hero. That’s all.”

Calder still seemed doubtful, but Jack was being honest. He had genuinely enjoyed the struggle against the elements, the gratitude in people’s faces. Feeling like he was making a difference. But after a while he had realized that, in truth, he wasn’t making any difference at all. Against all the forces of nature and blind luck, he’d never stood a chance.

He could hear Calder taking a breath, gearing up to ask more questions, the question. So why did you quit? Jack had heard it a million times since he’d stopped flying rescue. He was not interested in answering it again today. Quickly, he interrupted with his own question.

“What's this Avery guy to you?” he asked.

Calder tensed, caught off guard, and Jack was quietly pleased. See if he liked how it felt to be interrogated.

“What do you mean?” Calder asked, discomfort obvious. Jack, with a bit of cruel satisfaction, pushed on.

“I mean he was obviously more than just your yoga business partner,” Jack pointed out. “You made it pretty clear you were willing to die looking for him earlier.”

Jack glanced back and caught Calder blushing, looking away. He studied the window like the frosted glass might hold the answer for him. There was a tension in his jaw that looked almost as though he were fighting back tears. Jack abruptly felt bad for asking.

“He's my friend.” Calder's voice was clipped, making it clear he didn't want to discuss it any further. “He's my best friend. I'm not just going to let him die out there.”

Jack waited in silence for a moment, expecting more, and when it didn't come he shrugged.

“Whatever,” he said. “I'm just the pilot.”

The silence Jack had wanted filled the cabin and for a time Jack was grateful. But as the minutes of silence ticked past guilt began to squirm within him. He glanced back at Calder again, seeing him staring into the floor, his thoughts far away, presumably on his lost friend. His dark eyes were compelling, made deep by worry.

“Anyway, living up here isn’t that lonely,” Jack said suddenly, jumping back to the previous conversation as though the remark about Avery had never been made. “You saw all those guys last night.”

He felt a bit stupid for resurrecting a conversation he’d wanted dead, but he couldn’t let Calder continue to sit back there, looking that way. Calder looked up when Jack spoke, confused for a moment, until he remembered what he’d said earlier. He forced a smile.

“Yeah, they were pretty friendly,” he admitted, and laughed without much feeling.

“A little too friendly,” Jack admitted. “I thought I was going to have to punch Johansson to defend your honor.”

Calder snorted, shook his head, cheeks a little red as he remembered Johansson’s not terribly subtle overtures.

“Yeah,” he said. “All the pilots here seemed so tough, I didn't expect any of them to be gay. I guess that’s reductive thinking.”

“Oh, Johansson's not gay,” Jack said at once.

Calder looked briefly confused, frowning and leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“I'm pretty sure he wasn't just being neighborly last night.”

“No, he definitely wanted to sleep with you,” Jack admitted. “But that doesn't mean he's gay.”

Calder leaned back, clearly caught off guard by this logic. They might have been speaking different languages.

“Well, what does it mean?” Calder asked, laughing in confusion.

“We're in Alaska,” Jack said with a shrug. “Isolated on a base in the middle of nowhere flying deliveries alone all day. It's cold and it's lonely. There are a couple of female pilots, but they're a rarity to begin with and the ones we do have don't tend to be much to look at. A couple of guys get girls in Anchorage or Fairbanks, but they can't see 'em for weeks at a time. So, you know, you make do with what you've got.”

“Which is each other,” Calder summarized. “And me apparently.”

“Eh, you're cute,” Jack said casually. “And you don't look like you've been out in a blizzard for ten years like most of the other guys. I'm not surprised he gave it a shot.”

“But he's not gay.”

“No. It's like prison or the military. You isolate a bunch of men for a long period of time and they find ways to blow off steam, that’s all.”

“Interesting.” Calder didn't seem like he bought it, but Jack didn't care enough to explain further.

“So tell me about your work,” Jack said, clearing his throat. “You spend all day teaching bored housewives downward facing dog?”

“Well, I mean, it’s not a completely inaccurate summary.” Calder laughed and shrugged. “But it’s not all housewives. I have seniors only classes in the morning. In the afternoons I get the busy professionals. On weekends we have kid friendly family classes.”

“Sounds like you stay pretty busy,” Jack said, raising an eyebrow. “I would have thought teaching yoga would be a low stress business venture.”

“It’s not too bad,” Calder said with an embarrassed little grin. “It keeps me busy, but it’s not like I’ve had much else going on since—”

He cut himself off abruptly. Jack glanced back at him, curious, and saw him looking down, face red. He glanced up, catching Jack’s eye. Seeming to realize Jack wouldn’t let that just drop, he sat up and cleared his throat.

“I’ve been single for a while,” he admitted at last. “Work has basically been my life for the past year.”

“You don’t have any hobbies?” Jack asked, sensing there was more to the story.

Calder shrugged, and Jack couldn’t read him.

“Not really,” he said. “I used to like baking.”

He didn’t elaborate further and Jack tried to make himself believe he didn’t care that much, which was a struggle because he did. Despite himself, he was curious. He shook it off however and focused on the snowy landscape sliding past below them.

“You can do yoga with old people?” Jack asked. “How many injuries would you say you get in that class a year? Anyone ever get stuck in lotus position?”

Calder smiled a little, obviously glad for the change in subject.

“Well, we have some extensive medical releases for that class…”

After an hour during which they chatted idly—mostly about yoga)—the coast and Mount St. Elias were in view. Calder had grown more tense and quiet the closer they got and now he was silent, jaw clenched, watching the intense vertical relief as it came into view, a sheet of white rolling into an immense field off the edge of Icy Bay.

Calder had given Jack the coordinates of the camps Avery's expedition had used and Jack steered the plane toward these, searching for any sign of habitation. Jack kept his eyes on the relief. If Avery had gone up intending to ski down he might have tried to make it to the bottom that way. In which case the relief was full of dangerous crevasses and rocks where a body might have ended up. The closer they got to the mountain the more the ferocious winds off its sheer slope shook the plane violently.

“You starting to understand why a rescue on this mountain really isn't feasible?” Jack asked as the wind rattled them so hard his teeth clicked together, the vast expanse of the mountain above them.

“He's out there somewhere!” Despite the wind, Calder had unbuckled himself and was watching over Jack's shoulder, gripping the back of his seat tightly. “We just have to look harder.”

Jack sighed, giving up on his hopes of getting home in time to get a few deliveries in. He turned to do another pass of the relief.

“Why are you focusing on the slope?” Calder asked, frustrated.

“Because that's the most likely place for a body to end up,” Jack admitted, frank as always.

“We're not looking for a body!” Calder shouted, so suddenly furious that it caught Jack off guard. Calder was looking at him directly, his eyes bright with certainty. “He's still alive!”

“With all due respect,” Jack said, refusing to get angry in return, “there isn't a snowball's chance in hell he's still alive after a week alone on Elias. If you want to find him, this is the most likely place.”

“I don't care!” Calder snapped. “I'm paying you to rescue him, not recover his body. Go back to the camps!”

Jack sighed and, resigned to indulging the man, turned the plane.

“I'm telling you, you're building up your hopes for nothing,” Jack told the other man. “You need to start accepting it now. Your friend is—”

He cut himself off as a flash of color below distracted him.

“What? What is it?” Calder demanded.

“There,” Jack pointed, turning the plane again to circle. “In the crevasse.”

Calder stared as they passed as low as Jack dared over the gap in the ice.

A body in a bright green nylon parka and skis was wedged there, seeming small and lost among the vast whiteness. The fur of his collar waved forlornly in the wind. There was no other sign of movement. Jack looked up at Calder, having expected this result but not sure how the other man would react.

Heavy tears filled the younger man's eyes. As Calder leaned over Jack's shoulder, shaking as he watched the silent green shape pass in front of them, Jack felt those tears landing on his jacket. He felt like they might soak in and poison him.

“You should sit down,” he said as gently as possible. “I'm going to radio out. They'll send someone up here to get him as soon as the weather permits.”

Calder couldn't stop staring at the body, but as they passed it and the plane broke his line of sight he turned and stumbled back toward his seat. Jack had a quick, mumbled conversation with the nearest control tower.

“I'll start heading back,” he said, feeling the heaviness of failure settle on his shoulders. Even knowing this was what would happen, he'd somehow thought there would be a miracle. “It's better to stop now anyway. Control says there's a storm on the way in.”

Calder nodded mutely, sinking back into his seat as Jack turned the plane. Jack wondered if he regretted coming here now. Maybe denial would have been easier. Jack couldn't help watching the other man, sympathy wringing his heart.

Suddenly, Calder sat up, fumbling in his coat for his phone.

“You're not going to get a signal up here,” Jack said with a frown.

“Turn the plane around,” Calder snapped.

“What?”

“Go back, now! To where we saw the body!”

“I don't think you need to see that again,” Jack said patiently.

“It's not Avery!” Calder insisted. He'd been fumbling with his phone and now shoved it toward Jack impatiently. “Look!”

Jack fumbled to take the phone, making sure it was safe to glance away from his flying for a moment before he glanced down at it. It was a photo of several men, standing together at the foot of what Jack assumed was St. Elias.

“That's Avery in the middle,” Calder explained. “That's his friend Dan next to him. Look at the coats!”

Avery's parka was bright red. Dan's was unmistakably the green one worn by the corpse in the crevasse.

“He's still out there!” Calder insisted, grabbing Jack's shoulder and shaking him. “We have to go back! He might be close!”

“Mr. Beckett,” Jack said with a sigh. “That may have not been Avery in that ravine, but he's in one of them, I guarantee it. Is that really what you want to see?”

“I don't care!” Calder shouted. “Put the plane down! Now!”

Jack was tempted to punch the man, but he'd flown enough rescues to recognize he wasn't going to get through and fighting would only make it worse. People just had to go through these emotions. It was how it always went. He turned the plane, searching out the nearest flat surface to put down.

The plateau he landed on was far from ideal. The wind shook the plane continuously. He couldn't turn the plane off or leave the controls, afraid if he wasn't here correcting the angle it would be flipped off the mountain by the next big gust. But the moment the plane stopped moving, Calder was out the door, stumbling into the snow.

“Avery!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, hollering into the deafening Arctic wind. “Avery!”

Jack gave Calder as long as he dared, watching the man stumble back and forth dangerously close to the slope, screaming Avery's name. But he'd lost contact with the radio before he'd even landed and his computer was throwing up wind speed alerts like confetti.

“Mr. Beckett!” Jack hollered out the door at Calder, not sure if the other man could even hear him over the wind. “Beckett! Calder!”

The other man finally turned, face red from the wind.

“Get back in the plane!” Jack shouted. “The storm is nearly on top of us!”

“Just go!” Calder shouted back. “I need to keep looking!”

“What?” Jack stared at the other man in shock.

“Come back for me when the storm is over!” Calder insisted. “I have to stay here! He might be close!”

“Do you want to die?” Jack asked, beginning to lose patience.

Calder just turned away, shouting Avery's name again. Jack swore and turned back to his console. He got the plane as stable as he could manage and cursed himself for an idiot as he climbed out of the cockpit and stumbled through the snow to where Calder was still shouting into the white void. Jack grabbed Calder's shoulder, turned the other man to face him, then took him by the collar and shook him hard.

“I asked you a question!” he shouted over the gale. Calder stared at him with wide eyes. “Do you want to die?”

“I,” Calder looked shocked, caught off guard. “No! I don't know!”

His face crumpled the ugly way it does just before someone is overwhelmed with tears.

“I don't know!” he sobbed. “I can't leave him!”

“He isn't here!” Jack shouted, shaking Calder again. “And he doesn't want you to die for him! Get back on the plane!”

Calder sank into himself, deflating like a popped balloon. Jack dragged him back to the creaking, groaning plane and strapped Calder into his seat himself. Then he climbed back into the front and, teeth clenched bitterly against the danger of what he was about to do, attempted to take off.

The wind tore at the plane like he was trying to fly through a washer on spin cycle. The cliff ended after only a few feet, not enough runway for anything, not even bush planes like his super cub which were made for such take offs. But Jack, knowing the only other option was to remain on this mountain and watch his plane get smashed to matchsticks, drove toward it anyway.

They rolled off the end and Jack shouted curses and gripped the controls for all that his life depended on them. They dropped, nose down, off a sheer edge and Jack watched the rocky ground rushing up at them as he dragged back on the yolk with everything he had. At last, just when Jack had thought they were dead, the wind caught under the wings and hurled them upwards again, screaming back into the sky.

It was one for the God damn record books, Jack thought, slumping over the controls in relief. But there was no one here to appreciate it except Calder, who was sobbing quietly in the back seat with no idea of the miracle Jack had just achieved in order to save his life. Jack just sighed, grateful to have saved his own skin, and concentrated on navigating the maze of wind back up to the relative safety of the sky. They weren't in the clear yet.