The little AU: Summer Dreams: Sadness and Joy
The little AU: Summer Dreams: Sadness and Joy
slashfairy
G
~~
It's been some months now that Karl's been looking at the bottle of pills on the dresser. He packs them with him when he travels, but he's not renewed the prescription- not even opened this first bottle.
He does talk with the man who prescribed the meds, when there's time and need. There is, it turns out, a history of 'melancholy' in Karl's family, not talked about much, and more in the family who stayed in Europe than in the immigrants in New Zealand. Just knowing that, that others have had these days when it's all gone gray and nothing can make it go brighter, not even knowing how loved he is, helps him keep an even keel most of the time.
Work looks up. There are offers on the table, things that hold his interest a bit. Pathfinder finds a niche in the DVD market, and the fact that it's all live location work begins to get peoples' interest, which pleases him because it was damn hard work exhilarating though it may have been.
He takes a call, writes down a time and place, and hangs up. The mail in hand, and the dogs in the truck, he heads down into town to run errands and pick up some library books he'd requested. He's old-fashioned like that- rather use the library, if he can, than buy and have delivered. They're in, he's pleased to find; and it's a nice day, so he sits down on one of the comfortable old oak benches outside and starts to look through them, instead of just jumping back in the truck and running on to the next thing.
There are songbirds, he notices, in the trees in the park, and hollyhocks bright against the brick of the store across the square- the chemist, no, pharmacy. And there's the lovely woman again, who'd given him back a sunny day by sharing a sad smile with him back when this idea that he might be somewhat depressed was all new- she's walking out of the shop, slowly, but not bowed. She looks up- perhaps hearing the birds, too- and sees him. They smile at the same time at each other, not stopping in their days, but bouyed by the contact, and he watches her go on down the block and turn the corner into her own life and out of his, except in his mind's eye.
Later, on the beach, he finds a bit of drift wood that reminds him of how her hair lay on the side of her face when she turned and smiled. He brings it home and hangs it up on the outside of the studio where he can see it from a window, just to remind him that he's not alone, no matter what it feels like, sometimes.
That night, he tells his lovers the story of the woman, and each of them goes quiet for a moment, then has his say. The gist of it seems to be, Welcome home, Karl. To himself, to life. Welcome home.
slashfairy
G
~~
It's been some months now that Karl's been looking at the bottle of pills on the dresser. He packs them with him when he travels, but he's not renewed the prescription- not even opened this first bottle.
He does talk with the man who prescribed the meds, when there's time and need. There is, it turns out, a history of 'melancholy' in Karl's family, not talked about much, and more in the family who stayed in Europe than in the immigrants in New Zealand. Just knowing that, that others have had these days when it's all gone gray and nothing can make it go brighter, not even knowing how loved he is, helps him keep an even keel most of the time.
Work looks up. There are offers on the table, things that hold his interest a bit. Pathfinder finds a niche in the DVD market, and the fact that it's all live location work begins to get peoples' interest, which pleases him because it was damn hard work exhilarating though it may have been.
He takes a call, writes down a time and place, and hangs up. The mail in hand, and the dogs in the truck, he heads down into town to run errands and pick up some library books he'd requested. He's old-fashioned like that- rather use the library, if he can, than buy and have delivered. They're in, he's pleased to find; and it's a nice day, so he sits down on one of the comfortable old oak benches outside and starts to look through them, instead of just jumping back in the truck and running on to the next thing.
There are songbirds, he notices, in the trees in the park, and hollyhocks bright against the brick of the store across the square- the chemist, no, pharmacy. And there's the lovely woman again, who'd given him back a sunny day by sharing a sad smile with him back when this idea that he might be somewhat depressed was all new- she's walking out of the shop, slowly, but not bowed. She looks up- perhaps hearing the birds, too- and sees him. They smile at the same time at each other, not stopping in their days, but bouyed by the contact, and he watches her go on down the block and turn the corner into her own life and out of his, except in his mind's eye.
Later, on the beach, he finds a bit of drift wood that reminds him of how her hair lay on the side of her face when she turned and smiled. He brings it home and hangs it up on the outside of the studio where he can see it from a window, just to remind him that he's not alone, no matter what it feels like, sometimes.
That night, he tells his lovers the story of the woman, and each of them goes quiet for a moment, then has his say. The gist of it seems to be, Welcome home, Karl. To himself, to life. Welcome home.