Work Text:
Winter in Hatchetfield was always quite beautiful. The brush of snow across every lawn, the crunch of the salted sidewalks downtown, the areas that iced over year after year which the locals always knew to avoid lest they slip and fall on their asses. Sure, the cold set in early, but it was never nearly as bitter as the first few months of the year, with the winter fully in swing, the biting wind forcing everyone to bundle up and hurry to keep themselves out of the cold as much as possible.
Bill quite enjoyed winter in Hatchetfield, despite the freezing temperatures. Those serene mornings when you wake up and see blankets of snow covering every inch of the ground outside your window. Taking in the view of the untouched piles, the blank canvases spread out for them, care of nature itself. Those moments before reality hits and you remember you have to shovel a path out so you can get to work, ruining the pure white spread and tracking gray slush into the palette.
Shoveling snow wasn’t all that bad, to be fair. There was something about the unity and bond formed through a combined effort of removing the weather from the driveway, each participant wrapped in warmth, bracing the cold, and working together as a group to remove the barrier from the ground only to take shelter in the warmth of the house after a job well done.
But it was different now that he was alone.
It used to be that all three of them would tackle the issue and be done with the job in twenty minutes. But his ex-wife had now moved and taken Alice with her. So Bill was now alone. A job for one.
It’s not as though he couldn’t do it. He didn’t have a huge driveway, but it was much more of a chore now that he had to do it himself. Without the little joys of Alice throwing snowballs at them when they weren’t expecting it or slipping on the icy slush layer underneath the soft snow and hearing the laughs of your family as they watch you try to catch your stumble. The three shovels, all lined up in the garage. Now he only used one.
It took more time for him to do it himself. Took more effort. Drained him of energy as well as joy compared to how he would feel after coming in from the cold with his family and curling up along with them on the couch with blankets and hot chocolate and the fireplace roaring. Those moments had warmth and happiness and love, but now Bill comes inside, still cold, and changes into his work clothes, still cold, and makes breakfast for himself, still cold. He never quite warms up, even within his own home. Not until he gets to work, not until he sees those that bring a smile to his face just like his family could.
He pulls into the parking lot at CCRP and makes his way into the building, up the elevator, and into his office. He’s greeted by Sylvia first, just a small smile and nod of hello while she continues her phone call. The shell that hid the warmth inside him begins cracking open. Next is Melissa, her desk next on his journey. A sweet hello and small conversation, remarks about the weather, compliments on Melissa’s scarf and Bill’s tie. The crack in the shell becomes larger, a chasm, letting small flows of joy leak out of the split, beginning to allow Bill the warmth he had been missing.
He continues his trek towards his station as a real smile begins to grace his lips for the first time since seeing the snow in the morning. Then he sees Charlotte from the doorway of the breakroom, filling up her coffee. She shoots a smile and a small wave his way, which Bill returns with true joy at the sight of his lovely friend. He is thawing out. As he makes his way over to his cubicle, Paul is already at his desk, pulling up his paperwork to start his day. They exchange pleasantries and stories, about the snow, about how Paul had nearly fallen on his walk to work, about anything. Bill begins to truly smile. The frost of the shell within him disappears.
He’s nearly warm again. The cold that had crept into his bones with the biting reminder of his reality soon diminished with these reminders of love and happiness, the joy still present in his life despite his family’s separation.
But it’s not until one other person that the chill leaves his body. No, there’s one more that further solidifies the reminder Bill needs that he does indeed still have warmth in his life.
Ted drops by, bag in hand as he makes his way through the cubicles towards his office. It’s quite a roundabout way for him to get there, Ted knows this, Bill knows this. But it doesn’t stop him. No, Ted walks by Bill’s station and makes eye contact with the other man. He smiles then offers brief hellos to both him and Paul and sets something onto Bill’s desk before smiling once more, a sparkle in his eye, as he strides off towards his own office.
In front of Bill is a coffee cup. A warm drink inside that steams through the small opening in the lid. Bill tentatively brings it to his lips, wary of the temperature of the liquid. As soon as it touches his mouth, it is unmistakable. The hot chocolate from Beanie’s isn’t quite as good as homemade, but regardless of the taste, it may be the best cup of hot chocolate Bill has ever had.
At that moment, officially, the shell breaks. Alongside the physical, literal warmth that spreads through Bill’s body as the hot drink enters his system, so does the warmth from inside the hard shell that had been locked up so tightly.
Alongside the renewed warmth within him, Bill is confronted with the reminder and proof of the love in his life. Sure, his life looks different now. There are some people gone, and some people who only make occasional appearances, but there are still those constants in his life. Those constants that have only grown more important and more omnipresent within his life, within his scope of love.
He has love. He has family. He is not alone.