It took two hours for Izzy's anger to win out over her physical exhaustion.

She slept for about an hour, then tried to get out of bed, but was still too weakened from the effects of the poison. She didn't go back to sleep, but she drifted in and out, drinking water every now and then. Figuring he could use the opportunity, Greg went out and melted and boiled some more snow, filling up both canteens and all the bottles of water they'd collected so far. He did this more than once, taking the opportunity to drink his fill, and get a fair amount of it for Izzy. Finally, as the second hour had passed, she'd emerged from the bedroom.

"Let's go," she said.

She looked awful. Her skin was still pale, she had deep bags under her bloodshot eyes. He hesitated. "We should wait longer," he said. "You look terrible."

"Thanks," she muttered. "We've wasted enough time. I'm not laying around like a lazy piece of crap any longer. We're going."

"Izzy, you were poisoned, you almost died-"

"We're. Going," she growled.

He stared at her for several seconds. Greg wondered suddenly if this was a side effect of the poison, but slowly surmised that no, this was just a side effect of her personality. She was very stubborn. And, honestly, he got it. He understood what she was feeling. When you based your self-worth on your ability to perform, which a lot of people did, it was hell when you were waylaid by physical illness or injury.

It was roughly a thousand times worse as a Marine.

He glanced out the window. The skies were noticeably darker now, but save for that and a bit of wind, he couldn't see any sign of a storm. Finally, given that he had rested, eaten, drank, and even dozed for a bit while waiting for her, he determined that if they ran into anything, he could handle it. And who knew, maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe she looked worse than she was. Izzy was a tough and competent individual, after all.

"Fine," he said, standing up and pulling on his pack. He'd made sure to have everything ready to go at a moment's notice. "We'll head out. I want to check out that structure, whatever it is."

"Fine," Izzy replied quietly.

He checked out his pistol and shotgun quickly, then led the way out of the apartment. As they started making their way down the stairwells though, he began to get a bit more worried. Izzy was moving slow. But the determined, pissed off look on her face told him all he needed to know. She was going to keep going, no matter what. Crap. On the one hand, he really did understand, on the other hand...they couldn't afford to take risks right now. Then again, he'd been taking risks ever since waking up last night.

So he pressed on, leading the way with his pistol out.

They reached the front entrance and made their way out into the cold light of day once more. It was definitely grayer, darker, and colder. It hadn't been this cold when he'd come out to melt the snow for their water. Greg hesitated, his instincts warning him of something, though he wasn't entirely sure what. Unfortunately, a survey of the area told him nothing. Even when he moved up to the edge of the switchbacks and looked down, he could see nothing. With a soft sigh, he began heading down, and Izzy followed him silently.

Although he'd never doubted her toughness and the natural grit she seemed to carry around with her, he was impressed. He had the idea that she'd been pretty much near death from that poison. He'd only experienced a bit of it, and it freaking hurt. It was miserable. He could only imagine how gut-wrenching she was feeling, even though it was in remission right now. The pair of them moved silently down the switchbacks, one by one, until they hit the ground once more. He could see the narrow gravel road that led away from them, in between the dead trees and the side of the mountain. This was their path, the way yet gone.

They set off.

For the first several minutes, everything went fine. Well, as fine as it could go, given the circumstances. He had to fight not to keep looking back over his shoulder every thirty seconds at Izzy, because he had the strong suspicion that she'd yell at him after misinterpreting it as him looking for signs of weakness. Greg had spent too long in that headspace. Feeling worthless, feeling weak, becoming obsessed with presenting himself as strong, no matter the circumstances, because it felt like everyone was judging him, everyone was looking for any conceivable opportunity to ridicule or embarrass him.

Or take advantage of any perceived weakness.

It had been a long, painful, difficult climb up out of the hole that was this toxic form of thought. This corroded, ugly lens through which he viewed the world. What's worse, he had to fight not to slip back into that mentality. It was like working out. You couldn't just get over the first hurtle of making yourself hit the gym...you had to keep doing it. Forever. You had to learn to live with it. He had to learn to live with the reality that his mind worked against him, that it wanted to drag him back to that toxic waste pit of despair and fury.

But he wasn't concerned with judging Izzy for any 'weakness' on her part. He was relying on her, but he was also concerned about her, just like he'd be concerned for any other survivor he'd encountered.

Okay, well...he'd be admittedly less concerned with Wallace. That guy had been a dick. But he'd still be trying to work with him, offering him help, regardless.

As they walked on, the wind picked up, and the air grew fangs. The bitter cold cut into them, and soon his nose went numb, then his face. He looked behind them. The switchbacks had disappeared from view. Ahead of him, he thought he could just barely manage to make out what might be a structure on the right side, or at least a clearing in the heavy forest of dead trees. He glanced back once more at Izzy.

She looked pretty bad, but she was still going.

"What's the hold up?" she growled.

"Nothing. Thought I heard something," he lied, then kept walking.

Only about thirty seconds later, he did hear something. Over the winds, he heard a growl, and a twig break. Bringing his pistol up, he froze and scanned the area around them. Something gray shifted in the trees.

"Varg! Two o'clock!" he shouted as he tracked it with trembling hands.

Damn! It was too cold out here!

As the varg emerged from between a pair of trees, growling deeply, red eyes staring malignantly, a gunshot sounded and it dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. He glanced over and saw Izzy holding her pistol.

"Dropped the bastard," she muttered.

Greg began to respond, then something caught his eye: a moving shadow creeping up the road from behind them, as silent as death. He looked up. A volar was coming. "Move!" he shouted, then raised the pistol and popped off a shot, then another when that went wide. The bullet punched through one of its huge wings, which just made it squawk madly and begin to dive for them. He kept firing and wasted three more shots before finally punching a hole in its neck. But even before it could hit the ground, he heard more growling coming from the treeline.

He snapped his gaze back in that direction and felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. Black terror flooded his system as he saw a good half-dozen shapes moving among the trees.

"Run!" he screamed, and fired a shot. He didn't see where it went, but something yelped, and then there was a blur of motion as they all began coming for them.

"We can take them!" Izzy snapped.

"Run, goddamnit! That's an order!" he screamed, and started sprinting.

She let out a scream of frustration, fired off two shots, and began running. Greg glanced over his shoulder as he numbly pounded the gravel road with his boots. He saw five low, lean gray shapes emerging from the trees to come for them like death on swift feet. He aimed back and fired the last two shots in his pistol, both of them going wild. Cursing, he holstered it and focused on running. Up ahead, he could definitely see a break in the treeline.

Seconds went by and the vargs drew closer.

Occasionally Izzy would fire off a shot, and that seemed to intimidate them, but only briefly. It was enough though. It bought them the precious seconds necessary to make it to that clearing. As it turned out, the mystery structure was someone's cabin. Grabbing his shotgun, Greg made it most of the way there, then spun around and aimed. Izzy was running towards him, a look of real fear now replacing her angry grit, and the vargs were on her. He fired off a shell, taking one of the vargs right in the chest and sending it sprawling.

It tripped up two of them, forcing them to hit the ground and scrabble to get back to their feet, and the other two hesitated. It was just enough for Izzy to sprint past him and throw open the door. He turned heel and ran for all he was worth. Izzy was standing at the doorway, breathing heavily, leaning on it, beckoning him onward. He got in and she slammed the door shut behind him, then leaned against it. Skidding to a stop, he swung around and joined her, throwing his weight against the door. It thumped solidly a second later and something let out a yelp. The varg on the other side growled for several seconds, and the door rattled a few times, then it stopped. Both of them stood beside each other, he leaned forward with his shoulder against it, she with her back to it. They stared at each other, catching their breaths.

Finally, Greg reached forward and hit the deadbolt, then, after a few seconds, reached down and locked the handle as well. Izzy looked down as he did this, then back up at him, then laughed suddenly. He burst out laughing as well, caught off guard by it, nearly giddy from the adrenaline and the near death experience.

Izzy straightened up, took a step, then her expression abruptly changed and she collapsed.

"Izzy!" he said, crouching beside her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" she snapped.

He sighed, frustration mounting. "Goddamnit, Izzy, I'm trying to help you, not insult you."

She looked over at him, her face twisted in anger and pain, then the tension slowly went out of her. She sighed heavily. "Fine," she said finally. "I...could use some help getting back up. I need to lay down for a bit."

"Okay," he replied simply.

She looked like she was steeling herself for a retort, a chastising rebuke, or some other form of condescending remark, but he said nothing more than that and offered her a hand. She took it and he helped her up. As they began moving across the cabin towards the double-wide bed tucked away into one corner, he realized that the winds had picked up fiercely in the past minute. In fact, they were outright shrieking now.

He got her over to the bed and sat her down, then moved back over to a window built high into the front door. Snow was coming down hard and fast. He couldn't see the road anymore. Hell, he couldn't even see the vargs that were no doubt still out there. Visibility was down to maybe a foot. He shivered just looking at it. Although he could see his breath on the air. It was freaking cold inside the cabin. Greg turned and surveyed the small structure they had taken refuge in. There didn't seem to be a lot to work with.

Although…

"Perfect," he whispered as he laid eyes on a small wood-burning stove. It was a very old, very anachronistic thing, but it sure as hell hadn't gone out of style in a place like this. There was even a small pile of neatly chopped firewood laid next to it. Walking over to it, he crouched in front of it and began the process of starting a fire.

"What are you doing?" Izzy murmured.

"Starting a fire. It's freezing," he replied.

"We aren't staying for that long."

He sighed and glanced over his shoulder at her. "Izzy, it's whiteout conditions out there. We'd be snowblind the second we stepped out the door. Not to mention we won't be able to see the damned vargs until they're literally on us. That, combined with your current condition, means that the smartest thing to do would be to wait out the storm. And I'd say there's a good chance we're just going to be spending the night here. So...settle in."

She didn't say anything for several seconds. He kept working, positioning the wood and kindling properly, then putting his lighter to use.

Finally, she said, "Fine."

He heard her shifting around, then nothing. Not much later, he got the fire going and closed the front of the stove. Warming his hands, he looked over his shoulder again. She was laying on the bed now, rolled over, facing away from him. He suppressed a sigh and finished warming up his hands, then slowly stood, his knees popping.

It was time to search the cabin.

"Greg. I'm sorry."

Greg turned around, actually startled by her words. She hadn't said anything in the hour since they'd last spoken. Izzy was still facing away from him, but slowly, she rolled over. He'd managed to get a lot done in that hour, or he felt like he had. He'd managed to search almost the whole cabin, save for under the bed. He'd actually prepared to try, but then he'd checked on Izzy and saw that she'd actually fallen back asleep, so he'd left her undisturbed. Unfortunately, there wasn't a whole lot in the cabin. Just a few more cans of food (another can of black beans, one of sliced pears), leftover in the kitchen, and a bottle of painkillers in the bathroom. Not necessarily a bad find, just less than he'd hoped.

"What for?" he replied.

She slowly sat up, then swung her feet over the side of the bed and planted them on the ground. Sighing, she rested her forehead against her hand, elbow on her knees. She slowly massaged her head. He had the idea that she meant it to look like she was dealing with maybe a headache or something, but in reality she just didn't want to meet his eyes. He'd pulled that move before, when he was feeling uncomfortable.

"I'm not trying to be difficult," she said, slowly massaging her temples. "I mean, I know I am being difficult, but I'm not trying to be. I just..." She hesitated, heaved a sigh. "I have difficulty...with letting people take care of me, or see me weak, in any capacity. And you've been nothing but helpful so far. I know that you aren't an asshole. I've managed to piece that together over the past few months. So I'm sorry for being a jerk when you've just been trying to help me. It's just...hitting me in a sore spot, especially with all the crap that's happened since the crash."

"Apology accepted. And I get it," he replied. Part of him wanted to tell her she didn't have to apologize, but part of an apology was making the person giving it feel better. He didn't think everyone who offered an apology deserved to feel better, but Izzy did. "It's been a really damned stressful time," he added.

She laughed softly, then groaned and straightened up. She laid a hand against her forearm, where the bite was.

"Here, we should get that cleaned and redressed," he said, shrugging out of his pack and pulling out the kit.

"No, I-" She stopped herself. "Yeah. That's a good idea. Thanks."

He pulled up a chair and sat down beside her, then began unwrapping the gauze he'd placed there earlier. The wound looked ugly, but it didn't look infected. He wanted to keep it that way. He tried to make conversation as he worked.

"So why are you, um...resistant to help?" he asked.

"It's just...having to fight for everything, prove I'm tough enough again and again and again, you know, it wears on you eventually," she replied.

"I understand," he murmured.

"Do you?" she asked.

He looked up at her. Her eyes were hard, flinty, guarded. "I guess not in the same way you do, but...I do understand some of it. I've seen a lot of people give women crap in the military, so I can appreciate your situation. But I was a scrawny little puke growing up, surrounded by a bunch of big tough guys in a pretty poor colony. So I know what it is to get messed with for something you were born into."

"That's fair," she said, then winced as he began wrapping her arm with a fresh set of gauze. "Thanks," she murmured when he was finished. After a moment, she sighed heavily and looked around. "So, we're in for the night?"

He nodded. "I think that makes the most sense. Despite how hardcore you are, it makes more logical sense to wait out this blizzard, and the vargs, and regain our strength before hitting the mine in the morning. Provided the storm has passed."

"Yeah, it makes sense. I'm sorry. I was stupid. We should've just stayed at the observatory. It's just...after everything that happened, all my goddamned failure to save everyone else, anyone else..."

"Given the circumstances, I think you did well, Izzy. Don't be hard on yourself. Even if you don't feel like buying into the psychological side of that particular emotional tangle, buy into the logical side of it."

"The logical side?"

"Hating on yourself, second guessing yourself, wastes time. It wastes energy. We don't have the luxury of wasting anything right now. We're in a bad situation. So get some rest, so that you can focus up," he replied, snapping the medical kit closed.

"I guess so." She paused, then looked at him. "You'll wake me if something happens? If you need help with something?"

"Yes," he replied. "I will."

"All right." She yawned. "This goddamned poison. We don't have anymore antidote for it, do we?"

"No. We're out."

She sighed. "Great. Fine, I'm going to rest up."

He nodded. "I'll need to do a search under the bed. I'll try to be quick."

"Go for it," she replied, and laid back down.

He set to work once more.

Time passed. An hour went, then two, then three.

The sunlight drained from the sky. The snowstorm shrieked on.

Greg killed time as effectively as he could. He double-checked the cabin to see if he'd missed anything, (he hadn't, and there was nothing but some old clothes and trash under the bed), and then went about securing the cabin as much as he could. He shoved a dresser in front of a window right next to the front door, which was the most obvious place the vargs could get through if they really wanted to. Or a drub.

Not a nice thought.

He then found a box of thumbtacks and tacked up as many of the clothes and some towels that he found over the windows as he could. Not perfect, but anything to help keep the heat in. The stove was doing a good job keeping it warm, but he wasn't sure if they'd have enough fuel to last through the night at the rate it was burning at.

At one point, as he moved among the windows, peeking through the holes in the towels and clothing he'd hung, he felt his heart leap into his throat as he caught sight of a varg right up next to the cabin, sniffing around. He'd waited, and eventually it had wandered away. It was still snowing, the wind blowing madly, shrieking all around them. He wondered how long this blizzard was going to last, and hoped it was over by morning.

Eventually, Izzy woke up, and when she did, she seemed a lot better. She'd regained her color, her eyes looked less baggy and bloodshot, and she was in a better mood. She moved with less sluggish lethargy. They took the opportunity to inventory their supplies again, and neither of them were particularly happy with the arsenal situation.

"I've got five shells and one full magazine for the pistol," Greg said. They were sitting across from each other at a small table with all their supplies set out before them.

"One full mag for me too. Plus our knives," Izzy murmured. She sighed. "Not exactly the best situation."

"No," he agreed. "We're going to have to find something more. If we're very lucky, then we'll make it to the military base, and they'll have at least something. Hopefully."

She nodded. "We should eat while we've got time and access to a fire."

"Good idea. I'm starving."

They found a pair of small pots and ended up playing rock, paper, scissors to decide who would eat the cream of celery, given that they both hated it, and Greg lost, so he gave up the vegetable soup. As they made their meal and finished settling in for the night, they began sharing stories about the now dead members of their team.

She told him about the time Tord had gotten himself into a game of strip poker with a group of techs, and the end result had been him streaking madly through the whole deck, and actually running into the Captain. The man had been in a pretty foul mood already, so he'd tossed Tord in the brig for a day, then made Brink assign him whatever crap duties he could think of for the next two weeks. Despite it all, Tord maintained that it was 'worth it'.

He then relayed to her the time Wallace had nearly had his windpipe crushed because he got into a bench-pressing competition with a woman from another squad. He'd insisted he was stronger, even though she was clearly bigger and more built than he was. They'd kept throwing on more weight, and he'd nearly killed himself trying to lift it at one point, and he kept insisting that he didn't need a spotter or any help.

"You seem to be feeling better," Greg said after they finished laughing over Wallace's stupidity.

"I am. Although I'm just exhausted now," Izzy replied. She rubbed one of her eyes and yawned. "Really damned tired. Last time I was this tired was during boot."

"It's been a really long day," he agreed.

She looked at him suddenly, and seemed like she was wrestling around a thought or a decision in her head. He looked back, waiting to see what she had to say. He wondered if it pertained to sleeping arrangements. There was just the one bed, and no couch or recliner. He'd be willing to sleep on the floor, but he really wasn't looking forward to it.

"So I have a request...or an offer...both, I guess," she said finally.

"Um, okay. What is it?" he replied.

"A few days before this whole thing happened, I had finally made up my mind to, uh...see if you wanted to sleep with me."

He kept his expression carefully neutral. "Really?"

"Yeah. You're kind, you're attractive, you're...reasonable. So basically, what I'm asking is, are you interested, and if you are, do you think you can do it without it getting weird?"

"Define 'getting weird'," he replied.

"I guess, in short, I don't want our dynamic to change. Don't expect things from me, don't talk to me differently, don't confuse us for boyfriend or girlfriend." She frowned. "I'm not trying to sound like a bitch, nor am I saying that I'll never want to take it further. I might. It's just that I've seen sex ruin relationships too often. You sleep with a guy once and there's a good chance he just assumes you're his now. The main reason I'm offering now is because I don't think you'll be like that...but I want to be sure. I just want to be up front now, beforehand, instead of just hoping we're on the same wavelength. Does that make sense?"

"It does. And you're being very reasonable. And I definitely get it."

"Okay, thanks. It's just that, with all the dying that's been going on recently, I honestly want to get laid one more time, you know?"

"I very much know that feeling too."

She smiled. "I kinda figured. So..."

"Yes. I'd be absolutely thrilled to sleep with you tonight, Izzy."

"Good!" She stood up. "Well, then, should we, uh..."

"Yeah. Why don't you check the perimeter, and I'll check the fire, then we can get to it."

"Perfect."

They set about their tasks, and Greg couldn't help but smile. Finally, he actually was going to get do something enjoyable.

It was, he hoped, going to be a good night.