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“Dan, you’re a scientist,” Miles mused, crossing his arms. “Do you know why it’s snowing on the island?”
Daniel, who had been gaping at the sea of white powder for what felt like two hours now, blinked and turned towards him, jostled from his awe.
“I’m not a meteorologist, Miles.”
“Science is science,” he replied. “And none of it makes sense.”
“It all makes sense if you study enough,” Daniel argued. “You know, physics is a lot more than you think it is, and I’m sure meteorology is too.”
Miles made one of those ‘excessive talking’ gestures with his hand, rolling his eyes as he did so. It was rare that they had a conversation that didn’t include at least two eye rolls. Disappointed by the fact that the island’s resident physicist was not in fact a weatherman, Miles stalked off.
This, at least, allowed Daniel to resume his fascination with the snow.
It seemed like there was mountains of it, the sand of the beach a long-forgotten memory and only the powder remained. The water near the shore was frozen, like one of those lakes people went ice skating on in the winter. Daniel never participated in that - even if he wanted to, his mother never would have let him.
Still, he always loved snow. The way it wrapped the daunting Berkshire mountains in a soft blanket of white always made him strangely happy inside. Snow was so serene, so pure. It was a maker of joyful memories, always more than enough for everyone in the world. Everything Daniel so often wished he could be.
Suddenly, he heard the soft sound of footsteps sinking into the powder. Thinking it was Miles coming back with some sarcastic comment, Daniel sighed and turned around.
It wasn’t Miles.
Desmond Hume looked very out-of-place in the wintery climate. His tan from being in tropical conditions so long looked more than ridiculous here, and he was still wearing a loose, short-sleeved shirt as well as jeans damp from the snow-trudging. He was a stark contrast to Daniel, who upon waking up and seeing what befell the island, had dressed in as many layers as he possibly could.
“Hi,” Daniel said, complete with an awkward wave.
“Hey,” Desmond replied. “You look cozy.”
Daniel pulled his jacket tighter around his torso.
“Oh sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to sound like that. I like it.”
“Thanks.”
Silence fell over them as they gazed out at the beach - if one could even call it a beach anymore. Despite this technically being a catastrophic weather event, for one no one was panicking. Instead, there were already three snowmen of varying quality, a large snowball fight brewing, and dozens of snow angels in the ground. Everyone was taking this opportunity to let loose, to have some fun in their otherwise hectic lives.
Except Daniel. He just stood and stared.
“Was there a lot of snow in Scotland?” Daniel asked. He never really paid attention to weather patters in the UK, even when he was at Oxford. More than once, it was absolutely freezing outside, but Daniel was far too preoccupied with his experiments to notice and put on any proper winter clothing.
“Aye,” Desmond said. “There was this hill by my house that I would always go sledding on with my brothers. We used to all be able to fit in the sled together, and my dad would push us down. Then we got older… and my dad wasn’t there anymore. I pushed the sled in those last few years. Besides, we didn’t all fit.”
“I mostly stayed inside when it snowed,” Daniel admitted. He wasn’t quite sure what to say to Desmond’s story, but he knew that in the Scotsman’s place he wouldn’t want to be receiving meaningless pity. “Nothing’s really open in Massachusetts west of Boston during the winter anyways. Maybe that’s why my mother liked it so much.”
More quiet. More serenity. But even in those stretches where they didn’t speak, Daniel still felt the connection, taut as sailor’s knot.
Desmond’s eyes, Daniel noticed, were the warmest shade of brown he had ever seen, like logs in a hearth. So warm in fact that the snow melted in them, fading away, the cold around them reduced to an irrelevant blur. Daniel’s nostalgia for winter seemed strangely trivial now; what about spring and green grass and warmth? Everything that Desmond seemed to be, meaning it had to be perfect.
“You have snow in your hair,” Desmond whispered. If he noticed Daniel staring into the intoxicating pools that were his eyes, he didn’t say anything.
He reached up and brushed the snow out of Daniel’s hair, hand lingering for just a moment too long before he pulled it back sheepishly.
“It looked good,” he added, grinning. “You should try going grey.”
The absurdity of that idea made Daniel laugh harder than he had in a very, very long time. And then they were both laughing, standing in the snow, clutching each others’ shoulders for balance as they doubled over, humor getting the better of them. It wasn’t even that funny, but there was just something about that day, that moment and it was making Daniel feel like he was floating on a cloud.
“People already call me a mad scientist,” he said, giggling like an idiot.
“I’ll get you a white lab coat. It matches the snow.”
Daniel smiled at that. Anything that reminded him of this day had to be a good thing, after all.
On a whim, he slipped his hand into Desmond’s. It was heavily calloused, Daniel could feel that immediately. He wondered if Desmond could feel Daniel’s hand too, his scars and bruises and cuts.
If he could, it didn’t seem to bother him. Not only did he not pull away, Desmond accepted the gesture, squeezing Daniel’s hand reassuringly.
They stood and watched the snow of their pasts, presents, and futures. And yet, even while so displaced in time, Daniel never felt more grounded.