Work Text:
December 28th, 2031.
England, Earth.
It was snowing, a light scattering of snowflakes drifting in the evening breeze, swaying as if mirroring the drunken man in the lane in town, beer bottle clutched to his chest in some form of possessive protection, or perhaps a reflection of the cars, tires skidding on the icy, midnight roads just beyond the hills. The temperature wasn't quite intolerable, enough to complain about if one was to make small talk, sure, but not yet enough to numb warm limbs in woollen coats. Still chilly, though.
Their home posed little argument to that chill, with wallowing draughts that escaped through weathered windows and doors that failed to reach the carpeted floors, sending the fire into a panicked frenzy each time a new, loud gust engulfed the room. It was an old house–it had been passed down from some distant relative of Kate's, or inherited from an uncle on Osgood's side, long faded from their own memory–standing atop a hill in the countryside, about twelve miles east from the nearest village. They both knew that it was far too old to reasonably cope with the too-cold winters it was often faced with, and yet, some part of them refused to move out.
Kate sat, legs tucked beneath Osgood's, on the floor, listening to the wind, and the flames, and the clock on the mantelpiece.
"Oh, do shut up," she groaned, as delicate fingers gently grazed her temples, moving in small, slow circles. Seemingly sensing her annoyance, the sound subsided, giving way to the shuffling of her spouse beside her. Kate inched closer to them, sharing body heat.
"If you bought those draught excluders when I mentioned them, it would be a lot quieter, Kate," they sighed. Their hands lingered on their love's forehead; soft, barely-there caresses lingered beneath Kate's cool skin. Kate was cold most of the time, a harsh contrast to the warmth of Osgood, beneath layers of floral shirts and tight-knit jumpers. "It would've been warmer too. Although, I think that clock is the real issue here. Absolutely insufferable. I'm sure you could've sourced a silent clock from somewhere."
"Yes, Osgood," their gazes met for a moment, before Kate rolled her eyes, brows furrowed in fake annoyance, and then she continued, "you've mentioned. Four times this week, I think."
"Five," Osgood corrected. "Goodness, you're shivering. Come here."
They took her hands, rubbing the same circles into her palms, lovingly, carefully. "Unfortunately, none of them matched the wallpaper, nor the clocks, and we both know I'd rather freeze to death in a nice house, than live in an ugly, uncoordinated shit hole."
"You're rather dramatic," Osgood's eyes scanned the room as they spoke. The excluders would indeed look awful against the wallpaper, they decided, although they would never admit that to Kate.
"I know," she flashed them a rare grin. "You love it." Long fingers settled on her face once more, drawing a content hum from the back of her throat. They redirected their gaze to the window, watching anything but Kate, whose smile still managed to give them butterflies and goosebumps and breathlessness, all in one.
Kate passed their inhaler as their eyes focused on the window.
Snow was still falling. So heavy, so fast, bouncing against the windows with so much force that they were sure they could break right through it if they really wanted to. Not that snow had a mind of its own, no. That would be absurd, even by Osgood standards.
Fingers and circles and glasses, in the way.
"You're stubborn, too. You know, if you'd just take off your glasses, this would be tremendously easy for me, but no. Stubborn," the last word was punctuated with a soft kiss, planted just above her brow, then another.
"Yes, well, without them, I can't see."
"They're reading glasses, Kate," they stated, their sentence ending with a shriek as Kate opened the book on her lap and waved it in their face. "You're going to take my head off with that thing!"
"Hush, you know I could never hurt you," she whispered, before she pulled Osgood closer for a kiss, slow and steady, gentle against warm, familiar lips.
"You're hurting my ability to massage your face right now," the laugh in their voice betrayed the accusation, as they kissed her again. "You know, you could just close your eyes? Relax for a little while, perhaps?"
"Oh, Os–"
"Yes, yes. I know. 'Oh, Osgood,'" they began, putting on their best authoritative Kate voice to accompany the overly straightened posture, "'darling, dearest spouse of mine, I am Kate Stewart, former head of UNIT, the single most overworked woman presently alive, grower of award winning tomatoes, and a fantastic wallpaper picker. I hardly think "relax" has a place in my vocabulary!', and then I roll my eyes"–they demonstrated, letting a small smile light up their face simultaneously–"and you keep your glasses on to 'read your book', but actually, you spend the entire time looking at me."
"It's one hell of a view." A blush crept up Osgood's cheeks, suddenly flushed in a pale pink.
"Shut up."
"Love you too," she said, voice laced with certainty, the kind of certainty that Osgood trusted with every ounce of her being.