You guys! I am so sorry I abandoned you all. I have had to take over a couple jobs at work, and I simply haven't had the time to focus on writing. I had a chapter ready for my BATB story and it got lost in a server update, which is very upsetting, so I took my emotions out on the crew (sorry!) Let me know how you like this chapter! Any reviews are welcome! BATB readers, I am trying to recover my update, and will post when I do. Apologies!

Over the police chief's radio, the waiting fireman and his paramedic partner heard the chilling words, "We are calling the search."

Marco threw his hands into the air and lunged away from where he had been leaning on the side of the snow covered police cruiser, a torrent of Spanish mumbling reaching his partners ears. Roy stood as if frozen, his head bowed, and his hands clenched into fists. He squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth set together, trying to contain the grief that washed over him. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be. For just a moment, his concussion-addled brain could not handle the terrible news and he slumped to the ground, his back against the warm front grill of the police cruiser. He leaned back and rested his head on the hard metal and gratefully accepted the relief that the position gave to his sudden nausea. He did not feel the frozen snow embedding itself in the seat of his snow pants and the coldness seeping into his bones. The shouts of the rescue team around him did not register any longer, and he did not notice Marco in animated conversation with the rescue team from Carbondale. How could he go back and tell Susan that her husband lay entombed in the frozen valley below and his body may never be recovered. How could he return to LA to stand in roll call with his remaining crew members, facing a new captain that was unaware of the team's history together. It would drive the close knit crew apart. Even worse, how would he tell Johnny that their captain had been lost while trying to save the young paramedic's life? If Johnny even survived his own injuries.

Roy gritted his teeth. He was helpless against the onslaught of fear and sorrow. The thoughts kept bombarding his mind, swirling it like murky flood waters and he clenched his hands into fists again, the knuckles showing white against the normally tanned skin now reddened with the cold. He was drowning in his own grief. Through the haze, a nagging voice kept calling him. "Roy. Roy." Nagging memories. Stupid, stupid nagging memories.

Flashback.

"Roy!" Joanne walked out of the kitchen with a smirk on her face, gentle voice carrying an undertone of mischief, baby Olivia perched over her shoulder. "Come in the kitchen, dear, and see what Johnny did! You are not going to believe this one!"The senior paramedic shook his head in disbelief. He knew without looking that his young handy man of a partner had gotten the stove working again. Roy could have fixed it himself, but the insecurities of the younger man were easily remedied by having him become helpful to the small family. Roy always 'struggled' with repairs when Johnny was there, only to endure Johnny's smart remarks about Roy's handy-man abilities at the office but not at home. If no one needed him, sometimes Johnny felt left out. After all, he didn't have a family of his own. So Roy always felt it was worth it to endure the teasing and enjoy the proud smile on the young man's face when Joanne announced how he had mended yet another stubborn item around her house.

Roy smiled furtively at Joanne. She winked at him and he nodded. Chris was reading a book on his lap so Roy was reluctant to move. "So," he spoke in a tone that was slightly too loud. ""Did you actually fix the stove, Junior, or are we gonna get blown to Arkansas the next time Joanne turns it on?"

A patient sigh could be heard in the kitchen. "Roy, it's not that difficult. The wiring had come loose in the power socket. Just had to tighten it up a bit and you are good to go. I've turned it on and off several times now. If we were going to get blown up, then it would have happened already. Have some faith in the handyman!"

"So you were just going to blow me up, Junior and not warn me first? i might have wanted to kiss my lovely wife goodbye and hug my children." Roy feigned offense at Johnny's handling of the situation, although he was near to bursting with the laughter he was containing inside.

A groan of frustration was heard and the young paramedic replied in a condescending tone. "Roy, I can assure you that would not have happened. Trust me, will ya? It was just a loose wire. Not a gas pipe."

Roy smiled and nodded, although Johnny couldn't see him. "Oh sure, Junior. It was just that easy. Let me come see what mess you have made now."

Chris immediately leaped off of his lap and ran toward the kitchen screaming, "Unca Johnny fix da stove!" Joanne chuckled and took the book Roy was holding. They shared a quick celebratory kiss that Johnny had once again felt useful, and Roy headed to the kitchen. He could hear little Chris giving a running commentary.

"Daddy! A hole! Unca Johnny, what a mess!"

A sinking feeling arose in Roy's stomach and he entered the kitchen, squinting in the bright lights. "Uh, Johnny is that a hole in the wall?"

Johnny was sweeping up scraps of wire with a small broom. There was grease from a wrench across his cheek, his hair was full of sheetrock dust, and there was a small scrape across his left hand. "No worries, Roy. I will have it patched up shortly. Hey, Chris, watch out for the toolbox there. Don't want to hurt any little piggies now do we?"

Chris paused in his exploration of the toolbox and grinned at Johnny's reference to his toes. "No Unca Johnny, we sure don't!"

Johnny smiled that crooked smile at the little boy and turned to his ever-patient partner. "Roy, I promise! Don't worry at all! It will look great when I am done. Just leave the paint and I will get it patched and primed."

Roy shook his head. "Johnny, you never cease to amaze me. Let me see that hand, okay?" JOhnny glanced at his hand and quickly hid it behind his back.

"Nothing, Roy, nothing at all." He smiled again.

That crooked smile.

A gentle hand rested on Roy's shoulder and he jumped, brought back to harsh reality. For a moment, he was angry, as the memory had taken the edge off of his grief and pain. He had to face it again. Marco knew nothing of what his friend was enduring mentally, though, and knelt beside him. "Roy, I spoke to the command center. They have released the search, and it has been moved to a - um - body - recovery. You need to get some rest, okay? You don't look so good. Head down with the team. I will come down as soon as everything is organized."

"Can't face her, Marco." Roy spoke tersely, his words barely audible through lips stiff from the cold. Marco studied the senior paramedic for a second, then pulled off his gloves.

"Here, wear these. Can't face who?"

Roy waved away the gloves. His paramedic nature kicked in a little, and he turned a calculating gaze on his friend. "You'll get frostbite, get those on."

Marco shook his head stubbornly and proceeded to take one of Roy's hands in his own, to shove the glove on whether Roy wanted them or not. "Put them on, Roy. I have more in my coat pocket."

A defeated slump crept into Roy's shoulders and he allowed the fireman to put the gloves on without a protest. The cloth stung his cold skin, and for a moment he had pain to focus on. Then the pain faded to a dull ache, and he saw Marco kneeling before him again.

Marco gazed calmly into the pained blue eyes. "Now, can't face who?"

"Susan." Roy finally managed to choke out of his voicebox. "I can't face her and tell Susan that her husband is -"

Roy swallowed hard and set his jaw, the muscle in his neck tense. He closed his eyes, as another wave of nausea flowed over him.

Marco nodded, concern on his haggard face. "Well, I am not giving up, Roy. The team is leaving soon. They haven't cleared you to go down there, though. You are going to bottom out soon, remember you were just in the hospital for a concussion."

The blonde paramedic stubbornly began heaving himself to his feet. "I'm goin. I'm goin too." His chin was set stubbornly, but his face was as pale as the snow around him. His breathing was becoming ragged and uneven, and he couldn't find a grip on the car behind him.

Stubbornly, he shoved himself to his feet, but fate was against him. His knees could not take his weight and the world was spinning. Marco tried to grab his arm but was just a few steps too far away and missed, and his partner collapsed in the snow.

Captain Stanley watched the door close behind the strange escaped convict, mixed emotions running through his mind. The man obviously had nine lives. He really did wish him luck. But a certain part of his mind was relieved that the man had left. He just couldn't be trusted.

Assessing his situation, Hank realized that the burning in his hands and feet had diminished. The convict had removed the snowy coat and snow pants and now his other clothing was dry. He had to have been out of it for a while. The fire was mesmerizing to his exhausted brain, and for a moment, he fell back down to the floor, and closed his eyes. Anything was better than laying in the snow. He thought back to the helpless feeling of holding his sister as close as he could, knowing they were about to freeze to death and his heart hurt. A sudden jolt went through him and he realized he didn't know where Ashley was. The convict had said something about that - what was it? He struggled to a kneeling position and looked around the small room. He was so focused and desperate that he missed the small heap on the couch. A second survey of the room found her.

"Ash!" He stumbled to his feet, and ignoring the pain in his twisted ankle, that he could definitely feel now, he scrambled to fall on his knees by the couch. Ashley was still wrapped up in her coat, and was shivering. Hank gritted his teeth. The convict had only covered her in a blanket. Why hadn't the strange man tried to help her?

She had not responded to his call, and this worried him. "Ash, hey honey?" He pulled off the blanket, now damp with snow and picked his sister up in tired arms. "Come on now, old Hank just doesn't like it when he is all alone with no one to talk to, okay? Come on and wake up now and let me see those pretty eyes."

Flaskbacks were running through his head of arriving at the hospital not so very long ago. He couldn't lose her again. Tears were running unheeded down the bruised face, red and scratched from the icy, blowing snow. Their saltyness stung the raw skin with a pain that was completely unnoticed as he stood to his feet with his burden clutched close to his heart. He reached one foot up to the couch cushions and kicked them off into the floor. Shoving them closer to the fire, he laid his sister on the makeshift bed and wrenched off his gloves. Feeling for a pulse, he was satisfied that it was strong enough, and he blew out a sigh of relief. "Don't worry, baby girl." He leaned close and kissed her forehead. "Big brother's got ya."

It took him nearly a half hour, but eventually he was able to get her heavy snow clothing off. He bundled his coat under her head, and carefully placed her broken arm across her chest. he tried not to notice the bark bruising that had overtaken it, not the faint white lines across the thin wrists. He busied himself heating water and looking for bandages. He didn't find any, but he did find a can of chili and a can of pears in the wood-box. It could have been filet mignon for all he cared. He hacked the top off with a small axe that he also found in the woodbox and put them close to the coals to heat. From his perch near the fireplace, Hank couldn't take his eyes off of the pale face sleeping nearby, and the bruised gash on her face that Johnny had so bravely bandaged before the avalanche.

Johnny.

With a sick feeling in his stomach, Hank sat back on his heels and realized he didn't know what had become of his paramedics. Were they lost in the avalanche? Had they made it out? He had not way of finding out. But he did have a feeling that if they had been close then the convict would have brought them all to the cabin. Maybe they were buried deep in the snow, never to be seen again.

He shook his head. No he wouldn't go there.

A slight moan from the sleeping girl brought him to reality and he rushed to her side, falling on his knees next to her.

"Come on there, Ash, honey. That's it. Hey."

He smiled down into the dark eyes and was relieved when they focused on his face.

"Hank?" Her voice was barely audible in the silent cabin.

"Yes?" he held his breath, hoping she would recognize him as her brother, and not just as the fire captain that was rescuing her.

"We made it to the cabin?"

His heart sank a little as he remembered telling her he was going to try to get there.

"Yes, we did. Do you know who I am?"

She grimaced and shook her head. "You said you were Captain Hank Stanley of LA something, I forget the number."

Hank's heart inwardly broke, and he nodded. "Yes, you are correct. We are going to stay here for a little bit till the snow stops. I am going to rip up this other blanket, okay? I have to try to splint that arm again."

Immediate tears sprang to her eyes, focused on a spot above them in the ceiling. "Do you have to?"

He had moved away to retrieve his axe (since scissors were nowhere to be found and his knife was lost in the avalanche), and he turned back to face her. "Yeah, I'm sorry, Peanut." He ignored the disappointment on his sister's face and began hacking the blanket into strips. He didn't realize the effect it was having on Ashley until she suddenly lost it.

"Stop, just please, stop!"

He jumped, startled, and looked over to see her silently sobbing her heart out.

"Ashley?" Without thinking, he rushed quickly over to her side, the axe still held firmly in his hand.

She scrambled to her feet and stumbled away from him, much to his surprise. "Ahshley, Ashley stop, okay? You are going to injure that arm beyond repair. Now sit down, okay? You need to stop!" He could easily have stopped her but didn't want to risk injuring or scaring her any worse than she already was. How he wished Roy was here. He was so much better at this stuff.

She didn't stop moving until her back was against the wall and he was standing in front of her, confusion clear on his face. "Ashley, honey, it's me, okay? I am not going to hurt you." He winced. That was sort of a lie. Bracing that arm was going to hurt. A lot.

"Don't hurt me anymore, Dad, you promised you wouldn't. You promised!" she whimpered, her eyes fixed on the axe.

He looked down at his hands and realized that the continual hacking and his approach with the weapon was what seemed to be setting her off. It hurt him to think that she had once said something like this to her dad, and that her Dad had actually promised not to hurt her. He should never have had to promise that. Even worse, he had never kept that promise. Now Hank was going to try to keep it for him.

Hank tucked the head of the axe in his back pocket and slowly approached his sister with extended, empty hands. "Ash, it's your brother, Hank. I've come to take you home, okay?"

She eyed him in confusion, but the words somehow matched a memory in her brain, and she stepped toward him cautiously. He caught her before she almost fell again, and picked her up. "Won't let nothing happen to you ever again, Peanut. That's a promise."