Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Notes: Beta by Lynnmonster.

One cold Tuesday, as he sat writing an official report, Bob took a call and was dispatched on his own to find a man called Ernie McGraw, who had vanished while on a weekend hunting trip. Six hours into the search, he found McGraw's body, frozen solid in his sleeping bag, one leg twisted and broken. Animals had not yet disturbed the corpse and, from the state of the camp, he surmised that Ernie had succumbed to the cold only hours before. He wrapped the body tightly in canvas to return to Mrs. McGraw, and set up his own camp for the night.

His field kit always included a pencil and a small leather-bound book, one of dozens he had bought in bulk from a store in Fort McPherson. Buck always left it to him to write up their reports, and he found his notes a useful prompt when they returned. He normally wrote down a few particulars of each day, outlining the distance they had travelled, the ruses employed by the desperate criminal they were seeking, and the amount of property damage the RCMP would have to make good. Removing his journal from the side pocket of his pack on this occasion, he observed with a grimace that when he'd snatched the little book from his desk, where he had been referring to it as he wrote his report, he had clipped on a pen rather than a pencil. He shook the pen experimentally, and scribbled a small circle on the current page. The ink was frozen.

Sighing, he slipped the pen under his shirt, against his skin, hoping that transferred body heat would melt the ice. Using the fire would only cause the ink reservoir to crack and leak. He shivered as he pressed the cold cylinder of metal against his skin. After a few minutes, the pen seemed warmer, and he brought it out of his clothes and shook it before trying to write once again. The cheap, grainy paper of his notebook absorbed the ink, and each sweep of his pen left behind a fuzzy, spreading line.

Travelled due east, following last known dir. Body of E. McG. found at 1834 hrs approx. 19.3 mi. from base. Time death: unk. est. 1600 hrs.

The ink stopped flowing. He tried to warm it again, rolling the pen back and forth between his palms. The fire crackled and popped. In the shadows, well away from the welcome heat, the canvas-wrapped bundle lay huddled next to a neat pile of Ernie McGraw's possessions. He felt a sudden sharp pang for Buck's easy, flatulent company.

Uncapping his pen again, he set the nib to paper, ready to write a short inventory of the equipment he would be returning to McGraw's widow. He hesitated, and the paper soaked up a puddle of ink, leaving a blot. He thought of Caroline and the boy, surviving another winter in Inuvik. He began to write:

A man has many thoughts on a cold night by the fire, with only a corpse for company...