Classification: Riley POV fic – getting back from Belize. Spoilers: Season 5 – nothing major really. Minor character death. Disclaimer: Wish he were mine! Thanks: To Dana for the multiply beta reads. You really made this fic, thank you. You were right, as always! Special thanks also to Jen'fr and Sharon for their constant encouragement. Notes: I've been writing this fic for months literally. I think all the pieces have been pulled together.
Please read Contemplation and The Red Man first, as they come before this – though I think you might be able to read on its own.
Out of the Cold
Damn, damn, damn!
Fuck, fuck, damn!
Riley was beginning to lose his balance as his body's shaking intensified. Struggling uphill, he tried to pick up his pace, knowing he was slowing down as the cold took its toll. His lungs were burning as the frigid air sliced through him and it sapped the little body heat he was generating. Gasping from his exertion, his harsh exhales were visibly crystallizing and settling on his face. He felt the sting and counted it a good thing – he could still feel.
Damn, damn, damn!
Fuck, fuck, damn!
Not the most positive, life affirming mantra Riley could come up with, he had to admit. But it was about all he could coherently think of since the ice had given out from under him just a few short minutes ago. That, and that he had precious little time to get out of the cold.
Riley had been relatively confident that the ice on the pond would hold him after he had tested the edges and had seen old Blue run out across it. He had been on it many times before and assumed that it could take his weight as it had in past winters. And it had. That is, until he got too close to the fresh spring bubbling up in the far corner.
The snowshoes had helped initially when he first stepped out on to the ice, dispersing his weight evenly. But they were ungainly and hard to maneuver once Riley left the drifting snow and hit the uneven wind swept ice. Unfortunately, old Blue thought Riley was playing when he suddenly began to flail about in an effort to keep his balance. Excited, the dog had jumped up, caught one of Riley's arms and unbalancing him further, knocked him over. Riley sprawled, sliding across the ice as he tried to catch himself on his hands and knees. Coming to a stop, he dropped quickly to his stomach and spread eagle as the sound of cracking ice reached his ears. He knew his best hope was to extend his body's weight to avoid falling through the weakening ice. He lay there waiting tensely for a moment, readying his body to act quickly, his senses on overdrive. But as the seconds past he began to relax. The ice had held.
No further creaking or cracking could be heard and it seemed that the only sounds were his and Blue's own panting breath. Riley had grabbed the dog within seconds of falling, afraid his playful jumping about would cause them both to fall through. The dog, finally sensing that Riley meant business had settled down next to him quietly waiting for their games to continue.
Riley waited another few seconds listening for any sign of trouble. After the first loud crack that had come from beneath him there were no other telltale sounds coming from the ice. "You got lucky, Finn," he thought with a wave of relief as he began to awkwardly crawl backwards away from the weak side of the pond, pulling the struggling dog with him. His face had been about six feet from the spring's entrance and he knew the ice had to be much thinner on that side of the pond as the constant movement of the water beneath wouldn't allow for it to freeze easily. Riley maneuvered another five feet back, released Blue and after kicking the snowshoes off, struggled to his feet. Almost in the center of the pond, Riley stood up, relief sweeping through him. "Ok, that was fun," he thought with a shake of his head. He looked out across the pond, taking in the too bright, cold, basin it lay in and began to chuckle. Just a little over a week ago ice would have been an unthinkable luxury, and today he was grateful for the cold and the ice – they almost saved his butt. He couldn't help but think about what would have happened had he fallen in. "Would have been a damn cold walk home," he thought with a shiver.
Riley bent down to pick up his snowshoes and was just about to head toward the other side of the pond when he heard a loud report that ominously continued. Cringing, Riley quickly glanced down and then back across the pond to see a spider web of cracks fanning out around him and heading toward the spring at the opposite edge of the pond. As he felt the ice begin to give beneath him he dropped down, again spread eagle. But, it was too late as the ice beneath Riley's left foot gave way. The caving ice quickly spread beneath his lower body, giving away faster then he could move and Riley suddenly gasped out, "Damn!" as the rising frigid water hit his legs. He struggled to keep ahead of it using his hands to pull himself toward the edge of the pond he had entered on. The cracking of the ice continued, much louder then he expected, "Fuck," Riley cursed as he struggled forward, surprised that the cracking ice sounded so much like automatic gunfire.
Old Blue had gotten off the ice just as it began to give way and stood on the edge of the pond barking at Riley as he slowly pulled himself across the remaining ice. Realizing his legs couldn't get much wetter and that he was again in the shallows, Riley stood up, gasping in shock as the cold water enveloped his lower body. He struggled the remaining six feet to the edge of the water, breaking the ice at the edge as he finally pulled himself up the snow-encased embankment.
He lay face down, clutching the grass deep within the snow bank, praying he wouldn't slip back in. Catching his breath and beginning to shake from the bitter cold, Riley pushed Blue's curious nose away from his face and pulled himself another few feet from the pond's edge. Taking stock of his situation, he didn't like his conclusion. Soaking wet from the chest down, temperature at roughly 10 below and over a mile from the farmhouse, things did not look good. Teeth chattering, Riley knew he was in serious trouble as he crawled to his feet, willing his legs to move though they were tightly restricted in his fast freezing jeans.
Stumbling a few steps at first, Riley went over what he knew about hypothermia. Obviously he needed to get his body warmed up and raise his core temperature, which he could tell was dropping fast. He guessed as wet as he was and in this weather, he probably had about 20 minutes at most before his body temperature dropped so low he wouldn't be able to fight off the more dangerous symptoms of hypothermia. Mostly, he worried he'd fall and not be able pull himself out of the snow before unconsciousness overtook him and he'd freeze, asleep in a snow bank. "Not gonna happen Finn," he told himself as he tried to run.
Riley hit the larger snowdrifts at the base of the hill that had crested at the ponds edge. Breaking through the hard crust, he sunk to his upper thighs, snow flying in his face. Brushing it away with shaking hands and trying to pull the driest part of his scarf closer to his face Riley crawled out of the snowdrift cursing, "Fuck! Gotta get a move on." He spoke aloud trying to encourage himself as he pushed Blue away again. The dog thought they were playing a game and bounced around Riley, sniffing and nudging him as he barked and played. Finally on his feet again, Riley began to run, dodging the deeper looking drifts he mentally kicked himself for loosing the snowshoes in the pond as he continually broke through the crust into the softer snow beneath.
That's when the mantra started. Each step brought a "fuck!" or a "damn!" as Riley continually broke through and floundered, making sure he had his footing before he could go on. He eventually was able to set a rhythm and began to pick up his leaden feet a bit quicker, gradually making better time up the hill, dodging the bigger drifts. While not the most constructive mantra it fit the circumstances. Besides, it helped him keep up a steady, fast pace and truly reflected his current mind-set. He concentrated on putting one step in front of the other instead of on the tremors going through his body as he cussed his way up the big hill. He knew he had a ways yet to the farm, and was beginning to worry that he might not make it back.
Earlier that morning, going for a walk had sounded like a good idea. Riley knew he was irritating his grandfather by hanging out in the machine shed and invading the old man's sanctuary. Riley had been on leave for six days, three of which he had spent on his grandparent's farm. The harsh bitter cold that griped Iowa in late February was a sharp contrast to the climate Riley had recently left. But Riley alternated between not noticing the biting cold and embracing it. He enjoyed how the air froze in his lungs - it reminded him he was alive.
Right now though, Riley was cursing the bitter cold air as it settled in his bones and began to make each step a torturous trial. He cursed his own stupidity as well. Putting on snowshoes to cross the backfield to visit the old pond across the valley in this weather hadn't been the wisest decision he'd made. Nor had stepping out on to the ice, he added with a mental shrug. But the milking was done, the stalls were cleaned, the cows settled in and the milk house and machinery gleamed. His grandfather had suggested, only half kidding, that Riley head down to the house to see if his grandmother had some closets she needed cleaning.
Since he had arrived Riley had thrown himself into anything that looked like it needed doing. His grandfather had a hired hand of course and it being winter, there really wasn't all that much to do beyond the daily chores. His grandfather passed the winter days in his workshop puttering about. Machinery repair and woodworking kept him busy and he was content to spend his time alone. While he was happy to see Riley and welcomed his enthusiastic assistance, after three days Riley knew the old man wanted the place to himself for a while. Spying the snowshoes hanging on the side of the shed, next to an old toboggan and some skis, Riley decided a good long walk was just the thing he needed.
Heading down to the creek with old Blue, his grandfather's hunting dog, Riley enjoyed the physical exertion that snowshoeing required. They were large enough to support him as he cruised across the snowdrifts, the snow creaking beneath him in the extreme cold. The vivid blue sky and white covered world were blinding as light bounced under glaring sunshine and it reminded Riley of the brilliant beaches he had just recently left. The differences were, however, obvious as Riley watched his breath create crystallized mist and then condense onto his tightly wrapped scarf.
His grandmother, on learning his intention to snowshoe in this weather, had insisted on his adding a few extra layers to his already heavy winter coat. At the time Riley had wanted to protest that he would be fine, that he could take care of himself and that her concern, while sweet, was unnecessary. Instead, he had quietly accepted any and all additions to his wardrobe, while he watched his grandmother tear apart the hall closet. He was wearing a variety of brightly colored winter accessories that belonged to numerous extended family members. Barely cresting the hill and knowing he had a ways to go and very little time, he was now grateful for each piece.
Stopping finally to catch his breath Riley looked up to see how far he had yet to go. He had run up the vast rolling hill and the exertion, combined with the shock his body was falling into was causing him to shake uncontrollably. He calculated he'd been wet for just over 10 minutes and he knew he was definitely feeling the effects of hypothermia. Taking off across the hill at trot, Riley began his chant again as he kept his eyes on each step his feet made, as if watching them would get him there faster. He couldn't help but remember how just a short time ago he had crossed this same path thinking how beautiful the view from this rolling hill was. Snow covered hills spotted sporadically with other farms; it was always the place that he found some sort of peace and contentment. Now though, as he struggled to pick up the increasingly heavy and awkward wet boots he was wearing, he couldn't help but curse the distance, the remoteness of this spot and the depth of the snow as he broke through its hard crust time and time again.
With old Blue bounding at his side Riley began to work his way back down it into the hollow below. His grandparent's farm was at the bottom - picturesque in the bright winter day. It seemed so far away Riley couldn't help but think. "Man, come on Finn – gotta get the lead out now," he thought, trying to encourage himself.
Continuing his mantra, Riley struggled to put one foot in front of the other, beginning to trip over his numb and lead-like feet he tried to remain upright. His speed and the incline were causing him to break through the drifts at a faster and in an out of control manner, causing him to sink well past his knees. Struggling to stay above the drifts as well, Blue bumped into Riley as the old dog was beginning to tire. Riley tried to maintain his balance but his slowing reflexes and the shaking in his limbs took their toll. The dog's struggles were their doom as they went over together and with the hill's steep slope, they slid, and rolled down the hill and over the drifts to its bottom.
When they finally stopped rolling Riley lay where he landed, disoriented and exhausted. He tried briefly to sit up and open his eyes but his awkward attempts failed - his body too weary to move. He decided to lie there a moment while he caught his breath and then he would try again. Eyes shut, he just listened. Besides Blue's heavy panting, Riley could hear the wind skimming over the snow and the distant creaking of tree branches. Otherwise, the countryside was quiet. It was something Riley hadn't heard in a very long time. Even in the jungle and at sea there were noises - animals, insects, others from his squad. Here the silence was almost absolute and he liked it. As Riley relaxed into the peace that surrounded him he sank further into the snow bank rocked gently by the soft whistling wind.
This was what he had been searching for since leaving Belize he thought. "I just need this for another minute. I need the..." Riley thought as he drifted off.
Quiet. The type of quiet he could get lost in.
After going through debriefing, exams and a final psych evaluation Riley needed to get as far away from people, and from the real world as possible. It didn't take a shrink to tell him he needed to do some pretty serious self-evaluation. More had gone on in the past year than had happened his entire life. The question was – was he coping as well as he could be? The shrink the military had sent him to had posed some very pointed questions regarding his dealings in Belize. While the brass had sanctioned his actions, Riley knew they did so with little enthusiasm. He had been part of an operation that didn't exist and as such, while respected, he was also something of a black sheep. His previous year's discharge and then sudden reenlistment and rise in command were not normal. Riley had to admit the final nail on the coffin of his career had been Belize. He was aware of his nickname. Red Man had become stuff of legend in a very short time.
Sitting in a dark corner of the post's nearly empty bar one night just a few days into his debriefing, Riley had overheard a few of the other survivors regale some new recruits to their unit with the story of the Red Man. While they exaggerated for the story's sake they got the basic facts correct. He had slaughtered hundreds of demons with his machete. He had effectively led a one-man genocide campaign, covering everything he touched with red demon blood. They spoke of his speed, swing and kills. They described how hand to hand combat often left him dripping with blood, but never his own. They bragged how this giant of a man always left the battlefield unscathed.
At the time, Riley quietly sat listening, hidden in the shadows sipping the one scotch he was allowing himself that night. He wanted to get up and ask them if he really looked like a giant – or really - the monster they were describing. While he felt like one, he knew from shaving that morning he wore the baby face he had always had. Maybe a harder expression rested on his features now, but no monster was in evidence.
Instead, Riley sat and listened to the rest of his exploits until they got down to the last. The description they gave of the sugar cane field that last fateful night was accurate. They also told how the Red Man actually looked red in the huge fire's reflection. That his white blond hair had taken on a fiery glow while he stood only feet from the hot blaze waiting for a creature to break from the flames.
It was chilling to listen to the description the men gave of his sudden lunges into demons as they emerged from the inferno. It also brought back unwanted memories. As they wound down from extolling his exploits Riley paid for his scotch at the bar and strolled over to them. They looked up at first welcoming, sensing another comrade-in-arms. But then the storytellers froze in fear and respect – tipping the others off that Riley was more then he seemed.
He looked grimly from face to face, finally settling back on the louder of the two soldiers. "Johnson," he said in a low, growl of a voice, "Finish the story. Tell them how the Red Man ended that night."
The group sat in awkward silence when none ventured to speak. Riley glared at the suddenly quiet soldier, and then with a small, sad, mocking smile he turned to the listeners surrounding the table saying, "He neglected to add the final details of the battle."
He glanced away for a second and sucking in a deep breath Riley began his story with a dour expression. "That night was our last. We had the bastards cornered against cliffs to the west and sea to the east. We had been fighting them for weeks and I was sick of it. We had had huge casualties and I decided it was time to cut our loses. I ordered the fire. The field was dry -- ready to harvest, so it took quickly."
Stepping back Riley fidgeted as he struggled to go on. "My second in command. Hell – one of my best friends all the way back to basic – was beside me. I always relied on Graham in a fight. He always had my back," Riley said, clenching his jaw as he glanced away.
Riley's audience sat in rapt attention waiting for him to continue. He cleared his throat and grinding his teeth, he worked to keep his composure. Finally, he continued. "It was the end of the night. We all thought we were done. The fire nearest us had burned down. I was cleaning my blade on some stalks of cane when they struck," Riley added, as he looked away remembering. The faces of the young men before him were grim, most could guess what was coming.
"Out of the center of the field came the three biggest mother-fuckers I ever saw. I sensed them before I saw them but by then it was to late."
Turning slightly away from the crowd before him, Riley finished his story, "I turned - but by the time I had my blade up one had cut through Graham. He took that one out though, man," Riley said somewhat proudly.
"He had my back - even at the end. He never left me once." His voice breaking, he added, "No one could have taken on three of those bastards."
A heavy silence lay over the nearly empty bar and they could hear clinking of glasses as the bartender began setting up for the following day. The men were quiet, horrified, but not surprised. Out of respect and understanding not a word was said as they contemplated the supreme sacrifice one of theirs had made for another. They each might be called on to do that one day and they had to wonder if they would be able to do it so fiercely.
Riley was looking down at his hands, at the dog tags he found himself griping. He added quietly, "I finished off the other two. But . . . Graham was dead. He lay there, covered in blood – his - theirs – and," Riley said, voice cracking as he found himself again looking down into the motionless, stunned face of his friend. Graham's clear blue eyes, seemed to ask him if that was enough? Were they through now?
Riley never got a chance to answer his question.
The wind skimmed gently across the arctic-like world with a soft low murmur. Snow, whisked up in the breeze finally settled where its path was blocked. The sun shone brightly down and unsuccessfully tried to warm the frigid earth. Branches creaked and bobbed in the wind and nothing moved for miles. Riley slept on, in peace, finally, snow falling lightly, covering his face, sprinkling his bright hair, and gathering around his body. The silence was complete.