Snowed In
Trapped
"Let the record show that this whole thing is your damn fault." Mr. Lennox waved his hand derisively, his head still buried in the crook of his other arm.
Incredulously, Claire shrieked, "My fault?"
"No, no, his fault.” Dr. Grant stiffened and leveled a murderous glare the younger man’s way. Blithely, Mr. Lennox continued, “Sorry. Thought you were over--" he let out a soft groan. "Never mind."
The three fell into an awkward silence as a chill settled into their bones and crept along their marrow to freeze them from the inside out. Claire shivered and pulled her coat closer to her, not that the small action would help in any degree.
She prided herself on being gregarious, patient, and outgoing, but acting as the intermediary between two grown men had tested her limits, and between her increasing frustration towards them and the bitter cold, Claire felt herself approaching her breaking point. For at least three hours the trio had been trapped in the cabin, and there was no sign of rescue in sight.
Suddenly, the whirring of the heating system spluttered and slowed to a stop, and freezing silence engulfed the room in a matter of seconds.
Mr. Lennox was the first to comment. "Goddamn snow, goddamn winter, goddamn everything," he muttered, voicing Claire's own thoughts on the matter quite succinctly. She fought the urge to bury her face in her hands and instead sank limply into the nearest chair.
Dr. Grant, who'd been silent for a while, nursing a bruised ego and tending to his broken nose, stood up and began to pace.
She followed him warily with her eyes. The doctor was, in her eyes, a respectable fellow, a man whom she’d met during her brief period spent interested in medicine, but he had an unfortunate habit of ticking off Mr. Lennox. In turn, Mr. Lennox had a habit of lashing out when provoked.
However, it seemed Dr. Grant was just as reluctant as she was to instigate another scene. Obviously choosing his words carefully, he said, "The temperatures will continue to drop. We should gather every blanket we can find and keep heat loss to a minimal."
"So, what, we're going to raid the bedrooms and linen closets, make a big ass cocoon of blankets, and hug each other to keep warm?" He snorted, "Great plan there, ace."
"Have you a better one?"
"You know, I actually think I like pissing you off. You kind of start to sound like Shakespeare." He stood and imitated Dr. Grant's deep scowl. "‘Have you a better one? Verily do I doubt this for I am the most supreme being and you're all just peons and knaves beneath me. Blegh!’”
"Can we just work together for five minutes?" Claire interrupted hastily. Already Dr. Grant's mood had soured and Mr. Lennox looked seconds away from rearranging the doctor's face, yet again. “Let’s just gather up the blankets, okay? It’s the best idea we’ve got right now, and I’d really rather not freeze to death.”
Before either man could chime in, she turned on her heel and started searching the other rooms. By the time she returned to the den, two blankets in her arms, the temperature had already dropped a few more degrees. Her breath escaped her lips in frozen bursts and her teeth chattered near constantly. Mr. Lennox had scrounged up one blanket and Dr. Grant another. Without a word between them, all three dropped their scavenged warmth onto the rug and formed a messy pile of limbs and fabric.
Despite his earlier mockery of the practice, Claire noticed Mr. Lennox shivering and burying himself deeper into the mound.
Gradually but noticeably, warmth found its sluggish way back into her flesh. Letting out a relieved sigh, she let her head fall back to rest on Dr. Grant’s knee. Her chattering teeth slowed and her shivers eventually passed.
“Okay, so maybe that wasn't such a piss poor idea, ace,” Mr. Lennox said.
She couldn't see the other man’s face with the way she was sitting, but she could hear the smile in his voice. “And you aren't a lowly peon.”
“I still don’t like you.”
“Of course not,” he laughed.
“You’re just really, really warm.”
Silence reigned for a moment.
“This is like a really poorly planned sleep-over,” Claire said, and punctuated her observation with a slight yawn.
“Sure,” Mr. Lennox drawled. “We should totally braid each other’s hair and talk about boys.”
Incredulously, Claire shrieked, "My fault?"
"No, no, his fault.” Dr. Grant stiffened and leveled a murderous glare the younger man’s way. Blithely, Mr. Lennox continued, “Sorry. Thought you were over--" he let out a soft groan. "Never mind."
The three fell into an awkward silence as a chill settled into their bones and crept along their marrow to freeze them from the inside out. Claire shivered and pulled her coat closer to her, not that the small action would help in any degree.
She prided herself on being gregarious, patient, and outgoing, but acting as the intermediary between two grown men had tested her limits, and between her increasing frustration towards them and the bitter cold, Claire felt herself approaching her breaking point. For at least three hours the trio had been trapped in the cabin, and there was no sign of rescue in sight.
Suddenly, the whirring of the heating system spluttered and slowed to a stop, and freezing silence engulfed the room in a matter of seconds.
Mr. Lennox was the first to comment. "Goddamn snow, goddamn winter, goddamn everything," he muttered, voicing Claire's own thoughts on the matter quite succinctly. She fought the urge to bury her face in her hands and instead sank limply into the nearest chair.
Dr. Grant, who'd been silent for a while, nursing a bruised ego and tending to his broken nose, stood up and began to pace.
She followed him warily with her eyes. The doctor was, in her eyes, a respectable fellow, a man whom she’d met during her brief period spent interested in medicine, but he had an unfortunate habit of ticking off Mr. Lennox. In turn, Mr. Lennox had a habit of lashing out when provoked.
However, it seemed Dr. Grant was just as reluctant as she was to instigate another scene. Obviously choosing his words carefully, he said, "The temperatures will continue to drop. We should gather every blanket we can find and keep heat loss to a minimal."
"So, what, we're going to raid the bedrooms and linen closets, make a big ass cocoon of blankets, and hug each other to keep warm?" He snorted, "Great plan there, ace."
"Have you a better one?"
"You know, I actually think I like pissing you off. You kind of start to sound like Shakespeare." He stood and imitated Dr. Grant's deep scowl. "‘Have you a better one? Verily do I doubt this for I am the most supreme being and you're all just peons and knaves beneath me. Blegh!’”
"Can we just work together for five minutes?" Claire interrupted hastily. Already Dr. Grant's mood had soured and Mr. Lennox looked seconds away from rearranging the doctor's face, yet again. “Let’s just gather up the blankets, okay? It’s the best idea we’ve got right now, and I’d really rather not freeze to death.”
Before either man could chime in, she turned on her heel and started searching the other rooms. By the time she returned to the den, two blankets in her arms, the temperature had already dropped a few more degrees. Her breath escaped her lips in frozen bursts and her teeth chattered near constantly. Mr. Lennox had scrounged up one blanket and Dr. Grant another. Without a word between them, all three dropped their scavenged warmth onto the rug and formed a messy pile of limbs and fabric.
Despite his earlier mockery of the practice, Claire noticed Mr. Lennox shivering and burying himself deeper into the mound.
Gradually but noticeably, warmth found its sluggish way back into her flesh. Letting out a relieved sigh, she let her head fall back to rest on Dr. Grant’s knee. Her chattering teeth slowed and her shivers eventually passed.
“Okay, so maybe that wasn't such a piss poor idea, ace,” Mr. Lennox said.
She couldn't see the other man’s face with the way she was sitting, but she could hear the smile in his voice. “And you aren't a lowly peon.”
“I still don’t like you.”
“Of course not,” he laughed.
“You’re just really, really warm.”
Silence reigned for a moment.
“This is like a really poorly planned sleep-over,” Claire said, and punctuated her observation with a slight yawn.
“Sure,” Mr. Lennox drawled. “We should totally braid each other’s hair and talk about boys.”