*writes ridiculous snow fic*
Not mine, etc.
Sam was a sweeper. As he stood on the edge of the field, listening to the shrieks of laughter and shouted challenges, he wondered what that really meant. It was a job, sure. It paid well, he had excellent benefits, and he never really worried about the things he did.
A snowball smacked into a tree and little Debbie Broots danced out of her hiding place, cat-calling at her father.
Laughter precluded a snowball bouncing off Debbie's arm before she dove back into her cover, claiming it wasn't even a flesh wound.
Miss Parker had always had good aim, even as a child. Or so the rumors went. Sam wasn't exactly a gossip, but he liked knowing things. Especially things that kept his ass safe from reprisals. Being the sweeper Miss P. usually took with her was a piece of status he enjoyed. It also made him confused sometimes--she was perfectly capable of ripping a man's balls off, but he felt almost protective of her.
Another flurry of snowballs drove Broots from his hiding place, Debbie and Miss P. evidently joining forces for the moment.
Sam wasn't sure how the fight had broken out. Debbie, most likely, wanting to laugh and play while she was still young enough to appreciate her father diving behind makeshift snow fort walls, or making snow angels. Soon, she would be Miss P.'s age, and her father would seem remote, different. Or perhaps Broots was a different kind of man, perhaps he would continue to join his daughter for Christmas.
It wasn't really Sam's place to notice these things, but he couldn't help it. Miss P. got sharper around the holidays, a resigned disappointment in her eyes even before she heard her father's excuses.
No one liked getting on her nerves around then--no one was ever really on her good side, but around the holidays, there wasn't any softening to her. Perhaps it made her human, lashing out at those under her. Perhaps it made her a monster, as some of his colleagues used to say, before they were dead or reassigned or fired.
Debbie burst out of her cover, and executed a kamikaze run at Miss Parker's fort. When she went over the top, Miss P. caught her up and both fell, pelting snow at each other, their laughter filled with shrieks.
The snow wouldn't last. Sam knew that. Seasons changed, winter would eventually drift into spring.
But he would last. After all, he was Miss P.'s favorite sweeper. And Jarod was still out there to catch.
Sam was a sweeper. As he stood on the edge of the field, listening to the shrieks of laughter and shouted challenges, he wondered what that really meant. It was a job, sure. It paid well, he had excellent benefits, and he never really worried about the things he did.
A snowball smacked into a tree and little Debbie Broots danced out of her hiding place, cat-calling at her father.
Laughter precluded a snowball bouncing off Debbie's arm before she dove back into her cover, claiming it wasn't even a flesh wound.
Miss Parker had always had good aim, even as a child. Or so the rumors went. Sam wasn't exactly a gossip, but he liked knowing things. Especially things that kept his ass safe from reprisals. Being the sweeper Miss P. usually took with her was a piece of status he enjoyed. It also made him confused sometimes--she was perfectly capable of ripping a man's balls off, but he felt almost protective of her.
Another flurry of snowballs drove Broots from his hiding place, Debbie and Miss P. evidently joining forces for the moment.
Sam wasn't sure how the fight had broken out. Debbie, most likely, wanting to laugh and play while she was still young enough to appreciate her father diving behind makeshift snow fort walls, or making snow angels. Soon, she would be Miss P.'s age, and her father would seem remote, different. Or perhaps Broots was a different kind of man, perhaps he would continue to join his daughter for Christmas.
It wasn't really Sam's place to notice these things, but he couldn't help it. Miss P. got sharper around the holidays, a resigned disappointment in her eyes even before she heard her father's excuses.
No one liked getting on her nerves around then--no one was ever really on her good side, but around the holidays, there wasn't any softening to her. Perhaps it made her human, lashing out at those under her. Perhaps it made her a monster, as some of his colleagues used to say, before they were dead or reassigned or fired.
Debbie burst out of her cover, and executed a kamikaze run at Miss Parker's fort. When she went over the top, Miss P. caught her up and both fell, pelting snow at each other, their laughter filled with shrieks.
The snow wouldn't last. Sam knew that. Seasons changed, winter would eventually drift into spring.
But he would last. After all, he was Miss P.'s favorite sweeper. And Jarod was still out there to catch.