Chapter Six: Rigor Mortification

"Flight to Major Sheppard, radar indicates you are in a good place to weather the storm, please land immediately. Winds are too high to shelter in your craft, repeat, winds are too high to shelter in craft. Shelter upwind twenty yards or more. Do you copy?"

Amazingly the major was landing in that storm, in the pitch black, in the wind, in a blizzard, while communicating with the tower. "Major Sheppard to Flight, copy that, we will shelter twenty yards upwind of the craft which at present." He paused, setting the helicopter gently down, amazing in the conditions, and glanced at his compass. "Is heading 133. Time of the storm?"

"Flight to Major Sheppard, heading 133 marked for rescue. Storm is projected to continue for 12 hours maximum, we'll send a rescue team when we can. Good luck."

"Major Sheppard to flight, copy that, see you tomorrow." He looked at me seriously, and spoke loudly over the raging storm while he reached back to put on his heavy weight gear. "Do not leave this cockpit until I come and get you. I am going to anchor the helicopter to the ground, you will hear what sounds like gunshots. Do not be alarmed. I will then go build a shelter and come back for you. Do not leave this craft."

I nodded, too scared to speak, and I'm sure my face was as white as the blizzard around us. As the final piece of his equipment, he donned a safety harness, clipped a red safety mooring line to his belt, and without even the slightest hesitation, slipped into the blizzard and shut the door behind him.

It was the oddest sensation, sitting in that quiet copter by myself, the wind howling outside, sometimes strong enough to rock the craft. It was dark, and I had weird thoughts of the minoch scene from Empire Strikes Back and I half expected to see Han Solo riding up on a tauntaun, which brought to mind the snow creature that attacked Luke and I tried not to hyperventilate. I heard what sounded like a gun, and started, whirling towards the sound, and was glad the major had warned me. I heard a second boom, and then shrieked when a gust seemed to lift the copter like a jeep taking a turn on two wheels. I was lifted at an angle in the air, my eyes pancake wide.

And someone jumped up on the skid beside me, and it was the major, his body weight bringing the copter back down to level, and he leaned over like nothing extraordinary just happened, like he hadn't prevented me from injury and saved a million dollar helicopter from tipping, and I watched as he took what looked like a pneumatic something or other and I realized he was shooting anchors into the ice to keep the copter from lifting like it just had in the high winds.

He opened the door, and smiled, and I couldn't believe it, he looked like he was having the time of his life. "Copter's safe for now," he called over the raging storm, panting slightly, and reached for his gear bag. "It's going to take me a while to get this built. Stay here, don't come help, don't leave that seat. I'll be back to come get you. Get all your gear on." Inexplicably he winked. "I've survived worse than this, Logan, don't worry."

I nodded again, still scared, and watched as he shut the door and disappeared into the dark, and all I saw from the lights of the copter was about two feet of the red safety line heading into the darkness. I wished I had checked my watch, just to give a sense of reality to the dread that was sitting in the copter by myself, staring almost obsessively at that red tape. Now that I'm safe, of course, I wonder why I stared at it like a lifeline – probably because that's exactly what it was. Without Major Sheppard, I stood no chance of surviving the night.

It could have been hours, or minutes, I had lost all sense of time in that dark cage being buffeted around, and it was starting to get cold despite my gear. I ensured all my gear was on, and wondered if this was what it was like going cage diving with sharks, and half expected to see a shark swimming by outside.

And the major scared me half to death knocking on the door, looking like an abominable snowman. He opened the door and grabbed my emergency pack and he secured the copter, and put a safety harness on me with a life line from him to me, and with his arm linked with mine, we headed into the snow.

It was hard going into the wind, and I felt like I was bent at a 45 degree angle just to bear it. The snow wasn't hard packed or ice, and with every step I sank up to my knees, so every step was a struggle in the drifts, and even the major was struggling, though he was carrying some of my weight. He was counting steps, I realized, and I looked around, and there was literally nothing around us. The steps he'd taken to get back had already been filled. I couldn't see the copter, I couldn't see the tent, all I could feel was his arm linked to mine and see the beam of his flashlight. Twenty yards – it might as well have been twenty miles, I couldn't see two feet in front of my face. Now I knew what those red lines were for – we could literally pass within ten feet of the tent without seeing it.

My heart was simultaneously in my throat and pounding in my chest, and I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. It was the weirdest sensation to be working hard enough to sweat and yet be freezing cold at the same time. It's the paradox of overheating in the Antarctic. The major corrected course, it was hard to navigate in the dark, and we arrived at the little cheerfully glowing yellow tent and I have never, ever been so happy to see such a sight.

It was both bigger and smaller than I thought – low to handle the wind, of course, and it looked rather more sturdy than a regular old camping tent, and I wondered at the tall neon orange PVC pipe into the sky until I realized it was an oxygen tube in case the tent was covered in snow and started hyperventilating as he pushed me inside and zipped up behind us. He pushed off his hood, inexplicably smiling, his cheeks shining red with exertion and windburn. "Hard part's over, Logan. This tent's designed for this sort of thing." He pointed to the two sort of rooms the tent made. "Dry area and wet area. We need to drop all the wet things in here, getting anything wet in the dry area tonight is going to be dangerous. It's going to be cold and yes." He looked at me knowingly. "We are completely buddy sleeping. Strip."

Oh yes. Just what I wanted, all three of us – me, my massive crush on the major, and the major himself – in a two-man tent during a blizzard, cozy and snuggled up buddy sleeping in our underwear. This was a cliché right out of every bad piece of science fiction I'd ever enjoyed. In fact it was so cliché, I'm not sure Wormhole X-treme would have touched it, though maybe they did, I can't remember. In any case, this was going to be miserable and there was no way I was going to be able to hide the fact that I had the hots for the major.

I hung up my coat on a line that had been strung for this sort of thing, following the major's example, and he had me slide my snowy bibs down to my ankles and sit my butt in the dry part of the tent. He undid my boots so I could just swing my feet into the tent. He glanced at me, motioning with a jerk of his chin. "There's two sleeping bags in your pack, two in mine, get all four out."

Shivering, I did as told, frozen fingers having trouble with the little knots in the ropes until a knife reached over and carelessly cut it. "Survival means not being nice," he said with a reassuring smile, and quickly had the first bag resting on insulated mats, and motioned for me to crawl into one. "Dinner first, something with a lot of calories, we'll need the extra heat."

The major was really good at this. He pulled out the camp stove and glanced at me, setting it up. "Okay I don't know what you do with your top secret librarianing out there, but a flameless camp stove is seriously cool tech."

I smirked at that, and he grinned. "Oh I know cool tech."

He held up a finger and cut me off. "You've got hypothermia, Logan, your inhibitions will lower, it's a lot like being drunk, and you've got a top secret job. Take a minute to think before you speak."

Wow he was right, I was just about to blurt out a few mind blowing items, like the Star Trek-style beaming tech we now had. I put a hand to my forehead, slightly dizzy. I'd never been drunk, but I did feel a bit like when I'd had the flu and a high fever – when I turned my head, it was like the world caught up a second later. Oh great. Lowered inhibitions, a crush on the major, buddy sleeping, and the potential appearance of Epic Epie – what could possibly go wrong?

He warmed me up with a beef stew, made me eat dessert, and then he glanced at me, standing up. "Down to base layer, Logan. We're about to get real close."

My nose wrinkled but I was too cold to protest. I dropped my fleece on the pack and he busied himself zipping the bags together and hanging up the breathing film, a handy invention to help keep our breath from condensing on the inside of the tent and helping it stay about fifteen degrees warmer, which wasn't terribly reassuring when it was already negative 30 out. I was kind of glad it was dark outside, because I couldn't watch how far up the snow was getting on the side of the tent.

The major motioned. "In you get."

So my crush on the major and I slid into the sleeping bag, my face bright red in embarrassment, feeling him turn off the camp stove and turn on a battery powered lantern that let off a pleasant glow, and he slid into the bag with me, pulled the fourth bag over us like a blanket, and unceremoniously wiggled to me, his chest to my back. "Damn, Logan, you're cold, why didn't you say something?"

"It's cold out there, seemed a bit silly to point out."

He weighed that, and resettled his head. "Well I got you. I promise I won't let anything happen to you."

I nodded at that. "I'm really glad you're here, Major."

"We're cuddled up in our underwear in a raging blizzard, I think we can dispense with the formalities, call me John."

I flushed despite myself, my crush still raging. It was supposed to be boxed up and catalogued in the Zebra section, but it looks like it escaped. I'll file it with that creepy teddy bear in Orange, it'll be too scared to leave the box. "Then call me Epiphany."

He shook his head. "You need a nickname with a name like that. Epiphany. It's a bit dear for everyday wear, as my grandfather would say."

"Everyone calls me Epie."

"Epie?" He snorted. "That's cute for a girl, but you're most definitely a woman." And then he cleared his throat uncomfortably, like he couldn't believe he'd just said that. "I'll stick with Logan."

And his arms snaked around my waist, and I started, and scrambled forward, surprised by the forward move, though the bag only let me scoot forward about 8 inches.

I could feel John's eye roll, I didn't need to see it. "Holy crap, Logan, we're in a survival situation. Seriously. It's buddy sleeping." He propped himself up on an elbow. "You're making me crazy, you've been avoiding me. What am I doing wrong? Am I really that distasteful?"

I'm sure in the safety of your living room or wherever you are, it's easy to come up with several things to say to cover my actions, and point out the bit about me avoiding him and "what am I doing wrong," which I'm sure slipped out because John was probably a bit hypothermic too and suffering his own lowered inhibition problem. It's easy, when you're safe and warm, to say that I should have looked over my shoulder coquettishly, flutter my eyelids, and purr in a suggestive voice, "on the contrary, John, I find you quite tasty" and snog him senseless.

But you know me better than that by now. I am ashamed and embarrassed to report that what I actually did in my questionable state, which left me without even my usual set of admittedly flimsy social filters, was blurt out, "distasteful? Are you kidding, you're gorgeous!" And then I gasped, clapped both my hands to my mouth, changed my mind and dove under the sleeping bag and then put my arms over my head like I was protecting myself from blows instead of rigor mortification.

Epic Epie strikes again.

And behind me, a rather stunned Major Sheppard had to process that in his own cold state, though he had been in the military since he was 18, so he was much better at this than I was, and he started to laugh. "Logan! What the hell!"

.

Notes: I've been cold weather camping, but by cold I mean trapped in the mountains in 40 degree weather, so I have no experience in seriously cold weather camping. I'll sort of have more in about a year and a half, when my trip to Everest Base Camp occurs (nature and world affairs willing – keep your fingers crossed). So no, I'm making this crap up as I go along, and since this is the Stargate Universe, I can totally pretend like this stuff is for real.