"Naah."  S.T. cleared out some more boxes, and waved a hand in front of Spider's face.  No response.  That was surprising even for a fanatic reporter mid-story.  At least he should have told S.T. to fuck off.  "He's a friend.  And he can't see us.  Just don't get too close or you'll be looking at frostbite.  He'd stuck his hand under his other arm as soon as he'd pulled it back.  No harm done, but it had felt like sticking it into a snowbank, except dry.  Air wasn't supposed to suck heat that fast.

S.T. wondered what would happen if he stuck one of the bottles of water in.  Ghost cooler, just add water.  He grabbed a bottle out of the open box, loosened the cap so the plastic wouldn't split if it did freeze, and set it next to Spider's shoulder.

"Too bad he's not here.  He'd eat up Aguilar's doublespeak and shit out nuggets of truth, and love every minute of it."  Not that he'd admit the last part.  The rictus he called a smile did that for him.