Notes: Here's part two! Part three is the final part and also the longest by far, and it will be up tomorrow. 3

Technique and ability alone do not get you to the top; it is the willpower that is the most important. This willpower you cannot buy with money or be given by others...it rises from your heart. - Junko Tabei - 1975 - after becoming first woman to climb Everest

The next fifteen minutes were almost amusing to listen to. Knowing that the rescue team was preparing for what was probably a suicide mission, Lucy continued to spam the radio with pleas, threats, and attempts at reason to call off the rescue. At one point she even appealed to Leonardo to try and at least bring Ezio to some sense- though that only resulted in Leonardo laughing in the background as she continued her attempts at persuasion. Evidently Leonardo was pretty certain that Ezio wouldn't be changing his mind.

Occasionally one of the other guides on the mountain would break in, usually to mention how completely insane this kind of effort was, but they seemed resigned to the fact that their efforts were in vain. Most of the people on this mountain were here every season, working with the other guides to arrange for the placing of ropes and timing of summit attempts, so they all knew each other- and knew it was futile to try and change a climber's mind once he'd set it to something.

Altaïr, for his part, wanted to try and convince them to call it off. He didn't want anyone hurt because of him. But he was exhausted, and the pain in his leg was making it difficult to string coherent thoughts together for any significant amount of time; he was all too ready to just lie back against the rocks and sleep.

But he knew all too well that when you went to sleep this high on the mountain, you wouldn't wake up again.

At least for now, the pain was keeping him from accidentally dozing. It was constant and sharp, and he had to concentrate on keeping his breathing slow and steady- he couldn't afford to waste his oxygen supply by hyperventilating.

He heard a low rumble and reluctantly lifted his head, narrowing his eyes as he studied the horizon. The sun was going to set soon, but that wasn't the most ominous part- no, the worst part was how the clouds were building and churning around the surrounding mountain peaks, almost like boiling grey water, slowly climbing the open sky. By the time the full force of the storm hit, the storm clouds would reach far past the summit of Mt. Everest, and envelop anything on the mountain along with it.

The last time he'd gotten caught in a storm on a mountain, it had cost Malik his arm. Altaïr had been too proud, too stubborn to admit that they were in over their heads, a couple of reckless 18 year olds who thought they were bulletproof. Altaïr lost one finger to frostbite; Malik lost his entire left arm after a fall left it mangled on top of the frostbite.

That had been Denali, a little over 6000 meters high. Everest was an entirely different beast, and now Malik would be out in the storm again, and once again, it was Altaïr's fault.

He sighed and dropped his head back against the rock wall behind him, and then pressed the button on his radio. "Guys, I can see the storm from up here. It looks…bad," he said, taking longer to his thoughts into words than he would have liked. "I don't want any of you hurt because of me. You don't have to do this, over."

"You concentrate on staying awake and alert, Altaïr," Malik's voice came back, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Shaun, how's your pace? Think you'll beat the storm?"

There was a short pause before the reply came, probably the Brit fumbling for his radio with one hand on the rope. "A bit slowed down by the extra tanks, but I'm pretty sure I can get there before our unwelcome company. Going to pick it up a bit, but I probably won't be much help on the way back down, over."

"That's fine. Try your best to conserve your energy, over."

"This is going to be 1996 all over again," Lucy said, her words tense as a high wire, and for a few long moments, no one spoke. Everyone knew what happened on this mountain in 1996; hell, even people who'd never climbed so much as a hill in their lives heard what happened.

It was like a swift kick to the gut when he realized that he was even higher on the mountain than Rob Hall had been in his final moments that night. And the person who'd climbed back up to help Rob Hall had paid with his life.

"Lucy, with all due respect, everyone who volunteered for this knows exactly what they're risking. We know," Desmond finally said, his voice uncharacteristically dead serious. "So unless you have something helpful to say, please do us a favor and shut up."

Well…if Desmond hadn't been fired before, he was definitely fired now.

The radio fell silent again, the only sounds left that of the rising winds and Altaïr's own breath in his oxygen mask. He wondered how long before he would have to clear his regulator of ice buildup; depending on how cold it got, it may quickly render his oxygen supply useless if he didn't keep it clear.

That was assuming he was even right about his oxygen supply lasting until Shaun got here. If he ran out too soon, their rescue operation might turn out useless from the start.

He lifted his head enough to look at the building storm clouds, his leg throbbing with vivid pain.

He couldn't recall a time when he'd ever felt more helpless than this.

The highest of the world's mountains, it seems, has to make but a single gesture of magnificence to be the lord of all, vast in unchallenged and isolated supremacy. - George Mallory

Malik's heart was racing as he gathered up the rest of his gear and hauled himself out of his tent and into the freezing wind. Not racing from exertion, not yet, but from a gut wrenching worry for his best friend a little over 2000 vertical feet from where he stood. Altaïr hadn't said anything about the pain, but there was a tension in his voice that anyone who knew him would be able to pick out. He was obviously in a lot of pain- and scared, whether or not he would have admitted it.

Hell, anyone would be scared, being stranded and alone at nearly 29,000 feet.

Desmond was the first person to meet him outside the tents. His expression was grim, even if he'd managed to sound optimistic over the radio. It was no wonder; after all, Shaun was going in the exact opposite direction of safety, and probably already exhausted from coming straight off a successful summit.

"Desmond," he said, getting the younger man's attention. "Shaun's not going to be in great shape by the time we get up there. He's been climbing for nearly twelve hours by now, closer to…eighteen, when we reach them."

Even with the oxygen mask covering much of his face, Malik could see the way Desmond's jaw clenched. "I know."

"Ezio and I can switch off helping Altaïr. I want you to make Shaun your top priority on the trip down. Keep him talking, watch for symptoms of AMS, and give him a dose of Dex if you think he needs it."

Desmond's shoulders relaxed the slightest bit. "Got it. I'll keep him on his feet."

"I have to say…he wouldn't have been my first guess if you asked me who would volunteer for this," Malik added after a few moments, and the corners of Desmond's eyes turned up with a half-hidden grin.

"He's a big softie under all that British sass. Don't let him fool you."

Malik narrowed his eyes, catching sight of a small red light just below the much brighter light of Desmond's headlamp. "Are you letting them film this?" he asked incredulously, and Desmond sighed.

"I don't have time to figure out how to remove the camera. I think they bolted it on, to be safe," he said with a half shrug that was barely seen through the layers upon layers of clothing. "I'm not going to be taking direction from them up there, that's for damn sure. Just gonna act like it's not there."

Malik eyed the tiny light for a moment longer before deciding that it wasn't worth the hassle trying to contact the guys down at base camp to shut down the live feed. He didn't like the idea of their rescue attempt being fodder for some ridiculous daredevil show, especially not if things didn't go well, but there was little he could do about it.

The next to arrive was Rebecca, her bright yellow coat easily standing out from the stark white and grey of the mountain; she looked ready to go, though she held what looked like a couple of climbing harnesses and a length of rope in her hands.

"He said it's broken below the knee, right?" she asked as she joined the pair, strapping the harness around a loop in the rope and pulling it tight. Malik nodded.

"Yes. You have an idea?" he replied, more than willing to hear out any suggestions. Anything to better their chances of getting there and back again with the other two guides in tow.

"I've rigged these up to kind of…act as a two person sling, I guess," Rebecca said, not even pausing at the befuddled look she got from both men. "This part will strap around his leg, one loop just above the kneecap and the other below. These ropes will be tied to the lower loop, and then tied across whoever is helping to support him."

The confusion cleared from Malik's face. "So it will hold his broken leg well off the ground, and the weight will be mostly supported by whoever the rope is tied to."

"Right," Rebecca said, grinning behind her mask and goggles. "It'll be painful, but it'll keep any weight off his leg below the knee. You guys'll need to switch off on the rope, and transferring it from person to person will be tricky, but…it's the best I could come up with on short notice."

"No, it's great. Anything helps, Becca," Desmond said, nodding at Ezio as he met the group, tugging his gloves on.

"I'm just glad you guys stowed extra oxygen at the Balcony, too. Our one tank wouldn't have cut it for both of them for this long," Rebecca said, and the three men just stared at her for a few long, awkward moments.

"My team didn't have any oxygen stowed along the path this year," Desmond said, and Ezio nodded in agreement.

"My team didn't either. Our Sherpas carried the extras."

Rebecca's smile was quickly fading. She looked to Malik with wide eyes that were quickly becoming panicked. "Malik…please tell me you guys had oxygen at the Balcony," she said, and Malik slowly shook his head- they had some extra with their Sherpas, but not on the path.

"Oh my God. Oh my God, he didn't," Rebecca babbled, reaching up to grip her head in both hands, and Ezio grabbed onto her shoulder to steady her.

"You're sure you only had one tank stowed there?"

She nodded. "I grabbed one of the two we had there, one of my climbers needed it on the way down. I told Shaun I was taking it, he knew. He knew. Oh my God."

"So he's just got the tank he summited on? That's all?" Desmond asked, the tension in his shoulders obvious even through thick layers. "How long?"

"He would have had…maybe four hours left on it, if that. That asshole knows he's going to run out of oxygen getting a fresh tank up to Altaïr. He knew the whole time and he didn't say anything."

Malik's heart was somewhere in his feet. Shaun knew that if he told them there was one tank of oxygen, they would all insist he come back down- and without that oxygen, Altaïr had no chance of making it until rescue arrived. He'd deliberately acted as if he had enough for both of them, when in fact by the time they got there, Shaun would have been without oxygen for hours.

People had survived in the death zone without supplemental oxygen before, sure. Even during intense storms, and after summiting. But those were mostly people who had climbed without oxygen many times before.

Shaun never had. He'd always used oxygen, always been safety conscious.

"I'm going to kill him. I swear, I'm going to kill him," Desmond was saying, lifting his radio to probably chew Shaun out for the self-sacrificing idiocy, but Malik clamped a hand down over Desmond's before he could cue up his radio. Desmond shot him a glare. "What?"

"Altaïr can't know," Malik said, making a split second decision- one that may or may not cost a life. "Shaun is on his way there, and we all know he won't turn back. If Altaïr figures out that Shaun is running on empty, he might refuse to take the extra oxygen. We can't afford to cause a conflict up there. We just…we need to trust that Shaun understands his own limits, and when he's passed them."

Nobody spoke at first. It was setting in that with this new complication, the chances of one or both of the stranded guides dying before getting down the mountain had gone up drastically. As if the odds weren't already bad enough.

They needed to start moving. Fast.

"Let's go. The sooner we get to them, the better chance they have," he said, taking the initiative to start heading toward the fixed ropes. One by one the rest of the rescue team followed, a heaviness settling over them that hadn't been there before.

It was difficult to be optimistic when they weren't entirely sure if this was a rescue operation or a body recovery.

But there are men for whom the unattainable has a special attraction. Usually they are not experts: their ambitions and fantasies are strong enough to brush aside the doubts which more cautious men might have. Determination and faith are their strongest weapons. At best such men are regarded as eccentric; at worst, mad. – Walt Unsworth

The snow was just beginning to fall thicker when a headlamp flickered in the distance and a shape trudged over the drop off that led to the South Summit. Altaïr lifted his head and blinked a few times, his head aching and his vision a little blurred as he focused on the figure, clad in a bright blue coat.

It felt like it had been days since he'd seen another person; the cold made everything seem sluggish, even time. His oxygen had run out probably a half hour ago, and everything took way too much effort; even moving his fingers took all his concentration. It didn't help that his fingers had gone stiff with the cold.

"Well, you look a right mess," Shaun said, his voice tired and rough, slightly muffled by his oxygen mask. He dropped to one knee in the snow next to Altaïr, already grabbing for one of the oxygen tanks strapped to his pack. "Let's get some oxygen in you, shall we?"

Altaïr didn't need to answer. He'd only been without oxygen for maybe thirty minutes, and he was already feeling it hard. It took far too much effort to just swing his empty tank to the front and struggle to disconnect it with slightly numb fingers as Shaun radioed in that he'd reached Altaïr's position and that he was still conscious and moving.

Shaun took over after watching him fumble with it, though he wasn't that much faster in getting the new tank hooked up; he was probably just as frozen as Altaïr by now. But it was worth the wait when the oxygen finally flooded his mask again, giving back some of that strength that had been sapped away.

"Thanks," Altaïr managed, taking in deep breaths as the headache began to ease just a bit. Shaun smiled behind his mask, then dropped to sit in the snow next to Altaïr, his back against the cliff.

"How's the leg?"

Altaïr snorted. "If it weren't a red flag for frostbite, I would be praying for it to go numb already."

"Bad break?"

"Heard the damn thing snap. Thought it was another piton breaking out of the wall."

"Damn," Shaun said, his eyebrows furrowing. "Guess you won't be climbing Annapurna next year after all."

Altaïr would have laughed, if he had the energy to spare. "You don't have to stay up here. You'd probably be better off getting a head start down to camp."

"You can barely hook up a new oxygen tank, no chance you'll be able to clear it if it gets iced up. Someone's got to keep you reasonably conscious," Shaun said, though Altaïr had the feeling it had more to do with the face that the other guide wasn't sure he would make it back down if he tried to go alone, storm or no storm.

It was no surprise. Shaun had basically summited twice today. He was going to burn through every single reserve he had.

"Why?" Altaïr suddenly blurted out, shifting to look at the man sitting next to him. Shaun gave him a confused look.

"Why what?"

"Why come all the way back here, risk your life, to help me? You don't even like me."

Altaïr immediately felt bad for saying it like that- evidently elevation also caused foot in mouth disease- but Shaun just chuckled.

"I'm not a complete asshole, you know. I wouldn't want my worst enemy to die alone on this mountain. And certainly not someone who'd gotten himself stranded saving someone else from adding to the body collection up here," he pointed out, curling up a bit tighter against the rocks as the wind began to drastically pick up. The storm was blowing in quick now; it wouldn't be long before a complete white out, and Malik and the others were still hours away.

"Couldn't save Robert," Altaïr muttered, the wind stinging at the few spots of exposed skin on his face. "But he may have been too far gone already. He was delirious."

"He was an arse. Shouldn't have been on this mountain in the first place," Shaun pointed out, already sounding out of breath despite the oxygen mask. "Summiting Everest without oxygen on a first attempt, having never climbed an eight-thousander without oxygen before? He was walking straight into his grave in the first place."

Altaïr didn't agree out loud; he didn't need to. Everyone at base camp had been thinking the same thing, and at least one guide had tried to convince Robert to at least carry oxygen with him in case he got into trouble.

Pride cometh before a fall, and all that. Literally, in this case.

Altaïr's head felt clearer now than it had when he'd been starved of oxygen, but he could tell the altitude was still wearing down on him. He felt like every cell in his body was exhausted, running on empty, and the pain was almost distant now if he didn't move his leg for long enough. Shaun was quieter and less…well, abrasive than usual, so he seemed to be in the same boat; they'd both been climbing all night and day, Shaun for a couple hours more than Altaïr.

"How long will these tanks last us?" he asked, and Shaun took a beat longer than usual to answer the question.

"About six hours?" he said, sounding uncertain, almost timid. "At least till they get here and part of the way down. Depends on how slow going it is in the storm, I suppose."

It wasn't an ideal situation. Under normal circumstances, it would take a few hours to get down from the summit- but with the storm coming, that estimate could be doubled, or worse.

Altaïr wasn't sure he had the strength for hours of struggling along on one leg, let alone with no oxygen.

"I would say we should s-stay awake with a rousing game of I Spy, but I imagine there are only so many ways to describe 'way too fucking much snow'," Shaun pointed out with a halfhearted laugh, and Altaïr smirked.

"So tell me how a PhD student in England gets started in climbing mountains," he said, well aware that they both needed to stay awake. If telling stories and quizzing each other would help, then they may as well.

"My dad," Shaun said, stopping for a few moments to catch his breath. "A complete tosser, that one. Told me a history degree was garbage and I wouldn't do one damn thing in my life that was meaningful. Two years later I called him from the summit of Everest and told him where he could shove his unwanted opinions."

Altaïr laughed, barely. "Guess that's one way to p-prove him wrong."

Shaun turned his head just slightly to look at Altaïr. "What about you? Malik said you'd have been on Everest at eight if you could've reached the p-pedals of an auto."

"Sounds about right. Been climbing anything I could get a good grip on since before I can remember," Altaïr said, his expression sobering a little. "Mom always told me I'd die on one of these mountains."

"Hey now, none of that. I didn't drag my arse back up here just to sit and watch you wimp out and freeze. Malik will kick your arse if you die. And then he'll kick mine."

"I don't doubt it."

The wind kicked up another notch, and Altaïr winced and tried to curl up a bit more- but that only resulted in a violent stab of pain up his leg, leaving him gasping into his oxygen mask. He felt Shaun's hand on his shoulder, telling him to calm down and breathe, and he fought to do just that; hyperventilating from the pain wouldn't do any good.

He settled back against the rocks with a low moan as the pain went from blinding to just this edge of unbearable, his mouth too dry as he swallowed hard.

He couldn't do this. There was no way.

The wind is the appalling enemy. It is mind-destroying, physically-destroying, soul-destroying... — Chris Bonnington

The storm swept in like the front edge of a hurricane. In minutes they went from a stiff wind and decent visibility to nearly tornado force winds, visibility of a few feet at best, and a drop in temperature that made the chill bite right through the thick coats they wore.

It was all Malik could do to keep his right arm wrapped over the fixed rope and his feet moving one in front of the other. His hand and both feet ached with the cold, and every step sapped his strength right down to the core. The others couldn't have been much better; after all, Malik hadn't climbed today, and the others all had.

It felt like they'd been climbing half a day, when it had actually been a few hours, at best. They had passed Kadar and the other two members of Altaïr's team a while ago, stumbling along, supported by their Sherpas; they would reach camp four just fine, and Kadar was physically alright, but distraught. Malik wished he had more time to comfort him, but time was a luxury they did not have.

It had been long enough now that Malik turned around, stopping Desmond short right behind him, and made a pointed look at his radio. Malik couldn't radio Altaïr and Shaun without taking his hand off the ropes, and he wasn't about to do that in these conditions. Luckily, Desmond quickly understood what he wanted, and Malik turned to continue slowly climbing. They couldn't afford any stops; Desmond would have to keep moving while he talked.

"Desmond to stranded eagle, come in," Malik heard behind him, and he huffed out a chuckle. Altaïr probably hated that nickname already.

There was a long enough pause that Malik started to worry, but then the radio crackled to life. "Stranded eagle would like y-you to know that he's going to reroute your testicles into your arse via a swift kick if you keep c-calling him that, over," a familiar British voice said. Shaun sounded shaky and tired, but he was still talking in full sentences, so there was that.

Then again, if Rebecca was right, his oxygen supply was in immediate danger of running out. He wouldn't be this coherent for long, if that was the case.

"Just looking for a status update, over," Desmond said, and Malik could hear the smile in his tone.

"Well, we're both still alive. Wind is a bitch, and I t-think if it gets any colder I'll have frostbite on my kidneys, but we're both alright for the m-moment."

For the moment, Malik thought bitterly.

"We're still a long way out. Not sure how long, got about as much visibility as a mud puddle," Desmond replied. "But we're moving steady and headed your way. Keep each other awake, we'll be there before you know it, alright? Over."

"No naps and play n-nice with the other kids, got it," Shaun replied, his voice seeming weaker already. He obviously wasn't bothering with the radio etiquette, and no one was going to call him out on it, either.

"If it's any encouragement, fourteen different countries have sent along their well wishes, over," Lucy suddenly said, and Malik frowned, feeling the ice shift on his eyebrows as he did.

"Um, say again, over?" Desmond said, voicing all their confusion.

"Your TV crew down here is feeding live updates and clips to all the major news networks they can reach by satellite. You guys have millions of people invested in this now," Lucy explained, and Malik remembered the camera on Desmond's headgear. "The impossible rescue on Everest is front page news on every news site I can pull up here, over."

"No pressure or anything," Rebecca's muffled voice called out from farther down the rope.

"Less well wishes, more arranging rescue choppers to get ready to meet us at camp two. At least one of us will need to get to the hospital in Kathmandu ASAP, over," Desmond said into his radio, for once having a smart idea for his reality show stint.

"Already on it. I've been on the phone with three different embassies and the highest government officials I can reach. Pulling more strings than a puppet show down here. And Leonardo is trekking up to camp two as we speak so he can triage the moment you arrive, over," Lucy explained.

"Be careful, my love. This is not climbing weather even below 8000 meters, over," Ezio piped up.

"I will be fine. You concentrate on getting your team back down here in one piece, si?" Leonardo replied, sounding more optimistic and energetic than anyone else on the channel, as usual.

The radio fell silent once again. They needed to conserve their strength, try to breathe steady, because they still had a long way to go; there had already been difficult moments on steep rocks when Malik had to use his awkward technique with a Jumar to ascend. Luckily, he hadn't ever stopped climbing all these years; sure, he hadn't exactly been following Altaïr up any death zone summits, or up any summits for that matter, but he had become quite competent in creative one-armed climbing over the years.

He hadn't thought about it until now, until this moment. All these years his fear had held him back from the highest of climbs, telling him that he couldn't afford to lose more than he already had- and all along, Altaïr had likely believed that Malik had lost all trust in him as a climbing partner. After all, Altaïr knew Malik could climb and climb well, despite his handicap, and Malik never admitted his fear to anyone.

It must have been eating away at Altaïr, all these years, feeding that guilt that Malik wanted to break him of. And throwing a fit about Kadar choosing to climb on Altaïr's team probably cemented that in his friend's mind- that Malik didn't trust him, not with himself, and not with his little brother, either.

There was no one Malik would trust more with Kadar's life on this mountain, and the reason was obvious by now.

The thought drove him onward with new determination, pressing himself against the driving wind and the paralyzing cold; he would get Altaïr and Shaun off that summit, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

And it may well be- for all of them.

Everest for me, and I believe for the world, is the physical and symbolic manifestation of overcoming odds to achieve a dream. — Tom Whittaker

Shaun was well aware he was completely and utterly fucked.

His oxygen had run out not long after their last radio conversation with Desmond. Not that Altaïr knew; no, Altaïr was a bit out of it, not enough to be worrisome yet, but enough that he hadn't noticed the gradual deterioration in Shaun's condition. Shaun planned to keep it that way as long as possible. With a broken leg, Altaïr needed the oxygen so much more than he did.

Shaun knew what it felt like to suddenly be trying to drag oxygen out of air that contained only a third of what it normally would. Of course, every other time, that feeling had been the cue to hook up a fresh tank of oxygen.

This time he would be going without, and there was no telling how long he would last, really. Altitude was funny like that; you never knew who would be struck down. An Olympian might drop dead in an hour, whilst a casual hiker may be able to tolerate nearly two days of limited oxygen.

Shaun could only hope he was one of the lucky ones.

"First ascent of Aconcagua," Altaïr said, his voice hard to hear over the wind, and cracking with strain. They'd been doing everything they could to stay awake and aware in the bitter cold and the painful wind, and it had come down to quizzing each other now.

Shaun tried to think, at the same time trying to move his fingers and toes; without oxygen, the cold set in much quicker, and numbness was already trying to take hold. Aconcagua…that was South America. Right? His mind felt foggy, like even his thoughts were slogging through ice water. South America. Aconcagua.

"Shaun?" Altaïr said, looking in his direction, and Shaun realized he was going to give himself away if he didn't focus and keep up. It would help if he didn't have this nagging headache.

"W-What was the question…?"

"Aconcagua. First ascent," Altaïr said. "You don't sound good. Are you alright?"

"M'fine," Shaun insisted, a little too quickly. Aconcagua, one of the seven summits. He had to concentrate here. "Walter Harper?"

Altaïr sat up a little straighter. "…That's Denali."

"Oh. Right. You were asking about…Annapurna?"

Altaïr didn't answer. Instead, he fumbled for his radio, and Shaun gave him a frown. "What are you…?"

Altaïr ignored him to cue up the radio. "Altaïr to rescue team and b-base camp, over."

If he had been clearer of mind, Shaun may have realized immediately why Altaïr was calling the others. As it was, he blinked slowly and wondered what brought about the sudden change in his companion. There was a long pause before the radio came through again.

"This is Desmond, we hear you. Everything okay up there?"

"This is Lucy, we hear you at base, over."

Altaïr's eyes were fixed on Shaun through his dark goggles as he spoke again. "Something's wrong with Shaun. He seems…disoriented, over."

"Disoriented my arse. I'm fine," Shaun insisted, without much force behind the words. There was a long enough pause on the radio, though, to deepen Altaïr's frown even more.

"Altaïr, this is Malik. I need you to do exactly as I say and do not get angry, over," Malik's strained voice finally said, and Altaïr's glove tightened around the radio.

"I have the feeling I'm going t-to be angry anyway, but go ahead, over."

"Ask Shaun how long ago his oxygen ran out, over."

Shaun swallowed hard as Altaïr's furious gaze locked on him again. Well, shit.

"Shaun," he said slowly, obviously trying to take Malik's advice and somewhat failing. "How long have you not had oxygen?"

The game was up, it seemed. Shaun tried to shrug, but the message didn't seem to get from his brain to his shoulders. "Couple hours, I suppose."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Altaïr snapped, and Shaun winced. "You came back up here without enough oxygen to g-get yourself down? Are you suicidal?"

"Altaïr, you'd better not be shoving him off that cliff, over," Malik said, his tone only half joking. Altaïr stared at Shaun for a bit longer before squeezing the button on the radio.

"I am very, v-very close to it. You guys knew about this?"

"We figured it out too late to call this off. You needed the oxygen more than he did at that point, and we were hoping to make it to you before he really started to struggle."

Shaun fixed his gaze on the building snow at his feet, and Altaïr took a deep breath before replying. "How long till you get here? I d-don't have any Dex on me. I can share my oxygen with him for a while, but it'll run out quicker that way," he said, fear creeping back into his voice.

"If we keep up this pace, probably an hour and a half. We have Dex and extra oxygen tanks. If you can keep him awake until we get there, we can get him moving quick, over."

"Altaïr, this is Leo, come in."

"I hear you, over," Altaïr said, already fumbling with the straps on his mask, ignoring Shaun's weak protests.

"You can go ahead and share some oxygen with him now to give him a boost, but I must insist you continue to wear the mask until your rescue arrives. You are already at a severe disadvantage on the climb down without the use of one leg; if you lose any mental faculties at all, it will be impossible to bring you down the mountain," Leonardo explained as Altaïr yanked Shaun's own mask down and out of the way, pretty much shoving his own into its place instead. The cold felt like it immediately froze the bare skin on his face, but he held the mask firmly in place over Shaun's nose and mouth.

"So you're saying you want me to let him die," he said, his throat and chest feeling tight.

"No. I am saying that he still has a chance of making it down the mountain, even with a few moderate symptoms of altitude sickness. Even the slightest symptoms will ruin your chances entirely," Leonardo said, and for once, his words sounded dead serious. "Consider this long distance triage. As a doctor, I am telling you that your best chance of both of you getting down that summit is for you to give him a bit of oxygen now, and then continuing as you were before. He is a strong climber, he will make it until the rescue arrives."

It was obviously opinion and not fact, and it was hard to accept the decision when Altaïr saw how Shaun's eyes began to clear and focus again after only a minute of breathing in the supplemental air. But Leonardo had never put them in danger before; he wouldn't be asking Altaïr to do this unless he truly felt it was the best option available.

"…Alright. I've got the mask on him, I'll give him a couple more minutes and then take it back," he agreed with blatant reluctance.

"We're almost there, Altaïr. Hang in there," Desmond said, the wind nearly overpowering his voice even over the radio speaker. Altaïr clipped his radio back onto his jacket, focusing on keeping the oxygen mask on Shaun without moving too much. Jarring his leg at all was torture.

"What the h-hell were you thinking?" he asked once Shaun actually looked coherent again. "Do you have a death wish?"

"If I d-didn't…you wouldn't have had a snowball's chance in hell," Shaun pointed out, his words just the slightest bit slurred. "I couldn't walk away when…when I knew I could do s-something. Desmond, he…he would have been crushed, if he lost you."

Altaïr blinked in surprise; Shaun was in no condition to lie, and really, Altaïr wouldn't have been surprised with an answer like 'you dying up here would make all of us guides look bad' or 'it's my job to try and save people up here'. But this selfless leap of faith, both for Altaïr and for Desmond, coming from Shaun, of all people…it brought him up short. He didn't even know what he could say that would be sufficient to cover exactly how he felt at this moment.

Then, it hit him harder than the wind in his face.

"Jesus. You're in love with h-him," he blurted out, and Shaun tensed and looked away, as best he could with Altaïr's hand still holding the mask firmly against his face.

"Y-You know, while I'm dying on a goddamn mountain, the last thing I want to do is dwell on the misery of unrequited feelings," he said, probably aiming for an angry tone, but it came out more…defeated.

Altaïr was starting to feel lightheaded. He remembered Leonardo's words, and though his mind was screaming at him to keep the oxygen on Shaun, he had promised he would do as asked. He reluctantly moved the mask back to his own nose and mouth, securing it in place. Shaun fumbled to do the same with his own mask, his hands shaking; even with no oxygen flowing, it was still a measure of

protection against frostbite in the relentless wind chill.

"For the record," Altaïr said slowly, leaning back against the rock wall again. "Desmond would be just as upset if he lost you. Probably worse."

Shaun didn't look as if he believed a word of it. He leaned back next to Altaïr, closing his eyes for a few moments before forcing them open again. "M-Matthias Zurbriggen."

"What?"

"First ascent of Aconcagua," Shaun elaborated, and Altaïr didn't have the mental strength to fight the obvious change of subject. They fell into the quizzing again, tossing questions about ascents and elevation back and forth.

The answers seemed to take longer and longer each time.