Disclaimer: Xena, Gabrielle and any other characters featured in the actual TV series are copyrighted to MCA/Universal and Renaissance Pictures while the rest of the story and other characters are my own.

**********

It’s funny how it is when you survive a near-death experience. People either won’t leave you alone - buzzing around you, tapping on you for good luck, telling you how scared they would have been – or else they won’t go anywhere near you. They figure that if the grim reaper comes back, searching for the one who narrowly evaded him last time, they don’t want to be anywhere near you. It reminded Allison Peabody of why her boss back at Johnson-Kitteridge-Johnson told her he feared air travel.

"It’s not that I think I’m gonna die, Allie. But what about the guy sitting in the seat next to me? What if it’s time for his number to come up? What the hell do I do - move to another part of the god-damned plane?"

Well, for what little difference it made in the end, Mike and Patsy Donaldson had moved to the back of the plane, as far away from the young stockbroker as they could get. Allison didn’t blame them, really. They had their own problems to worry about.

Lou Silvers, however, had been his usual caring, concerned self, and Jim Harris was nothing if not the consummate expedition leader; he’d stood just a shout away from Sandra Ortiz outside the medical tent while the physician checked her out. But she hadn’t seen Pemba at all once they’d threaded their way back through the Icefall, and the usually sociable Kevin MacBride and Phil Christy had kept their distance, too.

"Jesus, Allison," Kevin had said inside the dining tent, "what a freakin’ sound! I’ll never forget it. And the Icefall – it was like it was exploding down on you. We thought you were a goner, for sure!" He’d grabbed a bottle of water and ambled back to his own tent, a curious, wondrous look on his face. That was yesterday, and she hadn’t seen him or Phil since.

Good.

Let them avoid her. It was probably better anyway, given the way her head ached, her back was still sore, and – geez what an old woman she was! Sandy had given her a shot of an anti-inflammatory, and admonished her to take it easy for the next day or two. It was all the physical stress she’d experienced at altitude that was causing her the problem, or so she’d been told. Here on the mountain it hit you harder, you felt it more, and it took longer to recover.

That was all well and good. As long as she was ready to head up to Camp II in a couple of days. And she would be, she swore to herself. Although yesterday… she might not have been so sure of it. She barely remembered the post-avalanche climb out of the Icefall, short-roped behind Pemba for added safety.

She was aware, however, that Ricky had stayed behind to help bring the injured Sherpa down. He would be okay, she’d heard later, and she knew that outcome was thanks only to the swift actions of Ricky Bouchard. It turned out the Sherpa was a support climber for the Spanish Millennium climbing team, and its leader had made his way to the Peak Performance camp last night. In halting, stilted English, he’d expressed his gratitude to them all, his bloodshot eyes moist with tears.

Today, the sun shone brightly in the sky above Base Camp, and Allison welcomed the warmth of it through her fleece jacket. She carefully made her way back to her tent, after having spared Dr. Ortiz the effort of having to make a ‘house call’ to check up on her. Her mind-numbing headache had receded somewhat, but her back and legs still complained of the thrashing they had recently been subjected to.

She was lucky, they all were.

Allison sighed, remembering. Despite how close it had been, they’d all survived. Well, there was that.

And while she might have disagreed with Ricky’s initial approach to helping the felled Sherpa, there had been no doubt in her mind that she and Ricky would help him, if they could. Allison had been called ‘selfish’ in her day, and upon past reflection she was sure that there were times when the charge had been an accurate one. Times she’d been too busy, too distracted to worry herself over the problems of others. However, if someone’s life were in danger… she liked to think that no matter what the circumstances were, no matter the time or place, she would do what she could to help.

Rendering aid when needed.

That was not always the way of it, Allison knew, whether in the world she’d left behind, or here, in the shadow of Mount Everest. The best of intentions, the strongest tenets of character, these things had a way of breaking down, of eroding away, the longer one spent in Everest’s ‘death zone.’

Where you got so tired, and so weak, that it was all you could do to be responsible for your own survival; to get yourself down the mountain alive.

Where it didn’t matter about the quality of your ‘team,’ the preparedness of your plan, or the amount of money you had in your bank account. When you got over 25,000 feet, you were on your own. And it was then you felt the stinging coldness of being alone, and struggled to control the fear that held your hand and dogged your steps.

She’d heard the horror stories.

Of climbers so focused on bagging the summit that they blithely passed by their fellow climbers, collapsed in the snow. And left them behind on the descent, as well. Of the woman who took two nights to die on the North side, again, while passing climbers could do little to help her. And of her distraught husband who, upon hearing she was impossibly alive after that first sub-zero night, took off alone to find her, never to be seen again. Or of the expedition leader, stranded high on Everest, out of O’s and out of luck. He had no power left to move, and the spent climbers below could not return to bring him down.

But his radio had power.

And as the dead of night descended on Everest, as the heat and the life slowly, painfully leached from his body, he was able to speak to his pregnant wife a world away, and tell her he loved her.

To let someone die? Or to attempt to save them, and maybe lose your own life in the process? She prayed to God she would never have to make that choice.

Although in a way, yesterday she already had, right? Maybe that’s how it happened. You didn’t think it through, not really. You just threw yourself into a situation out of instinct or fear, and suddenly, there you were. Sliding on your ass towards a bottomless crevasse because a stupid anchor wouldn’t hold in brittle ice.

And that would have been it.

Her life. Ricky’s. The Sherpa’s. Snuffed out not with the roar of an avalanche, but the whimper of a failed belay. For all her other risk-seeking activities, her ‘extreme’ vacationing, this was as close as she’d ever come. And it was not at all what she’d expected. She never could have guessed, anticipated the anger that she’d felt at thinking she might die. How she’d summarily rejected what was happening. And the conviction she’d held, the insistence that no matter what, failure was not an option.

Surely, that kind of danger was something Ricky Bouchard had come in contact with many times during her career as one of the world’s top alpinists. Dealing with it was simply part of what Ricky was trained to do. She’d been there, done that. This time was no different, save for the fact that the mountaineer had had a bit of help.

Ricky….

The tall woman was another one who Allison hadn’t seen much of over the past day. Although, unlike some of the others, she didn’t get the sense that she was avoiding her.

"Take it easy, get some rest," Ricky had told her when she’d seen her on her way for some hot tea yesterday, and that was that.

They hadn’t really had an opportunity to talk about what had happened up there. Allison was ready to move on, to put the fear behind her. She knew she had to do that, or else she would have no chance of moving higher on the mountain. It wasn’t that. Rather… just what the hell had Ricky Bouchard been thinking, anyway? Had she gotten angry, stubborn, too? Or else… for a moment up there, when she’d thought that Ricky seemed likely to cast herself over the side of the crevasse on her own, it was as though… as though she just hadn’t cared whether she made it or not.

Allison found her booted feet suddenly turning, taking her in the direction of Ricky’s small yellow tent at the edge of the encampment. What was going on inside that dark head of the mountaineer’s? Seeing no other volunteers for the job, Allison Peabody decided that it was up to her to find out.

**********

"Hello, Ricky?"

Ricky Bouchard put down the book she was reading, and glanced towards the vestibule of her tent. She had heard the approaching footsteps on the scree, and half-heartedly hoped they would pass her by. She was off the clock, and it was a ‘down’ day.

For most of the climbers at BC in-between forays up the mountain, the days were spent eating, sleeping, and resting; conserving their energy for the next push. Some climbers passed the time playing cards, reading, or in small talk with the other expedition members. As a guide, Ricky had duties of a more professional nature, and that was fine with her. She always was one who liked to keep herself busy, active. But even she knew that it was important to get the proper amount of rest on Everest, or else when you were working high and needed to call upon your deepest reserves of energy, you might find out your gas tank was empty. And that meant nothing but trouble. Both for herself, and the clients she was responsible for.

Still, her private time was her own, and there was precious little of that, as it was. Dammit, she hated to be disturbed! She’d set up her tent on the periphery of the compound for that very reason.

"Ricky?"

At least… she should be bothered right now at the intrusion. And normally, she would have. Except….

"Are you in there?"

Unbidden, her mind flashed back to the sight yesterday that had nearly shattered her composure to pieces. Not to mention, strangely, what it had done to her heart. The crack! and the rumbling roar of the avalanche. A terrible sound that she knew all too well, for it had continued to resonate in her soul ever since Jean-Pierre had been killed. A thrumming, tortuous melody that had nightly haunted her dreams.

The stricken look on Allison’s face as she’d turned uphill and started to fall, as powerless to do anything against the white wave that threatened to sweep her away, as Ricky was to save her. As helpless as she’d been to save Jean-Pierre.

And then, the wave had passed. Hit a natural ice wall just above the young blonde, and pitched over her, taking her for a bit of a tumble, but leaving her none the worse for the wear. Ricky had been frantic as she’d clambered back over the unstable Icefall, foolishly crossing an untested ice bridge, desperate to get to Allison’s side. It had seemed like hours had passed until a powder blue arm lifted, and she’d heard a shaky voice insisting she was fine.

Relief had flooded through Ricky then, but it was short-lived. The real danger had been only just beginning, for the both of them.

The mountaineer cleared her throat. "Right here." She snapped the book shut, and crawled out of her tent.

"Sorry – am I disturbing you?"

"Not if you’ve got some tea." Ricky’s blue eyes twinkled as she gazed up at the stockbroker.

"Gosh, no." Allison blushed. "But we… I could go get some if—"

"Take it easy." Ricky hoisted herself to her feet. "It was a joke."

Allison shifted nervously from one foot to the other. "Oh." Her face turned a deeper shade of crimson. "I get it. It’s because all the other times—" Allison blanched as the mountaineer stood to face her. "Jesus, Ricky!" She lifted a hand out towards her face. "You’ve got a black eye!"

Sure enough, there was a deep purpling and bruising around the taller woman’s left eye.

"It’s nothing." Suddenly self-conscious, Ricky flinched her head away, avoiding Allison’s touch. "It must have happened yesterday, when I was trying to secure the Sherpa onto the line. He was out of it. He didn’t know what he was doing, or that I was trying to help him, and he hauled off and gave me a good elbow right there."

"He’s lucky you didn’t lose him off the ledge!" Allison said, chagrined.

"Didn’t lose him," Ricky said simply, toeing at the rocky ground. "But I almost lost me. I completely lost my hold on the wall."

"I felt it," Allison whispered, remembering the awful wrenching on the line. It was then that the anchor had given way.

"So… shouldn’t you be resting?"

"You’re one to talk," Allison responded. "I’ve had enough of that. Thought I’d take a walk. Doctor’s orders." Well, it was true. Sort of. Sandy Ortiz had told her to listen to her body. And right now, her body was telling her that she wanted to spend some time with Ricky Bouchard. "Want to come?"

"Ah… yeah, why not." Ricky slid on her sunglasses. "I suppose I could keep an eye on you."

Feeling satisfied at her small victory, Allison led the way across the glacial scree towards a set of gunmetal gray boulders. It was another unbelievably clear day on the mountain, one she wished they could have saved for those days to come when the fortunes of weather turned, as they were bound to do.

The sun heated the rocks, and when they arrived they both took off their jackets and sat down, reveling in the warming rays. A view of Everest dominated the skyline, and their eyes were drawn to it, powerless to avoid its lure.

"I hear a couple of the teams are heading up the Icefall tomorrow," Ricky said, "gunning for Camp II. They want to get ahead of the other teams, in terms of acclimatization."

"Is that a good thing or bad?" Allison gazed at the mountaineer’s profile, so sharply defined against the white backdrop of Pumori.

Ricky chuckled. "A good thing, if they want to break trail and fix ropes for everybody else. And a bad thing," she continued, "for the same reason."

There was silence for a time, and they watched a small flock of birds in the distance, picking away at a scattering of garbage.

And then, "Ricky, I—"

"Allison—"

The two women laughed nervously.

"Me first," Allison insisted. "I’ve been asking myself, trying to figure out… what were you trying to do yesterday?"

"What do you mean?" The mountaineer’s posture stiffened.

"You know what I mean, Ricky. Trying to go into that crevasse like you were. It was suicide!"

"You’ve got it all wrong," Ricky replied, trying to keep the anger from her voice. Dammit, how did she manage to get herself into these conversations, anyway – and with Allison Peabody, in particular? It was one of the reasons why she loved mountain climbing so: the mountains didn’t talk back.

"There was no time. I weighed the odds. I was willing to take the risk. And," she faced Allison, "you’re a client. It wasn’t your risk to take… like you did."

"I think I’m big enough to make those sorts of decisions for myself," Allison defiantly thrust out her chin, displaying the same stubbornness that had caught Ricky by surprise up in the Icefall. "Don’t you?"

Ricky’s mouth tensed, and she turned her attention back to the shrieking birds. What was she supposed to say? There was no way she would ever tolerate someone risking their life on her account.

Ever.

The only reason she had at last given in, was the nightmare thought of Allison following her into the crevasse if she refused her help. And she’d had no doubt that the younger woman would have done just that. With precious time bleeding away, Ricky had finally decided that Allison’s chances were better above the fissure rather than inside of it. And so she’d relented.

"Well, don’t you?"

Obviously, the woman by her side expected some sort of answer.

"I guess it’s too late to say ‘no,’ huh?" Ricky expelled a sharp burst of air. "Considering you did make the decision for yourself yesterday, after all."

"Lucky for you I did," Allison sniffed, folding her arms.

"Yeah, I…" the mountaineer ran a hand through her ebony hair, "I did want to say—"

"Yeeess?"

"I—" Keep it simple, Veronique. Keep it simple! "Thanks," she blurted out. "Thanks. That’s all."

Allison cocked her head. Well. "You’re very welcome. Glad I could help."

"I--" Ricky’s brow furrowed as she struggled with the words. "I saw how the anchor came out. I know I felt it when it gave way." She hesitated. "How – how did you hang on—?"

"I don’t know how," Allison answered slowly, softly. "I really don’t. All I remember thinking was that it was something I had to do. That there were no other choices but that… one thing."

"Another client might have just let go… saved themselves," Ricky heard herself saying, and it was true. Who was she, and the Sherpa too, for that matter, to Allison? Or to anyone else on the expedition? She was an employee, a guide – nothing more. Ricky had been stunned when she’d at last hoisted herself out of the crevasse, to find Allison collapsed near the lip, completely spent. Her sweeping gaze had quickly taken in the younger woman’s position closer to the edge, the trail behind her in the snow, and the blown ice anchor.

"I don’t know about that," Allison lowered her head, embarrassed.

"I do."

Wordlessly, they both lifted their eyes once again towards Everest, towards the great shark fin of its peak jutting out of an icy sea.

Silent.

Elusive.

Sitting there, Ricky somehow found herself so close to Allison that her that her arm was brushing up against the smaller woman’s, and the mountaineer was surprised to find herself growing uncomfortably warm. And yet, she had no desire to move away, to end the moment. It was the sun at this altitude, that was all.

How brightly it burned in the thin air.

How intense.

**********

"Jim, howza ‘bout another candy bar?" Paul Andersen flexed his hands like a wide receiver awaiting a pass from his quarterback.

"Can do." Jim Harris swiveled around to the table behind him laden with all sorts of high-calorie goodies, grabbed a Three Musketeers, and completed a throw to the young guide.

"Thanks, buddy."

Ricky Bouchard watched in amazement as the tall, lanky mountaineer tore into the candy bar. He peeled back the silver foil wrapper, and closed his eyes as he bit down into the rich chocolate. It was the third one he’d had since they’d gathered in the dining tent along with Sandra Ortiz and Jangbu Nuru, to plan for the next day’s acclimatization climb.

No one on this expedition would starve to death, Ricky wryly considered. One thing had become readily apparent to her in the few weeks she’d been associated with the Peak Performance Adventure Company, and that was that their food was in ‘peak’ condition, too.

Ricky was used to losing weight on every high altitude expedition she’d ever been on; it was the body’s natural response to working high and hard on reduced oxygen. It was a struggle to keep the pounds from melting off of you, particularly when the shoestring teams she’d been on before had opted to pour their financial resources into permits and gear, rather than on good grub. She’d gotten used to eating the bland, over-salted freeze-dried food from Eastern Europe, and the surplus Russian army rations that tasted as though they’d been around since the fall of Leningrad.

But here, with the Peak Performance people, she’d never had it so good. With full American-style breakfasts, fresh bread and green vegetables – green! – brought in daily via yak trains. And lunches and dinners to rival the best restaurant fare she’d ever had, not to mention the abundance of high carb snacks and drinks available 24 hours a day. She might just end up gaining weight on this trip, after all. That was, if Paul Andersen managed to leave some for everyone else. The young man had to have a hollow leg.

"Our clients will be here in a little bit," Jim said, pushing up the sleeves of his dark brown sweater to reveal a pair of well-muscled forearms. "But for now, I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page, tomorrow." He paused, swinging his gaze around the table. "Gonna be a big day."

"How does the weather look?" Ricky asked. She trusted the weather forecasts as far as she could throw them. Instead, she preferred her own assessment of the clouds and conditions she saw in front of her… relying on what her gut told her, rather than on the opinion of some shirt and tie sitting behind a desk in London. Still, she knew the clients would ask, and she thought they might prefer a more formal response rather than the opinion of her own digestive system.

"Pretty as a picture," Jim answered, "for the next few days, at least." He rubbed at his beard. "There’s a low pressure system forming to the west, but they think it’s liable to fall apart before it gets here. So it looks like we’ve got a clear window to get up and down."

"You never get six straight days of good weather on this mountain," Ricky commented. She knew that on this sortie they would be spending two nights at Camp I, above the Icefall, and then move up the Western Cwm for another three nights of acclimatization at Camp II. "If the weather does get stormy, I think it would be a good thing."

"Why do you say that?" Paul Andersen finished his candy bar and wrapped the foil into a ball. "Bad weather makes for cranky clients."

"Better to have them exposed to crappy weather at lower altitudes," the mountaineer explained. "Let them get a good feel for it. How to adapt to it and handle it. Because it’s sure as hell bound to be worse up high."

"Well, the weather says ‘go,’ our timetable says ‘go,’ so we’re going," Jim firmly stated. "And with the great weather we’ve been having," he eyed Ricky, "maybe it’ll hold through summit day, eh?"

"From your lips, to the Mountain Goddess’s ears!" Paul chuckled, tossing the wrapped foil into a nearby trash bucket.

"Yeah, well, it would seem that the British team got the same forecast," Sandra Ortiz said. The Base Camp manager and team physician had been spending her spare time in-between treating the aches and pains of the PPAC members, monitoring the local radio traffic. They’re already at Camp I. And I hear the International expedition is moving up tomorrow." Her brown eyes peered pointedly out of her wire framed glassed. "Early."

"Shit!" Jim Harris swore, and his cheeks flushed. "Just what we need. Those god-damned amateurs! I don’t want to be looking up their slowpoke butts from here to the summit! Those guys are dangerous – they don’t know what the hell they’re doing!" His eyes flashed. "We’re leaving at 4:45AM then. At the latest."

"They shouldn’t be allowed on the mountain," Paul Andersen added, frowning.

"Last time I checked, there wasn’t a lock and key on the Namche Trail," Ricky said, her eyes narrowing. "Like it or not, if you can pay for the permit, you can climb."

"But they’re idiots, Ricky," Paul protested. "You saw proof of that, the day you got here!"

Ricky knew the guide was referring to the Sherpa who’d suffered the attack of HAPE, and died. His downfall had been in pushing himself up the mountain, too high, too fast – more than likely at the demand of the International team’s leader. "I didn’t say I liked it," Ricky replied, her voice like ice. "I’m saying it’s not our right to deny someone else the chance, that’s all, as long as they stay out of our way. If they want to kill themselves, or maybe even make the summit, it’s their choice."

Since the dawn of time, since the beginnings of mankind’s self-awareness, Ricky knew that the spirit of wanderlust, of searching, of the desire to see what was just over the next rise until there was nowhere else to go, ran deep and true in many men and women. She knew a thing or two about it, herself.

Whether it was a Viking crew clambering into a longboat and fixing a westerly heading, or explorers like Lewis and Clark, Amundsen, or Hillary, these men were remembered by history, revered by it.

But there were others.

Nameless. Faceless. Forgotten.

Perhaps they’d been laughed at in their day, belittled for their dreams, their desires. Misfits, drawn to the challenge of the adventure like some sort of personal Holy Grail. A few were prepared; knew what they were up against. Others were equipped with little more than the boots on their feet and an aching yearning in their hearts, searching for that singular thing to call their own that they were hard-pressed to put a name to.

Perhaps they had simply wanted to belong.

Or not.

And perhaps they had found that purpose, that significance, somewhere within the fanciful journeys they had set themselves upon. Blazing the trail for those more ‘notable’ explorers to follow.

There probably wasn’t a climber among the International expedition that had ever scaled an 8000 meter peak, or worked at high altitude on oxygen. But to a man or woman among them, Ricky was sure that they had a dream. And as surely as she knew that nothing in this life was for certain, she knew that when your dreams died, you did, too. Perhaps the Internationals had no business being on the hill. Whether they did or not, they had to find that out on their own. Live by the consequence of their choices.

It had not escaped Ricky’s notice the look of dismay that had passed over Jangbu’s weathered face at the mention of the Internationals. It was quite likely that the wiry Sherpa had friends on the team, family even, simply trying to earn a living while staying alive in the process. They all had the right. It was up to each person what he or she did with it.

Choices.

Doctor Ortiz cleared her throat, sensing the tension in the air. "There’s a Japanese team also, that I hear is heading up sometime tomorrow. The point is, there’ll be quite a few teams on the mountain, Jim," she turned to the team leader. "We all knew that coming. We just have to deal with it as best we can. See if we can’t work with them."

"What time are the Japanese heading up?" Jim asked, calming down a fraction.

"I’m not sure."

"I can find out," Paul offered, grinning. "Do a little more of my Base Camp diplomacy."

"Good enough," Jim agreed, mollified. "Now," he riffled through a sheaf of papers and produced a checklist. "Tomorrow I want us to make sure everybody is wearing their radios. I know that didn’t happen on the first climb through the Icefall." He eyed the guides carefully.

Silence.

Ricky knew she had carried hers. Without it, she wouldn’t have been able to call for help after the avalanche. And when she’d checked out Lou and Allison before heading up, she’d confirmed they had theirs.

"They’re heavy, Jim." Paul Andersen blurted out. "The clients aren’t gonna like it. I know that’s why Mike and Patsy didn’t bring theirs."

"I don’t care. They’ve simply got to get used to it. If they can’t handle it down here, how will they manage higher up the mountain?"

"Okaaay," the younger man sighed. "But they’re not gonna be happy about it."

"If they’ve got a problem, have ‘em see me," Jim’s voice was insistent. "I’m not about to have any problems with this team because of a lack of communication."

Ricky remained silent. Although she hadn’t used radio communication much in the past, she agreed with Jim now that it was a very good idea for the Peak Performance clients. With an expedition as big as this, with members whose experience level varied so widely, she saw it as an absolute necessity in terms of avoiding problems. For example, an experienced, fully acclimatized climber could make it from Camp I to Camp II in the Cwm in under four hours. For a climber who was laboring, it might take twice that. Factor in variable weather conditions, equipment problems and the like, and it was apparent to her that for safety’s sake the guides had to know who was still out there, and where.

"Which leads me to my next point," the big man continued. "I’ll be the one to run sweep on this climb. Which means you’re off the hook, Ricky." He smiled faintly. "If there’s anyone who needs to be turned around, then I’ll be the one to do it."

"Uh… good idea," Paul said, gulping. "At 65K, I’d hate to have to be the one to tell these nice people to take their balls and go home."

Jim nodded, acknowledging the weight of the responsibility he bore. "Another thing." He paused. "Let’s give our people a free rein on this one. Don’t stick as close… we need to see what they can do. I know Kevin and Phil shouldn’t have a problem, but keep a relaxed eye on them, Paul, just in case."

"You mean I take a pass on the Donaldsons?"

"Something tells me they’ll be lagging," Jim responded, sighing. "So that means I’ll pick them up. "Ricky," he swung his dark brown eyes to the mountaineer. "You okay with continuing on with Lou and Allison?"

"Sure," she told him, her face a study of indifference. Climbing with Allison Peabody and Lou Silvers. There were worse things she could think of.

"What’s the word on Allison, anyway," Jim addressed the doctor. "That was some ride she took the other day. And how about Patsy Donaldson – is she really ready for this?" The doubt was plain in his voice.

"Well, without betraying doctor-patient confidentiality," Sandy Ortiz pushed her glasses higher up on her nose, "I can tell you that Allison is fine. She was a bit shaken up, but she’s one tough lady. She should be okay up there, all things considered."

"You agree with that?" Jim regarded Ricky intently. "You were there."

"I agree with Sandy," Ricky said, choosing her words carefully. "Allison’s not the most technical climber in the world, but as long as she’s feeling okay, she’s got a shot. Lou, too, for that matter," she continued. "He did okay up there, despite the problems he had acclimatizing at first. I’ll keep an eye on him, on them both."

"That’ll work." Jim made a note on his checklist.

"Patsy… I’m not so sure about," the doctor continued. "She’s really had a rough go of it."

"And Mike, too," Paul added. "He hasn’t been feeling that great, believe me. He’s had a helluva time getting over that virus."

"Ultimately it’s up to each individual whether they feel ready to climb," Sandy clarified. "All I can do is offer them a professional opinion."

Jim pursed his lips and nodded in agreement. "If a climber gears up and is ready to go, then all we can do is support them as best as we can. Their contracts say that, after all. But if there comes a time when, in my judgment, they’re jeopardizing their safety or that of other members of the team—"

"Then they get turned around," Ricky finished for him.

"Yup. It’s my call, and mine alone. I’d rather have a pissed off client with a lawsuit on my hands, instead of a dead client."

Ricky felt relieved to hear the team leader state his ‘turnaround’ policy in such clear terms. It was one of the major concerns she’d had, wondering where that particular responsibility fell. Was she, the team’s junior guide, authorized to send someone back? And even if she tried to, would they listen to her? Better to let Jim worry about it. It was just as much a business decision as a climbing one. And if she thought a climber was in trouble, she could always radio him to make the call.

"How’s the stocking going up high, Jangbu?" Jim posed the question to the climbing sirdar.

"Good… good," the Sherpa replied, a smile creasing his face. "Ropes fixed to Camp III, tents, fuel. Bottles on the way," he said, referring to the oxygen canisters.

"Nice job," Jim told him. "So we’re ready to receive clients through C2. Remember," he added, "that from Camp III onward, I want everyone breathing gas." He looked at Ricky. "No exceptions."

"Right," she said, already feeling her throat constrict at the mere thought of it. But she’d signed on under that condition, and taken Jim’s money. There was no way around it.

"It should be a good week, folks," Jim said, pushing back in his chair. "A nice solid climb… we’ll start getting a good indication of how people will fare up high. Especially at Camp II. At 21,000 feet, if you’re gonna have a problem with altitude, it’ll show up by then."

"Agreed," Ricky said. Sometimes symptoms of altitude sickness stayed hidden at lower elevations on the mountain. But the physical effort of a multi-day acclimatization climb would begin to take its toll on an individual who was prone to such an ailment. And this jibed with Ricky’s belief that the lower you were when you found you had a problem, the better off you’d be.

"So, we’ll have two nights at C1, climb through the Cwm, and then take three nights to acclimatize at C2… maybe poke around the bergschrund a little, he said, referring to the ice wall that stood at the end of the box canyon that was the Khumbu Glacier. "Then we’ll descend in one day back here. Sound like a plan?" He flashed his gleaming white teeth in a smile.

"Sounds like," Paul said, and they all agreed.

"Oh, we’ll be using two and three-man tents above the Icefall, plus a bigger one for the Sherpas," Jim said as an afterthought, standing. "I’ll take the three-man, along with Kevin and Phil. The rest are two-mans… or should I say, two persons," he bowed in deference to Ricky. "We’ll put the Donaldsons in one, you and Allison in one, and," he turned to Paul, "you and Lou Silvers in the last one."

The team leader headed for the entrance to the dining tent. "Everybody’s okay with that, right?"

Ricky helplessly felt her mouth open and close as she watched Jim’s broad back pass her by. A thousand reasons screamed through her mind as to why she and Allison Peabody would not make the best of tent-mates. She was used to being on her own… alone! But dammit, for some reason, she simply couldn’t find her voice.

"Good," Jim called back over his shoulder. "Now if you’ll excuse me, before the clients get here, I gotta take a leak."

So, Ricky thought with no small amount of despair, Now I’ve got a roommate.

One who was petite, blonde, silly and annoying at times, and at others, earnest and selfless. The mountaineer closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, trying to steady herself. Oh, Shit! There was one thing she knew now, without a shadow of a doubt. She and Allison Peabody would either both get to the top of Everest… or kill each other, trying.

**********

What a difference a few days, and a little experience made.

She’d done it! Made her way up through the Icefall with nary a backward glance. Well, maybe there had been one or two, making sure that Ricky Bouchard was down there, somewhere. Allison was proud of herself, and she hadn’t been scared at all, climbing past that point where the avalanche had occurred. What were the odds of it happening twice, right? Like getting struck by lightning. She’d already paid her dues on this trip.

She’d been a bit taken aback, however, at how the guides had let the clients strike out into the Icefall first, rather than leading the way. Kevin MacBride and Phil Christy had taken off immediately, totally psyched at leading the way. With a shake of his head and a grin in the early morning glow of dawn, Paul Andersen had clipped into the rope after them.

Next went Lou Silvers, at Allison’s insistence. It was the least she could do after he’d done the same for her last time. Besides, for some reason she was more comfortable being directly connected to Ricky on the ropes. And lastly, somewhere back there, had been Jim Harris and the Donaldsons.

Carefully threading her way between the popping and cracking seracs, she’d successfully swallowed her fear when she’d faced one particular crossing she remembered from the last trip. There had to have been at least three ladders lashed together over a crevasse that had seemed to lengthen while she gazed upon it. But she’d found her way across, and in a tad under three and a half hours she’d made it topside.

Everyone did, eventually, including the beleaguered Donaldsons, bent nearly in double as they fell into camp, trying to pull enough air into their abused lungs. With Jim Harris shepherding them towards some hot tea and a seat, they’d looked as though they would need at least a week to recover. As it was, if they had any hopes of keeping up on the summit pace, they’d barely have two days.

Most of the group had spent the afternoon relaxing, and chatting with members of the other teams on the small landing above the Icefall; the British had already been there a day, and more teams had arrived hard on the boot heels of the Peak Performance team.

Like Base Camp, the neighborhood was getting crowded.

Later, they’d all eaten a hearty dinner of chicken and rice, prepared by Dawa Sherpa, Lopsang’s nephew. The Base Camp sirdar had recommended his relation as just the man needed to run the dining tent at Advance Base Camp or Camp II, and so the young, energetic Dawa had gotten the job. The fact that he had fairly good climbing skills, enough to get him through the Icefall at least, had helped.

Tired, sated, and happy to have completed this first leg of the climb, the Peak Performance team had straggled to their tents for some well deserved shut-eye. And therein lay the problem, Allison thought.

"You’re not going to leave your boots in the vestibule, are you?" Her tent-mate had demanded. "With the winds, snow could blow in and get into them."

"But it’s not snowing, and the winds are calm for once, Ricky," she’d told her, noting with some surprise how quickly her black eye had faded. "Besides, I want the extra room."

That had elicited a dark frown on the tall woman. And then, tersely, "Are you going to be long?" She’d gestured to the book Allison had been writing in, with a lamp burning brightly by her side.

"I plan to write in my journal every night, if I can," Allison had told her. "It helps calm me down and get ready for the next day. So yeah, I’ll be a while. Maybe another 15 minutes. Is that okay?"

"Great," the mountaineer had grumbled, unwilling to settle herself down.

Allison was comfortable now, warmly ensconced in her sleeping bag, propped up on one arm as she wrote. But as for Ricky, she could see that she still looked restless. Tense. She had to admit that she’d secretly been pleased when she’d heard she’d be rooming with the mountaineer, but now… Ricky was simply getting on her nerves. Why didn’t the woman just settle down? Out of the corner of her eye, Allison noticed the way she was crouched, as though she might need to make a break from the tent at any moment.

"Going somewhere?"

"What?"

Allison pointed her pen towards the tent flap. "Are you going or staying? I can’t tell."

"Staying… I guess," Ricky said, settling reluctantly onto her backside and pulling her boots in after her. She placed them at the foot of her sleeping bag.

Allison returned to her writing, pretending not to notice the taller woman’s defiant glare. Let the mountaineer have to scrunch herself into her sleeping bag. What did she care?

"You don’t snore, I hope." Ricky was fumbling with her hair, pulling it out of the ponytail she wore it in.

"What if I did?" Allison muttered beneath her breath, growing more annoyed by the minute.

"Didn’t catch that."

Allison could feel the heat of Ricky’s blue gaze upon her. So blue.

"What did you say?"

"Not since I was a kid," Allison said sharply, irritated with herself now for allowing something so silly to distract her. Who did this Ricky Bouchard think she was, anyway? Some tight-ass camp counselor? And here she’d thought she’d been making progress. That she and Ricky might even become… friends.

No way.

Not if this was the result of it.

Snoring? Allison bit off a gloating laugh. Yeah, baby. Ricky Bouchard would find out first hand.

"Not that it matters when we get up high," Ricky told her, finally unzipping her sleeping bag. The air is so thin you can’t sleep, really. All you can do is lie there in a half-awake daze, panting, trying to get some rest."

"Sounds nice," Allison said in a tone that implied just the opposite. "Thanks for that picture."

Ricky continued to prepare herself for sleep, obviously engaging in practiced high-altitude rituals honed over a lifetime of experience. "You may overheat with what you’ve got on."

"Pardon me?" Allison gave up all pretense at writing now, shoving her pen down and slapping her journal closed. She watched, open mouthed, as Ricky stripped down to a T-shirt and her polypro pants.

"You’re going to get hot. Look at you. Isn’t that a climbing sweater?"

"I’m quite comfortable, thanks."

"I’m telling you, you’re going to heat up."

"And I’m telling you," Allison said, her green eyes flashing, that I think I should know how I feel. Some of us aren’t as hot blooded as you, okay?"

"Don’t complain to me in the middle of the night about it, then." Ricky shrugged and started to slide into her bag. "Speaking of which, do you have to get up much at night to… you know—"

"I plan to use my pee bottle, if you must know," she said coldly. The anger was rising in Allison’s voice, but dammit, she was powerless to stop it. "What – are you going to tell me now that I better not mix it up with my juice bottle?"

"I—"

"Save it, will you?" Allison reached for the light and violently switched it off. "Maybe you think the best thing for everybody would be if I had stayed in Base Camp, right? Or maybe if I’d never gotten on a plane to Nepal in the first place."

Allison fell back in her sleeping bag, her heart pounding, wondering what it was about Ricky that got to her so. Even when she’d sworn to herself she would never give her the satisfaction… and with just a few innocuous comments, she’d lost that resolve, and let her defenses crumble in the face of it. Why did she let this woman’s… respect for her, or imagined lack thereof, matter so much?

A wetness.

With some distress, Allison was mortified to discover that hot tears were streaming down her cheeks. Oh, this was great. Just great. Maybe now, if she noticed, Ricky would explain to her the high-altitude dangers of frozen tears.

The silence stretched out, long and unforgiving. Allison was acutely aware of the mountaineer’s presence so near to her, how could she not be? When Ricky Bouchard was around, you knew it. She fancied she could feel the heat of her and, considering the dark haired woman’s seeming imperviousness to cold, she imagined that the feeling was real. That warmth, together with the strength the darkness gave her, at last allowed her to speak.

"I’m surprised you’re still here," she hiccuped. "It’s got to be killing you, being with such a total rookie."

Ricky did not answer her at first. Allison heard her sigh, and then, "I was going to leave." A pause. "Until I realized I didn’t have much on."

And in the darkness, Allison could hear the smile in her voice.

"With your metabolism, you’d hardly have noticed," she said, allowing herself a smile, too.

"Yeah, but anybody outside would have."

Allison laughed aloud, at that.

"I – I’m sorry, Allison."

The stockbroker could sense that the mountaineer had rolled over on her side now, and was facing her.

"It’s just… I’m used to being on my own."

"But you weren’t always, were you?" Allison turned towards Ricky, feeling a slight breath of a chill as the tears dried on her face.

"No. Not since I had a climbing partner."

Allison heard the pain in the low voice that rumbled out in the darkness, and she knew of whom her tent-mate spoke. It was Jean-Pierre. It had to be. Of course! Why hadn’t she realized that sooner? No wonder Ricky had been so uptight about the whole thing.

"I’ve never had a climbing partner," Allison said softly, not caring what the mountaineer thought at that lame admission. It probably fit in with how inexperienced she viewed her. Well, in many ways, Ricky was probably right.

Suddenly, she felt a touch on her arm in the darkness, reaching out, finding her own hand.

"You do now." A firm grasp. Warm. "Partner."