The last chapter! And it's a double length one, because I suck at sticking to a word count! Some special thanks need to go with this chapter. To the ever so amazing, delectable IAmTheTrashPanda, for her southern dialogue help, all the kisses. To the awesome abelmayfair for unswerving devotion to the proofreading process and general ideas bouncing, thank yoooou. And finally to my kitties Fluff and Bella for sleeping on my lap when I was trying to type, 'helping' by walking across the keypad and play!murdering my fingers, you guys are too adorable to stay mad at.

So, who's got two thumbs and still owes you the end of Desperate Measures? This dino! Ok, guys, I am sorry. I'm working on it. It's just hard to write, for... reasons. Once it's done and posted you'll understand and I promise that'll be as quickly as possible. In the meanwhile here is the last chapter of Homecoming instead. Send love to the exquisite Zouboss for requesting this and prompting me to write it.

Tiny note on this chapter; I downloaded and read a full Yupik dictionary and grammar guide but I'm clearly no expert (helloooooo whiter-than-sour-cream English girl who has never been to Alaska) so if I got it wrong? Tell me. Educate me. Tell the world, because keeping indigenous languages alive is amazing and if you actually speak Alaskan Yupik let me know so we can be friends and I can learn all the language from you. I'll teach you Swedish in return, deal?

Content Warning: homophobia, racial slurs, bad language, implied historical child abuse, backstory, potential misuse of Native name structures.

The day of the race dawned pitch black, which wasn't surprising since it was midwinter's day and they were only an hour south of the Arctic Circle. Marceline rolled out of bed with a groan; she hadn't enjoyed early starts even when she'd lived someplace the temperature didn't drop to minus figures.

"Bon, babe, wake up."

" ...Nuh...Don't wanna."

"S'race day. Gotta warm the dogs up."

"Uh-huh. Go warm them up, then. Don't need both of us."

Marcy's eyes narrowed. She grabbed the blanket and tugged it off the redhead in one fluid motion, making the other woman shriek at the sudden cold air that assaulted her bare skin.

"MARCY! GIVE ME THE BLANKET!"

"Nope! Out of bed, Dr Sled Builder! I'm awake so you're awake!"

"You're an asshole." Bonnie sulked, sitting up and pouting for all she was worth.

"Yeah? I guess that makes you Mrs Asshole then. Come on, up! You wanna fix breakfast while I run with the pups?" Marceline asked with a wicked grin.

"Fine. You're getting French toast and oatmeal, you need something fortifying. Just so long as I don't have to go outside until after my coffee."

"Deal. Love you, babe."

Bonnie accepted her morning kiss with a sleepy pout and yawned her way through fixing coffee and food while her girlfriend bundled up and made her way out into the blackness followed by the ten energetic huskies who'd been sprawled all over the lounge and bedroom through the night. Schwabl limped over to the back door after them and whined sadly when all he got was a pet on the head and told he'd get a quick walk when she got back.

"Come on, old guy. You can come have some eggs." Bonnie told him fondly. His rear legs were stiffer than ever from the cold despite having the softest heated pillows to sleep on and he whined plaintively at her again as he hobbled back through to the kitchen. Schwabs was definitely entering his twilight years and Bonnie always made extra effort to shower him with affection; he got the leftover egg and some ham out of the fridge too just because she could.

Bonnie let her mind wander while she cooked up a batch of French toast and a pan of her father's secret recipe oatmeal. She'd come to Teller expecting to find some other professional sled builders, maybe build up a reputation and even get a job apprenticing to one of them. Turned out most dog sleds were either a homemade deal or shipped in from elsewhere, and the aerodynamics of a lot of them was terrible. A sled would never be as sleek as a race car but she'd been able to round off some edges, improve the top speeds with various slight tweaks here and there and test different materials to finish the bottoms of the runners with. Bonnie was pretty damn proud of the custom built sled now sitting in the back of her truck just waiting for the race to start. And it was Marceline's first race too, how amazing would to be if she won? Bonnie let her mind picture it, her beautiful and talented girlfriend being handed the winner's medal, showing the whole damn town she wasn't just Runaway Abadeer's almost-bastard, not an outsider or a soft southerner. She knew that more than anything Marceline wanted to belong in Teller, she wanted to be known as something other than the rumor about her conception. Well, she was carving out a name for herself one way or another; now she was the queer almost-bastard. Nobody had said anything to them except for Ron James but Bonnie was well aware of the stares they got when they went anyplace together, she could feel eyes on them the moment people saw her truck pull into town. And a hard, angry place inside her that had been forged through years of high school bullying whispered; let them fucking stare, they only wish they had something as good as what we've got. The last thing Bonnie had expected to find when she came to Teller to start out as a sled builder was the single more gorgeous, intelligent, fierce, mind-blowing woman she'd ever had the pleasure to meet. And the fact that that woman had basically insisted on them moving in together straight away, wrapped her long arms around the redhead and pulled her closer in bed every night no matter how tired she claimed to be, kissed her breathless and spoke to her in a voice like honey; that was the most amazing thing ever. It almost didn't feel real, it was too perfect to be-

"ARGHH! WHAT THE FUCK? YOU'RE LIKE ICE!"

Bonnie shrieked and almost jumped out of her skin when something bitterly cold was unexpectedly pressed against the back of her neck. She turned a livid glare to her girlfriend who was howling with laughter while she took off her outdoor layers. Marceline had snuck up behind her and pressed her freezing cold nose tip against the warm skin and apparently thought that there was nothing funnier that had ever happened. She was struggling to breath around her laughter and now the dogs were howling excitedly too and- Bonnie very nearly let her breakfast burn, but she didn't because she was far too nice for a dick like Marcy, she thought furiously.

"I was talking to you, you were in your own little dream world again. Come on, babe, don't sulk." Marcy pleaded, though her irrepressible grin gave away that she still thought she was very funny.

"I hope you get lost in the snow and Gunther eats you." Bonnie grumbled. "Take the coffee over and go set the table, this is almost ready."

"Yes Mom." Marcy replied quietly with an eye roll. Bonnie didn't reply, she was engrossed in cooking again so Marcy just shrugged and grabbed the coffee pot and some tableware.

Breakfast was a mostly quiet affair; Marceline was beginning to feel the stirrings of nervous butterflies in her stomach and Bonnie was increasingly sensitive to her mood. She managed to get down three slices of French toast with the liberal application of coffee to help it along but the oatmeal defeated her; her mouth was just too dry and her stomach was churning.

"Eat, you're gonna be starving by the time you hit the first checkpoint." Bonnie urged worriedly.

"I can't, babe. I'm sorry. What if I fall off and make an ass of myself in front of everyone? What if I come last?" Marcy murmured as she stared down glumly into her rapidly cooling oatmeal.

"Someone has to come last, and I promise it won't be you. Your sled is the best one in the race. You couldn't come last even if you were running yourself and dragging the sled behind you. Finn will be there and you've seen that antique monstrosity he's using, he's gonna take forever to finish. And Jake's dogs are all getting on a bit, he's not exactly the lightest guy to lug around. Dude's built like a mountain, if anyone's coming last it's one of them." Bonnie soothed. Marcy just shook her head and covered her face with her hands, muttering something too quietly to be heard.

"What was that?" Bonnie asked.

"I said, Ron James is gonna be there and Daniel and all Simon's old drinking buddies. Simon was so proud of me, we were gonna do the race together. There's a good chance I'mma fuck it up and disgrace his memory."

"No, you're not. You're gonna do just fine. Racing's in your blood, you told me. Didn't you Mom race every year?"

"Yeah. And she was awesome and everyone here loved her and they hated my father and... What if everyone just sees him when they look at me?"

"I'm sure they see you when they look at you. Come on, sweetie. Eat up. I'll be waiting at the first checkpoint with some food and a hot drink and the backup pups. Have a few more bites of oatmeal and then we're gonna need to start loading the dogs."

Marceline sighed and reluctantly shovelled more oatmeal into her mouth. She was nervous, she didn't want to let the memories of Simon or her Mom down. But more than that she didn't want to let Bonnie down. For some insane reason the redhead believed in her and now she'd have to try to live up to that belief and run the race and not make an ass of herself. No pressure.

…

"MARCY!"

That was a voice she hadn't heard in years and Marceline turned with a self-conscious grin to catch the hug little Kitt threw on her. Except he wasn't little anymore, he was as tall as she was and beneath his hat she could just about make out an impressive crop of acne on his face between strands of greasy hair. He must be about fifteen by now, Marcy realized. The eldest of Carly and Maria's brood had just been an excitable ten year old last time she'd babysat him. His two brothers and his parents followed him; all older than she remembered and out of place in the middle of winter, surely?

"Mom, I told you it was her!" Kitt was telling Carly excitedly.

"Marcy, you came home. It's so good to see you, it's been so long!" Maria grinned, throwing a hug around her shoulders. "We came up for the race, we'd given up hope of you ever coming back. Is Simon around?"

"Simon passed a few months ago, I'm sorry." Marceline replied quietly. She couldn't look at the stricken expressions on the faces of the two women who'd been part of her summers for so many years.

"I'm so sorry. We were worried about him, we thought something might be up when he didn't reply to our letter about booking a cabin this winter. Is there anything we can do?" Carly asked sympathetically. Marcy shook her head, fighting the sudden stab of grief made all the more intense for being so unexpected.

"No, we're fine. I'm up at the house now, figured I might stay a while and see if the Alaskan wilderness is all that. I owe it to the old man, he wanted me to race today and he spent his last dollar on getting the best pups and training them in, he was better than a father to me. God, I miss him."

"Sweetie, you gotta get ready to start." Bonnie reminded her softly, drawing everyone's attention.

"Oh, this is my girlfriend. Bonnie, these are Carly and Maria Jansson, and their sons Kitt, Erik and Toby. The Janssons taught me to fish when I was a kid, they always stayed in Simon's guest cabin in the summer." Marcy added, indicating the family members who waved in turn.

"Girlfriend, huh? Looks like the locals were right, we got a convert!" Carly smiled. "Go on, go get your sled set up. We'll be cheering for you."

Marceline hugged them all in turn and hurried off after Bonnie to where the dogs were yipping and prancing back and forth in excitement. Carly watched them go with a fond smile.

"Girlfriend. I owe you twenty bucks." she murmured to her wife when the younger women were out of earshot.

"I told you this would happen if you let her listen to your KD Lang records." Maria replied with a smile. "Come on, boys. We'll open the flask of cocoa and I brought some knäckebröd for you to snack on, Mormor's recipe with the sesame seeds."

Marcy made her way to her sled and tried to swallow against the bone-dry feeling in her throat. Carly and Maria and their boys were up to see the race; that was another weight to add to the pressure on her. The butterflies that had appeared in her stomach over breakfast felt like they'd grown a hundred times bigger, more like huge nervous birds fluttering around in her guts. Six of the huskies were harnessed to the sleek sled Bonnie had built for her and the other four were in the back of her truck; the first checkpoint was twelve miles out of town but it was pretty unusual to need to switch dogs that early in the race unless one of them picked up an injury. Marcy wrapped Simon's old handmade scarf around her face and stared out into the Arctic gloom determinedly. She was gonna finish the damn race, she was gonna do it for all the people who believed in her.

"Didn't know we were running the Homo Hundred." an obnoxious voice announced from behind her. Marcy grit her teeth; that was the last thing she needed.

"Fuck off, Ron." she replied, not even turning to look at him.

"Or what? Y'all gonna get your shotgun and run me off? Did y'alls girlfriend fix up a batch of iced tea and grits for y'all?" Ron drawled in a poor imitation of Marceline's accent.

"Ron, come on man. Leave it, she's barely more than a kid."

That was Daniel, the local pastor and another of Simon's buddies. He'd always been kind to Marceline when she'd been a kid, always slipped her a little candy after church that Simon had pretended he didn't know about.

"Dumb hillbilly coming up here like she owns the place, I hear they kicked her outta the south for being a queer anyway. Fuck off back to Texas, cowgirl. We don't need none of your type in Alaska!" Ron yelled.

Marceline could feel the eyes of the crowd on her back and she swallowed down her anger and resolved to simply ignore him. Ron could say what he wanted, Simon had raised her to solve problems with her head not her firsts. But Ron didn't just didn't know when to shut up. From the slur in his words it was obvious he'd been reinforcing his liquor blanket all morning and he pushed his luck just a bit too far.

"Your uncle would've been ashamed of you, girl. He-"

The older man never got to tell her what Simon would or wouldn't be doing because Marceline's shoulders stiffened in fury and she whirled without any warning, full body weight behind the rock solid punch that sped towards him. Before he finished his sentence her clenched fist crashed into the side of his face and despite the padding from her glove around the blow Ron dropped with a cry of surprise like he'd been shot.

"Don't y'all dare speak another word about Simon, not to me nor anyone. That goes for the rest'a y'all too. I'm Yupik, I'm more Alaskan than you, Ron James. And I grew up in Florida, Georgia and California. I ain't never even bin to Texas. All y'all Yankee's ain't no better at geography than y'are at taking punches. Get up and get on your sled, the race is starting." Marcy snarled at him, deliberately letting her accent slip into the most Southern lilt she could manage.

Ron stood, face burning with shame and anger, and advanced on where she'd resumed her place on her sled. He completely missed that Joshua Madigan, Jake's father, was raising his pistol into the air to signal the imminent start of the running.

"You piece of shit redskin-"

The pistol cracked and the dogs knew what that meant even if Ron had forgotten. They surged forward in an excited mass of barking and yelling and he stumbled out of the way of the sleds as they shot off into the darkness.

"Piece of shit redskin, better watch your back." Ron muttered to himself as he sprinted after his own driverless sled; his dogs were following the others but were just jogging along in confusion without anyone directing them.

…

A few miles past the town limits the racers thinned out; most of the seasoned runners let their dogs fall into a steady rhythm to conserve energy but Gunther surged ahead and set a quick pace. He was the designated lead dog as the biggest and most experienced but he also had a mind of his own and tended to ignore as many of her commands as he listened to. Soon Marceline was out of sight of most of the other runners; she passed Finn on the outskirts of a wooded hill.

"Trail! Slow down or you're gonna wear them out before the first checkpoint!" he yelled as her sled shot past his.

"I'm trying to hold them back!" Marcy yelled. Finn replied but she couldn't quite hear him over the whistle of freezing snow-laden wind rushing past her and the yip and whine of the dogs.

"Gunther, seriously, you're gonna run yourself into the ground!" she yelled at him as he took another tight bend at a full gallop and the sled swung dangerously. "Gee!"

He swung right around another corner and Marcy leaned into the bend the same way Simon had taught her as a child when she'd practiced on wheeled summer sleds. Despite the heavy, insulating clothing and the adrenaline rushing through her bloodstream Marceline was starting to feel the cold. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the secret weapon she'd grabbed from the kitchen before they left the house that morning. They weren't much to look at; a roll of innocent looking little black candies that glittered like they'd been frosted with sugar. That was a trick to catch unwary thieves though. The tiny white crystals covering their surface were salt; they were little hard-boiled Scandinavian salted liquorice of the kind that reviled most everyone except for the hardy souls from the countries where they were a national delicacy. Luckily Marcy had acquired a taste for them in childhood; Maria had always been liberal in sharing her treats and of course for any self-respecting seven year old the lure of grossing out their uncle with salty candy overcame her initial dislike of the taste. She sucked on one and hummed happily at the sharp flavour; salt liquorice was childhood and summer and splashing through the streams with Schwabl looking for minnows. Soon she could feel the tingling warmth spreading right down to her toes which was lucky since the snow was coming down harder than ever and it was still pitch black.

Other than the whine of the dogs and the whistle of the wind as it rushed past the snowy forest trail was dead silent. Marcy hadn't see any other runners since she'd overtaken Finn and she had a strange feeling like she might be in the lead. She made one last futile pull on the brakes and Gunther finally slowed to a reluctant canter, whining at not being allowed to sprint full pelt for as long as possible.

"That's it, slow down some. Gotta save yourself for the last sprint at the end of the day." Marcy muttered, although she knew the big lead dog couldn't hear her.

As the landscape streamed past them the gloom began to lift, just a little. So they were approaching mid-morning then, and that meant they must be somewhere near the first checkpoint. Sure enough Marcy finally saw it up ahead as the trees thinned out. There was Bonnie's truck along with a decent number of other spectators waiting for their racer to come through. Gunther knew what the checkpoint meant, he'd run the Teller Hundred for the last three years. He slowed and trotted up to the veterinary team the moment he saw them, wagging his tail and yapping excitedly. Marcy jumped down from the sled and stretched her back out while Bonnie hurried forward with a snack and a drink for her.

"You're the first one though, you're gonna need to slow down or they'll be worn out." the redhead told her worriedly as Gunther was given the all-clear and the vets moved onto the next dog.

"Tell Gunts that, he just took off and wouldn't slow at all for the first ten miles or so. I'm thinking of putting him in the back and letting one of the others up front but he's the biggest and he's used to being the leader. What do you think?"

"Keep him up front, looks like he's run off most of his excess energy for now. Maybe move him to the back for the second leg tomorrow?" Bonnie replied thoughtfully.

"See how he's feeling in the morning. You ok out here?" Marcy added, sliding her scarf to one side and pressing a quick kiss to her girlfriend's cheek.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Wasn't expecting to see you yet. Get some food down you, have a quick break and we'll start your timer again when you set off. Mush, rookie!"

All the dogs were declared fit to continue and after a couple of minutes of slurping down hot soup Marcy boarded her sled once more.

"On Gunther! On Dancer! On Prancer and Vixen! Mush!" she yelled with a cocky grin. All six dogs leapt forwards after their leader; Gunther was the only one whose actual name she'd called anyway but they'd all been born knowing the meaning of the word 'mush'. The sounds of Bonnie's helpless laughter behind her kept her smile in place for at least the first mile. The redhead had been right, she realized as the light grew and the pristine ice fields around her began to glisten in the weak sun. Racing was in her blood, she was born for this.

...

It was getting dark again by the time she reached the second checkpoint and swapped out a couple of the younger dogs for some of their fresher brothers. By nightfall Marcy had dropped behind a few of the other runners and as she was on the final approach into Teller for the last sprint of the day Ron James himself overtook her. He yelled something probably insulting but the wind stole his words away and Marceline just casually flipped him the bird as he sped past. There were only two ways the day had played out for Ron; either he'd kept drinking while racing, which was damn stupid as well as dangerous, or he was nursing a hangover by now. Either way, the man was a fool. Marceline swept into Teller a respectable sixth for that section although her time for the first leg of the race would work out in her favour. Bonnie was waiting with the Jenssons at the finish line and made a show of giving her a deep kiss right in front of where Ron James was snarling at the veterinary team. He growled something incoherent and stormed off in the direction of his store, leaving his dogs and sled for an apologetic Daniel to take charge of.

"What a dick." little Toby announced, frowning down the street at the man. He'd only been four when Marcy had last seen him, now he was a rambunctious nine year old who'd inherited his Mama's elfin features. She was surprised he still remembered her but apparently her piggybacks and fearsome impressions of a hungry grizzly bear looking for little boy tummies to tickle were the stuff that idyllic childhood memories were made of.

"Nasty word for a little fella like yourself to be using, Toby." she chided him with a fond smile.

"Mom called him a dick, too." the little boy replied, sticking his tongue out. Maria turned a glare on her wife who just shrugged.

"You got a better way to describe Ron James? He's unpleasant at the best of times but when he's hitting the bottle the man's unbearable." Carly replied. She turned to Marcy and Bonnie with her signature 'mothering the whole world' expression in place. "You guys feeling up to company tonight? I know you're probably worn out from the race but we brought some food up in the RV, thought you might like to put your feet up with kids and let us fix an indoor barbeque?"

"Someone else cooking? How could I say no?" Marcy replied happily.

They spent the night laughing together in the lounge, eating various grilled foodstuffs covered in Maria's secret kebab sauce and chatting about Marceline's future plans. She hadn't really considered what she'd do long term, for the time being she was just living off the money Simon had left her although she was aware that it wouldn't last forever.

"Is Gunther a Siberian or a Malamute?" Kitt asked curiously, examining the dog's face minutely.

"Malamute, actually. Simon got him from a guy he knew who ran the Iditarod every year. Both his parents are race winners, not that you'd know it looking at that fatty." Marcy snorted.

"You ever consider studding him? Reckon there's a pile to be made from the pup-juice of race winners. I mean, that'd be if you continued running with him. Since you had the third fastest time today and you're still just a rookie and all I'd be surprised if you stopped." Kitt added slyly.

"Don't you give me that look, Kitten." Marcy warned, deploying his old childhood nickname. "That's your 'please tell my mothers I need a puppy' look, I know what that look means. And yeah, I'd consider breeding from the grumpy old git. Got some pedigree papers for him somewhere. Why'd you ask?"

"A pedigree Malamute from Iditarod race stock? You're talking at least two thousand dollars per puppy, maybe more. Just, you said you don't really have a plan for income. I'd do it, if I was allowed." Kitt shrugged. He shot Carly in particular a significant look which the brunette ignored with long practice; she loved animals as much as everyone else in the family but with four cats plus full time jobs and school there just wasn't time to give a dog all the attention it deserved. Marceline didn't notice though, she was busy doing some quick mental math.

"Average litter size is about six for a Malamute, same again for the huskies. Assuming they're all pedigree and from good stock, a single litter a year raised in a loving home... we're talking around twenty four thousand dollars income from breeding them, and that's as family pets. More if we breed runners and show dogs. Plus stud fees for Gunts. Huh, you're right, little Kitten. That's a healthy income. Gotta pay Kennel Club membership of course, and vets bills. But it's better than anything I came up with yet. Anyone ever tell you you're a clever guy?"

"Can I get you to call my Physics teacher and tell him that?" Kitt asked with a grin. "Mom, can I come up through the summer and help Marcy and Bonnie train their pups?"

"Depending on your grade average, yeah." Carly replied.

"I can help if you want, I'm actually collaborating on a couple of textbooks aimed at kids around Kitt's age with some classmates from Fairbanks. I certainly wouldn't mind a little extra tutoring." Bonnie smiled. Kitt rolled his eyes but it was clear he'd do more or less anything for a summer hanging out with the dogs.

They all trooped to bed not long after that; Marcy let the Janssons stay in the spare bedroom and the kids curled up on the pull out sofa since it was much warmer in the house than in the RV. Gunther plodded up the stairs after Marcy and glared at her when she lifted old Schwabl onto the best spot at the end of the bed.

"Go to sleep, grumpy butt." she told the big Malamute fondly.

"Y'talking to me?" Bonnie asked sleepily.

"Nah, Gunts. But you can be my grumpy butt too if you wanna. Come to bed, gotta keep your energy up to cheer me on my way to glorious victory tomorrow."

Marcy flicked off the light and tugged the blankets up around her shoulders. Her last thought before she closed her eyes was that she felt sorry for Ron James, all alone in his little apartment above the store. Not even his dogs liked him too much.

"Love's a terrible thing to hate." she muttered drowsily into the darkness.

"Hm? Yuh. Love you too." Bonnie murmured, sliding a little closer and pressing her face adoringly into her girlfriend's hair.

...

"MUSH! HIKE! ALL RIGHT! LET'S GO! BRING 'EM HOME, GUNTHER!"

She'd ran them hard and long but the custom built sled had paid off and despite her slower start on the second morning Marcy was fairly confident she was pretty close to winning the race. She'd taken a fairly long rest at the second checkpoint that day but her speed from the first day's racing had been pretty solid so she could afford the let the pups get their breaths. Even still, Gunther was straining at the harness and almost dragging a couple of the smaller dogs off their feet in his eagerness to re-join the race so Marcy had jumped back onto the sled and let him have the rein. The last twenty miles were purely for sprinting and Gunther was in his element, giving it his all. The sled flew over the powdery new snow and Marcy felt like she was flying with it, soaring through the frosted landscape like a ghost. They were coming up to a steep downward hill through some thick trees when she saw something unusual up ahead; a splash of color against the monochrome of white and silver on the side of a sleep bank in the trail. There was only one thing that looked that shade of red and it stabbed into her eyes like a flashing sign. There was fresh blood on the snow.

"Whoa! Slow up, guys." Marcy shouted to the dogs, hitting the breaks and pulling them up to a trot and then a standstill.

She scanned the trees behind her and to each side; there was every chance it was a predator of some kind and Marceline had no intention of being some hungry polar bear's next meal. She unzipped her jacket just enough to reach a gloved hand into the inner pocket and carefully pull out the Smith and Wesson pistol bequeathed to her in Simon's will. It was surprisingly heavy, for a handgun, but it still wouldn't be enough to bring down a full grown polar bear with one shot. Simon had always told her if she came up against a bear or another large predator to aim for the knees and paws; it couldn't chase her down without all four legs working right. Not that she'd ever shot anything that wasn't a tin can behind the house or a couple of rounds on the firing range when she'd lived on naval bases with her father but Marcy was fairly confident she'd be able to handle herself if it came down to it.

There was a fresh break in the trees off to the left not far from the churned up bloody snow, like something had clumsily snapped the branches and crashed down the side of the bank. She crept forward, flicking the safety off the gun and pointing it warily ahead. The forest was silent; it didn't sound like there were any other racers nearby but that didn't mean she was alone. A polar bear could move silently on paws the size of dinner plates tipped in butcher's knives. Marceline was very aware that she was losing precious time investigating the blood and risking getting mauled if the bear got the jump on her but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was badly wrong. Gunther was growling behind her, ears flat and eyes rolling anxiously. He knew it too. Something was out of place.

Without warning a dark shape loomed with a gasp between the broken branches of the trees leading down the slope into a frozen stream. Marcy was pulling the trigger automatically and simultaneously yanking the gun to one side in the same instant. The gun cracked and the bullet slammed through a branch a couple of inches left of Ron James' bloodied and bare head.

"Y'gon... shoot me... r-redskin?" he panted as he clawed his way back up the bank. Marcy lowered the pistol and stared.

"I thought you were a bear. The fuck happened to y'all? Where's your sled?" she asked, stunned.

"Fuckin... polar b-bear. Spooked th-th... dogs, sled... o-overturned. Hit m'head. Dogs... ran off... s'pose I'm gon die out... out here." he slurred around teeth that chattered badly from the cold.

"Like hell you are. Come on, up y'all git. You're comin' on my sled and I ain't letting you freeze to death out here, you old bastard. Simon wouldn'ta wanted me to leave his friend to die." Marcy snapped back, not bothering to hide the Southern twang again. Ron had dragged himself out onto the trail and was fumbling in his pocket for something; after a moment he pulled out a hip flask and went to open it. Marceline grabbed it out of his trembling hands before he could take a swig and deftly whipped her hat off, poured some of the moonshine onto it and dabbed at the vicious gash across the side of the older man's head before pouring the rest over the blood in the snow. Ron cried out as the alcohol burned his open wound but he didn't complain. For all his abrasive attitude his eyes were pleading; he knew she was his only chance right now.

"It won't do nothin' for any blood further down the bank but it'll confuse the hell outta the bear round these parts for now if he comes sniffing around for food. How long were y'all down there?" she asked as she shrugged out of her jacket.

"D-dunno. Feels like forever? M'cold." Ron admitted quietly.

He didn't resist as she hauled him up off his knees and wrapped her thick jacket around him. His breath stunk like the moonshine she'd tipped into the snow; no wonder he hadn't been able to keep his sled upright when his dogs had spooked. Marcy scowled to herself and grabbed the salt liquorice from her jacket pocket again before shoving one past his teeth. Ron choked and went to spit it out but she clamped his jaw shut and stared into his eyes angrily.

"It'll warm you up, don't you dare spit that out you son of a bitch. It don't taste no worse than the gut rot you were drinkin'."

"T-trying to p-poison me." Ron mumbled when she removed her hand from his jaw, but he dutifully kept the candy in his mouth.

The front of the sled had a small space for carrying an injured dog if it was needed, there wasn't a lot of room for a full grown man though and Ron had to curl up as much as he could to fit. Gunther and the huskies were prancing nervously in their harnesses; no doubt they could smell the polar bear. Marceline kept the handgun out and readied, scanning the growing gloom as they made their slow way back toward Teller. They were still at least eighteen miles out, the daylight was fading fast and Marcy had no hat or jacket. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering and told herself there was no such thing as the cold, it was just in her head. The dogs strained against the extra load but Marcy hadn't trained them to run with anything more than the weight of an injured dog and Ron loved his food just as much every other fifty-something white guy in the area. He was easily the weight of five huskies and their progress was slow.

About a mile down the track a racer flashed past them. Marcy shouted to whoever it was but they were going far too fast to hear her and let out a whoop of joy as the snow from their sled kicked up into the faces of her dogs.

"Hope the bear eats you, asshole." Marceline muttered sourly. Ron surprised her with a wheezy laugh; she honestly thought he'd fallen asleep. At least he sounded warmer, Marcy thought jealously.

"That was Lydia Sommerville-Pearson, she wouldn't stop for anyone. Recognized her Papa's best sled dog up front. Y'know she has her eye on that big Brad Whaddyacallhim from over Port Clarence way. Isn't right, a girl like her messing around with a redsk- uh, Native like him. No offence."

Marceline snorted although she didn't think it was even a bit funny.

"Y'all are worried about offending me now?" she asked bitterly. "Y'know my Daddy was as white as the first snow, right? Dude cain't even go out in summer without a hat else he burns redder'n I am."

Ron muttered something in reply but it was too quiet to hear over the panting of the dogs straining against the extra weight on the sled and Marceline didn't trouble herself to ask him to repeat it. Her heart had sunk down to her boots. There was no chance of winning the race now, she'd be lucky not to come last. And she was colder than she could ever remember being, she was shivering violently against the bitter wind that was picking up around them without her thick jacket and hat to protect her. They continued in silence as sled after sled rushed past them; not even Finn stopped to help, probably he thought she'd had a dog injured. Beside the finish line on Main Street was only a few miles away now, the racers would all be focussed on their finishing times. Nobody had a second to stop and check who'd dropped to a crawl or why. At least there was no sign of the bear.

"Hey, Abadeer." Ron spoke up over the crunch of snow and ice beneath overburdened runners, "Anyone ever told you that you got the look of your Mom about you?"

"Only a hundred times a day since I first came here as a kid, yeah." she sighed in reply.

"She was a sassy one, too. Gave your uncle the run around plenty of times. They sent him over to mentor her at the high school, her and a bunch of other kids. One day she stole his snow mobile and rode out past the lake, he had to hitch up the dogs and sled out after her." Ron chuckled.

"I... did not know that." Marcy replied, confused. "I thought she was a model student and general goodie two-shoes who got corrupted by Hunson?"

"There's plenty who'll tell you that, for sure. Bullshit. She was a wild one, your mother. Smart as a whip, but headstrong. Like you. More fool Abadeer for ever tangling with her, I never saw a man as out of his depth as he was. We were all real sad when heard she'd been killed."

"Yeah. Me too."

"Your Daddy, now he was sorta wild too. Same kinda wild, maybe. I mentored him myself for a while, the sheriff thought a strong role male model might help him past his emotional difficulties. Poor kid needed less strong men in his life, if you ask me. Wasn't right, what your Grandpa did to that boy. No kid that age should have those kinda bruises. He was real scared he'd turn out the same way when they found out you were on your way. Your Daddy ever raise a hand to you, girl?"

"No, never. He didn't even yell, most of the time he'd go out to the bar when he got pissed about something. Daddy wasn't around much when I was a kid. My Grandpa used to hit my father?" Marceline asked quietly. She'd forgotten how cold and miserable she was in the revelation that perhaps Hunson's behaviour to her hadn't been caused by a lack of giving a fuck about her.

"I'll bet old Hunson wished it was just hitting, girl. He might not have been a model father to you but if that man never laid a hand on you in anger or any other way then he kept his promise to me the night before he left."

They lapsed into silence for a while longer. Marcy shivered and tried to think warm thoughts while she helped the laboring dogs lug the sled up a sleep slope and Ron sighed to himself; at least it sounded like he was starting to sober up. She pushed the thoughts of her father from her head and the kind of horrors he might have endured there; perhaps it wasn't coincidence that her grandfather had died a few months before she was allowed to fly north for the first time. If he'd been as much of a monster as Ron was implying then her father's refusal to let her into the same state as him made perfect sense. With a quiet snarl she pushed Hunson from her mind, she had a race to finish losing. One more sled shot past as they rounded the corner of the last hill and pushed through the thinning trees until the tiny town of Teller stretched out below them, all lit up like a Christmas tree. Two miles left, then. They must be the last runners.

"Hey, girl." Ron said softly. "Look. The Lights are out for you."

He pointed upwards and Marceline raised her eyes to follow his finger. The Northern Lights were indeed just beginning to dance in the clear night, the clouds had all blown away and the moon was shining bright as a button in the sky that stretched like an immense blanket overhead.

"They say the dead dance up in those lights, y'know." Ron told her with a sage nod.

"I know. It's an old legend." Marcy replied. She didn't feel like she had words enough to explain the irony of Ron James the Local Bigot telling old Yupik tales to the woman he'd banned from his store for being unapologetically Native and queer, even if he was full of revelations about her father.

"Reckon old man Simon's dancing up there with all his dogs. Probably your Mom too. That girl could dance like nobody's business."

"My Mom danced?"

"She danced any chance she got, danced at every festival. You knew something was wrong if she wasn't shifting from foot to foot like she was just itching to twirl and prance. Wanted to go professional and she had the talent for it. But nobody in The Big Town had the heart to tell her they just don't employ redskins from the frozen asshole of nowhere to dance on Broadway."

"She never danced at home, not that I remember."

"Yeah, she stopped when she met your Daddy. Maybe that son of a bitch crushed the spirit out of her, who knows. They were a complicated pair, your parents."

The finishing line was in sight and there were a number shapes and lights moving towards them over the snow; after a second of squinting into the brightness Marcy realized they were headlights and she could hear the rumble of snow mobile motors racing towards them. She hit the brakes and the dogs gratefully stopped their exhausting march through the snow. A minute later the first vehicle was close enough to reveal it was the sheriff's snow mobile with the big man himself riding along and a frantic looking Bonnie perched on the back. The redhead flung herself down before the sheriff had even brought the snow mobile to a standstill and next second she'd thrown both arms around Marceline's neck and tugged her into a hug.

"I was so worried, are you ok? Where were you? Are you hurt?" she asked in a rush, anxious eyes scanning every uncovered patch of skin on her girlfriend's face for an injury.

"Not hurt, just freezing and tired. Ron got thrown off his sled, I had to stop for him." Marcy replied wearily. She turned to the huge giant of a man who was sliding off the snow mobile. "Hey, you the sheriff?"

"Sure am. Name's Billy Askoak, I hear you already met my deputy. You must be Amlliq's girl." he said in a surprisingly soft voice, looking her up and down.

"Um, I think you're mistaking me for someone else." Marcy muttered.

"Nah, Amlliq Imgalrea. Ran off with that hell raiser Abadeer boy years back. She was your Mom, right?"

"I- Was... was that her Yupik name? Daddy just called her Amy."

"White boys." Billy sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. "Her given name was Amlliq-Qar. The Ocean Wave Sweeping Forward. Your mother was my father's cousin, so that makes us kin. You've got her face. And you rescued old Ron Klansman, you're a better person that I would've been."

"There was a polar bear in the forest, I dunno how close to town it mighta come." Marcy told him hurriedly. Billy nodded, face growing serious.

"I'll call the bear patrol but it'll be a while before they get here. Me and Finn will keep watch around the town limits, keep an eye out for it. I don't want anyone heading out to the east side of town until that bear's been caught or driven off. Come on, Ron. Up on the snow mobile and let Qiptekitugta rest her dogs."

Marceline stared at the big Native man curiously, trying to piece together what he'd just called her from the few words of Yupik language her mother had taught her way back in childhood.

"...Female child... Comes back?" she asked after a second.

"Yup. Customary round our parts for you to have a traditional name as well as your Christian name. Welcome home, Returned Daughter."

"Qiptekitugta." Marcy murmured to herself. She liked the way it felt in her mouth even if the syllables were half forgotten. "The Daughter Who Returns Home."

"Returning home sounds pretty wonderful to me." Bonnie replied softly. She still hadn't unwound her arms from Marcy's neck and seemed reluctant to let go of her at all.

In the end Bonnie hitched a ride back into town with Finn and Marcy let her dogs trot tiredly up to where she'd left her pickup that morning. Gunther gave her a look of pure disgust as she loaded him into the back, like he understood she'd thrown her lead in the race to help man who hated her on principle. By the time Bonnie was driving them carefully along the compacted ice road out of town and the cab was starting to heat up Marcy had let her eyes slip closed and they didn't open again until they pulled up outside the house.

...

It took a couple of days before the dogs were recovered enough to want to run again and Marceline couldn't blame them. She was still stiff and sore from helping push the overburdened sled through the snow and up hills and it had taken a long time wrapped in blankets when they came home before her shivering had stopped enough for her to relax and sleep soundly. Even longer before her exhausted body had the strength to stay awake for more than a couple of hours without taking a nap. The near constant darkness didn't help either. She completely lost track of the time and when Bonnie disappeared outside for a couple of hours two days after the race and was thumping around downstairs humming to herself Marcy didn't think much of it, just rolled over in bed and continued her nap. The combination of the scent of roasting meat wafting up the stairs and Schwabl pawing at the closed door and drooling so much he'd left a wet patch on the rug woke her in one of the rare patches of daylight and Marcy sat up, still groggy and disorientated. She petted his shaggy head sleepily and stared around looking for clues about what time of day it might be. There was weak sunlight outside; must be around noon, she figured.

"C'mon then. Guess Bon fixed our dinner." Marceline told him around a yawn as she opened the door and stumbled out to the narrow wooden staircase. She stopped halfway down, wrinkling her nose. She could smell something fruity and familiar along with the roast but her sleep fogged brain couldn't quite place it. And there was a whole muddle of cheerful voices in the kitchen, had people come over and Bonnie hadn't woken her? Schwabs hobbled right down the hall as fast as his stiff old legs would carry him; he could smell food and nothing was going to get in his way, not when the other dogs were outside and he could claim the lion's share of the scraps.

"Hey, old buddy! You want some turkey and ham?"

That was a voice that was out of place; Marceline frowned harder and hurried down the rest of the staircase. When she entered the kitchen she stopped dead and stared around in confusion.

Ron James, Daniel, Billy, Finn, Jake and all five Janssons were squeezed into her dining area. Admittedly it was a fairly large space but with ten guests plus Bonnie, Schwabl and herself the room felt tiny. The table had twelve places set and Bonnie was pulling the biggest turkey Marceline had ever seen out of the oven. She turned to her girlfriend with a huge grin across her face.

"Happy Christmas! I was gonna come wake you, surprise!"

"But- it's not... is it Christmas?" she asked in bewilderment.

"It's the same day every yeah, Qiptekitugta." Ron told her with a self-conscious smile. He had a sterile dressing covering the deep gash on his head and he stumbled over the pronunciation of the Yupik name but it was the first time he'd called her anything except for 'queer', 'redskin' or 'Abadeer'. Marceline stared at him.

"I uh, I brought you all of the festive foods we had left in the store. Didn't feel right about your good lady driving all the way out to Nome for last minute groceries, not when it was such a long way in the snow and you were still laid up with exhaustion and all. I called ahead, guess you must've been asleep still. But she said you got the hypothermia from giving me your jacket and hat." Ron muttered, looking down and shuffling his feet in embarrassment. "Listen, I'm real ashamed of how I've been acting towards you both. You're a good person and you're right, what you do in your home is nobody else's business. I'm sorry I was rude to you, real sorry I insulted your uncle's memory. Simon was the best man I knew. And looks like he raised you right, you're a real credit to him. I wanted to make it up to you for saving my life. Billy said they finally ran that bear off this morning."

"Yup yup, ran him all the way out past Mary's Igloo and left him with a whole barrel of salted fish to keep him fed. Don't think he'll be back anytime soon. Took us a while to track him, he was real thin and hungry." the big sheriff nodded.

"We got you some cranberries!" Toby interrupted happily with the kind of enthusiasm only a nine year old could manage. "And Mom crocheted you a new scarf for your present!"

"Toby, that was supposed to be a surprise." Maria chided him with a sigh and a shake of her head.

"Right, everyone sit, I'm carving this bird." Bonnie announced. She pushed a wispy strand of light red hair off her face and shot Marcy a smile before shooing their guests to their seats and pressing a hasty and slightly self-conscious kiss to her girlfriend's cheek. Marcy still looked like she'd been hit over the head with a shovel.

"It's Christmas Day." she finally announced, like she'd only just realized what the food and all the gifts were for.

"Yeah. It's three days after the twenty second, four days after midwinter. Sit down and fix your plate." Carly told her gently, taking her arm and pushing her into a seat at the head of the table.

Bonnie placed a glass of something brown and a little murky in her hand and Marceline sniffed it cautiously. She gave her girlfriend a long, assessing look when she figured out what it was.

"What? Did I make it wrong? I, uh, I've never made it before and I wasn't sure how much sugar to use." the redhead told her nervously.

Marcy took a sip, let it wash across her tongue and nodded slowly as she swallowed.

"No ma'am, that's the best iced tea north'a Atlanta. Y'all made it perfectly." she drawled with a grin.

It was best Christmas Day Marceline could remember ever having. Most of their guests took their leave after nightfall with their stomachs full and smiles still stretched across their faces. The snow was coming down again but not heavily, just falling lightly on the trees and ground. Marcy put the lounge lights off so the room was illuminated by just the wood burner and she leaned back into Bonnie's arms on the sofa, resting her head lovingly on her girlfriend's shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" the redhead asked quietly after a long minute of silent hugging and watching the snowflakes drifting past the window.

"Awake. And warm again, finally. You think next year we can get presents to give back to everyone? I felt bad for not having anything to give in return."

"Of course. We can make sleds for everyone."

"You're such a sled dork."

"And you're not? You know, they've already opened betting on you winning next year's Teller Hundred. Finn put fifty dollars on you."

"I might come second just to see his face when he realizes I threw the race." Marcy snorted.

"Pfft. As if you'd throw a race for anything but noble reasons. You're a hero, you know." Bonnie replied fondly.

Marceline didn't answer for a long moment; instead she stared pensively into the dancing flames with a tiny smile curling the corners of her mouth. She shook her head before replying but the smile was still there when she opened her mouth to speak.

"I don't feel like a hero. I just did what anyone would've done. I just feel like... me. You know? The daughter who returns home."

They watched the snow drift silently for a while longer before going to feed the dogs, banking the fire and heading up to bed for an early night. Marceline paused on the stairs and glanced at the clock in the hall; it was only nine thirty. That meant it was ten thirty in San Diego, that wasn't so late, right?

"Babe? You head on up, I'll be a minute. I just gotta make a quick phone call."

Bonnie nodded like she'd already figured it out, pressed a sleepy kiss to her girlfriend's cheek and continued up to the bedroom. Marceline descended the stairs slowly and approached the old phone in the hall. She picked up the receiver, dialled the number from memory and tried not to hold her breath with nerves. After a long minute the line connected and she heard a voice on the other end.

"Daddy? It's me. Happy Christmas."