For the Mercy Street Holiday 2016 Prompt Challenge on Tumblr: "Snow" (Dec 18)
(3:21) Is it snowing there yet?
(3:25) started 2 hrs ago
(3:25) What's the prediction?
(3:27) foot & half mabye 2
(3:28) Stay safe! And say hi to Abby and the boys!
(3:35) will do, sis
With a soft click of the power button, the screen went dark, and Mary slipped her phone back into the pocket of her zip-up fleece.
She had been checking the weather report all day; a big winter storm was about to hit central Massachusetts, and her brother's farm – just outside of Amherst – looked to be right in the thick of it. They would probably be fine, she knew: George and Abby had been living there for almost fifteen years now, long enough to know how to properly weather-proof a 19th-century farmhouse and prepare themselves for the more than likely days-long power outage. And her two nephews, Jonathan and Lucas, loved the snow. She remembered two Christmases ago when she had stayed with them, spending hours with the boys traipsing around on borrowed snowshoes, building an army of snowmen with kitchen-utensil noses (Abby couldn't find any carrots), laughing and running as she was pelted with powdery snowballs, the dogs leaping excitedly around them.
The storm resembled nothing more than a giant icy blue and purple smudge on the radar map, swooping across southern New York and Pennsylvania, the tail end of it reaching down into central Virginia. It was possible D.C. might see the odd flurry, but she wasn't going to hold her breath. The sun had been shining around lunchtime – she had seen as much when she wandered outside, searching for Sgt. Ritacco, who she eventually found out on the veranda, defiantly smoking a Camel Light and tapping the ashes out against the armrest of his wheelchair – and even with the chill in the air, actual snow seemed an unlikely prospect.
Maybe it would never snow at all, she thought, as she leaned up against the counter of the nurses' station, distractedly brushing her fingers back and forth against the laminate.
She didn't even have time to fully register his presence before he sidled up next to her.
"Quick, Phinney, go grab your coat," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.
"What?" she asked, in confusion and surprise, finding that even as she swiveled her head to face him, she needed to take a hasty step back, lest their faces be at an altogether dangerous level of proximity. "Why?" she added, feeling slightly recovered now that they were separated by a good two feet. "What happened? Are we being evacuated?" It wasn't totally out the realm of possibility: as a prominent military facility, they were subject to the occasional bomb threat, and since she had started, there had been one very unwise private who had thought that setting off the fire alarm was the best way to get himself out of morning PT.
"Go get your coat," Dr. Foster repeated, but the enigmatic half-grin he was sporting indicated that the situation was not so serious as all that. He was already dressed for the outdoors, she noted, wearing a thick wool pea coat and a dark red and gray plaid scarf. He jerked his head towards the hallway. "C'mon, we have to hurry."
"Why?" she asked again, this time more slowly, feeling heat rising to her cheeks as a coy smile pulled along the corner of her mouth. There was something about his manner that was unsettling her, although not in an entirely unpleasant way; she was used to his moods by now, how he could be serious and exacting one minute and full of sarcastic quips the next, but this – a knowing look, warmth and playfulness in his dark eyes – she didn't know what to make of it at all. Even so, it was hard to resist, harder still with his gaze on her, almost as if she were the only thing in the room.
"Do you trust me or not?" he asked, and then she could see the familiar humor flash across his face as he grinned outright. "Yeah, never mind, don't answer that."
He turned away from the counter, and without warning Mary felt his hand slip into hers, the shock of his warm palm against her own like a live wire, as he began to gently pull her along into the corridor.
She could still feel the press of it against her skin as she retrieved her coat from her locker.
Not knowing what exactly he had in mind and wanting to be prepared for any eventuality, she grabbed her gloves and hat from the shelf and stuffed them into the wide pockets, before making her way back to the hallway where he was waiting.
He didn't try to take her hand again – which was probably for the best, as she hadn't had the first clue about how to react the first time, and now perhaps they could just pretend it hadn't happened at all – and she was content to follow him for a minute or two, anticipation of the surprise pooling in her stomach, until they finally reached the wide sliding glass doors of the building's side entrance.
It didn't make any sense, what she saw through the glass. Three hours ago, the air was full with pale winter light, filtering down onto dark greens and the browns of the lawn and the bare, leafless trees that made up the expanse of the hospital's grounds. But now she couldn't see anything – there was no color at all – and as the doors slid open, she understood why.
The skies were a flinty gray, ponderously full, even as fat flakes lightly cascaded towards the ground, all the air moving at once, so stark and white. Everything looked strange and foreign: the wide lawn, the square-cut hedges, the wooden bench where she sometimes brought her lunch and book (at least on warmer days), all of it was covered in an inch or two of snow, the familiar now made beautiful by the curious alchemy of winter.
She walked out into it, letting the snowflakes fall onto her shoulders and her hair before she had the presence of mind to pull on her hat and gloves.
"It's snowing," she said as she turned back towards him, only now realizing that he must have followed just behind her as she stepped outside, that he was still standing only a few feet away.
"Nothing gets past you, Phinney," he replied, raising his eyebrows in amusement. She could see his breath as it softly crystallized in front of his mouth. "Our resident meteorologist."
Mary was about to offer some retort, something that might diffuse the growing sensation in her chest, that thing that pulled at her whenever he got close enough, but then she noticed that they were not the only ones who had wandered outside. She spied Nurse Green a little way across the lawn, instructing a few small children – undoubtedly belonging to some of the patients – in the proper creation of snow angels. Chaplain Hopkins was right nearby, helping two others, slightly older by the look of them, in the construction of a diminutive snowman. And off by the hedges, Nurse Hastings was being chased – not involuntarily, it would seem – by the impish form of Dr. Hale, who had a perfectly-formed snowball in the gloved palm of his hand, looking ready to strike once his prey ceased her defensive maneuvering and was forced to pause and catch her breath.
Mary glanced back at Dr. Foster, whose dark hair and beard were now flecked with white. He didn't have a hat, or gloves either, gauging from the way he had shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. She had half a mind to offer him hers, before quickly acknowledging that he would never accept them, not without losing some crucial, man-shaped portion of his pride. Instead, fueled by some impulse she could hardly name, let alone understand, she took a step closer, and gently brushed the snow from the sides of his face. He didn't move to stop her – he didn't move at all – and she noticed that his breath had stilled, no telltale cloud escaping from his lips, until she finally lowered her hand.
"Thank you…" she said as she stepped back, softly clearing her throat, hoping for something, anything, to break the tension. "For showing me this. I can't believe I would have missed it."
"My pleasure," he replied, humor edging back into his eyes. "Although, I promise you, in a few days, after it's been plowed and gets covered with muck and grime, and then it melts and refreezes and turns the whole place into a city-wide demolition derby, you won't miss it at all."
"Are you always such a romantic when it comes to snow?" she asked, a smile playing on her lips, knowing she was drawing perilously close to the realm of flirtation, but somehow powerless to stop.
"When it comes to snow, I try not to be drawn in by its picturesque enticements," he offered. "But I don't mind being a romantic for slightly more worthy causes…"
His voice grew quieter and then trailed off altogether, and all Mary was aware of was the faint degree of warmth he was giving off as he stood opposite her, the fullness of his bottom lip before it turned and met the trimmed edging of his beard, the way his dark eyes were focused intently on her face, as if seeing something entirely unexpected. Flakes were landing softly on her cheeks, but she could barely feel the cold, nor did she entirely register the icy burn of winter air as it made its way into her lungs. Everything was still, and silent, the world enclosed in the slowly diminishing space between their faces.
And all at once, she heard a tremendous thump, a spray of fine powder exploding in a giant radial burst behind Dr. Foster. He quickly turned to look behind him, revealing a fist-sized blotch in the center of his back, bright white against the dark wool.
"Damn it, Hale!" he yelled out, before turning back to face her. "Um, if you'll excuse me for a moment, Nurse Phinney…"
He ran off in search of his assailant, stopping only to gather some snow into the palm of his hand and pack it together into a fitting projectile. And then she couldn't help but laugh a little, watching the two of them battle it out, if only for the childlike grin she saw plastered to Dr. Foster's face as he finally let loose his snowball and watched it arc gracefully into the air.