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 had been some stay at ‘ABC’ – Advance Base Camp, Allison Peabody considered, as she listlessly poked at her beef stroganoff. The snow squall had turned into a snow storm that persisted for two days, and it had not been until this morning, after two nights of high-altitude misery, that Jim Harris and another Sherpa had been able to escort a suffering Patsy Donaldson down to Base Camp.

Patsy had been nauseous, had a headache that wouldn’t quit and, until Jim Harris had given her a hit of bottled oxygen, had been alarmingly disoriented. Allison thought for sure that the woman’s Everest adventure had to be over. Mike Donaldson had not accompanied his wife back down, and a part of Allison was surprised at that. No matter what sort of personal aspirations she might have, she herself couldn’t ever imagine not sticking close to a person she cared about if he or she were hurting.

But here Mike was, sitting across from her in the small dining tent, his jaw working as he chewed at a piece of bread. He’d stomped into the tent right after Patsy had left, telling them he fully intended to stay on and finish his acclimatization. Allison hadn’t said a word, and neither had Lou Silvers, Paul Andersen, or Kevin MacBride. They all had their own problems, here at 21,300 feet. No time to play judge and jury on the state of the marital relationship between Mike and Patsy Donaldson.

For the past two days, Allison had felt that she was constantly panting, laboring to catch her breath. Ricky had told her that an increased respiration rate was her body’s natural response to the reduced oxygen levels, but still, she had to wonder. If it was this bad at this altitude, how in the world would she ever be able to function higher up?

Between frequent sips of hot Sherpa tea, Lou Silvers let loose with a dry, ragged cough. ‘Khumbu cough,’ they called it, yet another reaction to the dry, thin air. The attorney’s face was gray in the flat light, and his eyes were bloodshot. Phil Christy had come down with an even worse case of the cough, and had barely moved from his tent since they’d arrived.

"How’s Phil?" Paul Andersen wondered. "He seemed pretty bad yesterday."

"Ah, he’ll shake it off," Kevin replied. "He’ll be fine in a day or two. He wouldn’t miss this for all the world. You know," he continued, "we’ve got a bet going, to see who touches the top first."

"You’re joking," Paul retorted. The senior guide was also feeling the altitude somewhat. He sat huddled over his tea, bleakly nursing a runny nose.

"I am not," Kevin proudly declared.

"What are the bets?" Mike Donaldson wanted to know, using another piece of bread to mop up a section of his plate.

"Well, if I win, he’s gotta marry my sister."

"Say what?" Paul Andersen nearly fell off his stool.

"Hell, he’s been dating her for six years. Shit or get off the pot, ya know what I mean?"

"Sounds romantic," Allison muttered, pushing away her half-eaten plate of food. She had no appetite at this altitude, and having to watch Mike Donaldson heartily tuck into his food wasn’t helping things any.

"And, as unlikely as the possibility may be," Kevin continued, grinning, "if Phil wins, I pick up his bar tab for the next year."

Allison cast a skeptical eye at the former collegiate football player and slowly shook her head. "Like I said, sounds romantic." She leaned to one side as Dawa, the cook, removed her plate.

"You finish, Miss Allison?"

"All done, Dawa, thanks," she replied.

In the cramped, enclosed space of the tent, Dawa had been busily bustling in the background, constantly attending to their needs. Pemba would be proud of how his nephew was doing, Allison thought. She would be sure to tell him so.

"More tea, here," Mike Donaldson gruffly barked.

Dawa scurried to place Allison’s plate down, and he grabbed the pot of tea from the burner. But the Sherpa did not move fast enough for the businessman.

"I said more tea!" Mike shouted, shoving his cup in the direction of the cook just as Dawa started to tilt the teapot. The amber liquid began to pour out, right onto Donaldson’s hand.

"Shit!" He leapt up from the small table, and shoved his hand into a cooler of drinks. "You idiot!" He growled, his eyes blazing. "What’s the matter with you? Why don’t you watch the hell what you’re doing!"

"Sorry! So sorry, sir!" Dawa scrambled to clean up the table, where very little of the tea had spilled, really, while he repeatedly bowed at the much larger man. "So sorry," he cried. He understood very little of what the westerner was saying, but the tone was unmistakable. Desperately searching for some way to appease his anger, Dawa handed him a towel.

"Get away from me!" Mike Donaldson swatted the limp towel away. "You’ve done enough damage. I’m gonna get your ass fired so fast, boy, your head will spin!"

"It was an accident, Mike," Allison said, an edge of anger creeping into her voice. "He said he was sorry." Dawa was clearly rattled by what had happened, and it was an accident after all. And partly Mike’s fault, to boot. The poor Sherpa didn’t deserve to be treated in such a manner. It just wasn’t right.

"Accident my ass!" Donaldson growled, examining a reddened patch of skin on the back of his hand.

"Chill out, Mike," Kevin MacBride laughed. "You’re freaking the poor guy out." He pointed to Dawa, who stood trembling in the corner of the tent, unsure of just what to do next. "Should we call a med-evac for you, 911, or what?"

In the face of the younger man’s laughter, Mike Donaldson sheepishly began to settle down. "Well, he should still be more careful, the little troll!" He returned to his seat, rubbing at his injured hand.

"Tch – watch it," Kevin said, still smirking, "or you’re gonna end up with more than eggs in your quiche, my friend."

"I’ll keep that in mind," Mike grumbled, waving the Sherpa away.

Dawa gathered up a few dirtied plates and cups, and left the tent. "Back soon," he said, looking furtively over his shoulder.

"Take your time, buddy." The businessman returned his attention to his tea.

Allison was furious. Was that whole episode really necessary? The insensitive idiots. She couldn’t believe she was stuck with the likes of these people for such an important climb. How different they’d all seemed back at the bar in Kathmandu. So interesting. So decent.

And how had she appeared to them, she wondered? Perhaps, in a different way, she’d also changed… disappointed them. If that were the case, then good. Because Allison knew she hadn’t much liked herself, back then.

Lou Silvers was the same man, and Allison thanked God for that. She found a certain steadiness and comfort in the older man’s presence. And as for Ricky, well, what you saw was what you got. The mountaineer had no time for games or pretense. There was just a simple, caring honesty, character traits that were all too rare in the self-absorbed, selfish company so common in the circles where Allison Peabody moved.

Well, that would change. Soon.

"You can have Sandy take a look at that tomorrow," Paul began, finally commenting at last.

"It’s fine," Mike said brusquely, cutting him off. "Kevin’s right. This is no big deal. At least, not compared to what Patsy’s going through."

"Yeah," Paul quickly added. It was clear that the young guide was anxious to change the subject. "It’s a shame she had to descend."

"She’s a gutsy lady," Mike’s voice was firm. "That’s why I married her. This isn’t over for her, not yet." He paused, frowning. "I’m glad Jim was able to take her down. I’d hate to think of her with that woman, Bouchard."

"Ah, where is Ricky, today?" Lou Silvers asked innocently, his clogged head deafening him to the warning bells sounding in Mike Donaldson’s voice.

"She’s helping to carry a load of supplies up to Camp III," Allison said, weighing her words carefully. "Oxygen, rope and stuff."

By God, if this turned into a Ricky Bouchard bashing session, Allison would have none of it. They had all been sitting on their butts over the past two days, gasping for air in the snow, like fish out of water. But Ricky… even during the snowstorm, she’d had been doing everything possible to work towards a successful summit bid for the Peak Performance team: checking on equipment, supplies, and overseeing the plan for fixing the ropes. Now that the weather was clear, she was using the free day to further advance that cause. The sooner the camps were stocked, the sooner they could go for the top before the monsoons came.

"Nice," Mike said, though his tone of voice implied just the opposite. "Shouldn’t she be here with us? Especially since Jim’s gone? Besides," he looked darkly at Paul Andersen, "aren’t we paying for service from you people, and it’s for the Sherpas to do the grunt work?"

"Well… uh," the guide blushed, "it is a light couple of days here. It’s just a case of getting acclimatized, and poking around the bergshrund, if you want. You do that at your own pace." He cleared his throat, clearly feeling the heat bristling from Mike Donaldson. "Besides, Jim gave her the ‘okay.’"

"You can never have enough O2 at Camp III and above," Lou Silvers added, finally catching on to the tension in the air. "If that’s what she’s carrying, more power to her."

"I agree," Allison stated, grateful for the attorney’s support. "She’s been doing nothing but helping us all out, whether you’re aware of it or not. And we’re not supposed to be babied on this climb," she said, looking fiercely at the men. "If we can’t handle ABC on our own, forget about making any summit attempt."

"Yeah, well that woman has got some serious attitude problems," Kevin retorted. "You know, she shoved me the other day. You saw all saw it!"

"What?" Mike Donaldson cried, the indignation plain on his face. "Unacceptable. Did you tell Jim? Christ, that woman’s a loose cannon!"

"Why you—" Allison was outraged. She knew the likes of Mike Donaldson. He was a part of the life she’d left behind. A soft, spoiled man who prided himself on being hard of heart. A man whose arrogance was only exceeded by the size of his ego; accustomed to getting his way, whether it was in the boardroom, the bedroom, or a small tent high in the Himalayas.

"I can fight my own battles." Kevin waved a hand disparagingly.

"You’ve got it all wrong!" Allison swung a steely-eyed glare from one man to the other. "You’re damn right I saw what happened. She warned you to stay back. She was trying to move you away from a dead man you were disrespecting, and you fell. I was there. I know what I saw."

"She should be reported to Jim," Mike Donaldson stubbornly repeated.

"Aw, c’mon, Allison," Kevin whined. "The guy was dead! I wasn’t hurting anything!"

Allison’s lips set in a tense line. "It wasn’t right. What you did… wasn’t right."

"Gimme a break!" Kevin slapped the palm of his hand down on the table. "She’s a freaking mental patient, if you ask me. She never has anything to say, or when she does, she’s always pissed off. She’s got some chip on her shoulder, Allison. And if I were you, I wouldn’t turn my back on her for one minute in that tent of yours!"

"I trust Ricky to watch my back," Allison said in a near-shout, not caring what the men thought at her emotional defense of the tall, dark mountaineer. "More than any of you! Why, do you even know what she’s accomplished? She’s the best climber of all of us!"

"Probably the best female climber in the world," Lou helpfully interjected.

"So she doesn’t socialize with us too much," Allison continued, her voice shaking. "Last time I looked, this wasn’t a cocktail party. And unlike the rest of us, she knows that without the Sherpas’ help, we’d have no chance – none – of getting to the top of this mountain. If I were you, I’d keep that in mind!"

"She’s right," Paul Andersen said, his lean face looking rather thin and pale. "We need the Sherpas. They’re good people."

"Yeah, well, if Miss Nut Case thinks so highly of ‘em, I’d have to wonder." Kevin crossed his arms in front of his chest, his point made.

Allison felt a rage flood through her body. An anger with herself, first and foremost, that she couldn’t find the words to make these people understand just what kind of a woman Ricky Bouchard really was. And an anger at Kevin and Mike, and at Paul too, for making themselves feel better about their own shortcomings by conveniently tearing down someone else.

"Kevin," Allison stood, struggling to think of the hundreds different things she wished she could say to the smug-faced idiot before her. "You are such an asshole." And with that, she stormed out of the tent.

Outside, she stood in the snow, her chest heaving, fighting to regain her equilibrium. She shouldn’t let those jerks get to her, she knew that, but to hear them bad-mouth Ricky like that… it struck a chord deep within her. She could not… would not stand for it. Not while there was a fighting breath left in her body.

The sunlight was bright, playing off the fresh snow in flashes of diamonds and crystal. She’d forgotten her glacier glasses inside the dining tent, but damn if she would venture back inside to retrieve them now. Instead, she squinted at the Lhotse face, a wall of white ice rearing up in front of her. She let the frigid air roll over he body, cooling her off, calming her. Somewhere up there, was Ricky Bouchard. Toiling away. Doing what she loved. Hell, Ricky would’ve known how to put those guys in their place. Why was it, when it counted most, that she always found herself coming up short? Somehow, she felt as though she’d let Ricky… her partner… down.

"Hey – don’t let them get to you, Allie."

Allison heard a rasping cough, and turned to find Lou Silvers crunching through the snow behind her.

"They’re not worth it." With a crooked smile, he handed her the glasses she’d forgotten.

"Thanks." She slipped them on. "But you know… those guys… they just don’t get it. What gives them the right?" she said angrily, wondering at the same time what suddenly made her such an authority in the matter. Perhaps it was what Ricky had taught her, in word and in deed. About having respect for the mountain. Respect for others. Respect for yourself.

"You can’t let it bother you," Lou persisted. "Ricky wouldn’t."

"I know," Allison sighed. "But I just can’t help it."

The attorney stepped closer, and wrapped a reassuring arm around her shoulders. "It’s because you care," he told her. His voice was rough as sandpaper, but Allison could hear the warmth behind his words. "Ricky’s a special woman. You’ve taken the time to find that out." He paused, as if debating with himself. "And she’s lucky. Lucky to have you for a friend."

Allison gazed at him wonderingly.

A friend?

Well.

She’d never considered that.

Lou gave her a final squeeze. "And you did fine, Allie." He grinned. "Remind me never to cross you!"

As she watched the older man plod back to his tent, she felt her spirits rise.

Ricky and she were friends. She kind of liked the sound of that.

Too bad Ricky had no idea.

Yet.

**********

It was late in the afternoon by the time Ricky, Jangbu, Pemba, and Sherpas from other expeditions tramped back into Camp II. They’d spent all day higher on the mountain, working, and now the sun beginning to set. The western sky was ablaze with color; rich fall hues of gold and red painted against a brilliant blue canvas.

It had been a good day, a productive day, as far as Ricky was concerned. Camp III was completely stocked; their supplies and tents were securely stowed under rocks and a tarp in an ice shelf they’d carved out of the unforgiving Lhotse face. The site was clearly marked with climbing poles and pickets flying marker flags bearing the Peak Performance Adventure Company logo, a warning to all comers that the precarious spit of ground so high on the mountain was already taken.

The ropes were also fixed all the way to Camp III, and in the next few days a co-operative group of Sherpas from most of the climbing teams on the mountain would be making their way even higher. Their objective would be to establish the final camp, Camp IV on the South Col, threading lines as they went.

Bright and early tomorrow morning, Ricky and Paul Andersen would lead the remaining PPAC clients back down to Base Camp. After a luxurious four-day rest there at lower altitude, it would be time to hike back up the mountain, all the way to Camp III that time, in their final acclimatization climb before the summit attempt.

Ricky was pleased. They were ahead of schedule, had already gotten a bit of a snowstorm out of the way and, with any luck, they’d be all the way up and down the mountain in another few weeks. Her job here, as a ‘junior guide’, would be finished.

She would pocket the money and not look back.

But what then? Probably bum her way around the world until the money ran out, doing whatever she wanted to do. Which was to climb, mostly.

Perhaps she’d take another run at K2. After all, the world’s second highest peak was nearby; she could get to it through Pakistan. She was quite familiar with the challenges it presented; she’d already summitted a few years back, with Jean-Pierre. But to do it now, solo… would be an accomplishment of a different sort. K2 was a harsh mountain, demanding near-technical perfection from the mountaineers who dared its heights.

To chance it on her own, well, she was one of the best free-climber’s, right? Let others call her crazy, as long as she knew what she was doing. She had the physical skills, the sound judgment, and the innate ability to protect herself. She was a pro at testing her own limits. At pushing, always pushing.

Or she could go home, to Val-David.

Home. That’s what she called the little town in Quebec. Even though, since she’d first taken off on her life’s great adventure as a teenager with Jean-Pierre, she’d scarcely resided there for more than a few days at a time.

Her parents still lived there, Andre and Marie, so there was that.

Her reserved father, who’d never really tried to understand her. Perhaps he’d never really figured out how. And her mother, the country artist, who was torn between letting her free-spirited daughter live the life she’d chosen, and standing by her dour, dentist husband who had hoped for better, more practical things from young Veronique.

Ricky loved them both, very deeply, and they loved her in return. But whenever they all were together, there was always an undercurrent of tension present in the room, like a stick of dynamite ready to spark. Each one of them by turns fanning the flame, or else desperately trying to smother it.

Marie Bouchard’s elegant, classically beautiful features, so like her Parisian grandmother’s, would grow pale and cloudy, as she fretted over the dangerous hobby of her daughter. And just when was Veronique going to get around to marrying Jean-Pierre, anyway?

Andre Bouchard worried too, in his own way. Not only for the safety of his daughter, but for the future that would be left to her once this mountain climbing nonsense was finished with. Of course that friend of his, the assistant dean of undergraduate studies at McGill in Montreal, would be happy to do what he could to gain Veronique admission. A solid education under her belt – that was the key. All his daughter had to do was say the word.

But Ricky never did say the word, and, anxious not to make things worse, had never told them what really lived in her heart. Never a ‘Mama – Jean-Pierre and I… we’re not that way!’ Or a ‘Papa – don’t you see, I plan to climb for as long as the mountains will have me. There is no other future than that!’ She’d never quite figured out whether it was to spare them or to spare herself. Either way, keeping her silence hurt just the same.

The last time she’d been home, however, had been the worst. It was three years ago now, right after Jean-Pierre had died. Ricky had felt she’d owed it to her friend’s parents to tell them face to face what had happened, to take ownership of the responsibility, the guilt she’d felt. But Jean-Pierre’s parents, God, they’d let her have it, hadn’t they? In a way she never could have anticipated.

She had wanted to be blamed, looked forward to their vengeful recriminations as a way of working through her own pain, but instead they’d left her on the hook. His mother had smiled sweetly at her through the tears, holding her hand and telling her how blessed Jean-Pierre had been to have her in his life. How she’d inspired him to do the things he might never have otherwise accomplished on his own. And his father, choking back his grief, with a face that was older, creased by nature and time as Jean-Pierre’s would never be, telling her how his only son had died doing what he loved. And how that was so much more than any man had reason to expect in this world.

Ricky’s own parents had been another story.

Andre and Marie Bouchard had expected her to stay home for good this time. To stop tempting the fates, as her mother had said. Wasn’t what happened to poor Jean-Pierre warning enough? But the one thing Ricky didn’t want to do was to stay in one place for too long, and that included home.

It gave you too much time to think.

About things you might have done differently.

About how someone else was dead, someone you loved, when it should have been you.

It was in the freedom of climbing that Ricky found her peace; she always had. And so that was what she’d turned to once more, informing her parents that she’d be leaving the next day for South America, and Aconcagua.

That was when her father had exploded.

How twisted his dark, handsome features had become as the bitter words spilled from his mouth. How dare she persist in this irresponsible lifestyle of hers! If she were determined to amount to nothing, well, he was through trying to help her. He was washing his hands of it. And how dare she continuously put her mother through such pain, wondering as the long Canadian winters slowly blossomed into spring, whether her daughter was alive or dead? And how dare she walk out on him now, leaving him alone in Val-David to face Jean-Pierre’s parents every day, knowing that their son was dead and her foolish dreams were the cause of it?

Ricky hadn’t been back to Val-David since.

Fighting against a heaviness in her chest, the mountaineer had a solitary dinner in the dining tent. Jangbu and Pemba had tumbled straight into their sleeping bags after some tea, but Ricky was determined to keep her strength up. Dawa was quiet as he served her a large bowl of chicken noodle soup, tea, and some bread. She didn’t press him into conversation; she didn’t much feel like talking, either. Not now. Just thinking of her parents and how she’d left things with them was like poking at an open wound, and Ricky was angry with herself for letting what had otherwise been a good day end on such a sour note.

She was alone now, and that was fine with her, really. All the other Peak Performance team members had eaten and returned to their tents, Dawa had told her, eagerly anticipating getting under way at dawn, and heading down.

There was no sign of Allison, and Ricky assumed that the younger woman had turned in as well. Ricky knew from experience that the longer you were on the mountain, the more exhausted you became, so it was not unusual that the clients were already tucked away in their sleeping bags. For many, sleep would be elusive, and instead the best they could hope for would be a few hours of dozing, punctuated with restless tossing and turning. At over 21,000 feet, there was no such thing as getting in a comfortable position.

Ricky had noticed how Allison had been a bit taken aback at how hard the altitude had hit her breathing rate; she’d sworn to the mountaineer that even standing still she felt as though she were running a 100 meter dash. That sort of a response wasn’t unusual; Ricky had seen it often enough in other climbers. It took time to adjust; that was what the acclimatization process was all about. And so over the past couple of days, Ricky had been pleased to see that her tent-mate’s comfort level had been improving.

Allison was doing well.

Ricky let her eyes track to the rising moon, so warm, so bright, and so low on the horizon she half thought she could pluck it from the sky, if she were of a mind to.

Allison.

Shaking her head, Ricky zipped up her jacket for the short hike back to their tent. It was cold, and her breath formed a great plume of moisture in the relatively still air. Darkness was falling fast now, as it did here in the mountains, and in the twilight Ricky could see the warm glow of lamplight from within a half dozen tents, including her own, where the occupants were still reading, talking, or fiddling with equipment. Allison would be writing in her journal, as she had every night of this climb, and Ricky found herself smiling at the thought; felt some of her somber mood lift.

She’d found herself enjoying the blonde’s company over the past week, more than she ever would have thought possible. Sure, the young woman talked too much, and asked a lot of questions, but Ricky hadn’t realized how being alone for as long as she’d been had taken its toll. She had thought she’d been fine with it, preferred it even, but now… she wasn’t so sure. Slowly, reluctantly, she’d found herself getting used to having Allison around. Looking forward to it… to her, at the end of the day.

Hmnn. A most unexpected turn of events.

Ricky knew that the end of the Peak Performance Adventure Company’s expedition to Everest would mean the end of her association with the young stockbroker. Allison would simply pack up her gear and, with first class tickets in hand, jet her way back to New York. To the bright future that awaited her there. While she, Ricky, would resume her gypsy’s existence, sinking back into the anonymity she so craved.

Right?

She’d move on to K2. A monster of a peak. One that only the best technical climbers in the world would take on. Not like, say, a Gasherbrum 2. A smaller mountain at 26,361 feet, also straddling the Pakistan-China border, but one that a solid climber with some high altitude experience – an Allison Peabody, for instance – would find challenging but realistically attainable.

Jesus! Ricky zipped open the tent, and crawled into the vestibule. What the hell are you thinking? You’re the one without the steady job, not her. Remember?

No, Allison would leave, returning to her friends and family, a changed person, perhaps, but one who would gradually fall back into her comfortable, carefree lifestyle. She’d shift her focus once more towards making her millions on Wall Street, while her memories of Everest, and Ricky, would fade away like fleeting wisps of a half-remembered dream upon the dawn of day.

With a frustrated sigh, Ricky unstrapped her crampons and tugged off her boots, wondering why the thought of that, of Allison leaving and forgetting all about her, seemed to irk her so much.

And dammit – there went her good mood again!

Grunting, Ricky worked her way on her hands and knees to the inner tent.

"Hi honey! How was your day?"

Ricky heard the smile in Allison’s voice, the playfulness in her tone, but she refused to give into it all. She was in a bad mood now, and by God she was determined to stay that way.

"Fine."

Allison put her pen down and closed her journal. "How is Camp III shaping up?"

"Okay."

Ricky scooted out of her climbing pants, leaving her polypro leggings, pointedly ignoring Allison’s attempts to draw her into conversation.

"Are you feeling all right?"

"I’m fine." Ricky’s voice sounded muffled as she struggled to pull her sweater over her head.

"Are you sure? Because I—"

"I said I was fine!" With an angry yank, the sweater was free. Ricky flung it to her corner of the tent, and pushed errant strands of dark hair out of her face. She was simply not in the mood to play twenty questions with Allison Peabody. And what did it matter, anyway? Why was Allison even bothering? Soon she would be gone, and that would be that.

From the corner of her eye, Ricky saw Allison stiffen. "You didn’t run into Kevin and Mike, did you?"

"Kevin and Mike," Ricky said flatly, turning to face her tent-mate.

"Those jerks!" Allison’s voice rose an octave. "I knew they wouldn’t leave well enough alone!"

Before the surprised mountaineer could respond, Allison was off and running.

"I told them what I thought of them, or at least I tried to, Ricky, I swear it!" Allison’s face grew stormy. "So you’re not ‘Miss Congeniality,’ so what? It’s because they don’t understand you, that’s all. And the very idea of reporting you to Jim, just because that idiot Kevin fell on his fat ass in the snow," she sputtered, "why, if I’d realized the big deal he was going to make of it, I would have shoved him down myself!"

"Hey – hey!" Ricky was grinning now, in spite of herself.

"And that Mike Donaldson, he’s just horrid, Ricky, horrid! I don’t know how Patsy puts up with him. He doesn’t understand," she continued, flushed, "how lucky they are to have you guiding us!"

"Hold on!" Ricky eased closer to the agitated stockbroker.

"Why, I have half a mind to—"

"Slow down," Ricky chuckled, feeling her mouth slide into a comfortable smile. "What the heck are you talking about?" she asked, although she already had a fairly good idea, thanks to Allison’s impassioned speech.

Finally pausing to draw in a halting breath, the blonde’s eyes locked onto Ricky’s. "You didn’t see them?"

"Who?"

"Mike and Kevin… or Paul?"

"Nope."

"So… they didn’t tell you what happened at lunch?"

"No," Ricky cheerily responded, her tongue planted firmly in cheek. "But you just did."

Allison regarded the mountaineer for a long moment, and then she released a great gust of air. "Great. Just great. I must sound like a stark-raving idiot." She blinked twice at Ricky before turning her head away, her cheeks blooming like ripened apples. "Sorry," she muttered, clearly embarrassed, and Ricky took sympathy on her then.

"No," she told her, "it’s okay Allison. Don’t worry about it."

Allison still would not look her in the eye.

"I’m glad to know it," Ricky added. "Really. Stuff like that… it’s typical on expeditions like this. And…" she pursed her lips thoughtfully, "I… I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with. You should know that by now, too!" Plan beta – try to make light of it, the mountaineer reasoned.

"But it’s wrong!" Allison’s voice was a near-shout, and she did lift her eyes to Ricky’s then.

The mountaineer was stunned at the hurt, the feeling she saw in the moist green gaze, drawing her in. God, this bullshit has really gotten to her! "Let it go," she soothed, hating to see Allison so upset. "I’m used to it. It doesn’t bother me."

"Well, it bothers me!"

"But why?" Ricky asked her, feeling at a total loss now. "I’m just not worth it."

"Why?" Allison’s eyes flew open wide. Her mouth wordlessly opened and closed as, warring with her emotions, she considered for the very first time the implication of Ricky’s question. "It’s… it’s because I care, that’s why," she said at last, a slow comprehension spreading over her features. "And…." she lifted a hand to where Ricky’s rested on her knee, and covered it with her own. "You are worth it." The hand continued to travel upward, to lightly brush against the mountaineer’s cheek. "To me."

Allison fell silent. Shyly waiting for some sort of a response – anything - from the mountaineer.

All of a sudden, Ricky felt warm. Uncomfortably so, and she knew it had less to do with the little stove in the tent and more to do with the heat of the probing stare that suddenly rendered her tongue-tied.

"Well… uh, thanks," Ricky croaked, hoping Allison had not detected the strain in her voice. "Ah… goodnight then." Quickly, she slid down into her sleeping bag and turned her back on Allison, praying that any expression on her face had not betrayed her, too.

Though she feigned sleep, Ricky’s eyes were wide open, staring sightlessly at the wall of the tent as she fought to get her emotions under control. The light began to dim, and then was extinguished.

"Goodnight, Ricky."

The voice in the darkness was so soft, with a trace of sadness in it. Ricky felt a jolt of regret course through her. God, what a mess. This was all her fault! Allison was reaching out to her, literally, and what had she done? Turned her back on her. Typical, Ricky, the mountaineer berated herself. Just typical!

Allison Peabody cared about… her. Just the mere possibility of that concept astounded Ricky, although there was no denying it, not now. It was a feeling she was so unused to, had turned away from so many other times in the past, taking the easy way out. It was less complicated that way, or so she’d told herself.

Relationships, and the tangle of emotions that went along with them, were for other people, not her. Ricky had always taken care to deny herself such indulgences in the past, choosing instead to believe that there was a certain aesthetic nobility in that. In the light of day, she prided herself on the bravery of such a higher calling. But in the cold of the night, when she found herself alone and unloved by virtue of those same beliefs, she derided herself for the proud, ignorant fool she knew herself to be.

She, Veronique Bouchard, who had scaled the world’s seven summits, who had stared down death time and time again and lived to tell about it, was… afraid. Risking your life was easy.

Risking your heart was another matter.

God, how Allison’s innocent caress had rocked her! Such casual intimacy with another person Ricky had rarely allowed herself, and with anyone else – anyone – the mountaineer would never have let them touch her. She would have shied away, or stopped them. But she hadn’t done that.

Not this time, not with… Allison Peabody. Was it the shock of it all? Maybe, Ricky considered. Not at Allison’s touch, no, but at the way she’d found herself responding to it. Letting the power of it work its way down into the very core of her being, settling there, finding a home.

Her face had burned from where gentle fingertips had strayed, and Ricky had been overwhelmed. Had been completely at a loss as to what she should’ve done next.

If anything.

And so she’d done what had come naturally. She’d retreated. And found a comforting, miserable familiarity in that.

God only knew what Allison must think of her now.

‘Good night.’ Hah! Sleep was the last thing on Ricky Bouchard’s mind.

**********

Allison Peabody was exhausted.

It seemed as though all the picture books she’d ever read on mountain climbing always featured glossy, full color photographs of climbers moving higher and higher through the clouds, with vast dramatic vistas unfolding just over their shoulders. There would be a climbing pole in their hands or maybe a trusty ice ax, while their determined faces would be turned towards the summit. Looking up, always up.

They conveniently forgot to illustrate how much of a pain in the butt it was to climb back down. There was a lot less glamour in that to be sure, Allison considered, and she found herself mentally fashioning her own photo captions.

‘Famous mountaineer cleans frozen snot from oxygen mask on Everest’s Yellow Band.’

Or how about an ‘Exhausted climber glissades on her ass from Camp II all the way down to Base Camp. Fellow expedition members point and snicker.’

No, those pictures never made the books, Allison thought wryly.

After waking up this morning when the dawn was still only a glimmer in the eastern sky, she and her fellow climbers had descended from Camp II back to Base Camp, all in one shot. Leaving Allison with a pair of legs so rubbery that she thought she might soon simply collapse where she stood. Not forgetting the wicked headache she had, to boot. But she had a mission to complete before this day was over, and she was nothing if not determined.

She wished she could have slid down the mountain on a soft, forgiving blanket of snow, but of course that was impossible. Like everyone else, she’d had to descend back through the bowl-shaped Western Cwm, and negotiate the always-dicey Khumbu Icefall. This, after spending a night where she’d gotten absolutely zero sleep.

Not that Ricky Bouchard had, either.

The mountaineer had been deathly still all night long. So rigid and unmoving, unnaturally so, that Allison knew she had to have been wide awake.

And no wonder, Allison thought. Considering the way I basically threw myself at her.

The Peak Performance climbers had crashed in their tents soon after arriving back at BC, focused on recovering energy and O’s after their week up high. Later, after the sun had begun to set, a number of them, Allison included, had ventured out, enjoying the air that to their acclimatizing bodies now seemed thick with oxygen. Many had gone to the dining tent for dinner, and Allison had let them go, focused instead on making her way to the expedition’s sophisticated communications tent.

The climbers were happy to be down, that was apparent. There was a boisterous, party atmosphere in Base Camp, and energy crackled in the atmosphere like lightning before a thunderstorm. They had taken on the mountain, tested themselves, and passed. Even Patsy Donaldson had appeared remarkably well, in the brief sighting Allison had had of her, watching her chase her husband’s longer strides towards the dining tent.

Of Ricky Bouchard, Allison had seen little. The tall mountaineer had been silent when they’d awakened and prepped for the descent, and Allison was privately grateful that the thin air, the frigid cold, and a pressing timetable made the lack of conversation between them appear normal.

Almost.

Allison’s stomach had twisted when she’d caught Ricky furtively eyeing her from time to time, only to turn away. Once, she’d thought her quiet partner might even speak, but then the wall had gone up, and Ricky had closed down.

And there was no way Allison had been ready to broach the subject. Not then. Not while there were still so many questions swirling through her mind. So much that she’d still needed to think through. Decisions she’d needed to make. Not the sort of conversation one wanted to have in the dark, surrounded by below zero temperatures, at 21,300 feet.

But there was one thing she knew for sure, and that was that she’d never met anyone quite like Ricky Bouchard. Never met anyone else she felt this way about, either, and it was high time she admitted that to herself. Reaching out to her climbing partner as she had, well, maybe the timing could have been better, but she didn’t regret it. As far as Allison was concerned, it had been a natural, physical thing to do, fueled by the feelings she had for the woman.

Did that mean she, Allison, was gay? Oh, that would be another good one she could spring on her parents, she considered. In truth, she’d never given it much thought before. Frankly, she had little time for labels, and didn’t much care what the outside world saw, looking in. If she did care, she wouldn’t have led the reckless, sometimes irresponsible life she had to this point. And where she herself was concerned, she preferred to look at it in the simplest of terms, calling to mind a quote she remembered from a forgotten collegiate philosophy class: ‘The heart has its reasons, which reason cannot know.’

So, she was through trying to make sense of it all.

She was just going to go for it.

Especially now, after the time she’d spent in the communications tent this evening, making her $6.00 per minute satellite phone calls. Hell, it had been late morning their time when she’d phoned the states, so at least they couldn’t bitch at her about that.

And sure, Ricky had avoided her since last night. It would be easy to think that meant that their relationship had taken a giant step backwards; that they were once again strangers, stuck at square one.

But Allison Peabody, of the Boston Peabodys, knew better. She’d seen the flicker of… of something, in Ricky’s glacier-blue eyes when she’d reached out to her. Had watched her eyelids slip shut for a brief, telltale instant, as the mountaineer had leaned into her touch.

Perhaps living this close to the edge, this high on the highest of mountains, made one bolder. More willing to risk it all.

Whatever.

At this moment, with her head pounding out a wild tempo to match the beating of her heart, Allison knew she had absolutely nothing else to lose.

**********

It wasn’t easy to sneak up on Ricky Bouchard. The mountaineer had very keen hearing, a sense of smell that would have served her well as a five-star sommelier, and eyesight that rivaled a golden eagle’s. Yes, only the stealthiest of predators could catch Ricky by surprise. As for the likes of Allison Peabody, she hadn’t a chance in hell.

It’s gotta be her, Ricky sighed, detecting the approach of footsteps that sounded to her sensitive ears like an avalanche of rocks pouring over the scree. She knew Allison’s step by now; it was heavy and loping, with a firm, set purpose, matching the determined look she’d come to know and admire on the younger woman’s face.

Ricky had been sitting outside her tent despite the coldness of the night. She’d been trying to pull her thoughts together, to come to some sort of conclusion over what she should do about Allison and this latest… complication. She’d been avoiding her, and she’d known it would be only a matter of time before the blonde tracked her down.

Now, the moment of truth was near. And it had a name.

"Allison."

"How did you know it was me?" A breathless response as the footsteps faltered.

Ricky slowly turned, taking in the form of the stockbroker in the encroaching darkness. "A lucky guess."

Allison was securely bundled up against the cold; she had on her powder-blue pile pants and jacket, as well as a woolen hat and over-mitts. She had her arms folded around her middle, holding herself stiffly as she approached.

"Aren’t you cold out here?" Allison stomped her feet against the ground, and took a swipe at a stubbornly dribbling nose.

"No," Ricky replied, pushing herself to her feet. And it was true. The mountaineer enjoyed times like this; alone, reflecting on the day, thinking of the challenges that lay ahead, all with the massif of Everest looming above in silent witness to it all. She needed this time for herself. Well, maybe sometimes it would have been nice to have company, but there wasn’t anyone she could think of whose company she’d prefer at a time like this.

Except.

Except for…. Dammit! This wasn’t helping matters any. There was no way she was going to cross the line with Allison Peabody. She had her rules. She was above it all. She didn’t need this. Didn’t want it. Didn’t crave it.

"Well," Allison’s teeth chattered in the cold. "Aren’t you going to invite me in?"

"No," Ricky said, glancing down at the tips of her boots. "I—it’s late."

She heard Allison’s breath catch in her throat. "Listen… about last night—"

"You don’t have to apologize," Ricky told her, feeling quite noble at that statement. They could get past this thing and move on, right?

"Oh, I’m not going to apologize, Ricky," Allison shot back. "I suppose I should say I’m sorry, but I’m not." She gulped in a breath. "You probably think I’m just some naïve little dilettante, don’t you? Somebody who thinks they can climb Everest on a whim, or screw the good-looking guide on a bet, right?"

"Allison!" Ricky was shocked. "You know I don’t think that! You don’t know what you’re saying!" She stepped closer to the younger woman, and was surprised to see that she had squeezed her eyes shut, with her face uplifted to the mountain. She still held her arms closely, not for warmth, but against the pain.

"No – no you just listen to me until I get this out," Allison demanded, even as the tears began to spill down her cheeks. "Maybe you think I don’t understand what’s going on… understand you, or even myself. But I do, Ricky, I do. You taught me that."

"You’re just confused," Ricky offered, wishing Allison were gone. And hoping like hell that she would never leave.

"Don’t you dare!" Allison’s eyes snapped open. "Don’t you dare belittle how I feel. Or what I know is between us!"

"I wasn’t," Ricky miserably replied. "I just—"

"For the first time ever in my life, ever," Allison cut her off, "I can see things clearly. Maybe it’s the clear air at this altitude, I don’t know." She laughed bitterly. "You know… I called my boss today. Told him I was taking an indefinite leave of absence."

"No!" Ricky’s heart was thumping in her chest. Allison couldn’t be doing this. She shouldn’t!

"And then," the blonde continued, "I phoned my fiancé. Told him I was breaking it off… because I’d found someone else. And do you know what?" A pained smile twitched at her lips. "For the first time since I’ve known him, he found himself a pair of balls. Wanted to know who the other guy was, so he could punch him out. Poor Lionel," she slowly shook her head. "I think I could take him with one hand tied behind my back."

"Allison," Ricky felt herself weakening, found herself falling under the spell of the green eyes desperately searching her own. "I don’t know what to say."

"Think what you want." Allison wiped a mitten at her tears, and sniffled. "But I know that this past month has been the best one of my life. I feel like I have a life, for once. A value. A purpose." She sighed heavily, and she took in a hitching breath of air. "So if you want to walk away from this… from how I feel, from how I know you feel too," she said, thrusting her chin out, readying herself for the blow that was sure to follow, "that’s okay. But I don’t want to lose this feeling, Ricky." A pause. "I don’t want to lose… you."

Ricky Bouchard felt it hit her, then.

Hard.

Below the belt.

And she was furious. How dare Allison not play fair? To just waltz into her life, now, when she’d least expected it. To touch her soul in such a raw, honest way, as no one else ever had. Ricky watched the tears streak Allison’s face, absorbed the silent pleading in her features. She wanted to be numb to it all, to simply walk away, but she couldn’t.

Not now.

Because worst of all, damn Allison Peabody to hell, she’d made her care for her, too.

"Ricky… please!" A soft cry.

"C’mere," Ricky said gruffly, pulling Allison close. "Those tears are gonna freeze, you know," she whispered into a cold ear, warming it. You don’t need this! You don’t need this! Her mind screamed to herself, even as the reaction her body was having to the presence of the smaller woman in her arms, told her she was a liar.

"I don’t want to lose you Ricky," Allison repeated, her words sounding mumbled through frozen lips. She pulled slightly away, lifting her eyes to the mountaineer’s, awaiting an answer.

And in that moment, in the cold of the night, with the flicker of distant fires dancing across Allison’s face, all Ricky wanted to do was to make her warm, to share with her the heat of the fire she’d kept banked within her heart for so long.

"You won’t," she told her, barely recognizing the hoarse voice as her own. She tightened the embrace, and, powerless to stop herself, lowered her lips to Allison’s. She boldly attacked the coldness she found there, challenging it, willing it all away. And when Allison eagerly responded, her own lips demanding that the fire melt the ice, Ricky felt the last of her resistance crumble; come tumbling down.

And then she was falling, falling. Releasing her safety tether, plummeting helplessly towards oblivion. And when she finally hit bottom, she discovered, much to her fuzzy surprise, that it didn’t hurt at all.

To be continued - Part 9