"So this is Canada. Nice. Bleak."

"I think so." Frostbite turned and looked at the gruff man, watching him light a cigarette and inhale sharply as he closed his brown eyes and scratched his sideburn. Frostbite shook his head, noting the look of dissatisfaction on the other man's face and angry at it. "Are you cold?"

"Nope."

Frostbite withheld the snide, bitter comment that threatened its escape. This was a lot easier when he was drunk. "George ..."

"Don't ruin it," he said simply, his back turned to the blue-hued man and trying very hard to appear as potentially hopeful as he felt. Hell, if he openly emoted then he wasn't a man, so it didn't worry him. It was the nature of the beast. "Glad to be back?"

Frostbite shrugged, popping the trunk of Roadshow, Off-Ramp's precious red hot rod, and removing the bags. He shut the door gently. It had survived a three day road trip not because George Sloan thought it'd be good for the car but because George Sloan didn't trust the world enough to leave it behind. Of course, the fact that they had driven and not sub-dimensionally travelled directly to Canada spoke volumes. "It's home. Come on."

Frostbite carefully made his way up the long, winding path to the door of his house and shuffled in his pockets for the keys. Off-Ramp followed, his cigarette clenched between his teeth and his bags hoisted high on his back.

"Let this be a good idea," Frostbite muttered to himself, watching the man carefully. They'd been together a month now, though Frostbite could hardly call it that. They talked off and on, saw a violent move or two, played chess. Yeah, it was a really healthy relationship, but it was the best they could do.

"Didn't think a snow elf would own a house," George commented, stepping through the door and dropping his bags at the foot of the stairs. He pushed off his boots with his feet and walked into the living room, sinking down on the couch. That was when he saw the picture. "That the happy family of elves?"

"Mmm-hmm. That was before I began the rebellion many, many moons ago."

"Does that explain the piercing?"

Frostbite smiled almost legitimately, his hand straying absently to his pierced nipples and tugging on the hoops. "Yep. It even explains the tattoos. I did that to piss them off enough to forget about the piercing. It didn't work."

"I always thought you'd be a brat." Off-Ramp's tone was carefully jesting, testing their boundaries and seeing how sensitive Frostbite was to his past. Frostbite merely laughed and shrugged as he removed his coat, worn only to hide his extreme features and not because he was cold.

By the time supper was made, soup from a can as both proved to be incompetent cooks, George looked about ready to slumber in his chair. He'd driven all the way without sleep, something Frostbite had figured meant early deaths for both of them and all for the sake of his beloved car.

"There's a room at the top of the stairs. It's yours," Frostbite said, tossing the dishes carelessly into the sink and leaning against the counter. George lifted his head sharply, taking one long and meaningful look at Frostbite before glancing at the stairs. He gave a quick shake of his head.

"Thanks."

Frostbite watched as Off-Ramp took to the stairs, bags held in both hands and jumping the steps two at a time. After five minutes, he finally broke his look and turned to the dishes in the sink. ‘What the hell was that? Did he want ...?'

What did he want? Good question. He couldn't tell what George wanted, just that the man had admitted to wanting him, to wanting to be with him like *that*. Frostbite had been all for it, admiring the man for his rough charm and sarcastic views, but it was new territory for him. It was the first time he had ever acted on the impulse to love both genders, the first time that he ever openly said, ‘yes! I like men! I like you, George!' Frostbite had even been so daring as to pinch George's rear and get a loving punch in the jaw for it, but he had thought Off-Ramp had done this before, the breaking-the-taboo thing, the man-likes-man thing. He was beginning to suspect he assumed too much.

Yet ... yet he had agreed to come on a vacation of sorts to the middle of nowhere, to the epitome of privacy far in the wild Canadian north, which was hardly wild at all but very, very empty. They had run away from civilisation. They were alone. The world existed now only for them.

Frostbite lay down on the couch and flipped on the television, flicking aimlessly between channels before settling on an infomercial. Infomercials were good for two things: a cover for making out and a tool for inducing sleep.

Much to his disappointment, Frostbite fell asleep on the couch and woke up to Off-Ramp sitting in the chair opposite him, watching quietly.

"Morning, Sunshine," he said with a smirk.

"How long have you been there?" "Long enough. Mind if I smoke?"

"It's never bothered me before," Frostbite replied, watching the deft fingers move as if lighting the cigarette was second nature. Lowering his blue eyes to the beige carpet, he rubbed the back of his neck, which was stiff and sore from crashing on the couch. "Listen, George ..."

"Yep?"

"Are we ... you know ... a ‘we'?"

Off-Ramp smiled. "We're a ‘we'."

"Then why don't we ... we?"

"Why don't we wee-wee? I can wee-wee just fine, thanks. I'm sorry to hear you're having problems."

A bitter mix of rue and genuine humour crossed Frostbite's lips, and Off-Ramp laughed loudly, the first honest laugh Frostbite could remember hearing from him. Off-Ramp sobered quickly, knowing this was important enough that a few flippant jokes had to be counteracted by some legitimate seriousness.

"We're taking it slowly because I want you to be sure that this is what you want, that you want me, and I want to be sure this isn't going to screw us both over. I'll be damned if this hurts either one of us."

Frostbite conceded easily and quickly, seeing the point but none too happy with it. His hand strayed to his pointed ear and he played with it absently, pulling and tugging. "You want breakfast?"

"I'll get it. For both of us."

"You don't have to go to all that trouble."

"I'm going to pour you a bowl of cereal, Frost, calm down." That smile again, the wiry, charming smile. Frostbite laughed and sat back, twiddling his thumbs and waiting for the call. Off-Ramp made it several minutes later. "Breakfast is served."

They ate in silence, and every few minutes one would venture a look in the direction of the other then drop his eyes when he was discovered. It was a cycle that repeated a hundred times before they had finished their cereal.

"It's snowing," George said, looking out the window and rubbing his fingers over his stubbled chin. "Don't see enough snow in my life. I like it, though, like the snow. It's cold but nice to look at, kinda like you without the attitude."

"I'm not a snow elf for nothing," Frostbite replied, stirring his milk waste with his spoon, scooping and pouring, over and over again. This was not what he expected it would be like. Of course, he didn't have many expectations, but the few he did have didn't even resemble this. "Did Hard Drive say anything to you before you left?"

"Outside of ‘use condoms, we don't know where you've been,' nope, didn't say a damned thing to me." Off-Ramp chuckled at the flush of purple that crossed over his companion's face and leaned back in his chair. "Doesn't take me for a gentleman, does he?"

"You treat Roadshow well."

"I'll treat you better."

Frostbite found himself smiling almost boyishly, if such a thing was possible for someone as spiteful and bitter as he was. As it turned out it wasn't possible and came across as a sneer, albeit a joyful one, instead.

It continued snowing for the rest of the day, the thick flakes falling softly to the ground and turning the world white in a matter of hours. It was the first snowfall of a long, cold, bitter winter. Frostbite could hardly contain his excitement.

After many wasted hours playing every board game in Frostbite's home, Off-Ramp sat down in front of the television and promptly fell asleep, napping as a quiet snore escaped his lips with every exhale.

Frostbite stripped to his briefs, probably the most ingenious costume, he thought, in all of superhero land. He didn't even have to waste time getting dressed, and he sure as hell didn't have to worry about someone ripping open his shirt and noticing the spandex ‘S' on his chest. Of course, if the blue skin and the pointed features didn't already betray his identity, he figured the person was just stupid.

"Snow! Snow! Snow!"

Frostbite was in his element and he raced into the cold, jumping and dancing around as he shattered all illusions of the cold, angry shell he spent so much time perfecting. It was hard to be a bastard, yet he did it so well, exceptionally well even, pissing everyone off with each word spoken and annoying even the toughest of people.

"Snow!"

Frostbite rolled in the snow, shook the trees, stuck out his tongue, made a snow-Off-Ramp, destroyed the evidence, made snow angels and had a generally pleasant time. So pleasant, in fact, that he lost complete track of time.

Frostbite was only mildly embarrassed when, after sliding down the rolling hills of his backyard on his arse, he noticed Off-Ramp watching him with a look of amusement. The obligatory cigarette hanging from the thin lips, the bushy sideburns being scratched, the dark eyes betraying merriment, the image of George was complete.

"Happy?"

"Happy." Frostbite remained sitting at the bottom of the snow swell, dressed in next to nothing yet sweating profusely, or as much as a snow elf could sweat, which in terms of profuse and slight was definitely the former. "I slept with Bonfire."

"Then she dumped you for Thunderhead. Doesn't say much."

"No, it doesn't," Frostbite paused then quipped, "just says I'm not much of a ladies man."

"Nothing wrong with that," Off-Ramp said, cushing his cigarette butt against the brick of the house then tossing it into one of the garbage cans that lined the garage. He trekked to where Frostbite sat, setting himself down in the snow. "It's cold."

"Snow elves don't feel the cold."

"You seriously a snow elf? Or is that just something you made up to get laughs?"

"Seriously a snow elf, or so I've been told. Though it explains the appearance and the ears and the pointy nose and the fact I'm sitting in snow thinking how hot it suddenly is." Frostbite grinned, flicking a handful of snow in the general direction of Off-Ramp. Using his powers for the briefest second, George created a sub-dimensional ramp and directed the snow at Hard Drive's head in Connecticut. "Why did you come up here with me?"

"Because you asked me nicely," George replied, acutely aware of the chill that was creeping through his groin. It wasn't enjoyable. "And we needed to get away. Talk. Or not talk. We're men. Things work differently with us."

"Well, I'm not exactly a man. I'm a snow elf."

"You got the parts?"

"Certainly."

"Then you're a man in my eyes." Off-Ramp paused. "I got a kid."

"I know. I heard." Frostbite looked at him, wondering why he though that would change things and he obviously did or he wouldn't have said anything. "Kids like me. I don't know why. I think it's the ears. Makes me seem more like the elf that makes all their Christmas gifts or something. I don't know the specifics."

"Do you like kids?"

"If he's yours, he can't be too bad." That was an honest answer, Frostbite thought, without actually answering it. George was a swift one. He'd figure it out. "I respect you for caring that you knocked some girl up."

"Yeah, well, even bastards like us do redeemable things sometimes," Off-Ramp said lightly though the dark undertones were all but obvious. ‘Wet, cold pants' was what he was really thinking, ‘wet, cold pants.' "You all right with this, Frost?"

"With us? Yeah, I am." Frostbite bit his lip and chewed for one thoughtful minute. "Though one thing's bugging me."

"What?"

"Can you honestly find me attractive? I mean, I think I'm pleasing to view, but I'm narcissistic and that's expected of a narcissus. Now, putting myself in human shoes, I see a blue-skinned, heavily tattooed snow elf with ears that could blind children and think that maybe he's not the type of guy I want to look at for too long."

"I'm not exactly Mr. Pretty, Frost."

"I think you're ... okay, I get it. Lo ... uh ... this thing is blind. Got it, got it, won't mention it again." Frostbite looked at Off-Ramp. Off-Ramp looked at Frostbite. It was a vicious cycle. "You're freezing your ass off for me. I'm touched."

"Thanks, though my ass might not thank you."

"Let's go inside." Frostbite stood up and offered his hand to George, who clasped it tightly and rose to a stand. They were close enough to feel each other's breath, and Frostbite cleared his throat. "I guess we've resolved what needed to be resolved."

"Yep. Which means something."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"We get to make out."

"Oh goodie."

And they went inside and watched an infomercial.