Chapter 8

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Jane and Lisbon woke up in the middle of the night, the fire alarm beeping incessantly. They wrapped themselves up quickly in their bathrobes and raced down the stairs, trying to find where the fire was originating from. As they reached the kitchen, the smoke was so thick that they were both coughing and choking, curling over with lack of oxygen. Jane turned towards Lisbon, determination to protect her surging within him.

He lead her to the living room, and with a simple, "stay here" he took a deep breath and raced back to the kitchen. He grabbed the bucket that was still untouched by the fire and filled it with water, throwing it at the flames. It helped, but then the flames grew bigger, brighter, and hotter. He pulled back as the fire caught on the front of his bathrobe. He tapped it out, before filling the bucket once more and throwing it at the brilliantly hot flames. When it still didn't work, he grabbed a towel, intent on wafting it out, when Lisbon came in, sizzling the fire out with the extinguisher foam. He stood, panting, his face and chest covered in smoke and his hair sparkled with speckles of foam.

"Thanks," he muttered, smiling sheepishly at her.

"You didn't think of getting the fire extinguisher?"

"Might've slipped my mind," he took the tank out of her hands and set it down beside them, rubbing her shoulders as the temperature started to drop.

She rested her head on his shoulder, falling into his warmth. Her senses were filled with the prevailing scent of ash on his robe. She coughed as it blocked her airway, pulling away from the overwhelming stench of burning death.

He cupped her cheek, his thumb ghosting over her soft skin. He led her out of the room, feeling her body contract with a quick shiver as a cold breeze rushed through her veins before she started to tremble. He draped half of his bathrobe around her shoulders and pulled her closer, feeling her skin start to cool. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple when he noticed she was holding her breath before stepping away and grabbing a blanket. He wrapped it around her shoulders and started working on warming her.

"P-P-Patrick, w-what's going on?" her voice quivered with her tremors, "W-W-Why is it getting c-colder?"

"I'm not sure." He told her, wrapping her up with more blankets, trying to stop himself from feeling the rapidly lowering temperature. He grabbed another blanket for himself, before walking downstairs to inspect the problem. He examined the heating system, following it around the house until it branched off into the kitchen and found the reason. The pipe burst, sending sparks of metal onto the stove that was left on. The pieces of metal turned into a fire that consumed their food and forced him to waste most of their water. The fire and the heat entered the burst pipe and shorted circuited the heating system. In a couple of hours, the temperature inside of the cabin will turn exactly as the temperature as the wind roaring outside. He sighed deeply; this was not going to end well.

When he reentered the bedroom, she was curled up at a corner, the blankets wrapped around her, yet he could still see her shivering. He changed into thicker, less smelly clothes, before he sat down next to her and took her into his arms. As he rubbed her arms and back, he relayed the information to her.

"What are we going to do?" she asked him, her trembling diminishing somewhat. She draped the covers over him, snuggling closer to his warmth.

"I'm not sure, Teresa," he whispered into her hair, "I just hope Abbott can find us before we're out of heat and water."

"And if he doesn't?" she asked worriedly, "if we are stuck, temperature dropping quicker than a falling raindrop and food supply rations lower than the grave, until we are in graves of our own?"

"Shh, love," he kissed her temple, "I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you."

"That's going to be difficult if were both dead."

He pulled her onto his lap and held her close, kissing her temple as she buried herself deeper into his embrace.

"I hope Abbott can find us in time." He heard her mumble against his shirt.

"He will," he kissed the top of her head, "he will."

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