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Entry tags:
Snow
Fandom: Torchwood (shock horror!)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 200
Summary: The weather sparks memories...
Prompt: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tw_calender, 2008 Advent Calendar (Also posted there. Adding it here to keep it in my own archives, as per usual.)
Snow
In early December it snows while they’re out hunting. Gwen shivers and fusses with her coat, shoving gloved hands into her pockets and shaking her head in disgust.
“It’ll make tracking easier,” Ianto comments, as the flakes start to settle and turn the ground white. “I’ve seen it in the films – footprints in the snow, the clouds coming in around you... Before you know it we’ll be holed up in a log cabin with a mad axe murderer lurking outside.”
“Always bloody cheerful,” Gwen laughs and gives him a shove, and they both turn, grinning, to Jack.
He’s there with his coat buttoned up to the neck and belted tight, one hand still at his open wrist strap, head tilted back, staring into the snow.
“Jack?” says Ianto.
“So old-fashioned,” he murmurs, but there’s a smile playing around his lips.
“Jack,” Ianto says again, and he looks down.
“Reminds me of the eighteen hundreds,” he says by way of explanation. “Rivers used to freeze so thick they held parties on the ice. Took me ten years to learn to skate properly.”
Gwen smiles, and he looks back up.
“I like snow,” he says quietly. “It never snowed at home.”
Rating: PG
Word Count: 200
Summary: The weather sparks memories...
Prompt: For
tw_calender, 2008 Advent Calendar (Also posted there. Adding it here to keep it in my own archives, as per usual.)Snow
In early December it snows while they’re out hunting. Gwen shivers and fusses with her coat, shoving gloved hands into her pockets and shaking her head in disgust.
“It’ll make tracking easier,” Ianto comments, as the flakes start to settle and turn the ground white. “I’ve seen it in the films – footprints in the snow, the clouds coming in around you... Before you know it we’ll be holed up in a log cabin with a mad axe murderer lurking outside.”
“Always bloody cheerful,” Gwen laughs and gives him a shove, and they both turn, grinning, to Jack.
He’s there with his coat buttoned up to the neck and belted tight, one hand still at his open wrist strap, head tilted back, staring into the snow.
“Jack?” says Ianto.
“So old-fashioned,” he murmurs, but there’s a smile playing around his lips.
“Jack,” Ianto says again, and he looks down.
“Reminds me of the eighteen hundreds,” he says by way of explanation. “Rivers used to freeze so thick they held parties on the ice. Took me ten years to learn to skate properly.”
Gwen smiles, and he looks back up.
“I like snow,” he says quietly. “It never snowed at home.”