So I found this while I was organizing my fanfiction files. I think it was my first (very different) draft of "Under the Warmth of the Fallen Snow" – I say this because there's a line or two that are exactly the same. I'm also pretty sure that I wrote this after a glass of wine or two (I have very little memory of it) but I like it so I thought I'd post it here since we've lost such a great show and I'm sad I won't get any more canon to diverge from.

Set after Mistress New Mistress

He couldn't stop touching her. Since they'd left the Witch of the East's castle – since he'd held her hand – he'd been in contact with her in some way. A guiding hand on the small of her back, a steadying grip on her arm when the terrain got trickier, fingers brushing over hers when he handed her his water skin, shoulders bumping into one another as they walked side by side, hands brushing each other.

She couldn't exactly say she minded. She was the one who'd held his hand in the first place. Sure, he'd grabbed her wrist at the first sign of danger – protecting her, always protecting her – but she'd been the one to turn her palm and slide her fingers up his own arm until their fingers interlaced. He'd been a comforting presence then and he was a comforting presence now. It was nice. The physical contact, the warmth, the constant presence – it felt safe. He felt safe.

She didn't understand a lot of what was happening to her or about this world, but if she was certain of one thing it was that she trusted Lucas – even when they were fighting. Were they still fighting? She couldn't remember anymore, maybe it was the poppies, maybe it was the lack of sleep but the longer they walked along the brick road the hazier she got. In fact, she could swear it was snowing. Which was impossible. It was like an inferno out here. But still, in the heat of the late evening sun, she felt a cool flake land on her cheek. She looked up at the sky through the trees.

"You can see it too, then?" She turned to Lucas who looked even more exhausted than she felt.

"Yeah." She held her hand out to catch some on her fingers.

"Good, I thought it was the poppies." When she didn't answer he closed his hand over her own, dry and warm over wet and chilled. "We should stop for the night. Get off this road before we start seeing little people and talking lions, yeah?"

She nodded and let herself be led off the path into the woods. When he seemed satisfied with a spot he let go of her hand to pull her pack off her shoulder.

"Does it normally snow in Oz?" she asked.

He chuckled. "I wouldn't know." Right. The memory. "But seeing as it's been nothing but warm for as long as I can remember, I'm willing to bet that you did this."

She snapped to look at him, then at her hands. Had she done this? Had she used magic? Had her mother?

"Hey," she felt his hands strong on her shoulders long before she could meet his eyes. "Don't worry about it. Everything's going to be okay," he promised with a small smile. The words made her want to laugh and cry at the same time, but they worked. She felt some of the panic ebb away and nodded. "It's getting dark. Let's just get some sleep."

She nodded again and he went to lay down against a fallen tree trunk. She didn't move. The second his hands had left her shoulders the panic had started to seep in again. She needed the calm, the silence that came from his touch, from his presence.

She acted before she could talk herself out of it, dropping to the ground at his side and curling into his chest. She felt him startle for a moment, a sharp inhale of breath before his hand came to rest hesitantly on her shoulder, arm enveloping her in his weight and smell and warmth and presence. His constant presence. Even when he'd tried to leave her – when she'd tried to send him away he hadn't made it far. Despite all the things he'd done and been accused of doing she trusted him. And right now, under the warmth of the falling snow, she remembered what he was at his core. Home.

She couldn't remember dreaming or even falling asleep but she awoke before the dawn with snowflakes stuck to her lashes. Lucas was still there.