Fandom: Sarah Jane Adventures
Present For/Prompt: miniminkie | Snow
Word Count: 1000
Summary: “Snow is not ‘just frozen rain’. Snow is awesome. I mean, it’s kind of wasted in February, but still awesome.”
Author’s Notes: I was trying to work out what to do with snow, when I found a file on my laptop of photos my friends and I took a couple of years ago when it unhelpfully snowed in late February, because of course by that time no one really cares whether it snows or not. We made some really crap snow mushrooms, since we couldn’t make snowmen :) Oh, and see if you can spot the Doctor Who reference!
“It’s February,” Clyde complains loudly, staring out of the living room window at the white flakes falling steadily down outside. “I mean, February. Snow is bloody wasted at this time of year.”
Luke looks up from his algebra long enough to say a stream of nearly incomprehensible words; Clyde catches precipitation and what he thinks might be an explanation of why no two snowflakes are exactly alike and why, if two snowflakes did match, how a hole would appear in the universe and everything would crumble into its composite molecules and how that would seriously be A Bad Thing. Because Luke is, of course, all about the scientific side of things.
Clyde watches the snow pelt down for a little longer, and then something occurs to him. He turns towards Luke; the other boy is tapping the end of his pencil against his lower lip, looking thoughtful. This is probably only for show, though, since Luke knows everything ever.
“Hey,” Clyde says, “Luke, have you ever actually seen snow before?”
“…Pictures of it,” Luke admits. “Films of it. It’s just frozen rain.” He shrugs, and looks back down at his textbook.
Sometimes, having a friend grown by aliens is very trying.
“No,” Clyde corrects patiently, with his You-Really-Don’t-Know-Anything-About-The-World-At-All-But-Luckily-That’s-W
Luke looks perplexed, but mercifully seems to understand that he is not going to get any work done in the near future and should therefore give Clyde his full attention and pay attention to the wisdom he’s about to impart.
Not that being the person who teaches Luke all about the Real World has given Clyde a superiority complex or anything.
“How can snow be wasted?” he asks.
“Well,” Clyde says, “The only time anyone ever really wants snow is Christmas. So everyone spends weeks and weeks in December and January hoping it’ll snow, and then it doesn’t; getting it in spring is kind of lame.”
Luke nods, and seems to kind of understand; possibly that’s because they had to have that talk about Why Christmas Is Generally Great But Does Not In Any Way Bear Any Resemblance To The Pictures On The Cards Everyone Sends Each Other again in December. Luke does his best; he likes the food and the presents but still hasn’t really got the hang of Christmas. Still, there’s always next year. Or the year after that.
“So snow is only good at Christmas time?” Luke asks. “But there isn’t snow at Christmas time?”
“Well,” Clyde shrugs, “There was that one Christmas when we had loads of snow. A couple of years ago, remember?”
Luke gives him that little smile that he only seems to use on occasions like this, and says simply: “I didn’t exist then.”
It gives Clyde a sick, swooping feeling in his stomach when he suddenly remembers that Luke really didn’t exist a couple of years ago. Although he’s perfectly aware that Luke was created by aliens and woke up in a lab already grown into a fourteen-year-old, the weirdness of it all still catches him from time to time.
“Come on,” he says, reaching a decision.
“We have homework,” Luke points out.
“We both know you could do the homework in a dark room with one arm tied behind your back and the Slitheen trying to break down the door,” Clyde reminds him, “And if I give in homework all the time then the teachers might start to expect it regularly and that would be annoying.”
It’s not that he doesn’t work, it’s just that it’s generally better to make people have low expectations so they’re surprised, as opposed to high expectations so they’re disappointed. Clyde learned that a long time ago.
Luke grants him a small smile.
“All right then, what are we doing?”
“We’re going to go show you how awesome snow is,” Clyde replies.
They wrap up vaguely warmly, because getting frostbite is not part of Clyde’s plans for the week and Luke is terribly sensible all the time, and go out into Luke’s back garden. Everything’s covered in a thick white blanket; still at the point where it’s pretty before London makes it all manky and slushy and grey, and the look on Luke’s face as he tips his head back and is covered in snowflakes pulls Clyde’s mouth into a grin without him even realising.
While the snow continues to fall steadily down on them, Clyde shows Luke all the things he missed due to not being a kid; they have a snowball fight that leaves them both frozen and gasping, melting icy water dripping down their necks, gloves soaked through. They make kind of rubbish snow angels, and Clyde can’t help laughing because Luke is so plainly excited by the feel of snow; reading about it and being covered in it are two so very different things.
It’s starting to get dark when Clyde is trying to show Luke how to make a snowman; it’s not very good because by now they’ve churned up the snow too much and not enough of it has fallen, but they’ve made a couple of gigantic icy lumps sitting on top of each other, so maybe that’s good enough.
“Well, we’ll pretend it’s modern art,” Clyde shrugs, as the two of them pat more snow between the two balls to keep them stuck together.
Luke laughs, though his mouth is trembling with cold, their numb hands bumping together on their really kind of pathetic snowman. Clyde finds his attention caught by Luke’s wind-reddened, shaking lips for a moment before he registers that by now they’re both freezing and soaking.
“Come on, mate,” he says quickly. “Time for another snow tradition.”
“What’s that?” Luke asks, and his voice is shivering with cold now too.
“The hot chocolate afterwards,” Clyde informs him. “Come on.”
Luke grins, and Clyde slings an easy arm around his shoulders as they trudge back to the house.