Work Text:
Snowflakes were never part of his directives. Connor analyses the frost floating harmlessly around him. He anticipates a wave of programming to turn attention to force his attention to more important information. But. Such code is overridden now, isn't it?
One speck lands daintily on his nose. Not melting as snow would on human flesh, the flake rests intact. Connor allows his eyes to cross, staring at it. How many millions of these must he have seen? His software jumps to calculate - he dismisses the impulse.
Breeze casts it adrift, free to join its friends. Connor decides he likes snowflakes.