By the time he finishes kissing her, she's half-limp and panting.
But unfortunately - or, perhaps, if this goes well, fortunately - she still retains some sense of sanity, and questions still linger.
"I wasn't," she says at last, but makes no move to leave the circle of his arms.
"Wasn't what?" His thumb is making idle strokes up and down her spine, that smile is still in his eyes, and she wants to just stay like this, freeze the moment in amber, before it can all fall apart.
"Forgetting the climbers' code," she says, and unconsciously her fingers clamp more firmly around his biceps. "Jon, what are we doing here?"
"I'd have thought that was obvious."
"That's not what I meant," she says tartly, and taps him in the shin with her foot. "You walked away from me once, without a backward glance - "
"If I'd have looked back," he says quietly, and very, very sincerely, all levity gone, "I would never have been able to move again." He takes a deep breath, the inhalation pressing his chest more firmly against her. "I did think it was obvious," he says eventually, "but perhaps that was only because I didn't want to have to say the words. I want you, Erika. I never stopped wanting you. I don't want to keep this in the mountains. I don't want to wave this off under the climbers' code. But I still don't know what you want, and I - "
"What I want?" she cries, her eyes hot with tears. "I'll tell you what I don't want! I don't want to climb down this mountain and pretend this never happened. I don't want just one night. And I don't want to spend another hour wondering what might have been if we'd only had the courage to fight for each other! I know," she says, holding up a hand to forestall a protest, "I know our careers would have gone to hell if we'd bucked the system. I know that. But they won't now. And I won't do halfways again. If you want me, you get all of me. All or nothing. Fuck the climbers' code. Is this real, or isn't it?"
"It's never not been real," he says, and then he's kissing her and she's kissing him and a joint that's spent half a decade dislocated and aching finally snaps back into place with a thud of sheer relief.
Eventually the kissing stops and her face is just buried in the curve where his shoulder meets his neck. His lips are pressing kisses all over her hair and he's gasping for breath and so is she, and finally, finally she begins to cry - for him, for her, for all that they've lost and for all that they've found.
"Rieke," he groans against her hair, and she shudders all over to hear that name again from the only man who'd ever been allowed to use it. "God, Rieke, I've missed you!"
"Me too," she whispers, and for the first time in years she's home.
The mountain air blows around them, crisp and clean and wild, bringing the promise of tomorrow. Of growing things, and new life.
And, finally, hope.