“Look at you,” McDonald says fondly, his expression melting while the snowflakes collected in Harry’s hair and beard do not, though they begin to thaw as he sweeps warm fingers through Harry’s curls—how a mother might thumb crumbs from their child’s face.

“There was a light snowfall,” Harry begins, though his speech slows and softens at the doctor’s gentle attentions, “as we crossed… crossed between, the ships…”

He knows Alexander will chide him again for not wearing his cap, though he knows as well that he’d navigate a blizzard in very little at all if it meant the other man’s hands on him once more.