Title: No Wasted Lessons
Author: M-A.
Rating: General.
Genre: Drama.
Pairing: None.
Notes: Sometimes, all it takes is a little unexplained thing like an occasionally worn wedding ring to spark a story. For all fans of Jack Huey.
It had been Turnbull's idea.
Well, it had been Fraser's idea to invite Jack, but the invitation couldn't have come without Turnbull's initial offer.
Fraser had come to Jack one blustery day and asked if they could speak. The invitation was unusual, but accepted, so they went to the lunch room.
It turned out that Turnbull had invited Fraser and Ray to join him on a holiday at a small lodge in the Canadian Rockies. Turnbull's family had used the lodge as a vacation base numerous times in his youth. Fraser had thought that Jack should come, too, so that the four could get to know one another better.
Jack had to think about the offer for a long moment. It was so unlike any other vacation he'd taken before. Could he spend two weeks hiking, skiing, ice skating, swimming in an indoor heated pool, soaking in a jacuzzi, playing billiards, and reading? Would all these activities satisfactorily pass the time or would he find himself bored out of his skull and longing for home within two days?
Finally, he decided to take a leap and try something new for once. "Thanks, for the offer, Fraser. We're on."
So that was how Detective Jack Huey, Chicago PD, found himself following Constables Fraser and Turnbull as well as a detective who called himself Ray Vecchio to a mountain lodge perched on a rocky ledge deep in the heart of the Alberta Rockies.
He volunteered to make dinner the first night. Just hamburgers and baked potatoes with a huge bowl of Caesar salad. They'd stocked up on supplies at a small town near the aeroport before heading to the lodge in a rented SUV. There was wine with dinner, too. It had been bought for him and Ray, so he was surprised when Turnbull decided to have a glass, too. Fraser looked at the bottle then said "What the hell." Just like that, what the hell. Ray didn't seem surprised by Fraser's choice of words, so maybe that's how Fraser spoke when he was with friends and out of uniform. Jack realised he really didn't know the man at all.
Fraser and Ray offered to do the dishes, so Jack and Turnbull went into the game room. Jack was surprised by Turnbull's offer of a game of eight ball. He was even more surprised to learn that Turnbull was a really good pool player and had a sense of humour.
Jack had never really known Turnbull, have never seen him out of uniform. He'd been afraid the week at the lodge would be filled with awkward breaks in conversation but, if this night was an indication, he'd worried for nothing. Ray joined them partway through the game saying that Fraser had gone out to get some fresh air.
Jack wasn't used to holidays like these, spent so far from opera houses and four star restaurants. He was a city boy, no exception. He found it amazing that there were people like Fraser who were used to this kind of isolation. He didn't know how the current Ray Vecchio or Turnbull felt about it. Then, he realised that Turnbull had come here many times in his youth and enjoyed the place enough to come back as an adult. Jack knew some Canadians lived in cities, too, but the Canadians he knew could have come from a whole other world entirely, the landscape of their youth was so foreign to him.
Fraser looked concerned when he came in, his cheeks and nose reddened from the cold. He asked Turnbull if there was a history of avalanches being a problem in the area and Turnbull answered no. Fraser said something like the conditions being just right for an avalanche, but Jack didn't listen as Fraser explained why. He always tuned out during Nature-Boy's lessons. He didn't need any such knowledge and, therefore, Fraser had nothing to teach him.
Around ten, Turnbull made everyone cocoa from an old family recipe. They drank their snack in front of the fire's dying embers, all lost in thought. Jack pondered solitude.
Turnbull had warned them ahead of time that there were only two bedrooms with two beds each, so Jack didn't mind that he wound up sharing with the Mountie. It was a given that Ray would share with Fraser. While he was sure the two chatted long into the night, he fell asleep quickly.
Jack woke sometime later, his heart pounding, not sure where he was for an all too long moment. He glanced through the shadows at Turnbull's slumbering form. He rubbed his face for a moment then got up to relieve himself. In the hall, he passed Fraser, back from the bathroom himself. He'd never seen Fraser like this, with mussed bed-hair and beard-growth and the bleary-eyed look of a man who had only the most basic functions awake.
It was only after Jack had returned to his bed that he realised what had awoken him. It was the silence, like an oppressive tomb of senselessness making him feel alone in the universe, save for the sleeping man occupying the other bed.
He didn't fall back asleep until pale sunlight began to peek through the shades.
He knew it was late when he woke again. He took his time showering and dressing before going down the hall, through the great room, and into the kitchen. It was then he realised the lodge didn't just feel empty.
There was a note on the counter in Vecchio's surprisingly neat scrawl announcing that they'd gone hiking, would be back around lunch, and that there was a plate for him in the fridge.
Breakfast was chocolate chip pancakes with sausage, fruit salad, and, when he figured out how to use the percolator, good coffee. He didn't mind that the others had gone on without him, and didn't feel left out. He knew that if Vecchio had been the one to sleep in, then he would have been the one eating alone in the great room.
After washing up his breakfast dishes, he felt impossibly bold, so he stepped into boots and a parka bought just for the trip and headed out. When he opened the front door, he was met with a world renewed by a fresh snowfall. There was a full new foot of the stuff and it was with difficulty that he resisted the urge to play.
The group's tracks were easy enough to follow in the new accumulation, so he let them lead him upwards. If the group came back down the way they had gone up, then he would encounter them and they could all walk back to the lodge together.
The mountain air tasted like none he had ever partaken of before. It was so heavy with unknown tastes and smells that it was almost as though he could eat it. He gulped the air greedily, adding dashes of azure made golden by the sun. He had never known such beauty. Jack's sudden, if brief, connexion with earth took his breath away. He forgot to be afraid and pushed on upwards joyously.
He heard them before he saw them about a half hour later. Fraser saw him first and called his name.
They'd gone up the mountain trail and back and seen lots of tracks. Jack tried to keep himself interested as Fraser gave a tracking lesson, but failed. It was enough to enjoy the clear sky and pure air.
He asked about the morning's pancakes and was surprised to learn that Vecchio had whipped them up. Jack knew the chef of the group was Turnbull and looked forward to the dinner he was sure would be concocted that night.
Lunch was leftover potatoes and salad from last night's dinner, with cold slices of ham and hunks of bread and cheese, all washed down liberally with soda or juice. The dishes done, they went to sit before the fire to chat.
Later, Jack was certain that there had been no warning, not even a whisper of a sound. One minute, the Mounties had been talking of past cases, the next the building had come down over them. Jack found himself swimming in snow, choking, unable to breathe, unknowing of what had just happened. The world suddenly became dark and cloying and cold. For the longest time, he was sure he was dead.
When he could breathe again, it was a miracle.
His first thought, his senses recovered, was of his friends. He called out weakly to them, found his voice muffled by the snow that had commandeered the vast space of the great room.
He tried again and again until he finally got an answer. Turnbull? Jack forced himself to fight against the snow, manoeuvring himself until he could crawl over it. He called again to get his bearings and this time he was sure it was Turnbull.
The snow had come down over the back part of the lodge, where the bedrooms were. He'd been swept against the kitchen wall and Turnbull was to his left a ways, near the game room.
Turnbull met him halfway and he looked okay, shaken, too, but there were no obvious injuries. They called for Ray and Fraser, but got no answer. A good section of the roof had come down over them, so they hoped the men would be found safe, but unconscious, under plaster and beams.
Jack and Turnbull made a plan quickly. Based on where the missing men had been sitting, they drew an imaginary line across the room and looked below that, working their way towards the kitchen, the great room, and the front hall.
Ray rescued himself, surprising Jack into a shriek when Ray's hand suddenly broke through the snow. With Turnbull helping, Ray was dug out quickly. His most apparent injury was a badly sprained ankle. They had been lucky so far, but Jack was disheartened that Fraser wasn't being so easily found.
As hours flew by at a maddening pace, hope waned. Jack had no idea how to comfort Ray who was growing obviously desperate.
It was Turnbull who dug down to an air pocket of plaster and beams. Fraser lay there helpless with the crushing weight of snow and oak pinning his legs.
Jack, Turnbull, and Ray fought to free Fraser, digging around him, pulling at the beam, but they only hurt him, shocked by his muffled cries and the tears that he let flow liberally.
They finally had to admit defeat, at least until they could rest a while. Turnbull had over-strained his shoulder and Vecchio's ankle was demanding attention. Only Jack felt no injury beyond bruises and scrapes.
They made Fraser as comfortable as they could, scrounging up blankets in the ruined bedrooms.
Jack asked Turnbull when they could expect help. Turnbull said he didn't know if help would come at all, at least not for days. There had never been an avalanche problem at the lodge before. Attention would be focussed on ski centres before anyone thought of them.
"I'm going for help, then," Jack determined. There was no other solution or they would most likely lose Fraser. Even if they somehow managed to free him, he would need medical attention sooner than it would be provided.
Turnbull and Ray had obviously reached the same conclusion because they offered no argument.
Of the four, Jack was the least equipped to go traipsing through snowy mountains, but he couldn't think of that. He had to find the road, then follow it to town and get help. It was like a mantra running through his head. Fear had no place in his plans because it would bring death to them all.
Jack was grateful when he found his boots and parka easily enough. With Fraser's raspy advice, he pulled on wind and waterproof pants, mittens rather than gloves, and both a hat and scarf. It wasn't cold, yet, but it would be soon as the sun set.
The avalanche had barely touched the front hall, so he was able to dress efficiently and pack extras, but the kitchen was destroyed. Jack found only some chocolate bars, still dry in their wrappers. Fraser told him to carry them under his clothes, better to have them melted than frozen. Jack was also able to find a flashlight, but no extra batteries. He would have to use it sparingly.
He took a final look at Fraser, branding the image of the man in his mind, remembering his pale and waxy complexion and his incessant shaking, so as to never forget why he was doing this. Then, with final words of advice from Turnbull about the terrain and which direction to go, he set off.
He'd thought, as he made his plans, that he'd be able to follow the road straight from the lodge into town. But that road was circuitous and a good distance had been buried. Fraser and Turnbull were both convinced that if Jack were to spend hours floundering in snow, he'd be best doing it as the crows flies from the lodge to town.
As he set off, Jack wished he'd taken time to learn from Fraser how not to wander in a circle. That's the last thing any of them needed. He took a long look at the terrain when he stepped out into traitorous blinding sunshine. Town was roughly "there", behind the low peak in the distance. There was a spruce lying some distance away in the right direction, so he used that as his first goal to reach.
The first hour was slow going and Jack realised that Fraser must have been badly hurt not to suggest snowshoes, or offer a way of constructing makeshift ones. A pair would have come in handy and delayed the inevitable soaking of his clothing. Fraser would have known what out here could be used to make a kind of snowshoe, but Jack had no idea what would work and there simply was no time to waste experimenting. He pushed on.
The sun was warm on his face and there was no wind. Even though he was getting wetter by the mile, he wasn't chilled yet. The going was slow, but steady, and he was in relatively good spirits as he floundered across the snowy plain that would take him to the hill. When he reached the pine, he found the summit again, and picked out a new landmark that would take him to the edge of greenery marking the base of the hill.
The sun was low against the horizon when he came to the edge of the forest that gently climbed upwards before leading the way to town. Jack weighed his options. He could stay here and camp or push on through the night. If he camped, he was sure he'd freeze. But if he pushed on, he could get lost. He ate a chocolate bar as he thought, sucking greedily at the melted candy. He knew that the night before the moon had been almost full and very bright in the sky. If there were no clouds this night, perhaps it would light the way. If not, he could use his flashlight sparingly. He was most afraid of not keeping a straight line, but he figured that even in daylight one tree would look much like another. It was then that he made the decision that his friends couldn't wait for help and that it would be better for him to die trying to reach town than it would be to simply stop.
He found the forest to be darker than the plain had been, and couched in shadows and sounds he found supernatural. Jack had to push his fear away before he could venture in farther. The snow was much deeper in the shelter of the firs and much more treacherous. He gasped as he suddenly took one step forward and was buried to just below his armpits. He stood in that spot for a long moment, unsure if he had the resolve to dig his way out. Then he thought of Fraser pinned beneath the beams and was rewarded with a burst of adrenaline. He floundered for a moment, panicked as he was forced to swim in snow again, then found his footing once more. He pushed on.
His feet and legs were soaked now, and numb. Every step forward was a surprise. Surely his legs should have stopped functioning by now. He cried out when icy fingers snagged a pine bow, searing pain running up his arms. He wondered dully if he'd finally reached the end of his strength.
He clung desperately to the branch until it morphed into a different, familiar shape.
"Maureen." Had that been his voice?
She smiled sweetly at him, as real as if he hadn't spent the last five years mourning her. "Jack, you can't stop now. Your friends need you." She reached out for him, but his hand brushed air when he tried to touch her fingers.
"I'm tired, Maureen."
"I know you are, love. I know what it is to be exhausted beyond all else. But if you can't continue for yourself, do it for your friends."
She was so pretty and alive, like she had been before the cancer ravaged her, like the way he wanted to remember his beloved wife.
She pointed in direction of the faraway mountains and he knew only to trust her. He took one lumbering step and then another until he was past her. He turned his aching head back, but she was gone already. There was nothing left to do but push hard towards the mountains.
He hadn't known that snow could be so hot. Though his boots were of quality, they had been long soaked as were his trousers. Cold had added itself to time and inexperience to form an unholy trinity of enemies and it was burning him.
He had no idea how far he'd have to go to find a road, whether it was measured in hours or days or even weeks. Hours, maybe. There had been a road leading to the lodge before the avalanche. If he could only just find it again...
The pain in his legs served as a reminder of Fraser lying trapped under that awful beam pinning both of his broken legs. Fraser might have enjoying this trek and he would probably never again enjoy traipsing through snowy woods. Surely he'd lose his legs to this ordeal unless Ray and Turnbull managed to free him somehow.
Jack decided then that the pain in his legs was a gift reminding him that he was still alive. So he pushed on and willed the pain away until it was just a distant throbbing like the memory of an old flesh wound.
"More to the right, Jack!"
The familiar voice stopped him dead in his tracks. He blinked in the darkness, trying to see who had spoken the words.
"Over here, Jack!"
And, then, just like that, there was Louis. Like Maureen, he looked like flesh and blood, alive. He was dressed like usual, gaudily, in his favourite leather jacket and plaid tie, his red hair askew. Louis didn't seem to be bothered by the cold, either, and he stood smiling under the pale moonlight.
"Louis?"
"Town's over there, Jack," Louis said, pointing. "You're almost there. Just a few more steps. Come on, Jack, you can do it."
Jack took a shaky step towards his friend, then a second. He counted ten more steps, but he was no closer to Louis who kept urging him on. Jack had no time to say anything more to his dear departed friend; he reached pavement so suddenly he didn't recognize it at first for the foot of bone-dry snow covering it. Only a slight, constant shift in elevation revealed the treasure beneath the covering.
There wasn't even time to feel so much as an iota of relief, much less joy. The snow was deep here and untracked. No one had passed here since they had come through and the lodge was essentially the only reason to be on this road. There were miles left for him yet.
Despite the snow, the road was easy enough to follow and for its thickness he made his way easily enough because it had sintered to a fairly firm surface. Perhaps he was not all that far from the main highway. Perhaps his friends would soon be safe and he could sleep.
If only his parents could see him now, braving the wilderness so successfully. Perhaps they would be proud of him. They had wanted him to go to Harvard or some other Ivy League school and become a lawyer or maybe a doctor, something befitting their social status. Instead, he had attended a community college and chosen the police academy. His parents had refused to speak to him since. He missed them, realising suddenly that they hadn't been bad folks. Rather, they had risen above what blacks could do in their time and place and had become respected white-collar workers living in a white neighbourhood. They just wanted to give their son the best they had fought for and wished for Jack to offer the same to his children.
There had been no time for children with Maureen. They'd been married a few months when the cancer was discovered. Treatment rendered her barren. She spent the next five years fighting a losing battle. Jack was proud that he'd stayed by her side to the bitter end. His current struggle was nothing like what Maureen had been forced to endure.
He owed it to her to press on, to make it to town, to survive so that he could help his friends.
At the crossroad, reached in the early hours of dawn, the way magically cleared, the road to town lit and glowing and easy. Jack wasn't there, yet, it still wasn't time to rejoice, but he let hope stir and found himself able to quicken his step.
No cars passed as he trudged along, but the streetlights and clear road assured him that help was nearby, that the town was merely sleeping, not snowbound.
The flashing lights of a Seven Eleven were a welcome beacon in the night. He lurched the final mile, stumbling into the convenience store like a drunk.
He startled the clerk who startled him by pulling out a hunting rifle. Even in his hypothermic state, Jack was surprised by such a greeting in Canada.
"Help," he croaked, his voice weak enough to frighten him. "I'm--we're--my friends and me. Staying at the Chinook Lodge. Avalanche. Friend stuck. Hurt. Need help."
The clerk put down her rifle and reached for the phone in the same movement. Jack watched wearily as the phone call was made, then gratefully as the clerk fixed him coffee and found him a chair and blanket.
He'd done what he could to save his friends. Only rescuers could finish this. Done with the coffee, he pulled off a few soggy layers. Then, wrapped in the blanket, he settled himself on the chair and let his eyes close. He could do nothing more.
When Jack awoke, his first thought was that he was warm and dry. He cracked his eyes open and met with the sight of institutional beige walls. It didn't take much more evidence to determine that he'd been transported to a hospital.
He stretched experimentally and found his muscles achy but not painful. He was able to rise with relative ease and go to the bathroom. There, he took a long hot shower, then drank greedily from the tap. He found some of his clothes in the room closet; they were dry, but not clean. He couldn't wait to get back home into his custom-tailored suits.
It was only when he was dressed the he realised there was someone else in the room with him, hidden behind the privacy curtain. He peeked around the curtain only to find Vecchio, sound asleep, his swollen ankle slightly elevated. Jack's heart thudded against his chest. That meant two of them were safe. Where were the Canadians?
He left the room, looking right and left down the hallway, seeing no one. He took a chance and headed to the left, finding the nurses' station. The nurse in attendance smiled when she saw him approach. She asked him how he was feeling and he was cursory in his answer, wanting to know how Turnbull and Fraser were. He learned that both men were his neighbours. Turnbull's shoulder would be tender for a while, but he was otherwise okay. Fraser would be all right despite his two broken legs. Jack was proud of his friends when he learned that Vecchio and Turnbull had managed to fashion a lever and fulcrum that enabled them to pry the oak beam off Fraser's legs. They had all three done their part in saving not only Fraser's life, but his legs. As for Jack, he was being treated for exposure, dehydration, hypothermia, and frostbite. And, according to the nurse, he was supposed to still be in bed. "I'll go back to bed soon as I check up on my friends," he promised.
Turnbull was awake when Jack came in. He gave the American an exhausted smile and said simply "Good job!" Jack knew they would be friends.
He moved to the next bed and found Fraser sound asleep, both his legs in traction. Jack winced. Even in sleep, Fraser looked broken and exhausted, dark circles under his eyes contrasting sharply with his chalky skin. But he was alive and so were Turnbull and Vecchio. And him, too. He, John Samuel Huey had challenged the wilderness and won.
He thought of Maureen and Louis who had guided him along the way. They were the two people in his life who had never let him down. Not even in death. They had been good friends, but they were gone. Jack now felt ready to let them go. They deserved their rest. Maybe now that he had come to know Fraser, he could understand the man's actions after Gardino was killed. And he could let his friend rest accepting at last that he'd been avenged. As for Maureen, he'd had a taste of exhaustion and pain and endless confrontations with death. He understood her strength and how much courage she'd had to accept that she was beaten. She'd fought a good battle. Jack owed it to her to let her sleep in peace.
When Fraser was recovered, Jack knew they'd have a lot to talk about, a lot to settle, and even more to learn from each other.
Of course, he'd first need a vacation to get over this vacation. Maybe not in a four star hotel in some downtown, but at least away from potential avalanches. Needless to say, Vecchio and Turnbull would have to come, too, and, of course, Fraser. But, this time, Jack was open to Fraser's lessons. No more would they fall on deaf ears.
He turned away from the sleeping Mountie and smiled at Turnbull before heading back to his own room.
Sleep would come first, but he was eager to start learning, knowing now that there was no such thing as useless knowledge, that each ignored lesson was a waste. He thought of what he'd learned the last few days and found the price of new knowledge to be worth the cost. As for the price of letting go, it was worth three new friends.
