A/N: Can you believe this is at 8 chapters already? I can't... It's almost done. Hehe. I'm excited about finishing this. It will be the 1st long fic I have written in entirety. Amazing. Anyhow, I won't keep you long with senseless babble...Enjoy!

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"Wasn't there a Chamonix Valley mentioned in Frankenstein?", Milo asked. "Where the doctor met the monster for the first time?"

Camus smiled.

"Good memory", he said approvingly. "Yes, the Chamonix Valley in Frankenstein is the very same valley we're in now."

"That's good to know", Milo murmured.

He was shivering, his hands pushed deep into his jeans pockets. Camus shook his head.

"You need blood, Milo", he said.

Milo shot him a glare that would have frozen the very tip of Mount Blanc.

"I can't help it if you're a freak and find this kind of weather warm", the Scorpio saint retorted.

Camus shrugged.

"Have you ever read Eiger Dreams?", he asked.

Milo shook his head.

"It's a collection of stories about rock climbing...In one story, Chamonix was described as the death-sport capital of the world", Camus explained.

"Ohhh...goodie. So we're in Deathmask's ideal vacationing place. This just keeps getting better", Milo mumbled.

"I doubt you have to worry about falling off a mountain." Camus grabbed a tendril of his hair that was trying to choke him and pushed it away. He'd forgotten about the wind and wished he'd copied Milo in wearing a ponytail.

"How much further do we have to walk, Camus?", Milo asked.

"We're here now", Camus told him.

Milo's eyes swept an outdoor shopping center similar to the ones in Mykonos. Ladies bundled in coats and scarves called to them to purchase home-made cakes and blankets.

"Those women are crazy", Milo whispered.

"You do what you have to do. For some of those women, selling things in the marketplace is their only source of income", Camus whispered back.

Milo's eyes briefly flashed with pity.

"Come on', Camus said. "There should be a shop that sells ski equipment up ahead. I'll help you pick out something that's decent."

"Good, because I know nothing about ski suits..." An impish grin crossed Milo's handsome face. "If you ever need help picking out a swimsuit, though, I can help you do that."

Camus glared at him and Milo burst into a fit of laughter. He coughed into his gloved hands, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Milo, the day I wear a pair of swim trunks is the day Shaka goes goth."

Milo winced as he imagined Shaka with his long, long hair dyed black, wearing tight black pants with pinks in them and an even tighter black tank top that had a skull and crossbones on it. The Shaka in his vision still carried his wooden prayer beads, but they, too, had turned black.

"A Gothic Buddha...", he murmured.

"Not a pleasant image, is it?", Camus asked.

Milo shook his head.

"Didn't think so"

They walked into the ski equipment shop with a companionable silence between them.

A little while later they arrived back at the hotel. Milo changed into the ski suit they'd purchased while Camus pulled on gloves and the one thick jacket he owned. Camus then bound his hair at the nape of his neck and waited for his friend to finish changing.

"Better now?", he asked as Milo stepped out of the bathroom.

"A little", Milo replied.

"Good. The session starts at two, but it won't hurt to leave now and get there early. Unless you're hungry?"

"Are we eating snails?", Milo asked skeptically.

He looked almost exactly how Hyoga had when Camus had tried to assure him and Issac that their grape medicine tasted like candy and not "icky grossness". Camus almost laughed at the fond memory.

"Did you feed me lamb?", he answered his friend's question with a question of his own.

Milo wrinkled his nose, now looking like the child who took the medicine and realized no matter what Sensei said it was still gross, but he did not argue.

Camus chucked.

"Don't worry, we wouldn't be able to get escargot and make it to the ski session. You're safe for now."

"So what is on the lunch menu?", Milo asked.

"I'm thinking whatever we took with us from the hotel."

"Ohhh...left overs. How exciting."

"Well, I'm not hungry, so I will live", Camus shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm not hungry, either."

Camus glanced at his friend. Not hungry? Usually whenever Milo came to visit him, he wanted a snack. This was not normal.

"Do you feel OK, Milo? You're not looking too good."

"For the last time, I'm fine. I'm just not used to freezing to death even when I'm inside!"

Milo's voice grew higher-pitched and huffy.

Camus was not convinced, but decided to let Milo be. He was a grown man and could take care of himself. He knew that admitting he was sick was viewed as weakness is Milo's eyes. When he passed out on the top of the mountain, Camus would drag him back and make his life hell on earth.

"Let's go", Milo said.

Camus sighed.

"Suit yourself"

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A little while later, Milo found himself seated beside Camus on a ski lift. Milo did not like the idea of trusting a flimsy wooden seat to support the nearly four-hundred pounds of his and Camus's combined weight, plus the weight of the people seated next to them, so he kept himself occupied by keeping his attention focused on the young couple that shared the lift with them. They weren't much older than he and Camus were. The young woman seated beside him had a round, gentle face that reminded him a little of Mu. Seated at the end of the lift was a young man with broad shoulders and a strong, athletic build. Milo's mind wandered, and he found himself imagining a fantasy life for them.

In his mind, the couple became Americans enjoying a winter holiday in France. The man became an FBI agent even though Milo knew he was too young to be in the FBI. The girl was a school teacher for kinder gardeners. They lived in a modest yet comfortable house, and every night the man brought flowers home to the girl to show her how much he loved her. A smile crossed his face.

"What's going on in that head of yours?", Camus whispered, pulling Milo from his thoughts.

"Not much, just thinking...", Milo whispered back.

"So that's where all the smoke is coming from. I wondered", Camus replied dryly.

"Very funny", Milo said.

"Wasn't meant to be funny", Camus responded.

"I was just watching the people next to me", Milo admitted softly. "I like putting stories with strangers."

"Oh?", Camus asked, raising one elegant black eyebrow.

"Yeah", Milo dropped his voice so he was sure only Camus would hear him. "Like the girl? She's a school teacher and the guy's her husband. She's a school teacher, and he's in the FBI. They live in America in a small but comfy home and he brings her flowers every night."

"Well, how about this story? She's a cancer patient who only has five months left to live, and her dream has always been to go to France. Her husband drained their life savings so he could take her just once before she dies."

Milo gaped at Camus in open-mouthed shock.

"That's a horrible story!", he cried so loudly the girl turned to stare at him, a confused look on her gentle face. He gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry"

The girl turned her attention back to her lover.

"That's a horrible story", he repeated in a softer voice.

"Life's not all sunshine and rainbows, Milo", Camus said. "As a gold saint, you of all people should know that."

"I do, but I'm not going to sit here and imagine awful things happening to people I don't even know."

"My scenario is just as possible as yours", Camus pointed out.

Milo crossed his arms and pouted.

"You are such a kid sometimes, you know that?", Camus asked.

"I have not forgotten that I am only twenty years old and can still have dreams, however small they may be."

Camus sighed.

"I gave up on foolish wishes a long time ago."

"So that's why you sank the ship Hyoga's mother's body was on? To show him it's foolish to have dreams?"

Camus closed his eyes. Milo's words stung. He hadn't wanted to hurt Hyoga as badly as he had.

"I'm sorry, Camus", Milo apologized. "I went too far."

"It's alright. Don't worry about it. I'm equally at blame here", Camus replied. He knew his friend wasn't feeling well and, despite the sting of his words, Milo had not been trying to hurt him.

Camus noticed they were reaching the top of the beginner's course and nudged Milo's shoulder.

"When I tell you to, touch both feet to the ground and ease off the lift. Otherwise you'll be taken to the advanced course."

"Where's the advanced course start?", Milo asked. The look in his eyes suggested he already knew.

"The top", Camus affirmed his fear. Then he added "Milo, if I didn't know you better, I would swear you were afraid of heights."

"Not the heights...this lift"

"Ok. Feet down", Camus told him.

Milo slammed both his skis into the soft snow so hard he nearly lost his balance. Camus set his feet down gracefully.

"Now what?", Milo asked, staring at his feet. "I'm not used to having wooden rails strapped to my feet."

"You're going to use the sticks to maneuver your way down. The skis will help you guide down. This is a straight slope, though, so you won't need the sticks too much. Just make sure you don't hit any trees."

"Right", Milo murmured.

"Just follow me", Camus said.

He pushed off with his ski sticks and demonstrated to Milo how to maneuver. His friend followed suit.

Camus allowed himself to get lost in thought as he skied down. He could vaguely remember his childhood before Sanctuary. He'd lived with his uncle, who would take him skiing almost every weekend. His uncle would bundle him up and take him to the valley and teach him how to ski. He couldn't remember much of his uncle, but he remembered him to be a quiet man with a good heart. He sighed. Maybe Milo was right-maybe he was missing out.

A girl screamed, and Camus jerked his head in the direction of the yell in time to see Milo falling face-down in the snow. He hurried to his friend's side. For a regular person, skiing uphill would have been near impossible, even on a slight slope, but Camus was able to do it.

"Milo!"

"I don't think I like this, Camus", Milo replied, pulling himself upright.

Camus reached his hand out even though he knew he wasn't the best judge of temperature and frowned.

"Milo, we're going back to the hotel room-now. I am not explaining to Lady Athena that you have pneumonia because your stubbornness kept you from staying in bed for a day."

"If I argue with you, will you listen?", Milo asked.

"Not this time", Camus replied. "Now, follow me. We're going to go down very slowly and then we're going back to the hotel."

"Fine", Milo relented.

The two started their slow trip down.

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"Put these on and get into bed", Camus said, tossing Milo his pajamas. He felt like he was back in Siberia, trying to force a sick Issac to get into bed.

"But Camus-"

"Now", Camus's tone suggested their was no room for argument.

"But it's hot in here!", Milo whined.

"Then I will open the window after you're in your pajamas and in bed."

Milo sighed and changed into his flannel pajamas and climbed into his bed.

Camus opened the window and went into the kitchen area. He made a cup of hot chocolate and brought it back to Milo.

"Here. If you get some rest, your cold should go away by tomorrow and you'll be fine."

Milo took the hot chocolate.

"Umm...Camus?"

"Yes?", Camus asked, dreading the request that would come.

"Can you close the window? It's cold in here!"

Camus sighed. It was going to be a long night.