| Title: Summer Breeze Series: Boys On Film Author: Jo Pairing: Harry Sinclair/Karl Urban Rating: PG Summary: Sunshine, a breeze, and a hammock Disclaimer: This so never happened. Well, it might have, but they didn't see fit to tell me about it. Or show me the video. Which is a shame, really. Notes: Haven't written anything in this series in, literally, ages, so I was a bit shocked when this idea came out of nowhere. Bit of a different look at this particular set of characters.
After all, it's the only reason that you -- and you alone -- are invited to their house. Their private sanctuary. And the comfortable way they still act around you tells you that the years haven't changed a thing. Not between the three of you, that is. A childish shriek, full of sunshine and laughter, carries on the breeze, and you take a moment to reflect on the one thing that has changed. You wonder if it's still a painful point in their history, the brief period of discord that led to the birth of the happy, healthy child hiding in the bushes. You wonder, but you won't ask. You never do. Questions aren't the way of things between you and them. It doesn't work like that. Instead, you watch him and smile, savoring the bright innocence of the very young. You're so focused on the dark-haired imp being stalked by his father that it startles you when Harry offers a beer. You take it with a murmured thank you and return to the scenario playing out across the yard just in time to see Karl, with a shout and a swoop, catch the fleeing boy. Gales of laughter ring out as Hunter wraps small arms around Karl's neck and delivers what is clearly a loud, wet kiss to a stubbled cheek. More giggling and squirming and kissing, then Hunter wriggles out of Karl's arms to scamper across the yard. Straight into Harry's arms. You hear one of them -- Karl, you think -- murmur something about naptime. Surprisingly, Hunter doesn't protest, even though it's natural for five year olds to protest a nap. They're too big, or so they think. But then you look at the dark head that rests on Harry's shoulder, look into the dark eyes so like Karl's, and they're drooping. And this…this soft, quiet moment of purity and wonder deserves to be preserved. Something in it speaks to you. So you silently lift the camera, press the button, listen to the soft whirr as it starts to record. This is the point you've waited for all afternoon. That one special instance that says yes, here I am, capture me. And you know, just like you always do. And they know you know, which is why they trust you. Just like they always have. You watch, your world reduced to a tiny square, as Harry easily totes Hunter to the hammock. The warm breeze ruffles your hair, the hot sun beats down on your shoulders, and it all coalesces into something that's so perfect, so right, that it shines like exquisite crystal. It's so bright, so beautiful, that it hurts to look at it. But you can't look away, because that would be wrong in a way you can't even begin to describe. So you continue to watch, relishing the pain that isn't quite insulated by the distance the camera places between you and the hammock. The camera captures each movement as Harry settles into the hammock, arranges the small body against his side. So natural, you think. So beautiful. Hunter curls up, long lashes fluttering as he fights sleep. Then Karl joins them, and you see the care, the gentleness, with which he eases himself onto the netting so as not to disturb or disrupt the precious things already there. Hunter smiles, small thumb finding its way to his mouth, as Karl curls around them. His denim-clad legs tangle with Harry's, fingers twisting and twining together to form a small canopy of protection over the small, fragile life sheltered between them. And the camera continues to record, etching every single second on the small tape in its depths. They'll like this one. You know. What you don't know is how much time passes as you sit there, grass tickling your bare feet, sun crisping the tops of your ears. So you're surprised when you lift your head from the viewfinder to see just how far that sun has traveled across the sky. You're not surprised to see, when your gaze shifts, that Karl is also asleep. Only Harry remains awake, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and dark as they watch you. You wonder how long he's been watching, but you know it doesn't matter when a faint smile crosses his face and he closes his eyes. You stand, quiet as the breeze that stirs dark hair and gently sways the hammock, and make your way into the house. A minute, then two, and the tape is resting on the kitchen table, today's date written along the edge in your neat handwriting. It will occupy a special place in their video collection, right beside the others that you made for them what seems a lifetime ago. You pause, just for a moment, to let your eyes touch each one of those tapes. There are so many more than you remembered. Yet…it feels as if there should be more. Perhaps, one day, there will be. Perhaps.
|