25. winter
Baird wakes up because his nose is cold.
It's an odd sensation, which probably explains why he's slowly dragged out of a nice, deep sleep. At first, he's confused as to why he's woken up in the first place. But then his eyes begin to adjust to the dim, silver light of the moon slipping in through the gaps in the curtains, and he realises he can see his breath.
Great.
The coldest night on record in Anvegad, and of course their furnace craps out. What frigging luck. Baird attempts to role over so he can slip out of the covers unnoticed, and then he notices that Sam's limbs are wrapped out his body. As endearing as he would love to find this situation, Sam isn't a cuddler after she falls asleep. Sure, she likes to snuggle when they get into bed, but after she drifts off her body's natural reaction is to spread out and take up enough space as humanly possible without pushing him onto the floor. Clearly the cold has forced her sleeping body to seek out a heat source.
Still, he feels a little bad about having to wake her up.
"Sam." He nudges her gently. "Hey, come on."
Her face crinkles and she groans quietly; he has to bite back a smile as her eyes open. "Ugh, what?"
"Furnace is off. I'm gonna go fix it."
She takes a long blink. "And you woke me up to tell me this?"
"Well, you've kind of trapped me." He glances down at her arms around his torso.
"Oh." Even in the darkness of their bedroom, he swears he sees her cheeks colour. "Sorry."
Her arms slide away, leaving cold patches on his skin. Because he can't help himself, he leans in for a quick kiss. She obliges, then wraps the blankets around her tighter. "Don't take too long."
"You kidding? It's frigging freezing."
He throws the covers off, eliciting an annoyed shout from Sam, and grabs the sweater he threw on the end of the bed last night. Tugging it over his head, he dashes down the stairs, debating whether or not he should have grabbed socks. No matter—he'll have the furnace up and running in under five minutes; this would be the fourth time he'd fixed it. Always the same problem.
Baird doesn't know how much time has passed, but his fingers and toes are numb and his face is flushed with frustration. So it isn't the same problem it was the last three times. That doesn't mean he can't find a way to fix it. He's a mechanical genius, for god's sake. Even if it is three in the morning and he's losing the feeling in his fingers, this should be like picking which sound the cow makes on one of those plastic children's toys.
"Having fun?"
He jumps, fumbling the screwdriver in his frozen fingers. Sam is standing behind him, the duvet from the bed draped around her shoulders like a cape.
"I've almost got this."
"While your determination is a charming trait, I think it's time to admit defeat." Sam drops to her knees beside him, taking his freezing hands in hers—which are only marginally warmer. "I'll get a fire going."
"But I—"
She quiets him with an amused stare. "You can fix it in the morning, after a good night's rest where you don't lose your precious fingers to hypothermia."
"Fine," he grumbles, getting to his feet.
Sam still holds his hands, rubbing gently to get his cold blood flowing properly again. "Come on. I'll start the fire and it'll be a nice quiet night of not freezing to death."
"You're awfully cheery."
She shrugs. "Not my first cold night in Anvegad without heat. You either let it piss you off, or you have some fun."
"It's pissing me off."
"Shocking." She flashes him a smile.
When they arrive in the living room, Baird settles onto the couch and tries to hide his shivering. Sam, of course, notices and tosses him the blanket before she goes to work on building a fire. Part of Baird thinks he should protest and try to start the fire himself, but the more rational part of him knows that he's shit at it and Sam will get it going much faster than he ever could, and he really wants to be warm again. Sam drops to her knees in front of the fireplace and bends forward. Baird grins; even in baggy pyjama bottoms, she still has a fantastic butt.
"Stop ogling my ass," she says without even turning around. "It's distasteful."
He snorts, but doesn't stoop to dignify her comment with a response. Barely a minute passes before a small orange glow appears under the pile of wood that Sam has constructed. Sam jumps to her feet, practically buoyant with smug satisfaction, and darts over to the sofa. Baird shifts to make room for her and she slips under the duvet, snuggling up close to him. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back and rest on the back of the couch.
"I'm almost a little disappointed that you're going to fix the heater," she murmurs.
"Hmm," he answers, keeping his eyes closed.
"Nights like this are nice."
He doesn't want to disagree, so he doesn't say anything.
The next morning, Baird takes a look at the furnace again. He fixes the issue that caused it to crap out the previous evening, and also notices an underlying problem. It isn't a death sentence for the furnace, but the heat will stop working occasionally if it gets cold enough.
After a moment of deliberation, Baird puts his tools away. He doesn't really mind spending a few more nights curled up in front of a fire with Sam nestled against him.