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Warm up

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"Shut up. I'm trying to sleep."


"Shut up, Jeremy."

"All I wanted to say is— Look, I am aware that—"

"Great. You're aware. You know what I am?"


"I'm cold, you absolute arsebiscuit! What did you think I was going to say? 'I'm running away to join the circus? I'm developing a taste for rosé? I'm really looking forward to dying out here in the middle of icy fucking nowhere because you fancied yourself an explorer?'"


"Yes, I know that wasn't bloody fair. I'll be sorry in a moment."

"Let me know when."

"…Shit, all right. I'm sorry, Jez."

"Forget it. I'm sorry, too. Shouldn't have dragged us out here."

"Of course you should've. It'll make great telly. Even if we die. Especially if we die."

"Better if Hammond died, though. Housewives' favorite."

"True. Weeping in the streets."



"Look, James. D'you want to warm up?"

"…For the record, I'm trying very hard not to be an arsehole right now."

"Oh, for— You idiot. What I mean is, budge up."

"Budge— Oh. This is an alarming amount of man-contact, you realize."

"Relax. It's just sharing body heat. All professional explorers do this."

"Do they?"

"Well, maybe not where you have your nose, but I don't mind it."

"What about where you have your leg?"

"…Sorry. Sorry. I'll just—"



"I don't mind it."


"Don't make me say it twice, for god's sake. Feel free to never mention it again, actually. I'm delirious with cold, absolutely off my head. Let me just stop speaking and take Hammond's place in having a tragic death. It will be simpler that way."





"All right?"

"Yes. Very."

"Have you started to like exploring now?"

"Shut up and kiss me again."