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Snowfall
Martin watches the snow come down with a pensive expression, chewing his lip and mindlessly cradling a half-drunk cup of tea to his chest. It is, as was predicted, really coming down. They’d sent Kat and Eliot home a little early so they could beat the worst of it, but now, as Martin waits for John to finish recording a Statement, he fears the worst of it is upon them. Or starting to be upon them. It may keep up like this for a while yet.
He ticks through the options in his head. Depending on how much longer John has to go—and Martin knows interrupting him is out of the question—they could forego most of the closing process and just head out as promptly as possible. Neither of them have outerwear particularly suited to this amount of precipitation, but they could make it home if they really needed to. The Bramford isn’t far; close enough to make calling a taxi overkill, and they might have better luck on foot anyway. But it wouldn’t very enjoyable; they’d get home cold and wet and it would be a whole thing.
Or they could stay late and try to wait it out. It isn’t a blizzard, it’s not like they’re trapped. The snowfall is gentle and actually rather lovely to look at. They have some provisions here if they get hungry; it’s warm and dry and there’s reasonably cozy seating scattered about. No reason they couldn’t just lock up and… allow themselves to be a bit snowed in.
The more he thinks about it, the more he finds he kind of likes that idea. There’s something sort of romantic about it, or adventurous in the most mild of ways; breaking their own routine, committing themselves to the whims of the weather. The sort of low-stakes spontaneity he tends to enjoy in small doses. This way, he won’t have to rush John out the moment he’s done reading his Statement. It’s usually better to let him soak it in a bit after. They can just take their time and… enjoy the quiet, and each other’s company.
So he heads back toward John’s office. The door is closed, and he can hear the low murmur of his voice from within. He waits a little while, making no effort to listen closely, until the drone stops and he hears John take a breath. A few seconds more, and Martin raises a hand to knock gently.
“All done?” he says as John calls him in, stepping in and around to settle a hand on John’s back. “So it’s really picked up out there, and I was wondering… maybe we ought to stay here for a while. Wait it out in relative comfort. I mean, at least until it’s not coming down quite so heavily. Could get some more work done, or just… kick our feet up. What do you think?”
He ticks through the options in his head. Depending on how much longer John has to go—and Martin knows interrupting him is out of the question—they could forego most of the closing process and just head out as promptly as possible. Neither of them have outerwear particularly suited to this amount of precipitation, but they could make it home if they really needed to. The Bramford isn’t far; close enough to make calling a taxi overkill, and they might have better luck on foot anyway. But it wouldn’t very enjoyable; they’d get home cold and wet and it would be a whole thing.
Or they could stay late and try to wait it out. It isn’t a blizzard, it’s not like they’re trapped. The snowfall is gentle and actually rather lovely to look at. They have some provisions here if they get hungry; it’s warm and dry and there’s reasonably cozy seating scattered about. No reason they couldn’t just lock up and… allow themselves to be a bit snowed in.
The more he thinks about it, the more he finds he kind of likes that idea. There’s something sort of romantic about it, or adventurous in the most mild of ways; breaking their own routine, committing themselves to the whims of the weather. The sort of low-stakes spontaneity he tends to enjoy in small doses. This way, he won’t have to rush John out the moment he’s done reading his Statement. It’s usually better to let him soak it in a bit after. They can just take their time and… enjoy the quiet, and each other’s company.
So he heads back toward John’s office. The door is closed, and he can hear the low murmur of his voice from within. He waits a little while, making no effort to listen closely, until the drone stops and he hears John take a breath. A few seconds more, and Martin raises a hand to knock gently.
“All done?” he says as John calls him in, stepping in and around to settle a hand on John’s back. “So it’s really picked up out there, and I was wondering… maybe we ought to stay here for a while. Wait it out in relative comfort. I mean, at least until it’s not coming down quite so heavily. Could get some more work done, or just… kick our feet up. What do you think?”
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It isn't long at all before his breathing slows, and his smile fades into something smaller and effortless. The absent curling of his fingers against Martin's side lasts a little longer, but he can't really compete with Martin's practiced ministrations. He's too deliciously comfortable to resist the pull of slumber, even if he'd wanted to.
He's asleep before his abandoned cocoa has had time to fully cool.