fandomtownies | The Park, Early Evening, Monday

Wilson adored the snow. He loved the soft silence it blanketed the world in as it fell, the way time and nature seemed to stand still as if caught in the hypnotic fall of the soft flakes. He loved the way the flakes felt as they brushed across his cheeks, caught in his eyelashes and chilled his hair.

As the snow had continued to fall through the rest of the day, Wilson had grown more and more restless till he'd finished up in the blessedly quiet clinic and careened into the small apartment to estoll the virtues of snow to House. Poor House who had heard the poetlike ramblings hundreds of times before and who watched the younger doctor bounce about in the small space up to the point where Wilson finally shot out the door, long coat whipping on the aircurrents behind him.

Honestly, give an oncologist a solid 8 hours of sleep and he never knows what to do with himself.

Out in the snow as he walked along with Phale, Wilson was busy explaining the concept of the perfect snowball to the angel.

"And it positively must explode upon impact. Not only because that way it doesn't risk causing actual damage but also because you get maximum effect of snow getting all over your opponant."

For Aziraphale, it's partly the silence created by fallen snow, so that it seems the world is observing a reverent sort of hush. And it's partly the way it obscures the air, and makes it seem as though you're looking through gauze. And it's also partly the fact that a good snowfall seems to bring out the child in everyone, inviting them to venture out from their comfortable homes and creating a sort of cheerful camaraderie.

Apparently, he's also supposed to be appreciating the concept of snowball fights, from the enthusiasm being displayed by his companion.

"Well, how do you get it to do that then? How do you know you've made it correctly so that it does explode?"

If it weren't for the fact that dignified 39 year old oncologist's didn't bounce Wilson might have done so. As it was, he probably just took a bad step or something.

"I am glad you asked that, my friend." Wilson exclaimed poking a finger up towards the dark, snow laden sky. "It's all in the feel."

Reaching to tug off his gloves, Wilson tucked the garments into the pockets of his over coat and bent down to sweep up a handful of powdery snow.

"Now see...if you do this with your gloves on you lose the delicacy of touch needed to pack it properly. Pack it too tight, you end up with a flying brick of ice, too loose and powder just puffs everywhere when you try to throw it."

Talk, talk, pack, pack

Aziraphale watches the snowball form in the doctor's hands, resisting the urge to tell him to put his gloves back on.

"Then I suppose one ought to...test one or two first, to make certain they're done correctly? Before one goes throwing them at people, I mean. If one were going to throw them at people, that is."

Because of course, he wasn't actually planning on doing that. Just maybe a...tree, or something. Just to try it out.

James Wilson was the picture of soulful innocence as he nodded agreeably to Phale's suggestion.

"Of course, I mean...if you were going to throw a snowball at anyone that is. That tree over there looks quick promising."

Wilson helpfully pointed towards one of the tall trees that dominated the park and if it just so happened that he...fell back a pace behind the angel, well that surely didn't mean anything...

Right?

Bowing his head in concentration, the angel scoops up a handful of snow and carefully molds it into a ball, as he'd seen Wilson do. It likely doesn't need quite so much attention, but Aziraphale is the sort of person who feels that if one is going to do a thing, one ought to do it well.

Once he's satisfied with his creation, he looks up and spies the tree the doctor had helpfully pointed out. "What do you think?" he asks, before realizing that Wilson is no longer walking beside him.

"James?"

Wilson stood there, snow falling oh so gently on his dark hair, across the dark fabric of his overcoat, standing out pristine, white and oh so innocent. His expression was positively serene as he regarded the angel with a sweet smile.

"Aziraphale...I must explain that...in this matter, I have no free will."

At which point the snowball he'd made so carefully for the angel's benefit came flying out of his left hand, aimed directly for the spot in the middle of the angel's chest.

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