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Early March they should be back in Ontario with downtime after a grueling winter overseas. February Tom had passed from tired to exhausted and now he’s made that leap to hyper aware, running on adrenaline, and unable to relax. He feels stretched thin, skin too tight, pulse loud in his ears. He tries to take watch more often hoping it will help him sleep if he just pushes himself a little more. But then he climbs into bed or under the blankets in whatever nook he’s squirreled away in at the latest safe house and lays awake for hours.
He’d been looking forwards to crashing back in the barracks in Ontario, putting a call in to his aunt to see how she’s doing, to not having to be constantly aware every second of the day.
But a storm had rolled in and they’d missed their exit and now they’re stuck there for the foreseeable future.
Closer to Paris it’s rare for snow to collect on the ground, here by the mountains it’s been steadily snowing since they arrived a few days ago. It’s a nice family that’s taken them in, three children with their mother, father off with the resistance. The house is small for its two stories, paint peeling off the outside, shingles missing from the roof, but it’s homey and warm and it almost makes up for not being back in Ontario where the snow must be just as deep.
The snow has lightened to flurries, the sun peeking out from behind the clouds and Harry is out in the yard right after breakfast with the kids. Alfred watches from the window with a small smile on his face, Aurora nearby helping their mother tidy up.
Neil wanders off with a tool kit and his coat and Tom is left to his own devices. He heads back up to the small room he’s been sharing with the boys. They take turns doubling up with the bed; the other two camped out on the floor with blankets. He cleans up a bit feeling restless. The curtains are open and he has a great view of the white country side. The snow must be up to their knees by now, odd even for this part of the country.
A cool draft slips in through the frame, the glass icy under his touch as he reaches out. His breath fogs his view and he draws a little smile on the pane.
Something falls past the window.
Something large.
He jolts back, startled. Then, realizing what it had to be, takes off at a run from the room.
Tom hastily shoves his feet into his boots and grabs his coat and gloves. The winter air bites at his cheeks as he pushes out into the deep snow. His pants are quickly soaked as he sinks in to his knees.
“Neil!” He shouts heart in his throat.
A pile of snow lets out a groan a few feet away.
Tom slugs through the snow, desperate to close the space between them. He trips to his knees next to a deep indent. Neil blinks up at him, flurries collecting on his eyelashes, half covered in snow.
“Are you okay?” He demands. His tool kit lays a few feet away. There’s no blood he can see but that doesn’t mean anything. He glances up at the roof, two stories up. It seems so far away.
“I’m gonna be bruised for days,” Neil whines.
“Does anything hurt?” Tom reaches out, hands shaking. He’s terrified he’s going to make it worse.
“I’m okay, mate.” Neil reaches up and catches his hands in his own. “Just sore. The snow is nice and deep.”
Tom breathes; the sudden relief rushing through him makes him light headed. Neil grins up at him, cheeks pink with cold and lips red. And then he grabs Tom and rolls him into the snow. Neil lands on top of him, a warm, heavy weight that presses him down. They’ve barely had a moment together in weeks; stolen kisses in dark corners, and hands brushing when no one is watching.
Tom tenses, gaze darting back to the house but he can barely see above the cover of the snow. And he knows that everyone else is around the back of the house, if he listens he can hear Harry and the kids laughing.
“Did I worry you?” Neil laughs, pressing a quick kiss to his nose.
“Yeah, you did, you asshole.” Tom grouses. He catches Neil’s face between his hands and leans up for a proper kiss. Neil licks his way into his mouth, hot and wet.
They break apart reluctantly, all too aware that they could be caught at any moment and what it would mean.
Neil rolls off of him into the snow, spreading their little hide away and taking his warmth with him.
“How the hell did you fall off the roof?” Tom tilts his head.
“Missed a step.” Neil tilts to face him. “I’ll try to be more careful next time.”
“There shouldn’t be a next time.”
“Someone’s got to fix it up.” Neil starts to protest only to get a handful of snow in his face.
It dissolves from there, snow flying, wrestling in the deep drifts. They stumble back in later on when the children are sent over to call them for lunch, soaking wet and feeling lighter than they have in ages.
“Looks like you boys had fun.” Aurora passes them each a mug of steaming tea with a smile.
Tom glances at Neil, catches his eye. “We did.”
Neil hums, his foot bumping Tom’s own under the table, a warm, welcome weight.