one good memory
Title: one good memory
Author: Mary (stillxmyxheart)
Rating: G
Genre: AU, Fluff, Romance
Word Count: 916
Characters: Rose/Ten
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize? Ain't mine.
Summary: She doesn't have a single good memory of a beach. He decides to change that.
A/N: Fic #6 for Challenge 18, "AU", at then_theres_us... I swear I thought I was done with the last one, but apparently I had one more in me XD
The sign atop the abandoned motel says Paradise in big letters and Rose frowns up at it.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asks crankily, pulling her sleeves down over her hands and crossing over arms over her chest. "You know I hate beaches."
John emerges from the back of their little blue car, adjusting the camera around his neck, and smiles at Rose.
"Don't you like spending time with me?"
"You know I do, but here?" Rose crinkles her nose distastefully and then takes a closer look at the camera around John's neck.
"Johnny, please say you didn't buy a new camera," she says with a look of ‘what am I going to do with you?' written all over her face.
"Top of the line, Rosie, top of the line!"
"We can't afford these kinds of things," Rose admonishes. "And don't call me Rosie," she adds, glaring at him as he comes to stand beside her.
"Then don't call me Johnny."
She sticks her tongue out at him and he nudges her with his arm.
"It'll be worth it in the end, Rose, I know it will. One of these days I'll sell the right picture and it'll all be worth it."
"I sure hope so," she says as they begin to walk hand-in-hand towards the beach.
They emerge around the corner of the motel, stepping onto the sand and John gently releases Rose's hand as he walks forward, camera trained on the water.
"This is an awful beach, John," Rose says, her arms once again crossed tightly over her chest.
"You say that about all beaches," he replies, looking over at her. "I don't get what you have against them. Just because your mother forgot you that one time..."
"I was seven!" Rose exclaims indignantly.
"She came back," John says, laughing.
"That's not the point." Rose frowns. "I just don't like beaches. Even when they're full of people, they feel so lonely. And this one really is awful. It's deserted and cold and it looks like it's going to rain."
"Just a few more pictures," John calls, turning his attention back to the water.
Rose sighs, shivering against the wind coming off the ocean and tucking an errant bit of hair behind her ear. She doesn't have good memories of beaches. Broken bones and broken hearts litter the beaches of her past, though fortunately none ever occurred at the same time.
She watches John as he crouches on the sand, the tail of his long brown overcoat spread on the sand behind him, his shoes and the bottoms of his pants getting wet as he takes pictures of the waves coming in, their foamy caps breaking on the sand and accumulating until the next big wave comes to wash it all away.
She smiles vaguely, marveling that his enthusiasm could be infectious even here on this frozen beach where her nose and ears have gone numb and her fingers are well on their way. She loves his passion for what he does and is confident that they will one day see the fruits of his labor.
He stands and calls her over as she feels the first drops of rain from the sky. She cringes against the cold water on her face as she walks over to him.
"We should go, it's starting to rain."
"In a minute," he says, "I want you to see."
He goes through the pictures he took, holding the camera so Rose can see the digital display.
"They're fantastic, as always," she says, giving his arm a squeeze.
He turns toward her and lets the camera fall against his chest as he places his hands on Rose's waist.
"This isn't why I brought you here today," he says, smiling down at her. "This isn't even my camera, it's Jack's. He let me borrow it."
Rose stares up at him curiously. "So why did you bring me here?"
"Because if you have just one good memory of a beach, I want it to be today, on this beach."
Rose frowns, confused, and is about to speak when she feels his hand between them. She looks down and gasps at the ring held between his fingers.
The picture that finally sells is from this day at the beach, but it is not of the abandoned motel or the waves or the sky or even the spectacular waterspout that touched down just after they dashed back to their car.
It is of Rose staring down at the ring held between her fingers, the wind tossing her hair around her head. It is of the tears on her cheeks and the beginning of the smile that slowly spread across her face just before she slipped the ring onto her finger and threw her arms around his neck, whispering ‘yes' over and over in his ear.
While the buyer fills out the check he asks if the picture has a name. John smiles and nods, pointing to the back of the photo.
The buyer flips the photo and the corner of his mouth lifts in a knowing smile as he quickly puts the pieces together in his mind. He congratulates John before he leaves and John thanks him, watching him walk out the door with a copy of John's future under his arm.
It's not long after that there is an exhibition of John's photography with the picture of Rose as the centerpiece.
The small tag beside it reads simply: one good memory.
Author: Mary (stillxmyxheart)
Rating: G
Genre: AU, Fluff, Romance
Word Count: 916
Characters: Rose/Ten
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize? Ain't mine.
Summary: She doesn't have a single good memory of a beach. He decides to change that.
A/N: Fic #6 for Challenge 18, "AU", at then_theres_us... I swear I thought I was done with the last one, but apparently I had one more in me XD
The sign atop the abandoned motel says Paradise in big letters and Rose frowns up at it.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asks crankily, pulling her sleeves down over her hands and crossing over arms over her chest. "You know I hate beaches."
John emerges from the back of their little blue car, adjusting the camera around his neck, and smiles at Rose.
"Don't you like spending time with me?"
"You know I do, but here?" Rose crinkles her nose distastefully and then takes a closer look at the camera around John's neck.
"Johnny, please say you didn't buy a new camera," she says with a look of ‘what am I going to do with you?' written all over her face.
"Top of the line, Rosie, top of the line!"
"We can't afford these kinds of things," Rose admonishes. "And don't call me Rosie," she adds, glaring at him as he comes to stand beside her.
"Then don't call me Johnny."
She sticks her tongue out at him and he nudges her with his arm.
"It'll be worth it in the end, Rose, I know it will. One of these days I'll sell the right picture and it'll all be worth it."
"I sure hope so," she says as they begin to walk hand-in-hand towards the beach.
They emerge around the corner of the motel, stepping onto the sand and John gently releases Rose's hand as he walks forward, camera trained on the water.
"This is an awful beach, John," Rose says, her arms once again crossed tightly over her chest.
"You say that about all beaches," he replies, looking over at her. "I don't get what you have against them. Just because your mother forgot you that one time..."
"I was seven!" Rose exclaims indignantly.
"She came back," John says, laughing.
"That's not the point." Rose frowns. "I just don't like beaches. Even when they're full of people, they feel so lonely. And this one really is awful. It's deserted and cold and it looks like it's going to rain."
"Just a few more pictures," John calls, turning his attention back to the water.
Rose sighs, shivering against the wind coming off the ocean and tucking an errant bit of hair behind her ear. She doesn't have good memories of beaches. Broken bones and broken hearts litter the beaches of her past, though fortunately none ever occurred at the same time.
She watches John as he crouches on the sand, the tail of his long brown overcoat spread on the sand behind him, his shoes and the bottoms of his pants getting wet as he takes pictures of the waves coming in, their foamy caps breaking on the sand and accumulating until the next big wave comes to wash it all away.
She smiles vaguely, marveling that his enthusiasm could be infectious even here on this frozen beach where her nose and ears have gone numb and her fingers are well on their way. She loves his passion for what he does and is confident that they will one day see the fruits of his labor.
He stands and calls her over as she feels the first drops of rain from the sky. She cringes against the cold water on her face as she walks over to him.
"We should go, it's starting to rain."
"In a minute," he says, "I want you to see."
He goes through the pictures he took, holding the camera so Rose can see the digital display.
"They're fantastic, as always," she says, giving his arm a squeeze.
He turns toward her and lets the camera fall against his chest as he places his hands on Rose's waist.
"This isn't why I brought you here today," he says, smiling down at her. "This isn't even my camera, it's Jack's. He let me borrow it."
Rose stares up at him curiously. "So why did you bring me here?"
"Because if you have just one good memory of a beach, I want it to be today, on this beach."
Rose frowns, confused, and is about to speak when she feels his hand between them. She looks down and gasps at the ring held between his fingers.
The picture that finally sells is from this day at the beach, but it is not of the abandoned motel or the waves or the sky or even the spectacular waterspout that touched down just after they dashed back to their car.
It is of Rose staring down at the ring held between her fingers, the wind tossing her hair around her head. It is of the tears on her cheeks and the beginning of the smile that slowly spread across her face just before she slipped the ring onto her finger and threw her arms around his neck, whispering ‘yes' over and over in his ear.
While the buyer fills out the check he asks if the picture has a name. John smiles and nods, pointing to the back of the photo.
The buyer flips the photo and the corner of his mouth lifts in a knowing smile as he quickly puts the pieces together in his mind. He congratulates John before he leaves and John thanks him, watching him walk out the door with a copy of John's future under his arm.
It's not long after that there is an exhibition of John's photography with the picture of Rose as the centerpiece.
The small tag beside it reads simply: one good memory.