Archive of Our Own

The man offers a freshly rolled cigarette, the first thing he’s done that catches Refugio's attention.

“My name's Quique Davís Quinn. And you’re Refugio.”

“So?”

“So, I’ve heard you’re not afraid of anything.”

______________________________

"No," Refugio says flatly, trying to feel nothing as Quique's face falls. He has to stay strong, damn it. "If you think I'm going to put sticks on my feet and go down a cold mountain covered in death powder, you are very wrong." 

"It's a great Western American pastime, Gio! Like gambling or guns, but less potentially devastating! And it's pretty, you would not believe how pretty it is. Come on, you're the one who wanted to experience America."

"Of course, but I can experience the beauty of the mountains without worrying about running into a tree."

"You have more grace than that."

"Do I?"

"Yes! I have sex with you."

"That's not at all an argument. We have never had sex while wearing stupid pants and careening down a hill."

"Well, I mean, the stupid pants..."

"We are never speaking of that again. And if your plan is to somehow have sex while skiing, that is stupid and impossible."

"Anything is possible."

"That's much less inspiring when you're talking about fucking."

"There's truth to that. But still! Just the skiing! It's awesome! Going skiing with you is totally on my bucket list. Please, Gio? Come on, Refugio, come onnn. You’ll like it, I know you’ll like it. Don’t you trust me?”

“Ugh, fine. Fine! Stop saying my name! We'll go skiing at some point in the stupid, stupid future. I promise. The second we get an opportunity. Now stop acting like a child and go back to sleep, you look awful."

Some years later, Vasquez looks out of his window at the snow-capped mountains, allows his eyes to flick over to the opportunity on his computer screen, and then thinks, Fine, I’ll do this for you.

+

It’s one hundred percent a surprise when Vasquez announces, “We’re going skiing.”

Silence falls over Goodnight and Billy’s living room like a confused blanket as everyone turns to look at Vasquez, who just interrupted a spirited conversation about cranberry sauce with his announcement. 

Josh stares.

Red Harvest stares.

Sam stares.

Jack stares.

Goodnight stares.

Billy stares. 

Emma, who actually found the time to grace them with her presence, stares.

Everyone just stares, and Vasquez, who is looking more annoyed by the second from his place on the couch, says, “What?”

“Vasquez, you haven’t left the building in months,” Jack points out gently.

“Yes, thank you for reminding me,” Vasquez snaps. “But now I want to ski for—reasons, none of them personal, and we’re going to go do that.” 

“I can’t ski,” Goodnight says. “There was a situation, see, that involved a goat, an emu, and—”

“Nobody cares,” Vasquez says, waving a hand at Goodnight, who closes his mouth, affronted.

“...I care a little,” Josh mutters to Red Harvest, who nods in agreement. 

“You can dog-sit,” Vasquez informs Goodnight. “And cat-sit.”

“Why are you assuming everyone else can do this?” Josh asks, because it’s the first question that comes out. He has a lot of other ones, though. “We have jobs!”

“Sam and Jack are both retired, Emma is literally our landlady, Red Harvest has his own business, so I’m sure he can give himself a few days off, and you—I’m sorry, are you arguing that somehow you are too busy to go skiing?”

“Well, you don’t gotta be mean about it,” Josh grumbles as Red Harvest protests.

“I have clients! Just because...you don’t understand...what I do doesn’t mean I don’t have a job! There, there could be an emergency!”

“A horseshoe emergency?”

“Yes!”

“Wait, you work with horses?” Josh asks. It’s a bit of a sidenote, sure, but he didn’t know that.

Red Harvest turns to look at him with a flat expression. “I’m a farrier.”

“...Yeah?”

“You...you’ve known me for…months...and you don’t know...what a farrier is?”

“Wait, it has to do with horses?”

“He gives horses shoes,” Billy chimes in.

“Oh. Huh.” 

“He was my apprentice,” Horne says.

“Woah, what?”

“My business is called Horne’s Horseshoes,” Red Harvest says. “I am not Horne.” 

Josh is about to ask for some more background here while tactfully not mentioning that he had no idea what Red Harvest’s business was called when Vasquez clears his throat, loudly and with great drama. “Red Harvest! The horses will live.”

“I really can’t just...”

“You can always call Fiero,” Jack suggests, because apparently a guy named Fiero works in the...horse business.

“Yes, you can always call Fiero,” Vasquez parrots smugly. 

Red Harvest gives Horne a sour look, and Horne says, “I think it’s a great idea to go skiing. Get out of the house.”

Sam nods in agreement.

“The elders have spoken,” Vasquez says grandly.

“I’m feeling less supportive now,” Sam says, and Horne nods in disgruntled agreement.

“The two young devils sharing the couch have spoken,” Vasquez says with the same intonation.

“That’s better,” Sam says. 

“Do you even know how to ski?” Josh asks Vasquez, because that seems relevant. 

Vasquez shrugs. “No, I’ve never been,” he says, and doesn’t expand on the statement.

“Do any of us know how to ski?” Josh asks the room in general.

“Oh, I’m good at it,” Horne says. “My children loved skiing.”

“Wait, wha—” Josh starts, somewhere beyond shocked, because children? When did children happen to Horne? What are their names? Josh knew Jack had a dead wife after he asked Sam where Jack had gone on Valentine’s Day, but kids? 

Goodnight, who is sitting across from him, waves his hand desperately to get Josh’s attention and makes a slicing movement with his finger across his throat. For a moment Josh thinks his life is being threatened, and then he realizes that Goodnight just wants him to shut up, and if Goodnight Robicheaux wants him to shut up, well, Josh is not gonna take that lightly.

Then it hits him.

My children loved skiing. 

Holy shit, that’s in past tense. Children, plural, in past tense, and Josh doesn’t really want to think about it because maybe they just don’t love skiing anymore for completely light-hearted reasons, so he powers past that revelation and says, “Okay, we have one person here who knows how to ski.” He pauses. “Fine, I do too.”

He’s just not good at it, which he resents. Being bad at things is bullshit and it should be illegal, except Josh has broken the law on multiple occasions and been an accomplice to a countless number of what were technically crimes, so maybe that doesn’t hold that much weight.

“Me too,” Emma says. 

Sam says, “I learned how…at some point. Billy?”

“A long time ago. Don’t ask.”

“Red?”

“…Yes.” 

Josh doesn’t actually know what he expected, considering where they live, but it’s not like most of them were actually born here and at the very least the vaguely miserable look on Red Harvest’s face makes Josh think that he’s not the only one who’s not actually a fan of putting glorified pieces of plastic on his feet and catapulting down an entire fucking mountain. “So the only one of us who doesn’t know how to ski is the one that actually wants to ski.”

“It’s a nostalgia thing,” Vasquez says cagily, and Josh doesn’t pry, even though he can’t imagine why Vasquez would be nostalgic for something he hasn’t ever done before.

“Do any of us even have equipment?” Josh asks, hoping that no one will point out that rentals are a thing.

Jack, who’s surprising him way, way too much today, says, “I still have some skis. A snowboard, too.”

“Don’t tell me you snowboard,” Billy asks, looking mildly amused. 

“Oh, no, my son did. He was very good, wasn’t he, Sam?”

Sam, whose face is frozen in a carefully neutral expression, nods. “A natural.”

Josh desperately wants to ask, even though he also really doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t ask. 

“How are we gonna get there? Where are we gonna go? How long are we gonna go?” Josh asks instead, rattling the questions off like he’s a person who consistently plans anything, ever. “I can’t even remember last time I went skiing.”

(Lie: he remembers it like it was yesterday, when he tries.)

“We’re going to take Sam and Billy’s cars, we’ll go to Eldorado, and it’ll be three days plus the trip there and back, so one day of skiing,” Vasquez responds without missing a beat.

Everyone is silent again.

“I’ve made plans,” Vasquez stresses. “I even took Goody’s inability to ski into account.”

“How did you know?” Billy asks, puzzled. “I didn’t know. We’ve never even considered going skiing.”

“Right, when did you learn how to ski, darling?” Goodnight asks, turning to Billy.

“Not important,” Vasquez, who is declaring a lot of perfectly interesting things unimportant today, interrupts. “I’ve made all decisions for us.”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Red Harvest mutters to the floor, not noticing the dirty look Vasquez shoots him.

“I’ll go in the car with RH and Billy, and Josh can go with Sam and Jack.”

“Hey, what?” Josh exclaims. “Why?”

It’s not that he doesn’t like Sam and Jack, okay, but why doesn’t Vasquez want to ride with him? 

“What’s wrong with me?” Josh follows up, sounding more wounded than absolutely necessary while everyone else gives him weird looks.

“Nothing, guero,” Vasquez says dismissively. “But it’s going to be like this.”

“Jesus, you have a lot of guts today,” Josh mutters.

“I have a lot of guts every day, whatever that means,” Vasquez responds without missing a beat. Before Josh can ask another relevant question about how they’re going to get the money to do this, Vasquez apparently reads his mind and says, “Anyway, I have the tickets and we’re leaving tomorrow at eight.”

“What?” Sam asks. “You already bought all of it and everything? That costs money.”

“I have my ways,” Vasquez says. “You know that.”

Sam still looks vaguely weirded out, but he apparently has to concede to that point. 

“And where are we gonna stay?” Josh asks before he can get into the whole money thing, which he will, though he’s really, really not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe he can finally figure out what the fuck Vasquez does to be able to afford to never leave his apartment.

“…Jack’s cabin,” Vasquez says, and this time he does miss a beat, looking at Jack hopefully. “Please?”

There’s a tense silence that Josh has zero context for (Jack has a cabin?), and Jack, for a moment, looks like he’s been caught totally off-guard, and it’s a few moments before he sighs and says, “Fine. Might as well use the place.”

Vasquez grins, and suddenly Josh can’t bring himself to mind his surprise ski trip, because Vasquez looks happier than Josh has ever seen him, and he just can’t argue with that.

(Is Josh…has Josh become a sucker?)

Though once Vasquez waltzes out of Goodnight and Billy’s apartment, Josh does scramble after him and ask, “Hey, seriously, why do I have to go with Jack and Sam?”

“Sam will need someone to read him the directions he prints from MapQuest.”

Josh feels like he’s been punched in the face by the early 2000s. “What about GPS?”

Vasquez chuckles at the idea, apparently not clocking the fact that Josh is serious. Josh gets the picture, but he still can’t figure out why Vasquez doesn’t want to ride with Josh. Josh is great. “Okay, why don’t you get RH to do it?”

Vasquez sighs and then looks around to make sure the area is clear of any eavesdroppers—it’s his apartment and only he and Josh are in it, so yes, though Josh’ll admit that considering how easily he overhears some things, it might actually be a genuine worry—and says, in a low voice, “To give people directions, you usually have to do it in time for them to take the directions. Red can’t talk that fast.”

“…Oh. That’s, uh, that’s practical.”

“Now go get ready, we leave early,” Vasquez says, waving Josh away.

Josh rolls his eyes. “Fine! Y’know, you’re lucky I like you.”

“Yes, it’s so sad that you’re getting a fully paid ski trip.”

Josh really doesn’t have a great comeback for that other than how he doesn’t actually like skiing and this wasn’t even his choice, which is actually a pretty good argument, but he doesn’t feel like bickering, so he just throws his hands in the air and then goes to pack.

Fucking skiing. Josh’s mom used to tell the story of Josh’s first time skiing (it started with falling over literally five seconds after he put his skis on and ended with taking a tumble and possibly having an out of body experience he was so goddamn scared) whenever she possibly could, usually while Josh whined about how God, mom, she set him up for failure, of course it ended like that. 

He glances over at the picture frames facedown on his dresser, and feels his throat tighten. 

She used to laugh all the way through that story. He swears she made every funny story longer by at least three minutes, interrupting herself to laugh. He swallows hard, and shoves some more shit into his duffle bag. It’s been forever since he’s gone skiing. 

He just hasn’t had a reason to.

+

Refugio and Quique live in an old town. 

It used to be a mining town, Quique informs Refugio, like he informed Refugio about a million times when they were talking about where home would be when they got to the U.S. Back in Mexico, Quique told Refugio all about this place, but it’s different now that they actually live here, and Refugio still loves seeing it all. He loves seeing it with Quique especially, because with Quique everything is exciting. 

Today Quique’s energy is way up, but he’s feeling foggy enough that it seems to have slipped his mind that Refugio has been here some time now, though it evidently hasn’t slipped his mind that they don’t speak Spanish together anymore, and so he’s pointing everything out as they walk down Main Street, just like he did months ago when Refugio really was new here.  “So that’s the bakery,” Quique chatters brightly, “and that’s city hall, and that’s the library, and that’s the diner, and that’s a tree…”

Refugio laughs. “Yes, we have those in Mexico.”

“But it’s an American tree.”

Refugio nods very seriously in agreement, not interested in getting into the ‘technically, Mexico is also America’ argument again, and Quique smiles.

Quique’s arm is hooked through Refugio’s elbow, and they walk close together. Quique leans his head on Refugio’s shoulder and sighs happily. “This is good,” he says. 

“It really is,” Refugio responds, because here no one’s dying. They’re just walking down a street and the danger is so minimal that there really isn’t danger at all. 

They’ve had a few rough days here and there with Quique’s illness, but they figured it out early (if you can count diagnosing a disease when it had already become chronic early) and have a good treatment plan and he’s already getting better. They’ve nearly died together more than a few times, so an illness is bad luck, but it’s nothing too serious, and they’ll get through it without much fuss.

“You’ll be around for a while yet,” the doctor told Quique the other day, and then gave Refugio a reassuring smile.

“You take good care of him,” she said. 

“Thank you,” he responded. “I take my responsibilities very seriously.”

Quique had gasped, affronted. “I’m sorry, your responsibility? You make me sound like some kind of burden.”

Refugio laughed. “You are no burden.”

You saved my life.

Quique yawns against Refugio’s shoulder. “It’s getting cold.”

“No shit,” Refugio says dryly. “It’s winter.”

“We should go home,” Quique mutters. “And sleep.”

“You do need sleep. You need to stop staying up watching the stupid telenovelas.”

“They’re addictive, man, you know that. You’re the one who’s into fricking soap operas.”

“I just can’t look away,” Refugio says, shrugging. “But at least I sleep.”

“I suck at sleeping. I’m always tired anyway, what’s the damn point? I probably will tonight, though.”

They turn around and start to head back, and Quique says, “You know Sam’s moving here? He’ll be in a building right ‘round the corner.”

“We’ll need to invite him over,” Refugio says as Quique starts muttering against his shoulder, only sort of tunefully, you spin me right ‘round baby right ‘round, like a record baby…

He really is tired.

Years later, as Vasquez packs for his ski trip, he hears a knock on the door.

When he opens it, he finds Sam, who gives him a small smile. 

“Okay,” Vasquez says, inviting Sam in.

Sam wanders around the living room, pretending to actually be doing anything at all other than trying to make himself feel less awkward than he would if he were just standing there. “So, I’m guessing I’m right in thinking that this is about him?”

It’s not necessary to specify who he is, though Vasquez always could ask if he felt like playing dumb. He’s too tired to play dumb. “Isn’t it always?”

“Sure. Anyway, I came about the letter.”

Vasquez feels his stomach roll as Sam pulls the letter from—thin air, possibly. The letter itself is a perfectly harmless thing, if a little beaten up. Vasquez’s name is written on the front. The envelope has been carefully cut open, but not by Vasquez, and the contents, whatever they may be, are just as carefully tucked in there still.

“You have to take it someday,” Sam points out. “It’s been how long?”

“You know how long it’s been,” Vasquez says, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. He waits a beat. “Four years.”

“Figured this was good a time as any to try and get you to take it. You’d understand why if you’d just read the goddamn letter.”

As much as he may cherish everything else he has of the love of his life, the second Sam showed him the letter Quique had given him for safekeeping, Vasquez had refused it. It’s complicated.

But times are changing, aren’t they? It’s been four years. Vasquez is going skiing. He sighs and says, “Alright.”

Sam looks offensively, though legitimately, surprised. “Really?”

“I said alright, didn’t I?” 

Sam rolls his eyes and hands Vasquez the letter. 

Vasquez runs his fingers over the words written on the back of the envelope and swallows hard. “Have you read it?”

Sam snorts. “Course I have.”

Oh, of course he has. “So you think I can take it?”

“Vasquez, I’ve thought you could take it since the month he passed.”

“You have more faith in me than I do.”

“I know.”

Vasquez sighs heavily. “Go get ready, Sam. Tomorrow we’re going skiing. It’s what he would’ve wanted.”

Sam smiles almost to himself as he walks out the door. “I know.”

Vasquez might’ve taken the letter, but he doesn’t open it. He just puts it in his nightstand, tucked inside his mother’s Bible. 

It’s not so crazy, really, that Vasquez doesn’t want to know the last new thing Quique will ever tell him. 

He’s not ready yet.

+

Josh wakes up to someone banging on his wall, followed by Jack barking critically, because Jack can do that. Jack has a lot of feelings, and most of them are judgmental. 

“For fuck’s sake, what?” Josh snaps, trying to stand up and tripping over his duffle bag instead, nearly falling onto his coffee table. He slept on his couch, mostly because he knew he’d be getting up early and it’s easier to wake up when he’s uncomfortable. 

“It’s six!” Vasquez says through the wall.

“In the morning? Jesus!” 

“Still just me,” Vasquez reassures.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Josh grumps, because that joke is still not funny. “And I’m up, okay? You’re way too intense lately.”

“We have to set out now.”

“Weren’t we leaving at eight?”

“It’s snowing.”

“Seriously?” Josh looks out the window. “Won’t be fun to drive in the mountains with that.”

“Eldorado’s close,” Vasquez says. “It won’t be so bad.”

Josh is tired, so he doesn’t say anything—doesn’t even mention that the place they’re going is called Eldora—as he heads out into the hallway. He’s closely followed by Vasquez, who’s made an actual effort to shave and looks, just to be totally honest, super hot, if a little strung out. 

“Did you sleep?” Josh asks. 

“Why do you care?”

“Okay, guessing that’s a no, then.”

“I did, a little. I was just preparing.”

“Must be pretty exciting to be going out after all this time,” Josh tries, because he’s known Vasquez a while now, he might as well mention it.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Y’know, I’m actually not.”

“…A change of scenery will be nice.”

“I’ll bet.” Josh would go crazy locked up in an apartment all the time.

“Yes, you’re good at that.”

“Hell yeah I am,” Josh says easily, because his losing streak is so over that he’s hoping to never have one again.

“Everyone else needs to be ready now!” Vasquez calls, and Josh, true to form, suddenly remembers that he has to be inconvenient.

“Shit, I forgot about Jack.”

“Goodnight is taking care of Jack.”

“Yeah, but I need to tell him how.”

“Jack is very good at taking care of himself,” Vasquez points out.

“How do you even know that?”

“It’s not hard to tell.”

“Goody still has to know when to feed him.”

“When he feeds Purple, right?”

“…I mean, that would make sense.” 

“See? Done.”

“No, ‘cause Jack has to go on walks too.”

Vasquez sighs. “Fine, talk to him.”

Helpfully, Goodnight comes out of Red Harvest’s apartment at that moment, possibly trying to get away from the man himself, who is about to say something when Goodnight turns on his heel and puts his hands on his shoulders. He then takes his hands off of said shoulders very quickly, but still says, in a surprisingly soothing voice, “Red, it’s fine. I completely understand how to take care of Purple. You’re working yourself up, just take a deep breath and trust me.”

Red Harvest does not take a deep breath, and also looks about as untrusting as usual, though there’s an…energy about him that makes Josh think that maybe he is worried, especially considering that they’re talking about Purple, and Red Harvest has verbally told Josh that he likes Purple more than most human beings. 

(Josh is still not sure if he falls under the umbrella of ‘most human beings.’ He hopes he doesn’t.)

“I think you might’ve forgotten that I’ve taken care of Purple before. Several times. And you always do this.”

“Usually you’re, you’re w-with Billy. And I, I, I trust, I trust him.”

Okay, yeah, Red Harvest must be worried, because Josh has never heard his stutter that bad other than that one time outside of the bar. Jesus Christ, it’s a cat. 

Goodnight is being extremely, impressively patient, but when Josh speaks up, there is definitely relief on his face. “Actually, RH, I gotta talk to Goody. I need to tell him some things about Jack.”

Goodnight looks slightly less relieved now, as if he’s worried that he’s going to discover that Josh is also wildly neurotic when it comes to his pet, but Josh just says, “Remember to walk him. Feed him when you feed Purple.”

“…That’s all?”

“There’s really nothing else to say.”

“I expected more drama.”

Josh makes a face, mildly offended. “You’re one to talk.”

Goodnight, to his credit, takes that in stride. “Well, fine, you and your drama-free self should really set an example for the others and get down to the parking garage, or they’ll be here all day.”

“Good idea,” Josh says, and he lugs his duffle bag down to the garage with zero ceremony.

He leans against Sam’s car and sighs into the empty parking garage.

The others’ll get here some time today, he figures, and eventually they do all make their way down there.

Billy, Red Harvest, and an edgy-looking Vasquez all pile into Billy’s car and head out pretty quickly, but Horne does a double take when he sees Josh leaning up against Sam’s car. Josh feels weirdly insecure for a moment before he realizes that it’s not Josh that Horne is confused about.

“Sam, did you get a new car?” Horne asks, sounding mildly baffled.

Sam shakes his head. “Nope. Same old clunker.”

Josh doesn’t know how anyone would get it confused with literally anything else in the universe, honestly. The thing’s a monstrosity. He thinks it might be as old as Sam himself. He wonders, not for the first time, how old Sam himself actually is. However, he also suspects that if he asks, he’ll be murdered and Horne’ll hide the body and then forget where he hid it and...

Yeah, Josh isn’t gonna do that. Anyway. 

The car’s black, huge, and looks like a truck tried really hard to be a pickup truck but came up—literally—short.

Horne shakes his head in wonder. “What a world,” he says, which is a weird thing to say about a car, but whatever.

Sam’s car is, by the way, such a mess that Josh is kind of shocked. There’s half a metal water bottle rolling around on the floor. Only half, and now Josh is left with the eternal question of what the fuck happened to the other half. 

Sam hands him a few pages printed from MapQuest, and it would be so much easier if Josh could just direct them using the GPS on his phone, but when he suggests that, Sam says, “I’m not trusting that shit.”

Josh doesn’t even argue. He knows a losing battle when he sees one, and even though he sometimes really enjoys fighting losing battles, sometimes he doesn’t. 

“You know how to get to the highway, right?” Josh asks. 

“Yes.”

“Okay, so…just get there. It’s not that hard.”

“If you tell me this isn’t that hard and then get us lost, your ass is grass,” Sam says, looking at Josh through the rearview mirror.

Josh puts his hands up. “Okay, okay.”

He doesn’t want to use up all his data anyway.

The drive to Eldorado—no, Eldora—isn’t all that long, maybe two hours, but Horne looks weirdly edgy, kind of like Vasquez did. Josh wonders if there’s something car-related there. Sam begins to talk, a little more loudly than usual, and there’s something in his voice that makes Josh respond to his questions.

“So, Faraday, do you just gamble for a living?”

“Makes for a surprisingly good living,” Josh says, which is a yes. 

“Fair enough. Any family?”

“No,” Josh says shortly. Not anymore. “You?”

“Not anymore.” Awkward pause. “So. I reckon you’ll be staying a while.”

“I reckon so. I got a pretty good deal on that apartment.” Josh isn’t about to tell the story of how exactly he got the apartment, but Sam seems to accept that. Josh feels like he should contribute and also get the attention off of him, so he says, to Horne, “So, uh, the cabin, huh? Didn’t know you had one of those.”

“Oh, I moved out of it after everything,” Horne says, and Josh doesn’t pry on that, even though Horne seems to think he magically knows what ‘after everything’ means. Josh isn’t a mind reader. Sometimes he’s glad for that, though. Sometimes he isn’t. His mom always said he was an inquisitive soul. 

Josh is saved from the awkward conversation punctuated by even more awkward silences by his sacred MapQuest duty—look, he’s pretty sure that Sam could kick his ass if he tried, and he’s not down for that, he’s not into that, he’s gonna take this seriously, sort of—as he realizes that they’re this close to missing their exit and very quickly directs Sam towards it.

Sam swears, and then swerves. Josh sees God for a second, but they make the exit. Horne crosses himself. 

“That could’ve been bad,” Josh says, and he knows he’s not being helpful, but Sam just mutters something that’s probably uncharitable under his breath, and lets it lie.

They have to turn the radio on after a bit, when they run out of shit to talk about that isn’t even more awkward than the shit they’ve already talked about. There’s way too much interference up in the mountains for the radio to actually play anything other than white noise occasionally cut by whatever’s playing on various stations, including country, gangsta rap, and Caribbean music. 

Josh is maybe going crazy by the time they get to the cabin, but the cabin's nice, surrounded by mountains and a little out of the way. The snowfall’s slowed enough that Josh isn’t sure if it’s actually coming down anymore or if it’s just the breeze blowing snow off the pines. 

Josh can’t see Billy’s car parked anywhere, and Horne says, sounding a little worried, “You think they’d be here by now.”

Sam’s quick to say, “Billy’s just careful, I’m sure they’ll get here in a minute. Let’s just get settled. Where’s the ski equipment?”

Incredibly, Josh has actually managed to dig out his old ski pants, and he’s pretty sure he can rent the goggles and all that shit if they don’t already have some.

“Right,” Horne says. “I think it might be in the closet of the spare room.”

Josh looks around. The place is pretty stripped down, clearly old but also bare, like someone cleared it of any signs of life a while back, at least at first glance. After everything, he guesses.

He sets his stuff down on the couch because he always sleeps on the couch when he’s not in his own room, and watches Horne and Sam make their way to one of the spare rooms.

Josh has a feeling that every room in this place is a spare room now.

Before he can start dwelling on things, he hears a car outright skid into the gravel driveway. It’s followed by the telltale sounds of people getting out of the car and also yelling, with Vasquez’s voice soaring over the others. “You are a menace!”

“Come on,” Billy says, but then he doesn’t actually say he’s not. 

“Did you ever even learn to drive?”

“You could always have driven.”

“Please, I haven’t done that in…in thirty years.”

“You have not driven since you were too young to drive.”

“Fine, maybe not, but I still didn’t want to drive in the snow! Maybe my opinion would have been different if I had realized you were going to try to kill us at every turn!”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Red Harvest offers. “Maybe it’s…just…you haven’t been in a car for a long time.”

“Low blow,” Vasquez says.

“Wait, it wasn’t supposed to be one!”

As much as Josh would like to witness this argument, he actually ends up going out onto the porch with the intention of breaking it up. “Rough drive?” he asks, loud enough that the three idiots in front of the car—and also Emma, who’s leaning against the hood and looking both tired and bored—look at him.

“Very,” Billy says. “Can you not tell? According to Vasquez, we are practically dead now.”

“Well, amen. Come in. This fight isn’t going anywhere.”

Even Vasquez seems to deflate at that. He mostly just looks tired. “Come inside,” Sam says, and Josh jumps a mile, turning to look at Sam, who’s somehow right next to him even though he really wasn’t, oh, two seconds ago. He seems almost smug about scaring the crap out of him, the bastard. 

“The hell? How do you do that?”

“I transport,” Sam says. “Like in Star Trek.”

Josh rolls his eyes. 

“He’s joking,” Red Harvest offers.

“Oh, thanks,” Josh says, though apparently the sarcasm in his voice—he knew—doesn’t seem to be enough for Red Harvest to catch on, because he just nods a you’re welcome and then seems to decide he’s bored with the whole situation and shoves his way in through the door without so much as a by-your-leave. 

Billy follows suit, also acting as though Josh isn’t even there (what is he, chopped liver? No, at least they’d try to avoid touching chopped liver, let alone bumping into its shoulder. The chopped liver is human-shaped in this situation), but Vasquez and Emma hover next to the car for a second, exchanging a couple words before coming in. Vasquez seems tired as anything, although he’s kind enough to pat Josh on the shoulder as he goes in. Though it’s more like he’s pushing himself off of Josh rather than patting him, so he might also be trying to support himself. 

Sam says, “He probably took a Xanax. Doesn’t usually do that, but…he hasn’t been out in a while.”

“What’s his deal, anyway?” Josh finally asks, because seriously, he didn’t think Vasquez was capable of going out, and now it turns out that he is, which is just weird, considering that if he can actually go out, it’s now a huge mystery why he doesn’t. Sam shrugs as if he doesn’t absolutely and definitely know.

“It’s complicated,” he says, and before Josh can get anything but the only Facebook relationship status he’s ever used other than ‘single’ before he had a weird moment while on shrooms and deleted his entire Facebook so the leprechauns wouldn’t find him (they’re drawn to Irish blood, shrooms Josh explained) out of him, Sam goes back into the cabin too, leaving Josh, who’s in a t-shirt, very suddenly aware that it’s fucking freezing. He and his Texan tolerance to cold are back in the cabin like a shot, and he drifts towards the smell of chocolate, since Horne seems to be making some hot chocolate in the kitchen and Josh wants all of it. 

Vasquez still looks like he’s about to fall over, and eventually he says, “You know, who has to ski every day when on a ski vacation? I’m going to sleep. Just. A lot. All day, maybe.”

“I’m pretty sure…” Josh says, but then he just sighs. He doesn’t even like skiing, and one day seems about all any of them can handle. Vasquez has disappeared anyway, probably to one of the spare rooms to make good on that promise to sleep all day. He needs his sleep anyway.

“I got up at six for this,” Josh says, and Sam shoots him a look.

“Just be supportive.”

“I am supportive! I got up at six for this, chill.”

“I’ll chill when I’m dead,” Sam says, but he allows for Josh’s point. 

“Seriously, though, what are we gonna do all day?” Josh complains, still drifting over to the kitchen. Horne, seeming to understand what he’s getting at, hands him a mug of hot chocolate. From what Josh can tell as it brings feeling back to his numb fingers, it’s scalding, so he doesn’t drink yet, because he has impulse control. 

Sam also seems lost on what they’re going to be doing all day, but Sam also seems to have a huge issue with seeming lost on anything, so he says, “We can go look around.”

“You want to go look around like tourists?” Billy asks. 

“It’s a nice town.”

“Technically, this is an unincorporated community,” Horne chimes in.

“Thanks, Jack,” Sam says. “That was necessary.”

“Fine,” Josh says. “Let’s go. I’m making an executive decision, we’re gonna go.”

Sam fixes him with a glare. “No. I’m making an executive decision.”

Josh puts his hands up, something he seems to do a lot with these guys. “Fine.” He frowns. “Hey, where’s Emma?”

“Not getting a say in the decisions this sausagefest makes, as usual,” she says from her place on the couch. 

“Hey,” Josh says, “where’d you come from?”

“Exactly,” Emma says. “I’m going to sleep. Jack?”

“There’s another room right ‘round the corner.”

(You spin me right ‘round baby right ‘round, like a record baby, Josh’s brain starts chanting, and he really wishes he hadn’t gone to so many clubs that were into playing eighties throwbacks in his completely well-spent youth.)

“Thanks,” Emma mutters, pulling her hair from the bun she’s trapped it in and then shaking it out of her face as she attempts not to stumble over to the room but totally stumbles anyway, because Josh lives around a lot of exhausted people.

“Okay, let’s go for it,” Sam says, and Josh finally gulps down his hot chocolate. He then realizes that it apparently hasn’t been that long since he decided not to drink it yet, and now he’s in pain.

“Ow,” he whispers to himself as the others start bustling around to grab their shit, but he manages to work through the pain, because he’s got an insanely high pain tolerance thank you very much, and get his coat on too. Considering that the cabin’s out of the way, Josh assumes they’re gonna take a car like reasonable people, but no one here is reasonable. They walk. 

It’s not that Josh doesn’t like walking. It’s just that he doesn’t like doing things the hard way, and this is definitely the hard way. There are two cars. Apparently, though, there’s “not much in the way of parking”, according to Horne, so here they are, picking their way down the driveway, which then turns into some kind of trail. Josh wonders what kind of people would decide to live in a place like this, and then thinks that probably a lot of people would decide to live in a place like this, and out of those lots of people, Horne is definitely one of them.

Red Harvest is ahead of any of them, walking with purpose as though he’s been here a million times before. Josh isn’t sure if he has, though. 

Horne and Sam are talking in hushed voices, and Billy’s next to Josh very suddenly, because everyone here moves like a goddamn assassin. “How do you do that?” Josh asks, right after nearly falling into a bush. 

“Do what?” is Billy’s response, and Josh doesn’t even bother. Out of everyone, Josh figures he’s the least close with Billy, so he doesn’t try too hard to be friends. He gets that they’re not gonna be drinking buddies anytime soon, and he’s not gonna act desperate about it. Things happen when they happen, and when they don’t happen Josh shrugs them off and pretends that he totally meant for them to turn out that way. 

Most of the day goes by surprisingly fast as Horne points out various places he and his family used to go to and Josh tries not to think about that too hard. He does take note of every bar they pass. They eat at a little restaurant that has pretty good burgers, or maybe really good burgers, since Josh has two. Josh spends most of his time feeling super weird about being around Billy when Billy’s not around Goodnight, because he’s just not used to them being at least not very far apart. 

It’s not that eventful, but it’s…pretty nice, except for the part where they wander into a used bookstore and spent about seventy years looking at fucking books. Josh hates books.

Okay, Josh doesn’t hate books, he just doesn’t love them. He likes audiobooks better, but when he half-heartedly looks for some in the bookstore, they’re all cassette tapes, which is stupid. Josh doesn’t have a cassette player anymore. He’s pretty sure he sold it on eBay when he was having money troubles, pretty soon after his mom kicked the bucket. 

He did used to listen to audiobooks on it with her, though. They listened to Dashiell Hammett’s entire oeuvre that way. (His mom always put it like that, and Josh always called her a nerd, because there’s no reason to use a French term when you can just say “all the shit he wrote”.)

Josh is bored enough that he assumes it’s only been like half an hour and time’s just dragging when he checks his watch, but actually, nah, it’s been literal hours since they set out. Makes sense, considering that it’s dark outside, though at this time of year the winter makes everything get dark at like four, so that’s not saying too much.

The more important thing is that it’s not like four. In fact, it’s beer o’ clock, also known as a time of day that Josh can go to a bar without it being sad.

He doesn’t really mention that he’s leaving to anyone—he’s pretty sure he said he was gonna split to go get some authentic Eldora brews or whatever at some point today—when he slips out the door of the bookstore, but Billy pops up next to him the second he steps outside anyway.

Josh jumps. “God! Has anyone ever told you you move like an assassin?” 

“Yes,” Billy says simply. 

“And you haven’t done anything about it?”

“Why would I?”

“…Y’know, I’m not sure.”

“Where are you going?”

“Why do you care?” Josh asks, genuinely confused, because seriously, Billy’s impossible to read, but Josh hasn’t ever gotten the impression that he likes him that much. Again: they’ll never be drinking buddies. That’s for sure.

+

So anyway, Josh and Billy are at a bar, drinking, and they’ve been at it for a while, because they’re drunk.

“Knives,” Billy says randomly from the barstool next to Josh, which seems about right. His eyes are hooded and glassy, but somehow still piercing. Billy’s really hot, Josh realizes, somewhat drunkenly, though he is not always drunk when he has this thought. A lot of people around him, people he lives right next door to, even, are really hot.

Why is Josh surrounded by hot people? He’s always been the hottest. Always. 

Not always, but 99% of the time. Now he’s only...well, he’s still hot, because if he isn’t, then, like, what is he? but there are so many other hot people. Too hot to trot, no one has ever said, ever.

Also, Red Harvest works with horses? Josh doesn’t know why he’s surprised. He’d be surprised if a farrier had turned out to be a social worker or something. Sometimes he’s just surprised that any of them have jobs, since Red Harvest is the only one who ever seems to go to one or, like, mention that he has one. The rest are a giant question mark. Wait—Sam and Horne are retired, even though they’re not that old, and fuck knows what they did before.

Vasquez is fucked in the head or something, so maybe he gets money in a special fucked in the head way, but—wait again—he has said he has a job, and that Josh would judge him for it, so it could be all sorts of shit. Goodnight and Billy? Who knows. They all go places, though, other than Vasquez, so maybe they are going to jobs. Maybe Josh is just really bad at thinking about other people’s lives. 

Okay, but he also did just learn that Horne used to work with horses. Now that’s weird, as is the idea that Horne was, at some point, younger than he is now. He seems ageless. Not in a young, vampire way. More in...a different, older way. But ageless. 

And kids! Horne had actual children! Josh wonders if there are pictures, and of course there are pictures. Josh wants to see pictures.

Josh has never, at any point in time, wanted to see pictures of anyone’s kids, or family at all. Now he’s just so curious, he’s so curious. Except also it’s so sad, because Josh is sure that Horne’s family is just straight-up dead, and that’s fucked up, but Horne’s weird, maybe he’s just speaking in past tense because they’re not here right now, and everyone else is...humoring him? Or maybe they’re just estranged, but that would suck and Horne’s...Josh would never estrange himself from him, and Josh has tried his level best to estrange himself from his dead mother, so maybe the kids live somewhere else and call or email a bunch. 

Or use snail mail, probably, because Horne is so bad at computers. Maybe just the wife is dead, which would be bad but not as bad, probably, even though it’s kind of hard to...qualify...(quantify?...whatever) shit like that. That’s dark math.

…But Josh knows they’re all dead, he’s just doing that wishful thinking thing. For someone else, which is weird.

“Hey!” Billy says imperiously. “Listen! To my words!” 

Josh snaps back to reality and stares at Billy. “What?”

Billy sighs and repeats, very seriously and very slowly, “Faraday...you have my sword.”

Jesus fucking Christ, what did Josh miss while he was drunk-thinking? 

“Is that...good...?” Josh asks, leaning back a little and looking around the bar for anything that’s like a sword, anything at—

Josh looks back, and there is a butterfly knife pointed. At. Him.

What the fuck?!

“What the fuck?! That’s not even a sword! And...where did it come from?”

“You have...a mini sword...” Billy says, jabbing it at Josh insistently enough that Josh has to take it so that he doesn’t accidentally get drunk-stabbed, which has happened. 

“You mean a knife?”

“Yes.”

“…Should I be moved?”

Billy gives him a flat look. “I made it.”

Josh thinks that that’s a yes, and he is moved, sort of, because he didn’t even know Billy noticed him most of the time, but mostly he’s confused. “You make knives?”

“It’s my job.”

Maybe if Josh had paid more attention or asked more questions, it actually wouldn’t’ve been that hard to figure out what everyone does. That’s the moral of the story. “Ohhhh.”

“But you don’t have to pay for yours.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“I know.” Billy sighs, and then he swings his neck very suddenly so that he’s staring into the distance. Much like everyone else, always, he’s not staring at anything in particular other than, y’know.

The distance.

“I miss Goody,” Billy says, wilting a bit and waving the bartender over. “Shot,” he says. “Of something strong.”

He has said this several times. Occasionally with more words.

“Okay,” the bartender says. “But then I’m cutting you off.” 

“I cut people,” Billy says, staring right into the bartender’s eyes. 

The bartender looks at Josh, baffled and a little scared, and Josh says, “He’s kidding.”

“I’m not kidding,” Billy chimes in.

Josh nudges Billy hard and he huffs, offended, and the bartender sighs and mutters something about dramatic motherfuckers.

You should meet his boyfriend, Josh absolutely does not say. 

When Billy finally gets his drink, he knocks it back and then slams it on the counter. 

The bartender drifts over again, and Josh whispers, “Just get him water. Put it in a shot glass.”

Josh knows enough about drunk people to be pretty sure that Billy won’t really notice the difference. 

“I miss Goody,” Billy says again, accent much stronger and voice dangerously close to a whine. 

Josh is never going to be intimidated by this guy again. 

“It’s like when he was gone,” Billy says, sighing. “Except totally different.”

“Gone?” Josh asks.

“Deployed,” Billy explains, and then holds up three fingers. “Many times.”

He knocks back a shot of water. 

“Ohhh,” Josh says. So that’s the deal with Goody.

“Only twice after I met him,” Billy says. “Then he retired.”

“Well,” Josh says awkwardly, “I’m sure he misses you as much as you miss him.”

+

“Who’s a good dog? You are!” Goodnight coos as he throws a violently neon mouse toy over Jack the dog’s head. 

Jack just looks up, disinterested, and goes back to gnawing on his teddy bear.

“Fair enough,” Goodnight says, surrounded by various toys in the middle of the hallway. “That thing was a disgusting color. Lime green, really? Besides, it’s a cat toy.” It’s a bit of a mystery why Josh decided to buy it, but Josh is also a bit of a mystery, so.

Purple wanders over and bats at toy gently, and then, seeming mildly amused, continues to do so.

“See?” Goodnight says. 

He’s quite honestly having a ball. He loves animals, and has for quite some time, though it might be stretching the truth to say he’s loved them since childhood, on account of he hasn’t.

The Robicheaux family had a veritable zoo at their home, but Goodnight was never too interested in it, mostly because all the animals seemed to hate him with an energy that was quite frankly concerning. 

He thought, at first, that animals in general just didn’t like him, and then realized rather quickly that, no, animals in general had no problem with him. It was just those belonging to the Robicheaux family that had a bone to pick. Perhaps, much like the rest of his family, they expected greater things from him than the others, and were not thrilled when he was unable to measure up.

In any case, Jack and Purple both seem to like him quite a bit, and he’s enjoying himself. This whole situation, what with the chance to spend some time in peace and with the animals, pleases him. 

“This pleases me,” he informs both Jack and Purple, and they don’t judge him for saying it, unlike someone he knows (Red Harvest), who has a quite frankly randomly strong opinion regarding the phrase and insists that Goodnight sounds like a supervillain whenever he says it.

He does still say it, of course, because he must admit to finding some joy in annoying Red Harvest after all the times that Red Harvest has knowingly and creatively annoyed him, starting with the Rotating Dictionary Debacle three years ago, though Goodnight must admit that, much like most dictionary-related memories in his life, that is ultimately a good one.

Sgt. Terrence, may God rest his immortal soul, used to call Goodnight Oxford, and that was after the dictionary, of course, not the university. 

Terry, the charismatic little fucker, got everyone doing it. Goodnight didn’t mind.

It was much, much better than being called the ‘Angel of Death.’ 

The words shroud his mind like shadows, and Goodnight breathes in and out harshly and tries to remember how to keep the dark thoughts from consuming him. He’s distracted by Jack putting a paw on his knee, and he smiles. “It’s time for food, isn’t it?”

Jack, who is astonishingly intelligent, possibly even on Purple’s level, trots into Josh’s apartment in response, and when Goodnight ventures inside, feeling quite pleased that he’s finally getting a chance to see Josh’s apartment, he sees Jack next to a food bowl. 

The aforementioned bowl is extremely cheap and a not particularly fetching gray color, but it has JACK written on it in permanent marker. Goodnight hasn’t seen Josh write much, but he can recognize the blocky all-caps penmanship. There’s something almost moving about the idea of Joshua Faraday carefully writing his dog’s name on its food bowl, and Goodnight smiles a bit before he goes and pours out some dry dog food for Jack. Then, feeling curious, he scans Josh’s apartment.

(Goodnight is very good at scanning.)

Couch, TV, laptop lazily pushed to the edge of a coffee table that looks to be made of oak…really not much going on, is there? 

Art pieces on the walls, just three of them, dogs playing poker in the kitchen (of course) and then a rather more sedate reproduction of a painting by Hopper above the television, a woman on a bed, looking down, a lovely piece, doesn’t seem like Josh at all, and then on the wall next to the door there’s a reproduction of Vermeer’s Astronomer. Goodnight loves that one. 

Sgt. Carson, may God rest his immortal soul, had a postcard with that very painting on it. 

His daughter sent it, and on the back she sketched a picture of her mother, Carson’s wife. 

The portrait was beautiful. Wolf bragged for days—Wolf, of course, being Carson.

It was short for Papa Wolf, though at first Young, may God rest his immortal soul, dubbed him Papa Bear, but then Goodnight pointed out that actually, male bears were not particularly interested in their babies, so Young and the future Wolf and Goodnight and King, may God rest his immortal soul, crowded around King’s shitty Dell laptop and looked up animals with a paternal streak. The wolf was the first and coolest that they could find.

Goodnight wonders if Wolf’s daughter’s still in art school or if she’s graduated. Wonders where the oldest son ended up going to med school, since he was still waffling about it last time Goodnight heard of him. Wonders what the other four kids look like now, they were young enough then that they’ve probably gotten so big… 

He stares at the painting, mesmerized, and wonders why Josh likes it so much that he’d put it on his wall. 

It’s one of Goodnight’s favorites, though. 

That’s when he hears a quite frankly alarming yowling from below him. He starts, covering his heart delicately with one hand. “My word!” he exclaims, and then he takes a brief moment to feel a wave of horror at the fact that he sounded exactly like his grandmother just then. Thankfully, the only living beings who witnessed his shame were Jack and the source of the yowling, otherwise known as Purple. 

(Goodnight spent a fair amount of time at the beginning of his and Red Harvest’s neighborly relationship trying to parse what kind of significance there was to the Maine Coon’s name, considering that he’s never once seen Red Harvest be remotely interested in the color purple.

Eventually he asked, and Red Harvest was actually kind enough to explain that the cat ‘just looked like a Purple’, an explanation that helpfully confirmed Goodnight’s suspicions that Red Harvest’s whole thing wasn’t so much that he was cold and deeply disinterested in other human beings, but more that he was just really, really fucking weird.)

Oh, of course. Goodnight was actually planning to feed Purple first, but then Jack started vying for his attention and, well, now Jack’s done with his food and Purple hasn’t gotten her dinner yet. “Well, that’s a situation that has to be rectified!” Goodnight says, shaking himself out of his reverie. 

Red Harvest’s apartment is neater than Josh’s, and certainly more lived in. Goodnight’s been in here many times before, though, and it always looks pretty much the same, except the damn pleather couch falls apart more and more every year. Someday it’ll just be duct tape.

Goodnight remembers the first time he and Billy went into the apartment, searching for a dress shoe that they were sure Purple had taken. It was actually quite fun, the most fun Goodnight had had for some months at that point in time.

Goodnight gives Purple her wet food, pushing Jack, who somehow got out of Josh’s apartment yet again, aside as he attempts to encroach on her food. Purple hisses at Jack, but Jack isn’t fazed, he just growls back. And yet both Josh and Red Harvest insist that the two are best friends. 

Goodnight shakes his head fondly as he pets Jack, who’s decided to calm the fuck down and chew on his teddy bear, and takes a deep breath. It’s nice here. Even without Billy, Goodnight’s happy here, as long as he can be sure that Billy will come back, and he knows he will. Goodnight always knew Billy would be there when he came home. Near the end of his military career and after, that was the only thing that got him through.

Now he’s here, and it’s taken him a long time to get to this place, both literally and figuratively, but it’s all been worth it, for both him and Billy, because by now Goodnight can safely say that moving to the fourth floor was the best thing that ever happened to the both of them. 

Not including, of course, meeting each other.

+

Vasquez, incredibly, wakes up feeling refreshed, and when he checks the time, he finds that, miracle of miracles, he’s slept through the night. 

Well, he’s also slept through a day, but that’s not a bad thing either.

In any case, it’s eight in the morning and he’s ready to ski.

He flings open the door of his room and is met with a shriek, which he responds to with what he likes to think is a slightly manlier shriek. “Emma?”

“You nearly broke my nose there,” she says, looking pale, though she admittedly always looks pale, except for when she gets sunburn. 

“Well, you’re the one who was standing right outside the room.”

“I was gonna knock on the door, see if you’d wake up. We were starting to think you were dead in there.”

“No, just sleeping like the dead.”

“That sounds nice. I slept too,” she offers, but then she sighs. She looks tired, and Vasquez gets the feeling that her sleep wasn’t quite so refreshing. Vasquez understands. Sometimes it’s like he’s sleeping alone for the first time again, and the weight of grief is unbearable. Sleeping with Josh helps, but he doubts something like that would help Emma. She’s a particular kind of woman. “I love skiing,” she says, though there’s something reluctant about the words.

“Really? Why didn’t you say so?”

“I haven’t been for so long. Matthew hated it. He never wanted to go for vacations, always used to obsess over all the ways one of us could get hurt, so we’d just go somewhere we both wanted to go. It’s just strange that his opinion doesn’t matter anymore.”

Vasquez squeezes her shoulder. “He’d want you to have fun.”

“He would.” She smiles a bit. “When he got sick, he’d always try and joke about how, hey, now I’d get to do all the fun things he was too neurotic to do.”

 “Well…hey, now you get to do this fun thing he was too neurotic to do.”

Emma’s smile spreads, though her eyes are shining. She’s very brave, Emma Cullen. “I might as well, right? Do something for myself.”

Vasquez nods enthusiastically, because ever since Matthew’s murder, Emma’s been completely devoted to getting justice for him. It’s admirable, of course, and sometimes Vasquez wishes that there was some sort of way to get justice for Quique rather than simply admitting that life isn’t fair, but Emma really does deserve a break. “Come on, you can show me how to ski. I’m almost completely sure I’ll hate it.”

Emma laughs. “Can’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it, Vasquez.”

“I really think I can.” Vasquez throws his arm around Emma’s shoulders and half pulls her into the living room where the others, including a ruffled-looking Josh, are milling about.

Jack turns to look at him, and smiles. “Good, you’re here!”

Vasquez sighs. The things I do for you, he says to himself (it’s not really to himself). He tries for a smile. “Let’s get going.”

“Exciting stuff,” Sam offers, clapping Vasquez on the shoulder as he walks out of the cabin to unlock his car. “Can’t wait.”

+

In reality, though it takes fifteen nervewracking minutes to find parking (at least they’re early) and another twenty to finally show their ski passes and get into the lodge, it takes about five seconds for both Sam and Jack to look out at the beautiful, powder-covered mountains...and decide that actually they’re not interested. “It means you won’t have to rent as much equipment,” Jack says as if he’s not just lazy, and he dumps his goggles into Vasquez’s arms, says what might actually be ‘Godspeed’, and begins walking away.

“...I’ll go with him,” Sam says hastily, and then he explains, “It was his idea to not ski. Brings back too many memories.”

Vasquez gapes. “You cannot possibly be using Jack’s dead family to get out of this! I thought you were excited!” He didn’t seem that excited, but in Vasquez’s defense, it’s a bit hard to tell.

“I was being supportive,” Sam says, already backing away. “Now I don’t really have to be. ‘Sides, I used to go skiing with my mother and sisters, so...I’m gonna use my dead family to get out of this.”

“Coward!” Vasquez calls after him, though only halfheartedly. After all, he used the dead love of his life to get Sam to even come up here, so he’s not really one to talk.  

What a waste of money. It’s a good thing he got these tickets from an online raffle.

“The elders have spoken!” Sam calls over his shoulder.

Oh, please. There must be people at least in their seventies around here. Sam’s barely past sixty. Jack’s even younger. 

Vasquez is still just a little irritated, but he only sulks a little while Emma and Josh ask about where they can rent equipment. The issue of renting and equipment has become a whole thing, because though the goggles seem about right, they’ve all managed to get ski pants that do look very stupid, and Emma has her own equipment, there’s now the issue of how none of the skis or boots that Jack had are actually their size. (Vasquez just assumed they came in small, medium, and large. Thinking back on it, this may have been an oversight.)

He snaps out of the annoyance and reaches acceptance as Emma and Josh return and pause next to him. They watch Sam walk away. Jack, huge man he is, has still somehow already disappeared.

“Did they just leave?” Emma asks.

“Mhm,” Red Harvest says from where he’s sitting on a bench with Billy. Both seem mostly disinterested, but Vasquez knows better. Those two see everything. 

“I hope they get eaten by a Yeti,” Josh says a little grouchily.

“They could fight off a Yeti,” Billy pipes up from the bench.

“He has a point,” Emma says. 

“What the fuck is a Yeti?” Vasquez asks. 

“A snow Bigfoot.”

“Ah. Yes, they could definitely fight off a snow Bigfoot.”

“It was a joke,” Josh mutters.

“Make more accurate jokes,” Red Harvest replies. “Or don’t make any. At all. I don’t.”

Everyone gives Red Harvest a look at that one. Even Billy side-eyes him. 

“I feel like you do,” Josh says. 

“Feelings are...an illusion.”

“See, that was a joke.”

Red Harvest gives him a deadpan look. “Was it?”

“He’s really dedicated,” Emma explains. “Inscrutable.”

“It’s a Comanche tradition.”

“...Being inscrutable?”

“White people saying we are.” 

“Okay, fine,” Emma says, looking a little embarrassed. “Straight-faced, then. Can we go rent this shit now? I used to ski all the time, I know, I know, surprise, we all contain multitudes, moving on. I’m pretty sure I can help you guys. That means you won’t have to talk to people.”

Red Harvest shrugs as if that isn’t a concern for him, but Vasquez feels himself relax, probably visibly. He’s not here to talk to other people. That’s just too much.

“Before y’all got distracted by something really, really stupid, as usual, we found out that the rental room was back there,” Josh says, pointing vaguely in a general direction and revealing nothing.

“Thanks, Kit Carson,” Emma says. “I’ll take it from here.”

“I hate that guy,” Red Harvest mutters darkly as he pushes past Vasquez in that same general direction Josh pointed to and makes a beeline for what seems to be a less general place.

“...He’s going the right way, let’s follow him,” Emma says. “How does he do that? Is it just an innate sense of direction?”

“Playing stereotype bingo today, huh?” Billy asks.

“Oh, come on! That’s not what I meant!”

Billy shrugs and smirks a little as he follows Red Harvest, and Emma just sighs—she lost this one for a reason—and nudges at Vasquez to get him to walk even though he was definitely about to walk. 

Josh falls into step with them. “What’s the plan, anyway?” he asks. “If we don’t spend all day renting skis.”

“Bunny hill, I figure,” Emma says. 

“Bunny hill?” Vasquez asks.

“It’s the beginner’s mountain.”

“Why don’t they just call it beginner’s mountain? Why bunny hill?” Vasquez has dignity. “Can’t we go down something manlier? Like the…” he glances over at a conveniently placed sign. “Black diamond?”

“If you want to run into a tree and die.”

That would probably be less dignified, so Vasquez says nothing more on the topic. He’ll live with bunny hill. He’s going to say something else, but instead he ends up accosted by a very enthusiastic middle-aged lady who gives him a big smile and says, “Hello, there! What are you interested in renting?”

Vasquez realizes at this moment that he hasn’t had much interaction with anyone for a very long time, and he says, “Well…” and then says nothing else.

The woman seems to come to a realization, one which leads her to say, very slowly, clearly, and at an inexplicably loud volume, “I’m so sorry, I mean what would you like from here? This room? It’s where you rent the skis you will be using.”

She has not realized a correct thing, and this is one of the things Vasquez didn’t miss about human interaction. “I know that,” he says. 

“Right, right. Well, there are some very good rentals for beginners! Oh, I didn’t mean to assume, but…you are a beginner, right? Not many ski lodges where you’re from, I’m guessing!”

“Damn,” Josh whispers from next to Vasquez, whose vocal chords are still paralyzed by the presence of a white lady speaking loudly at him in a voice usually reserved for puppies.

Jesus Christ, it’s not like Vasquez is shy. He was never shy. He is capable of saying words that will make this woman stop being like this at him. He’s ruined himself. 

Emma grabs his elbow, stopping any sort of spiral (that’s what Sam would call it), and says, “Actually, I’ll be helping these guys out.”

“Oh, alright!” the lady says cheerily. “Guess I’ll help the other customers!”

With that, she starts to walk over to Red Harvest and Billy, both of whom are actually talking to another middle-aged woman. Vasquez is assuming that this one is using a grown-up voice, because neither of the two look murderous. 

Emma practically runs over. She smiles at the other rental lady with all her teeth and says, “I know what I’m doing, I can take it from here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the lady says, and then she disappears behind the counter while calling, “Just holler if you need any help.”

“We won’t,” Vasquez says, and then he sits down on a bench in front of some skis that are all lined up and says, “I am rusted.”

Josh claps him on the shoulder. “I didn’t know what to say either, compadre. Let’s just listen to Emma and get where we’re going.”

Vasquez nods and tunes in to Emma’s attempts to measure them. “Okay, I know everyone’s tall,” she mutters to herself, “it’s like being surrounded by a damned man forest.”

Vasquez chokes on a laugh at that, and Emma smirks as she points at some skis. “Here, these should work. Get the boots, guys, I’m guessing you know your shoe sizes.”

They actually make quick work of the whole thing, and Vasquez finds that, happily, rentals are included in their time here, so they finally head out and, well. 

There they are. At the bottom of a mountain.

There are chairs. Well, not really chairs. Chairs hanging from what are hopefully some very strong wires. And people are going up an entire mountain on those chairs.

This was a mistake. This is the moment Refugio Juan Pablo Araya Vasquez dies. He can barely speak to people anymore, let alone go down a mountain on sticks, especially if this is the easy mountain, because it looks a lot taller than any mountain he’s ever thought of going down. 

Someone he cares about is going to die today. At this point, he’s considering the idea that it actually might not be him, but that would be just as bad. He wishes he’d looked up how to save himself if there’s an avalanche. Or if the chairs get stuck halfway up the mountain or if the wires snap. Is it possible to stab oneself or someone else with a ski? Fatally? Accidentally?

The snow is beautiful, though. The mountain too. This whole place is actually beautiful, surrounded by mountains, surrounded by snow. He used to love snow. He breathes in and out. 

Maybe he still loves snow.

Vasquez has been afraid of a lot of things in his life, usually for good reason, but at this moment when he looks at the people going down the mountain he thinks that, actually, if he tilts his head a certain way, it looks fun.

Josh practically punches his shoulder. “Hey! Where’d you go?”

“I’m right here,” Vasquez snaps, and he lets Emma tell him how to put on his skis and explain how to not die and he falls over two less times than Josh as they head over to the lift, because he doesn’t fall over at all.“I thought you knew how to ski?” he asks with what might be some laughter in his voice as Josh, who looks annoyed even through the giant goggles covering half his face, waits in line next to him to get to the lift.

“I haven’t been in a while, okay,” Josh snaps, and Vasquez laughs as they all pile into a lift. He looks out at the snow and the people small below him and the skis on his feet and he really didn’t think he’d ever be here. He still doesn’t know if he even wants to be here. 

Then he goes down the mountain for the first time, zipping past Josh, who takes a tumble after about two feet of attempted skiing, and he feels very, very free.

Josh ends up only going down bunny hill maybe three times. Vasquez goes as many times as he can before night falls and he has to leave, and he only falls a few times, and he doesn’t break his neck once.

“I wish we’d gone yesterday too,” he laments as he goes back to the rental place where Billy and Red Harvest, who both decided to ski the Black diamond slopes, have both already returned all of their equipment and are talking on a carved wooden bench in low voices.

“Me too,” Emma replies, breathless and grinning.

“I’m good with this,” Josh grumbles. 

Billy and Red Harvest look up when they hear them come, and when they catch sight of Vasquez, they actually look surprised. 

“You seem happy,” Billy says.

Vasquez nods. “Going skiing was good advice.”

The condescending woman isn’t at the rental place either, and Vasquez is flying high as they find Sam and Jack, both of whom look like they’ve stepped into an alternate universe when they see Vasquez and Emma laughing together, but they don’t seem to have a problem with it at all.

Vasquez sleeps most of the way home--blessedly, considering how Billy drives. He dreams of wide open spaces and a beautiful man at his side, and when he wakes up his heart hurts, and he can’t seem to get back to sleep once the day is done.

He goes outside for a cigarette instead. 

+

Josh can’t sleep. He did way too much exercise today, had dinner, had a beer, and he still can’t sleep. 

He needs a fucking cigarette. He takes out his pack and then realizes that, shit, he can’t smoke in the cabin, that’s just rude, so he sighs heavily and heads outside even though it’s snowing, and falters a little when he sees that someone else was already dumb enough to go out onto the porch in the cold. He doesn’t know why all the ‘you’ll destroy your lungs’ smoking PSAs don’t just show a bunch of idiots freezing their asses off for their nicotine fix. That would’ve put him off of it. 

That wouldn’t’ve put him off of it. Josh is a goldmine of bad decisions.

It’s Vasquez. For some reason, Josh isn’t all that surprised that it’s Vasquez, and it’s not just because the guy’s the only other hardcore nicotine addict around.

For some other reason, Josh flicks the porch light on and then sits next to Vasquez on the stoop.

The wooden planks under them are unsurprisingly wet. It’s kind of unpleasant. 

The snow whirls in the sky and turns it a milky navy blue, and Josh looks around at the mountains surrounding them and breathes in. The cold air freezes in his throat.

Vasquez offers him a cigarette, and Josh takes it. It’s already lit, which is a nice touch.

He takes a drag. 

Josh breathes out and his cloud of smoke looks huge mixed with the cold air.

Vasquez puts out his own cigarette against his boot, and Josh, to fuck with him, puts his cigarette out on Vasquez’s boot too. 

Vasquez nudges him hard, and Josh chuckles. 

Lightning splits the sky, startling him. It’s followed by a huge crash of thunder, which makes him start. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters. 

Vasquez’s reaction is something along the lines of ‘exactly the same’, except his particular exclamation is in Spanish. Josh would make fun of him for getting freaked out, but, again, exactly the same reaction. 

Vasquez huffs out a laugh. “This is a special place.”

“Yep, one of the lightning strike capitals of the world.”

“…Really?”

“Yeah, I think? I’m pretty sure. We can ask Horne or something, he probably knows.”

“Probably,” Vasquez agrees. 

The lightning comes again, and then the thunder, and this time Josh and Vasquez just watch, and Josh feels something happen, a pressure in his chest that takes his breath away.

“My mom used to tell me that lightning was the angels taking pictures. Not just pictures, a full-on photoshoot.”

Well, she did. Josh doesn’t know why he’s mentioning it—or he does, it’s obvious, fine, there’s literally lightning right now, it’s not like the memory just came to him, and he’s been thinking about her so much—but she did. 

Vasquez looks at him like he’s surprised or something, and Josh looks back, vaguely confused. Vasquez looks something next to shocked, actually, and then he smiles. “Quique used to say the same thing.”

Now it’s Josh’s turn to be shocked, because he’s pretty sure that this is it, this the moment that he actually finds something out about Vasquez from Vasquez, and he’s actually willing to. “Quique?”

“My…” Vasquez trails off and looks away again, staring out at the outline of the mountains surrounding them through the flurry, and Josh follows suit. “We were in love, but he died.”

“Yeah,” Josh says nonsensically. “My mom died too.”

Vasquez snorts. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I’m pretty sure all the people we know who aren’t dead live on our floor.”

“Ha! I’m pretty sure you’re right.”

Lightning again, thunder again. 

“She never explained how the thunder happened, though,” Josh admits. 

“Quique figured it was that the…the things the cameras were on, the…”

“Tripod.”

“Yes! Tripods, in heaven they recoiled like a gun. So they would rock back onto their two back legs and then put all three on the ground again, and that leg made a crashing sound. And that was thunder.” 

Josh smiles a little, can’t help it. “That’s pretty detailed.”

“Quique loved telling ridiculous stories like he really believed them, straight face all the way through. But he was always all smiles.”

Josh swallows and thinks about getting soaked by the snow and how easy it was to feel her hands taking his and helping him up, how he could hear her laughter all around him, and he says, “My mom smiled a lot too. She was a nice person. Don’t cost a thing to be kind, she always said. She did everything for me, right up ’til the end, and then she just…she needed a new heart, and she was there on the transplant list. But it wasn’t a sure thing, it’s never a sure thing, y’know, and she really thought…she thought she was gonna die, and it would be a waste of a good heart. So she pulled out. Gave the transplant to someone else, I didn’t even know you could do that. She was right. It was a waste of a good heart.”

Josh has never said that out loud. He’s never said a single word of this out loud. He clears his throat awkwardly, looks over at Vasquez, who is blinking rapidly.

“Shit, don’t tell me you’re gonna cry over this,” Josh says. 

Vasquez huffs out a laugh. “Nah. It’s just that Quique, his heart was what got him too. He had a disease, got a disease—we met in Mexico. While he was there, he got this disease, el mal de Chagas, a bug gives it to you. And for lots of people, nothing really happens. But for him something did, and he got sick after we got here. But he was getting better, except then one day I woke up. I woke up, and he didn’t. Cardiac arrest.” Vasquez lets out a breath. It sounds like he’s been punched. “I was sleeping right next to him.”

“Shit, that’s messed up,” Josh says. 

Vasquez nods, looking down at his hands. “We went through so much together, and then…he was just gone. Didn’t seem fair, you know?”

“Yeah, I do,” Josh says, and then he doesn’t say anything else and instead finds himself fucking crying, shoulders shaking and everything. He’s biting back anything that might be even slightly sob-like, but this horrible high-pitched sound comes from somewhere in his chest anyway. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Josh mutters, turning away from Vasquez. “What the fuck?”

Vasquez claps him on the shoulder, and his hand stays there. 

“I’m not even drunk,” Josh says.

“I know,” Vasquez responds sadly, sounding like he wishes they were both drunk. So does Josh.

“Shit,” Josh says uselessly. He’s not even sad, just confused. Is this one of those belated crying things? He never cried over his mom, so after just one goddamn heart to heart (ha!), he’s catching up? It’s been years. Josh was twenty-four when his mom passed, and now one ski trip and he’s a wreck.

“It’s fine,” Vasquez says.

“No, I’m freaking myself out,” Josh protests. He sounds so weepy he wants to punch himself in the face.

“If you stop trying to stop yourself crying, it’ll pass sooner.”

Vasquez seems like the type who knows what he’s talking about here, so Josh lets his tense body relax, and the tears take him in waves. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants. 

Vasquez sighs, annoyed, and hugs him. His arms are strong as fuck. His abs are rock hard. Josh isn’t a hugger, but Vasquez is pretty good at it.

So Josh lets him hug, and even hugs back.

“Don’t tell ‘em I cried,” Josh mutters into Vasquez’s neck.

Vasquez solemnly responds, “Never. Cross my heart and hope—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Josh grumps, and he holds on for dear life.

______________________________

The man has an easy laugh, one with no edge, the kind that Refugio hasn’t heard in a long time. He knows right away that this man’s different, will figure out why soon enough, and then— 

The shadow of an American accent. A wire and burner phones and promises. Letters and drawings and cocked guns and blood on his hands. A kiss that makes Refugio feel like he’s coming back to life. A look over his shoulder, a million looks over his shoulder, a prayer to Santa Muerte to keep not just his betrayal a secret but also his love. 

And back to the beginning: a freshly rolled cigarette and—

“My name's Quique Davís Quinn. And you’re Refugio.”

“So?”

“So, I’ve heard you’re not afraid of anything.”

“Only idiots aren’t afraid of anything, and idiots don’t last long.”

“Well, I’m not an idiot either. Guess we should get to know each other.”

This man’s different.

Refugio’s deepest secret: he’s ready for something different. 

He laughs. “I guess so.”