Chapter 5

At first the sound was so faint, echoing across the mountain face, that Atobe thought he was imagining it. Only when Ohtori blinked in confusion and glanced around did he realize the sound was real. "Do you hear that?" the junior asked, frowning.

"Engines," Atobe said after a moment of listening to identify the sound. "Probably snowmobiles... sounds like someone finally noticed we were missing." For an irrational moment he was almost angry - not that it had taken so long for the rescuers to get there, but that they'd chosen that moment to finally arrive. He'd been just about to suggest that Ohtori might as well get his fill of Atobe's kisses while he had the chance.

Actually, on second thought, perhaps it was best that the rescuers arrived now. They were both giddy with cold and maybe just a little drunk on the surprising pleasure of that kiss. Better to break it off now while they could just write it off to brain freeze and forget about it. Ohtori might not be with Shishido, but Atobe was well aware that Shishido would never forgive him for making a move on his partner. And the last thing Atobe needed was the complication of becoming involved with one of his own players, and all the potential headaches that could ensue. There were those among the non-Regulars who already whispered that Shishido must have slept with Atobe, the coach, or both to get his Regulars spot back. Ohtori didn't need to get mixed up in that as well.

"Can you tell where it's coming from?" Ohtori asked, straining to pinpoint the source of the noise. With all the echoes it was difficult to be certain which direction the sound was coming from, let alone how far away it was.

"Above us, I think," Atobe said. "They're probably working their way down the trail. They can hardly fail to see us; we may be on the edge of the trail, but we're out in the open."

Ohtori briefly debated going to stand in the trail, to make sure he attracted their attention, but he didn't want to get run over by the snowmobile either. Atobe was probably right, they'd be seen. And anyway, if he left, the senior would be stuck lying in the snow, since the whole reason Ohtori was sitting against him like this was because Atobe couldn't sit up by himself without hurting his leg further.

Briefly, it occurred to him to wonder what their rescuers would think of seeing the two boys in this position. Then he decided it really didn't matter. The obvious conclusion was that they'd huddled together for heat, and there was nothing inappropriate about that.

And since he sincerely doubted the lodge staff had allowed a bunch of fourteen-year-old foreign kids to accompany them on their search efforts, there wasn't anyone that really mattered who would see them. He didn't quite want to admit to himself that it was only Shishido he was truly worried about; he had a feeling his partner would blow this way out of proportion, even without knowing about the kiss.

They were silent for a few minutes, as the sound of the engine grew nearer and nearer. Tension held them stiff against each other, and where there had been a comforting closeness between them a moment before, now there was only awkwardness. Ohtori wondered what might have happened if the rescuers hadn't shown up to interrupt them, and bit his lip at the heat that again flowered deep in his body. Maybe it was better not to think about it.

When the snowmobile finally did appear, taking the cliff in an easy jump and then sliding to a stop a few feet farther down the path as its rider spotted them, Ohtori could have cheered with relief. Their frozen ordeal was over, and soon they'd be safely back in the warmth of the lodge.

Then the lodge worker was leaning over them, pulling his helmet off and snapping what sounded like questions at them. Ohtori was a little bewildered by the outpouring of unfamiliar sounds; he thought it was English, but his poor frozen brain just wasn't capable of keeping up with it. "Can you tell what he's saying?" he asked Atobe, turning to his captain.

"He's asking if we're hurt," Atobe replied, then switched to English to inform the man of his broken leg. The rescuer nodded, went back to the snowmobile long enough to grab what looked like a bag of medical supplies, and returned.

Tapping Ohtori on the shoulder, he gestured at Atobe and said something. Ohtori caught the word 'set', familiar to him through long association with tennis, and thought he understood what was wanted. "He wants me to hold you still while he sets the break, right?"

"Yes," Atobe replied, his words coming through teeth clenched against the pain as the rescuer ran professional fingers down the tennis player's leg, searching for the break point. It ate at his pride that anyone was seeing him in the midst of such weakness, and he'd probably be in even worse shape before they made it back to the lodge. Still, at least it was Ohtori; he could count on the good-natured junior to hold his tongue about the matter, and not use it against his captain later.

Ohtori nodded and draped his arms over Atobe's shoulders again, trapping his arms this time and holding him tight against his solid chest. Atobe braced himself for the pain, but the sudden sharp shock of it as the lodge worker jerked his leg bones into alignment made him cry out as his vision went dark for a moment.

When he came to again, he was leaning against Ohtori and panting in sharp, pained gasps. He straightened himself, working to control his breathing. The worst was over; the rescue worker was strapping a splint to the leg now, right over his ski pants. It would keep the bones in place until they got back down the mountain.

The junior was a bit reluctant to release his senpai. The warmth of Atobe against him was reassuring, almost familiar at this point. But he scrambled out of the way nonetheless as the rescue worker carefully lifted Atobe into his arms, grunting a bit in surprise at the weight of his heavily muscled body. By the time they'd crossed the short distance to the snowmobile, Ohtori had somehow managed to make it upright, and he staggered over to join them. His feet felt like blocks of ice inside his boots, and he had to watch carefully where he stepped or he'd fall again.

The lodge worker had arranged himself on the snowmobile with Atobe behind him, and gestured for Ohtori to slide on behind Atobe. The machine was designed to take two fully-grown adults; if they squeezed, all three of them would be able to fit. "He's telling you to hold tight to me," Atobe informed him, just in case his kouhai didn't understand the gestures the man was making.

Eyeing him uncertainly, Ohtori bit his lip and nodded. He threw his leg over the saddle or seat or whatever it was called, and pressed himself tight to Atobe's back to keep himself from sliding off. "Hang on to my jacket," Atobe instructed him, impatient at the boy's uncharacteristic hesitation. Why on earth was Ohtori dawdling like this?

He got his answer a moment later, as Ohtori ducked his head and murmured, "I can't, Atobe-san. My fingers won't close." It was what Ohtori had been worried about before, when he'd first realized he couldn't feel his hands anymore. They were completely unresponsive; he couldn't even twitch his fingers, let alone close them enough to hang on to something.

"What?" Atobe's eyes went wide. Then he cursed himself for a fool. His own hands were numb, in his expensive fleece-lined gloves that were designed for extreme cold temperatures. Ohtori had only those thin cotton gloves; he'd seen that before, but in the pain of his injury he'd forgotten about it. Of course the younger boy's hands had frozen. "He's frostbitten," he said urgently to the rescue worker. "His hands are frozen, do you understand?"

It took him a couple of repetitions, but finally the man understood. He turned in his seat and took one of Ohtori's hands gently, pulling the edge of the glove back far enough to see the skin in the dim light. Atobe sucked in a sharp breath at the sight; the flesh was white and waxy, and he could see from the way the man's fingers were prodding at Ohtori's hand that it was almost wooden rather than supple and giving like living skin should be.

Atobe had never experienced more than the first stages of frostbite, but he knew what it looked like. Ohtori was looking back and forth between the lodge worker's grim expression and Atobe's dismayed one, fear growing so large in his chest it felt like it was choking off his breath. "Atobe?" he said, his voice shaking. "What is it? It's no big deal, right? Once we get inside I'll warm up. My hands have gone numb from cold before."

Grey eyes rose to meet frightened brown, and Atobe found he didn't have the heart to tell his teammate just how bad it was. "Don't worry about it," he said gruffly instead. "Here, get off again and I'll slide back, and you can sit between us. My hands will still close, I'll hang onto his jacket and you'll be secure between us." There was still a chance that it would be okay. It wasn't like the skin had been frozen for days; they might be able to warm it up with no permanent damage.

They shifted around so they were sitting as Atobe had suggested, and the rescue worker gunned the engine. Atobe gritted his teeth as his broken leg screamed in protest against the vibration of the machine, but he held on tight to the man's jacket. Ohtori huddled in front of him, arms wrapped loosely around the rescue worker. Atobe could almost feel the younger boy's fear in the way that strong back was shaking slightly against his chest.

Pressing tight to the younger boy to keep him secure in his seat, Atobe did his best to convey some sense of comfort to him as well. Inwardly he was furious at himself. He should have given Ohtori his gloves when he'd traded jackets with him. He should have asked, should have made sure that Ohtori still had some movement in his extremities. He wasn't sure what he'd have done, even assuming Ohtori had told him the truth and not lied to reassure him, but he'd have done something.

If Ohtori had known how Atobe was castigating himself, he'd have pleaded with the older boy to stop. As far as he was concerned, this whole mess was nobody's fault but his own. Well, and maybe Mukahi's, but it wasn't as if his senpai had intended the prank to go this badly, he was sure of that. Mukahi could be a little nasty sometimes, or maybe 'evil' was a more appropriate word, but he wasn't cruel. And if Ohtori hadn't fallen for it, none of this would have happened.

The way the rescue worker and Atobe were reacting to his hands terrified him, more than he wanted to admit. He'd heard stories of people losing fingers to cold, but he'd thought that took a lot longer than just a few hours. Ohtori's entire life revolved around two things; tennis, and his music, especially his violin. The loss of even one finger would affect both of those precious things, maybe even bar him from them forever.

And what about Atobe? A broken leg was serious. The senior wouldn't be able to play again for months, maybe not until he started high school, even. If it healed wrong in any way, it could lame him. Even if it healed perfectly, it would still be weaker than it had been, and at the kind of level Atobe planned to play at some day, any weakness could be his downfall. Hells, just look what Atobe had done to Tezuka, whose arm had supposedly healed from the injury he'd once sustained. The thought that he might have ruined his own tennis career horrified him, but the idea that he might have ruined the future of someone like Atobe tied his stomach in knots until he thought he would be sick.

Even the sight of the lights of the lodge appearing up ahead couldn't calm him. It only meant it was that much sooner until he'd hear the final verdict of the doctors. He felt Atobe press a little closer against him, perhaps in anticipation of reaching the warmth ahead, and he ducked his head. Please, gods, let him be all right, he prayed frantically. Do what you like to punish me for my stupidity, even if it means losing my fingers, but... please don't let him be permanently injured. Please.

The snowmobile slid to a halt just outside one of the side doors of the lodge. Their rescuer had radioed ahead, and people came pouring out of the door, carrying blankets and steaming cups and a stretcher for Atobe.

Ohtori didn't even realize that not everyone present was a lodge worker until strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders, and he was pulled into a fierce hug. "Choutarou, you bastard, don't you ever worry me like that again!" Shishido exclaimed, clinging to his best friend and partner with all his strength. When he'd seen the infirmary workers react to that incomprehensible radio call and realized it meant that the lost boys had been found, his heart had leapt into his throat. He'd feared the worst, but Ohtori was alive and moving under his own power, though he looked pale and frightened.

"Shishido-san?" Ohtori blinked and shook his head, trying to clear it of the fog that enveloped his mind. Shishido steered him through the door, following the paramedics carrying Atobe, and the warmth of the lodge hit him with a painful blast in his face. He gasped, swaying, and only his partner's arms around him helped him stay upright.

"Oi, Choutarou? You okay?" Shishido's relief turned again to worry, and he quickly guided the taller boy into a chair. Tears were forming in his partner's eyes, and he stared. He'd never seen Ohtori cry. Not even after that horrible, exhausting night when the junior had fought to perfect his Scud Serve, and it had seemed like he'd never get it right.

"It hurts," Ohtori couldn't help whimpering, scrubbing at the exposed skin of his face with the back of his arm. A thousand needles were stabbing into his flesh, like the pins and needles feeling you got when you'd been sitting on your leg funny for too long and it went numb, but much worse.

Shishido started to reply, tugging his friend's arm down again, when he was abruptly pushed out of the way by one of the paramedics. With an irritated gesture, the woman shooed him away, and he stepped aside reluctantly. He didn't want to leave Ohtori's side, but he knew the woman needed to do her job. He'd only gotten this close because he'd used the chaos of everyone going outside to bring the two boys in to slip past the people who'd been keeping their teammates out of the infirmary.

He backed off, moving to the wall where he'd be out of the way and hopefully they wouldn't kick him out entirely. He didn't want to let Ohtori out of his sight; he felt like if he did, the other boy would surely disappear again. He glanced over to the other side of the small room, where orderlies were stripping Atobe out of his cold weather gear. It looked like they'd given the boy a shot of something, painkiller or maybe a sedative; Atobe's eyes were barely open, and he didn't look like he was very aware of what was going on. Shishido figured it was just as well; their captain would be furious if he ever realized that Shishido had seen him in such a vulnerable state.

His attention was jerked back to Ohtori when his partner screamed in pain. Eyes wide, he watched in horror as the tall boy writhed, two orderlies holding his shoulders and arms and forcing him to stay put as they submerged his hands and feet into steaming water. Shishido went pale himself when he saw the ugly, dead white tone of the flesh there.

Ohtori was sure they were trying to kill him. He'd never felt pain this bad before in his entire life. He'd pushed himself into some horrible cramps with his training, especially back in the beginning, but they were nothing compared to this. Tears streaming down his face, he begged and pleaded with them to stop, not even realizing that they wouldn't be able to understand the torrent of Japanese. He fought, but they held him still, forced him to sit and endure the pain.

Across the room Atobe was abruptly jerked back to consciousness, the drug in his system not enough to combat similar pain as they gave him the same treatment. His extremities weren't as badly frostbitten as Ohtori's, but the pain was excruciating nonetheless. He forced himself to stay still with sheer effort of will, his body trembling on the cot they'd laid him on, but he couldn't stop the agonized gasps of pain that escaped him. He could hear someone screaming, and he was fairly certain it wasn't him, but he couldn't be sure. He knew what they were doing was the only way to quickly warm the frozen flesh in the hopes of saving it from permanent damage, but the knowledge didn't make it any easier to bear.

At least the pain meant the nerves weren't dead, he told himself, tasting copper in his mouth as he bit through his lip in an attempt to keep from screaming. Well, if he wasn't the one screaming then that meant Ohtori probably was, which hopefully meant the younger boy's hands were salvageable as well.

Frightened half out of his mind, almost more scared now than he'd been when he'd been imagining Ohtori dead out there somewhere on the mountain, Shishido pressed back against the wall. His eyes were fixed helplessly on the sight of the tears running down over Ohtori's face, and the contorted expression of pain his friend wore. He almost wanted to scream himself, unable to bear the idea of Ohtori hurting so badly.

It was cowardly of him, but he was almost relieved when one of the other medics caught sight of him and forcibly escorted him out of the room. He wanted to stay with his partner, to be strong for him, but Ohtori wasn't even aware he was there and they wouldn't let him get close anyway. There was nothing he could do to help his partner, and he'd rather not have to face it if he didn't have to.

The medic slammed the door behind him and he turned to put his back to it, leaning against it for support as he struggled to catch his breath. When he opened his eyes, the sight of the various wide-eyed and frantic expressions on his teammates' faces almost made him wish he'd been able to stay inside.

"Shishido?" Mukahi was shaking, Oshitari's hand squeezing his shoulder for reassurance. It wasn't helping much. "Are they... are they okay? What's going on in there?" He'd tried to follow Shishido into the room, but someone had noticed him and kept him out. At first he'd just been reassured that both boys had been found alive, but when the screaming had started... and now Shishido was all but fleeing the room, with such a horrible look on his face...

Shishido took one look at the redhead, and abruptly all his fear and helplessness coalesced into a burning sense of rage, directed at the one that had started this whole mess in the first place. He lunged forward, snarling, hands reaching for that slender throat. Mukahi yelped and backed up fast, sliding around Oshitari's larger body and using his partner like a living shield. Even so, if not for Kabaji's surprisingly quick reflexes, Shishido might have reached him. The massive boy simply snatched Shishido up by the collar and held him, dangling in the air, just as he so often held Jirou when commanded to wake the sleepy Singles 2 player.

His current handful was anything but sleepy. Shishido struggled, trying to break Kabaji's impossibly strong hold. Kabaji held him far enough away that he couldn't effectively kick or punch him. Finally Shishido gave up and just hung limply, panting, struggling against tears of his own as Ohtori's pained cries continued to ring out from the other room.

Taking his life in his hands, Mukahi edged out from behind Oshitari and peered up at him. "Shishido?" the redhead's voice was unusually subdued. "What happened?" Whatever it was, it had to be bad for Shishido to be reacting like this. Never mind the way Ohtori was screaming. Mukahi assumed it was Ohtori; he couldn't quite imagine Atobe ever sounding like that.

"His hands," Shishido snarled, glaring at Mukahi so fiercely the redhead actually backed up again. "His fucking hands are totally frostbitten, Mukahi." He gestured back at the infirmary. "They're trying to warm him up. Sounds like it hurts like a bitch," he ground out bitterly. "Atobe's not as bad, he had better gloves and boots, but he's got a broken leg."

Jirou, uncharacteristically neither sleepy nor bouncy, looked up at Shishido anxiously. "But they'll be okay, right? Atobe-san, and Ohtori-kun, they'll be all right, won't they? If it hurts like that, then the nerves are okay, so they'll be able to fix it, right?" He knew it probably wasn't that simple, but he just couldn't bring himself to face the idea of anything else. From the moment they'd woken him to tell him that Atobe and Ohtori were lost on the mountain, his whole world had contracted to nothing more than his worry for his teammates.

"Maybe." It was Hiyoshi that replied, the second year also unusually subdued. "Depends on how extensive the damage is, and whether or not gangrene has set in. It'd be a really bad sign if it didn't hurt, though. So they might be okay."

"Well, then... it's not the end of the world, right?" Mukahi was babbling, and it felt like his mouth was totally unconnected to his brain. He knew he should shut up, knew he was digging himself even deeper, but he just couldn't seem to stop the flow of words. "They're both alive, right? A broken leg will heal, right? And at worst, Ohtori maybe might lose some of his fingers - surely he wasn't out there long enough for the whole hand to be that damaged. That's not such a big deal, right? It could have been a lot worse. He'll adjust, he'll still be able to play tennis, it royally sucks but at least he's alive and he'll still be able to play, right? Right?"

The way Shishido's face contorted at his words scared him, like he'd never been scared before. This was all his fault, and he knew it. He was just trying to make himself feel better with his words, but Shishido seriously looked like he wanted to kill Mukahi for what he was saying.

A strong hand came up and squeezed his shoulder again, and he looked up at his partner with wide, frightened eyes. Oshitari had never seen Mukahi look this vulnerable, and he understood his acrobatic partner's penchant for babbling under stress far better than Shishido did. He knew Mukahi didn't mean what he was saying; that's why he almost didn't tell the smaller boy the truth. Still, better it come from him than the furious Shishido - the only reason Shishido hadn't spat it out yet was that he seemed to be actually incoherent with rage.

"Gakuto... Ohtori is a musician," Oshitari informed his partner, his slow Kansai drawl drawing out the words until it was almost unbearable. "I overheard Kantoku tell him once that if he decided not to pursue tennis, he could probably make a name for himself as a concert violinist." He paused significantly as Mukahi's eyes went impossibly wider than before. Then, just to be sure his partner understood, he added gently, "He needs all his fingers to play."

"I didn't know," Mukahi whispered, turning the words into a plea for forgiveness directed mostly at Shishido. "I didn't know! I didn't know it would turn out like this, all I wanted was for him to be put out a little, get a good look at a gorgeous sunset and maybe even decide he was ready for the diamond runs. I didn't know he played music, I didn't know he couldn't ski, I didn't know there wouldn't be a lift worker there to take him down! I didn't know!"

Shishido just glared at him, and Mukahi's words rang hollow even in his own ears. Oshitari had warned him, often, that one of these days one of his pranks was going to go wrong. But he'd ignored the tensai, figuring it was just Oshitari's naturally cautious nature. After all, what could go wrong? His pranks were mostly harmless, not the sort of vicious things he'd seen pulled by other people.

The redhead sank down into a chair, burying his face in his hands as his body shook with silent sobs. He felt Oshitari's hands come to rest on his shoulders, but he could take no comfort from his partner. This was all his fault. Everything, all of it - Atobe's broken leg, Ohtori's hands, he was the only one to blame. Please gods let them be all right, he prayed silently. I'll never play another prank again, on anyone, I swear!

Somehow, he didn't get a sense that the gods were listening at all.

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

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