A Thousand Words For Snow

Summary: Nick is not fond of the cold…

Author's Note: If you're good, and review, I may toss in a bonus feature 350-word drabble for your enjoyment, which can currently only be found on What Makes The Desert Beautiful. Like an easter egg on a DVD. So read and review, my lovelies. Beta'd of course by the lovely and clever LaughableBlackStorm.

"It's snowing."

"We're in the mountains, dude."

I felt something hit my chest and reached up to grab it before I even realized it was a heavy jacket. I looked up at Greg and sniffled. "You have got to be kidding me."

"You agreed to come," Greg said, picking up his snowboard, "and you agreed you'd let me teach you how to board."

I felt my lips come together as I folded my arms, hugging the jacket to my chest in the process. "It's too cold. And I'm getting sick."

But the smile he wore was warm as he leaned his board against the side of the cabin we had rented and approached me. His arms slid tightly around my waist, but I retained my pout and my folded arms as he tilted his head and looked at me from beneath those raised eyebrows.

"Please?" he begged, with that frustratingly adorable note of sweet supplication.

But I grit my teeth, and one glance out that window with the snow coming down made me firmly shake my head at him. "I grew up in Texas, Greg. I don't like snow. It's wet and it's cold and yet it burns when it touches you and it's everywhere and I don't know how to snowboard, I've never done anything like it in my life and—"

He sighed and withdrew, and I felt the loss of him like a stone in my stomach.

"OK then, if I can't convince you…" He sounded bitter, and the guilt rose in my throat as he put on his hat rather forcefully. He looked at me again, and his expression was stony. Clearly, this was a grave affront to him.

"I'll make it up to you," I promised.

He scoffed, rolled his eyes, and grabbed the door handle. "Whatever," he said, and slammed the door.

I stared at it a moment, my stomach churning, and I knew I couldn't let him leave like that. It was our first vacation together as a couple, and he had been so excited about planning it. Colorado in the spring, I didn't think it would be that cold, but apparently I had been wrong. The first day we arrived, I had a slight case of altitude sickness and wasn't much in the mood for anything other than staying in the cabin and watching old video tapes of Mrs. Doubtfire and National Lampoons Christmas Vacation. Greg hadn't been too interested in that, but he had put up with it for me, and I think he got a kick out of an excuse to cuddle on the couch. As I adjusted to the altitude, I noticed a cold bug had invaded my system and it had been keeping me up with stuffy noses and sore throats. That had put me in a fairly sour mood, and I blamed the weather for it, of course.

And then, Greg had said that he didn't come all the way up here just to watch old nineties movies and that it was our last day and he wanted to at least go boarding once. And I had said I would go with him, so he could teach me, and we could spend time together, which was supposed to be what this whole trip was about anyway. But I had woken up almost voiceless after a night of breathing through my mouth and as a result I was also tired, and therefore cranky and stubborn.

But when I watched Greg leave, I just felt guilty.

It was our last day. And so nothing else mattered, not the snow, or the altitude, or this stubborn virus. Nothing mattered but him.

So I threw on my jacket, zipped it up tight until my nose poked over the collar and put on my hat. I hastily shoved on ski gloves as well before throwing the door open and stepping out into the bitter cold.

The wind was whipping up something fierce, and even with half my face hidden I had to squint my watering eyes against it. The snowflakes pelted my cheeks like bullets and I scanned the landscape for any sign of Greg. I saw rapidly fading footprints in the snow in front of me and followed them like a blood hound, keeping my head low and my squinted eyes on the prints.

Thought it was mercilessly cold, the jacket was very well-insulated, as were the gloves, and I could already feel the sweat pooling in my palms. But my face was turning pink and felt prickly all over as I moved forward on my quest for Greg. I tried to pick up my pace, knowing he was about a minute or so ahead of me, and then finally through the gray haze of the whirling snow, I saw his silhouette on the horizon… No, not horizon. Cliff.

I saw Greg sit down on the peak of it and strap on his board. I glanced around and noticed a nearby chairlift that wasn't moving. No one else seemed to be on this slope, and all the snow looked fresh to me without a single tread from a board or ski on it.

"Greg!" I called, but it was impossible for him to have heard me above the roaring winds. It was hitting me head on now as I made my way towards him and it was like walking through molasses. As I moved closer, I saw more of the slope Greg was about to embark on, and a large red sign next to Greg that said SLOPE CLOSED DUE TO BLIZZARD. PROCEED AT OWN RISK.

My heart rate quickened. "Greg!" I called again, this time with a greater sense of urgency.

I saw his head pop up then, because I was closer now. I pointed at the sign, but all he did was nod. After a few more steps, we were only a few feet away, and yet he still had to yell to be heard over the storm.

"Great, isn't it? All this fresh powder just for me?"

"Are you insane?!" I pointed at the sign again to prove my point.

He simply shrugged. "It says 'Proceed at own risk.' So I'm taking a risk."

"What if you're hurt?!" I demanded, my voice scratchy and dry from the wind, my illness, and my anxiety.

He simply flashed me his trademark confident grin. "I know what I'm doing! Good thing I'm not teaching you, though. Bad course for beginners." He smirked. He was making a joke. Didn't he understand how scared I was?

"If this is to get back at me for—"

"What?"

"Greg!"

"I can't hear you! Help me up!" He reached out a hand and I grabbed it. I was so tense, I didn't realize my own strength and pulled him up too hard and he crashed into my chest. He looked up at me, his eyes sharp and glassy from the wind.

"Thanks." It wasn't a yell, and I couldn't hear it completely, but I saw his lips move, and felt his hot breath against my rapidly numbing and chapped lips.

"Greg, don't do this," I pleaded.

"I have to," he replied. He let go of my hand. "Bye."

He started off, but I couldn't let him leave, and I reached out for him, seized the back of his jacket, which was yanked out of my grip.

He made no sound, or at least no sound I could hear above the storm, but he wavered on his board, his balance thrown from my desperate grab for him, and he headed off the slope with breakneck speed, straight down. I saw his arms shoot out to try and steady himself and his board turned sharply to the left, a little too sharply because a wave of snow erupted into the air from the edge of his board, and when it dissipated, he was gone.

"Greg!" I yelled as loud as my hoarse lungs would allow, and forgetting everything—my chapped lips, my running nose, my watery eyes, my burning cheeks—I plummeted down the hill after him, my legs stumbling over each other as they tumbled haphazardly down the slope. I reached the place where Greg had disappeared and stopped, searching for any sign of where he may have gone, when a lump of snow in front of me moved.

I blinked and realized that the boy had made a face plant right into the powder and had sunk straight into the snow bank. I saw his back rise up as his arms hoisted himself up and he shook off the snow. He remained on his hands and knees for a moment, his chest rising and falling, and I was worried that something was broken.

I approached him tentatively and placed a hand gently on his back, brushing away some of the powder. His head was bent, and for a panicked moment I wondered if he'd broken his neck until I realized he wouldn't be moving at all if that were the case.

"Are you OK?!" I called over the blizzard.

I pulled my hand away as he sat back on his knees and grinned up at me. "That… was… awesome!"

I scowled at him, furious that he had made me worry. I heard him whoop as he got to his feet, so loud it might have caused an avalanche somewhere. He glanced around eagerly like a child looking for candy until he nodded and strode towards another indentation in the snow bank—his board.

"Those were the moves of an expert?" I asked.

"Someone threw me off balance," he returned. "You could have killed me!"

My stomach churned and I felt the acids bubble up in my throat. "I'm sorry, Greg."

He waved it off, the adrenaline still present in his smile. "Nah, it's cool. Crashing's almost as fun as boarding anyway… You OK?"

I was shaking, partly from the cold, but I also felt disgusting about the way I had treated Greg this whole trip. Inside the jacket, I felt a bead of sweat begin at the base of my neck and trickle down my back. My hands were aflame and I felt the snow beginning to leak into my weather-inappropriate loafers, and my socks absorbed it like a sponge. Ice was beginning to form on my cheeks below my eyes as crystals clung to my lashes, obstructing my vision. "I could have killed you. I really could have killed you."

His smile faded into a guilty expression and he opened his mouth to speak when some other thought seemed to silence him. His pink tongue shot out to lick his dry lips as he looked at me. He moved towards me and I saw him strip off one of his gloves, his damp hand moving to my face where his hot palm pressed against my cheek. It was only when his thumb wiped at something under my eye that I realized the icicles forming on my lashes weren't from the snowflakes.

"No, you really couldn't have," he said, his voice almost normal level, though we were close enough that I could breathe in his exhaled words and understand them. He took off his hat and held it in his gloved hand before he leaned his forehead against mine, and it felt so warm and moist against my frozen dry one that I thought they might stick together, like a tongue against an icy pole. I smiled at the thought of being glued to Greg by the forehead. Somehow, the idea didn't seem too horrible.

"I'm indestructible," Greg grumbled playfully, trying not to smile as he stared at me in the eyes at a close distance. And then, just as quickly, he closed them and I followed suit, and soon enough, as expected, I felt his dry chapped lips clashing against mine, as rough as sandpaper. But I welcomed the feel of Greg's lips no matter what state they were in. Both of our mouths seemed to be bone dry, and even our tongues felt cold. It was an odd sensation, and much different from any other kiss we had ever shared, but I actually rather enjoyed it. I moved my arms beneath his and held his back, glad that he seemed to have forgiven me for being such an asshole this past week.

I broke away and looked at him pleadingly. "Can we please go back to the warm cabin now?"

"Only if we can watch Clarke Griswold string up his Christmas lights."

The trek back was onerous, as my feet were heavy with my soaked socks and my face was numb by now and I felt sweat everywhere beneath my heavy jacket, some of it in very uncomfortable places. But Greg helped by prodding me every now and then to make sure I was still alive.

When we made it back to the cabin, we immediately stripped off our cold weather attire until he was in a long-sleeved dark blue shirt and pale-wash jeans, and I was in a green turtleneck and black jeans.

He planted himself on the couch and kicked up his feet, having just put in the Christmas Vacation movie while I poked at the fire to keep it going. I smiled as I watched him, his arms spread out on the couch as he stared at the TV. He must have felt my gaze, because he turned to me and raised his eyebrows expectantly. I chuckled and rolled my eyes before joining him. My hand reached up to tousle his damp hair and he grinned before leaning his head against my shoulder.

"How was your first boarding experience?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes. "You were the one on the board, not me."

"Do you still hate snow?"

"Hm… well, I must admit, it's considerably less bothersome if you're here to warm me up."

"You know, the Inuit have, like, a thousand different words for snow."

I chuckled. "That's technically not true."

"I want to learn them all," he said assertively.

I kissed his temple. "I wish that I knew a thousand ways to say…" I held my breath, hoping he wouldn't notice my hesitation and would keep his focus on the TV.

But he pulled away and gave me a playfully knowing smirk. "To say what?"

I chewed on my lip, which had been treated with chapstick as soon as we'd returned home. "I don't have the words, do I?" I returned.

He pondered this, and for a moment I didn't think he would let me go, but he shrugged and accepted it, returning to his previous position with his head against my shoulder. "I guess you can't say it if you don't have the words."

As the movie progressed and we each grew sleepier, I began to lean towards the armrest, and Greg began to fall on top of me. Periodically, I would play with his curls, twisting them around my finger, watching his chest rise and fall as the blue dancing lights of the TV screen played over his quiet pose. Every now and again, that frightful thought of What would I ever do without you skipped across the surface of my mind, but as sleep grew nearer, and I sank into the depths of my mind, the surface grew further and further away. Before I knew it, the credits were rolling, and Greg was more or less on top of me, his cheek against my chest as we both reclined on the couch, and I was still playing with his hair. Disinterested in who played who, I refocused my attention to the man on top of me and laughed lightly as I felt a small drop of saliva fall onto my shirt and slowly seep through. My arms reached up to encircle him, my hands clasping behind him and resting on his back, moving like the tide.

Unwilling to allow sleep to claim me just yet, I leaned forward and placed my lips amongst his curls, inhaling the salty scent of sweat and just a hint of this morning's shampoo and product.

"I love you," I breathed.