Table of Contents [Report This]
This one is rated PG-13 for language. Oh, and it was originally
written as a response to a picture challenge, which is a photo of
MTW/AP taken at that event in Monaco back in February 2001.
Well, I'm off to Momma's house... Cheers!
Every Picture… Well, You know…
By Ginger
"Relax, we have all afternoon," he said soothingly as he strove to
keep pace with her as she charged up Main Street.
"Like hell we do! Do you know how many people we have to feed? I
can't believe I let you talk me into this. I must be out of my
fucking mind! I can already smell disaster: your family giving me the
hairy eyeball; your mother looking at me and sighing regretfully; all
of them picturing what it would be like if only you had settled down
with a pretty, sweet young thing."
"That's nonsense and you know it."
"No, I don't know it! The `Manson Family' probably enjoyed more
peaceful holidays!"
"I very much doubt that the `Manson Family' ever…" She turned and
shot him a quick, withering glare. He gulped then muttered, "Never
mind…"
"This is a mistake. I should have come up here by myself, had a quiet
holiday with Ben, and you should have gone to spend it with your
family. They shouldn't be forced to spend their first Thanksgiving
together as a family in over thirty years, and the first EVER in
Emily and Ethan's lifetimes, in MY presence… the woman who…"
"I love and makes me very happy." He slowed to a stop and, reaching
out to grasp her hand, forced her to stop and look at him. Cupping
her cheek, he instructed warmly,
"Breathe."
She closed her eyes and sighed, relaxing into his touch, a feature of
her everyday life now so fundamental to both her happiness and her
sanity that she wondered how she'd ever managed to survive so long
without it.
"It's so easy when it's just the two of us, when we're alone," she
remarked softly as he pulled her into his arms. "Why should we press
our luck?"
"Because it's no longer necessary to sneak around like we're doing
something wrong," he replied with a smile as he rested his chin on
her head and rocked her gently in his arms. "I want the whole world
to see what we are, starting with the people most important to us.
We've done just fine around Ben who, you will note, remarked at
breakfast that he's known from the beginning that it, that WE, should
be this way. As for my mother, well, she's more excited about finally
getting to meet you than she is about seeing me again! She wants to
have a long talk with you."
"She does?" She looked up at him, something resembling blind terror
flashing across her face. He chuckled.
"Relax," he whispered then pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "I
think she wants to discuss her relationship with your mother. She
said there are things she'd like to share with you but wouldn't
elaborate. Apparently, it's for your ears only."
"I kept her from you…" she muttered then looked down. "I don't
deserve this… I don't deserve y…"
"Hey…" he cut in, tilting her chin up so her eyes met his. "Not
another word like that or else. Do you WANT me to hurt you?" He
raised an eyebrow and smirked.
"Stop that!" she growled, then pulled him into a passionate kiss,
eliciting a moan of surprise and delight from him. Pulling away she
added breathlessly, "You KNOW what that look does to me and there'll
be no `playtime' today… or tomorrow… or the next day for that matter."
"Oh, she of little faith," he commented in a husky tone. "And this
from the lips of the woman who introduced me to the concept of
the `quickie' and so dramatically, I might add. Where was that
again?" He looked away dreamily, scratching his chin.
"The warehouse in Cleveland. Another 30 seconds and Sam would have
caught us!" She chuckled and yanked him by the arm, dragging him up
the street.
"What would you have done, shot him?" he inquired, casting her a
sideward glance. "Or, perhaps, me?"
"Wouldn't have been necessary to do either; he would have had a
coronary," she quipped as she picked up the pace. "Judging by the
look on his face when I decided to gently break the news of our,
ahem, `alliance,' I'd say he'd have been dead before he hit the
floor. Oh, by the way, I'm supposed to relay a message: if you ever
break my heart, he WILL break every bone in your body. Kinda sweet,
isn't it?"
"Hmmm…" he replied amusedly.
"Excuse me sir, ma'am?" spoke the sweet-faced young man approaching
them and wearing a 35mm, professional-grade camera around his neck.
"Yes?" Jarod responded amiably.
"You're the folks hosting that big gathering up at Ben Miller's
place, right?"
"Yes, we are," Parker replied with a smile and it suddenly occurred
to her that she was smiling at complete strangers a lot these days.
Weird…
"My name is Brian Smythe and I'm a staff photographer for the local
rag. I'm out here snapping pictures for tomorrow's edition – you
know, slice of life stuff, people out and about making holiday
preparations – and I'd really like to get a shot of the two of you.
If you don't mind my saying so, you certainly stand out in these
parts."
"I'm sure we do," Jarod remarked with a wry smile.
"I'm not criticizing. You provide an interesting visual counterpoint
to most of the people around here!" the kid said with a chuckle.
"Well?" Parker glanced inquiringly at Jarod. Even though he wasn't on
the lam anymore, he was still rather camera shy. Old habits, she
figured, and the fact that he'd spent 30 odd years under constant
surveillance. If he wasn't one hundred percent comfortable, she was
more than willing to tell the kid to take a hike.
"The whole world," he intoned with a shrug and a smile before turning
to address the photographer. "Where would you like us?"
"How about on that bench over there, in front of the art gallery with
the funky window display?" the young man answered, pointing, before
turning his attention to his camera and adding, "It's the one
interesting storefront in this town. The rest of the place is way
too `Mayberry' for me."
"`Andy Griffith Show,'" Parker whispered out of the corner of her
mouth and Jarod nodded as they positioned themselves on the
bench. "How's this?" she called out to the photographer.
"Perfect," the young man chirped as he focused on them. Definitely
the best looking couple he'd run across all day, hell, all year, he
thought as he snapped the photo. "Now stay put!" he added as he
produced a Polaroid camera from one of the pockets of his field
jacket.
"Here's one to take with you," he offered amiably as he took the
picture. Handing it over, he said, "I can't make any promises but I'd
be willing to bet that you'll make the cut for tomorrow's paper. My
editor loves it when I manage to get a shot of somebody under 70!"
With that, the young man bid them adieu and they were on their way.
Jarod took Parker's hand in his, holding the Polaroid at his side
with the other until the precise moment when he knew the image would
be clear. Lifting it to his face he stopped dead in his tracks and
grinned broadly.
"Well?" Parker turned and looked at him. "How did it come out?"
"Well, you're right; next time you should come to the barber with me."
"It can't be THAT bad or else you wouldn't be grinning like an idiot."
"You love me," he beamed. His tone evoked a mixture of awe and pride.
"Oh, really?" she challenged playfully. "And what makes you so sure,
genius?"
"Your smile," he replied, bearing an adoring smile of his own, then
repeated, "your smile."
# # # #
written as a response to a picture challenge, which is a photo of
MTW/AP taken at that event in Monaco back in February 2001.
Well, I'm off to Momma's house... Cheers!
Every Picture… Well, You know…
By Ginger
"Relax, we have all afternoon," he said soothingly as he strove to
keep pace with her as she charged up Main Street.
"Like hell we do! Do you know how many people we have to feed? I
can't believe I let you talk me into this. I must be out of my
fucking mind! I can already smell disaster: your family giving me the
hairy eyeball; your mother looking at me and sighing regretfully; all
of them picturing what it would be like if only you had settled down
with a pretty, sweet young thing."
"That's nonsense and you know it."
"No, I don't know it! The `Manson Family' probably enjoyed more
peaceful holidays!"
"I very much doubt that the `Manson Family' ever…" She turned and
shot him a quick, withering glare. He gulped then muttered, "Never
mind…"
"This is a mistake. I should have come up here by myself, had a quiet
holiday with Ben, and you should have gone to spend it with your
family. They shouldn't be forced to spend their first Thanksgiving
together as a family in over thirty years, and the first EVER in
Emily and Ethan's lifetimes, in MY presence… the woman who…"
"I love and makes me very happy." He slowed to a stop and, reaching
out to grasp her hand, forced her to stop and look at him. Cupping
her cheek, he instructed warmly,
"Breathe."
She closed her eyes and sighed, relaxing into his touch, a feature of
her everyday life now so fundamental to both her happiness and her
sanity that she wondered how she'd ever managed to survive so long
without it.
"It's so easy when it's just the two of us, when we're alone," she
remarked softly as he pulled her into his arms. "Why should we press
our luck?"
"Because it's no longer necessary to sneak around like we're doing
something wrong," he replied with a smile as he rested his chin on
her head and rocked her gently in his arms. "I want the whole world
to see what we are, starting with the people most important to us.
We've done just fine around Ben who, you will note, remarked at
breakfast that he's known from the beginning that it, that WE, should
be this way. As for my mother, well, she's more excited about finally
getting to meet you than she is about seeing me again! She wants to
have a long talk with you."
"She does?" She looked up at him, something resembling blind terror
flashing across her face. He chuckled.
"Relax," he whispered then pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "I
think she wants to discuss her relationship with your mother. She
said there are things she'd like to share with you but wouldn't
elaborate. Apparently, it's for your ears only."
"I kept her from you…" she muttered then looked down. "I don't
deserve this… I don't deserve y…"
"Hey…" he cut in, tilting her chin up so her eyes met his. "Not
another word like that or else. Do you WANT me to hurt you?" He
raised an eyebrow and smirked.
"Stop that!" she growled, then pulled him into a passionate kiss,
eliciting a moan of surprise and delight from him. Pulling away she
added breathlessly, "You KNOW what that look does to me and there'll
be no `playtime' today… or tomorrow… or the next day for that matter."
"Oh, she of little faith," he commented in a husky tone. "And this
from the lips of the woman who introduced me to the concept of
the `quickie' and so dramatically, I might add. Where was that
again?" He looked away dreamily, scratching his chin.
"The warehouse in Cleveland. Another 30 seconds and Sam would have
caught us!" She chuckled and yanked him by the arm, dragging him up
the street.
"What would you have done, shot him?" he inquired, casting her a
sideward glance. "Or, perhaps, me?"
"Wouldn't have been necessary to do either; he would have had a
coronary," she quipped as she picked up the pace. "Judging by the
look on his face when I decided to gently break the news of our,
ahem, `alliance,' I'd say he'd have been dead before he hit the
floor. Oh, by the way, I'm supposed to relay a message: if you ever
break my heart, he WILL break every bone in your body. Kinda sweet,
isn't it?"
"Hmmm…" he replied amusedly.
"Excuse me sir, ma'am?" spoke the sweet-faced young man approaching
them and wearing a 35mm, professional-grade camera around his neck.
"Yes?" Jarod responded amiably.
"You're the folks hosting that big gathering up at Ben Miller's
place, right?"
"Yes, we are," Parker replied with a smile and it suddenly occurred
to her that she was smiling at complete strangers a lot these days.
Weird…
"My name is Brian Smythe and I'm a staff photographer for the local
rag. I'm out here snapping pictures for tomorrow's edition – you
know, slice of life stuff, people out and about making holiday
preparations – and I'd really like to get a shot of the two of you.
If you don't mind my saying so, you certainly stand out in these
parts."
"I'm sure we do," Jarod remarked with a wry smile.
"I'm not criticizing. You provide an interesting visual counterpoint
to most of the people around here!" the kid said with a chuckle.
"Well?" Parker glanced inquiringly at Jarod. Even though he wasn't on
the lam anymore, he was still rather camera shy. Old habits, she
figured, and the fact that he'd spent 30 odd years under constant
surveillance. If he wasn't one hundred percent comfortable, she was
more than willing to tell the kid to take a hike.
"The whole world," he intoned with a shrug and a smile before turning
to address the photographer. "Where would you like us?"
"How about on that bench over there, in front of the art gallery with
the funky window display?" the young man answered, pointing, before
turning his attention to his camera and adding, "It's the one
interesting storefront in this town. The rest of the place is way
too `Mayberry' for me."
"`Andy Griffith Show,'" Parker whispered out of the corner of her
mouth and Jarod nodded as they positioned themselves on the
bench. "How's this?" she called out to the photographer.
"Perfect," the young man chirped as he focused on them. Definitely
the best looking couple he'd run across all day, hell, all year, he
thought as he snapped the photo. "Now stay put!" he added as he
produced a Polaroid camera from one of the pockets of his field
jacket.
"Here's one to take with you," he offered amiably as he took the
picture. Handing it over, he said, "I can't make any promises but I'd
be willing to bet that you'll make the cut for tomorrow's paper. My
editor loves it when I manage to get a shot of somebody under 70!"
With that, the young man bid them adieu and they were on their way.
Jarod took Parker's hand in his, holding the Polaroid at his side
with the other until the precise moment when he knew the image would
be clear. Lifting it to his face he stopped dead in his tracks and
grinned broadly.
"Well?" Parker turned and looked at him. "How did it come out?"
"Well, you're right; next time you should come to the barber with me."
"It can't be THAT bad or else you wouldn't be grinning like an idiot."
"You love me," he beamed. His tone evoked a mixture of awe and pride.
"Oh, really?" she challenged playfully. "And what makes you so sure,
genius?"
"Your smile," he replied, bearing an adoring smile of his own, then
repeated, "your smile."
# # # #
