Splat!
Summary: A harmless little snowball fight.
Disclaimer: I don't own them; I just play with them.
A/N: This was inspired by a conversation I had with Xanthe2 over on LiveJournal about fanfic characters and the recent snowfall in the UK. Some of the humour plays a bit on what you might expect if you know my usual stories, but this is not part of my 'Lessons' series or the 'Future Perfect' universe.
Thursday
Tim rolled over in bed, wincing as his butt made contact with the mattress and provided a painful reminder of the previous afternoon's events. He groaned, a bit embarrassed about how he'd gotten the angry purple bruise on his backside, and not looking forward to Tony teasing him about it. He dragged himself out of bed and headed towards the shower, hoping the team would catch a case early in the day so he could avoid sitting down as much as possible.
X X X
Wednesday
Tim tipped his face skywards in childlike delight, enjoying the snow swirling around him. The team had been caught up in a murder investigation and he hadn't really had a chance to appreciate how beautiful the Navy Yard was, under its fluffy white blanket. Now, murderer caught and team finally allowed to go home, he looked around at the snow that had accumulated over the last several days and was still peacefully falling in massive flakes that floated slowly to the ground.
He was startled out of his reverie by an impact on the back of his head, followed by a cold trickle down the back of his collar. He turned his head, just in time to be hit full in the face by the next snowball.
He sputtered, wiping snow from his face, as Tony laughed and dove for cover behind some evergreen shrubbery.
Tim stooped down and scooped up a handful of snow, packing it lightly into a snowball. He lobbed it in a gentle arc over the shrubs where Tony had disappeared, but knew he'd missed his target when two snowballs flew in quick succession from the other end of the hedge.
He dodged, avoiding one of Tony's snowballs. The other caught him in the shoulder, leaving a soggy splodge on his jacket.
Frustrated, he wadded more snow into a ball. He heard movement nearby and aimed in the direction of footsteps crunching in the snow. He looked up just in time to see his snowball score a perfect head shot.
On Gibbs.