It took Jamie more than a minute to notice he didn't have the ring. He knew that, because the organist played the chorus an extra round, all the while tapping her tip jar as if expecting a rather large bonus for her extended version, while he slid his empty hand up and down her (the bride not the organist, thank god) finger, as if hoping it would appear out of thin air.

Across from him, holding his hands in hers, she didn't seem to mind. Her face was flushed pinker than he'd ever seen it, and her fingers couldn't stop jumping in his.

"It's 'ere. Somewhere," he mumbled, his fingers playing around in the deepest corners of his pocket. She shakes her head and smiles. Her veil's fallen loose, and hangs from her head on an angle. Jamie pauses, almost laughs at the face her mother is making in the crowd, but takes the time to fix it.

"Look," he whispers softly, cupping her hands even tighter, "I'm sorry I'm a space-cadet. I love you. And I hope you know that even if I can't prove it to you with a ring."

"NASA would've been happy to have you," she giggles back, pulling her hands from his and instead wrapping them around his neck. She pulls him close, and kisses him softly, working her lips against his.

They don't hear the Priest mutter, "I now pronounce you Man and Wife." There's a roar in the pews, that spreads among the crowd like a wave. He pulls back first, taking in air like a fish out of water. "Ready to head out, Hubby?" she snorts, replacing her hand in his. She leads him back down the isle and they use their free hands to block the rice that rains down around them.

"It's like snowflakes."

"Oh please! It's April, you dork." But she kisses his nose anyway, "Jack Frost nipping at your nose."

"That wasn't a nip."

"Later," she replies with a small smile and a wave of the finger, "Now help me open this door."

They press their bodies against the wood, and it takes a couple of minutes, but it finally creaks open. "Hard stuff, huh?" Jamie remarks, "I think that sleigh I had as a kid was made out of this." His hands rubs against the wood, as he tries to remember. But his thoughts are foggy and grey. He can remember sledding, but no particular day. The feel of snow on his back, and frost on his toes. Of falling into snowbanks.

"Hey honey?" he calls out, because she can no longer be seen. He hears her muffled reply, but can't make out a word. "Honey?"

The air hits him like a brick, stiff and cold. It wraps around him, twisting around the bit of bare ankle where sock and pant leg can't reach, and nips at his nose.

"What is this?"

And she standing there on the steps, her arms wrapped tightly around her body, the train of her dress flowing softly in the light wind, "It's almost EASTER FOR GOD'S SAKE."

Something tells him to comfort her, possibly hubby-instinct, but he doesn't act on it. Instead he finds himself laughing, rolling actually. The whole neck thrown back, gasping for air laughing.

"What's so funny?" she asks, coming to stand beside him. She's pouting, but her mouth twitches and soon she's giggling too.

"J-Jack Frost."

And as he says it, the wind laughs too.