He didn't sleep a wink last night. Caught between the cloying smell of smoke and the feeling of debris, he had tossed and turned all night. The only reprieve was when he laid in bed and thought of her. 'course, that brought its own struggle. He was gaspin' and gruntin' for all the wrong reasons right after that, his cock tightly fisted as he thought of her. He could only think about how soft she'd be. Soft, willin', and enough to make him stop thinkin' about those damned screams.

Ben pauses, resting his head on the shovel for a moment. He'd shoveled a pile of snow already, and now he was working on her walkway 'fore she'd even have a chance to tell him off for it. His lips quirked for a second, a small glimmer of humour lightening the usual gloom. Shit, she could be a firecracker. All Miss-Independent. He respected that, he really did. But he just wanted to help, and she didn't seem to mind too bad when she'd bring him out that coffee. Ben was pretty sure she was sweet on him—she always got that pretty little blush when they talked. The kinda blush that had him thinking sinful thoughts about how much she'd glow if he told her what he really thought about her.

Lush lips. Sweetest fuckin' figure known to man. Made to make a man think dirty thoughts all while wonderin' what it'd take to make her his. He wanted her. Wanted her bad.

And then she'd say something, and he'd be reminded of how damn young she is. How youthful and vibrant—nothin' like him. He retired, he's got a darkness that just won't leave. And he don't want to tie her down. Not to someone like him. A man who sometimes wakes up screaming over something as simple as a nightmare.

With that thought in mind, he finishes shoveling and heads inside.

He's looking around, hearing the sounds of men screaming deep in the cave. It doesn't matter that they shouldn't be screaming—realistically, the carbon dioxide woulda killed them before the fire did. But Ben doesn't listen to that calm, rational thought. He's running ahead, dodging falling beams as he tries to save as many people as he can. But each person he touches burns, just turns into some screaming ball of agony while he watches. Christ. Fuckin' Christ. The smell of smoke, burnt flesh, and the sounds of dying screams assault his senses. There's no chance at recovery. It's fuckin foolish to stay, and he knows that. Orders his men to turn around, to ignore the men begging.

But as he goes to leave, there's a second explosion that shakes the entire cave. Rocks tumble, hitting their helmets as they try to leave. Ben stays at the back, making sure they all get out first. But the rocks are piling, and a final slide of dirt and gravel is all it takes to separate him.

He's stuck. The heat's building behind him, but it's dark. He can barely breathe, panic making him hyperventilate. He's stuck, and there's no fuckin' way out—

Ben is still panicking when he wakes up, the lamp beside him fully out. He's sweating, wide-eyed and prepared to let out a scream before the back-up generator kicks on. The lamp flickers, and the room is bathed in a soft yellow glow. For a second, Ben doesn't accept it. But then he wakes a little more, recognizes his bedroom. He's... He's fine.

He gets up and passes downstairs, lighting the fireplace for the extra heat. He's cautious as ever, but the flames are surprisingly soothing. He can understand fire. Knows how they work, knows how to put them out. It gives him a sense of control, looking at the flames. He pours a glass of whiskey, knowing he won't sleep without it. The storm outside is a howler, but 'least the generator's up 'n runnin'.

His heart calms down as he watches the storm, and then he stiffens. His pretty little neighbor doesn't have a generator—even though he told her it was gonna get brutal this year, 'specially up in the mountains. Ben stands and puts on his boots, grabbing a heavy jacket.

He's surprised that she answers his knock so quick, but then he understands. Poor thing's shiverin', teeth chattering as she's wrapped in several coats and thick comforter. Ben's lips flatten, his concern taking over. "C'mon, honey. You're gonna have to stay at mine, unless you plan on freezin' over here."