Work Text:
The snow starts as a nuisance, as did most things in Nick Fowler's life.
He muttered under his breath as he stepped out of the building with his coat pulled tight. The usual grumbles about colleagues and work.
His shoulders were already braced against the cold. It was late, the parking lot was nearly empty, the city quiet with a distinct lack of activity during the twixtmas period.
Anyone fortunate enough to have PTO was taking it, he wasn't entirely sure what his excuse was.
He was still mulling it over when the first snowball hit him square in the chest.
He looked up slowly.
She was standing a few feet away, her gloves already dusted white and her eyes bright with mischief. She didn't even try to look innocent.
“Really?” he said flatly.
She grinned. “You looked like you needed it.”
He didn’t hesitate. He bent, scooped a handful of snow, packed it tight, and fired back without warning.
It hit her shoulder and burst into powder.
“Oh, you’re on, Fowler,” she laughed.
It escalated fast with noo strategy or finesse. Snowballs flew wildly across the parking lot, some missing entirely, others exploding against coats and car doors. He heard the sound of her breathing before he realised he was listening for it - heavy and uneven, puffing white air into the cold.
Both of their coats were dusted with snow. He didn’t smile, but but there was something sharper and more alive as he moved, dodged, and retaliated.
He was out of field practice and had spent far too long behind a desk, but the reflexes were still there, coiled and ready, and the burn in his muscles felt… good. Annoyingly so.
She ducked behind a car, crouching low and out of sight.
He knew exactly where she’d gone.
With half the office out on leave, he’d had little else to do but notice things. Her habits. Her tells.
And if he was honest - which he often wasn’t - he’d been noticing her for far longer than that.
He rounded the car to catch her off guard.
Instead, they collided.
The impact knocked the air from both of them. She slipped slightly on the ice surrounding the car, and Nick reacted without thinking.
His hands closed around her arms, steady and firm.
For a second, neither of them moved.
He was too close. Close enough to see snow melting into her hair, to feel the heat from her cheeks despite the cold. Too close to pretend this was still a joke.
“You missed,” she said, breathless.
“On purpose.”
Her brow pinched. “Why?”
He hesitated - annoying even himself. “Wanted you to stop running,” he said. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” she replied quietly. “You?”
His hands didn’t let go.
Instead, they shifted - sliding up to her shoulders, then higher, until his thumbs brushed her jaw before he seemed to realise what he was doing.
He froze.
She tipped her head slightly and met his eyes.
“It was just a snowball fight,” she said softly.
“I know,” he replied.
But he didn’t move away.
His palms stayed warm against her cheeks. He didn’t get this kind of contact. Not casually or intentionally. Not ever.
Their noses brushed and they both laughed.
“Your face is freezing,” he muttered.
“So is yours.”
He huffed out something that might have been a laugh.
For a moment, he let the quiet of the parking lot take hold. He listened to the still falling snow, felt the way his thumbs still rested at her jaw and the flicker of her pulse under his fingertips. Watched the way her pupils widened under the streetlights.
“Truce?” she asked.
He swallowed.
“Truce.”