A/N: This was the product of a "you give me one line, I'll give you five more" prompt.

Vivid-escapist really threw down the gauntlet and gets full writing credit for the first line. :)

"Abraham, put down the carrots. And the tweezers. And the...what is that?"

Abe gave his father an incredulous look. "Henry, I know you've practically been under a rock for the last 30 years, but even you must know what this is."

Henry wasn't so sure about that. He tilted his head slightly. "Are you holding it right side up?"

"Stop stalling! When you gamble big at chess, sometimes you lose big at chess." Abe deposited the carrots, the tweezers, and the other thing in Henry's less-than-open arms and pointed to a nearby table, already prepared with a towel and an unopened jar of raspberry jam. "You'd better get ready. Jo will be here any second."

Henry was starting to look concerned. "I don't think this is a good idea, Abe. She's only just learned my secret. This is the time to soften the shock and help her adjust, not ask her to judge whether I can…" His sentence trailed off. Even to his son, his best friend, he was having trouble saying it out loud.

Abe had experienced no such trouble explaining their little bet when he'd called Jo earlier. For her part, she'd had no trouble agreeing to drop everything and come right over to judge his performance. Privately, Henry wasn't sure whether to be alarmed or a little turned on by that, even if the bet was completely ridiculous.

As if summoned by thoughts of her, Jo knocked on the door. Henry's hands were still full, so Abe let her in.

She sauntered over without hurry, took one of his carrots, and sat down next to Abe. Was it Henry's imagination, or did she look awfully satisfied with the way her evening was playing out?

Henry continued to stare at her, unsure of the appropriate niceties in this situation. He also continued to hold the tweezers, the second carrot, and the other thing. He took a breath as if to speak, but then froze with his mouth open. After a moment he closed it.

When he continued to look stymied, Jo took a bite of carrot out of the side of her mouth. After a few slow crunches she said, "Okay, old man. Show me what you got."

"Sorry, Abe," Jo said, looking down at Henry's creation, "but this judge has spoken. It's perfect."

Abe chuckled. "No, don't be sorry. He only did it because I beat him at chess and made him try. Everybody wins."

"What about me?" asked Henry, wiping melted ice and sticky jam residue from his hands onto the towel. "Do I win?"

Jo continued to look down at the tableau laid out on the table before them. "Oh yeah. You definitely win."

As stipulated by Abe's terms, Henry had created a 1/12 scale replica of he and Jo's latest murder scene in snowman form, using only raspberry jam, tweezers (the man had been speared with a harpoon), and a Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine. And of course, a baby carrot for a nose.

Abe joined them in gathering around the gradually vanishing snow-victim. "I gotta hand it to you, Henry. You really captured the, um, blood spatter."

"I did, didn't I?" Despite the unorthodox medium, Henry was pleased with his results. "Well, if it's worth doing, it's worth doing right."

Jo smirked. "This was so worth pausing Game of Thrones for." She looked from the grisly little scene to Henry and asked, "Are you sure you've never read Calvin and Hobbes?"

He furrowed his brow. "The philosophers?"

Jo grinned. "Kind of, yeah."

Abe gave the plastic crank on the back of Snoopy's doghouse an experimental turn. "Hey, you didn't even use all the ice. Anyone want a raspberry snow cone?"

He looked from Henry to Jo and back. No response. Never let it be said he couldn't read a customer.

"Whiskey it is."

Thanks for reading!

Also— if you, like Henry, have been living under a rock and aren't familiar with the Calvin and Hobbes style of snowmen, go and google it immediately. It's for your own good.