Family Album - Michael/Sara (PG)
Title: Family Album (1/1)
Pairing: Michael/Sara, mentions of Lincoln and LJ
Genre: Het, AU
Length: 1,449 words
Rating: PG
Summary:The camera never lies.
Author's Note:For the incomparable smirky_turkey, who has shared so much of her genius with us and created beautiful things to keep us from going off the rails after a certain incident last October. Happy, happy birthday smirky_turkey, and I hope you find something to like about this little ficlet which is set in the Full Circle universe. I was inspired by a particular photograph you may find familiar. ETA: I totally forgot to say that wrldpossiblity actually put this picture in my head today and I am very grateful to her for it. *g*
~*~
If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.
~ Orson Wells
She’s running out the door as he arrives home, a plastic shopping bag dangling from his fingers, a wide smile on his face. “I found it.”
Distracted as she is by her usual ritual of checking she has everything she needs - car keys, purse, money, ID - it takes her a moment to remember the discussion they’d had earlier that day about buying a new camera. “You got the one you wanted?”
He nods, his eyes gleaming as he pulls it out of the bag to show her. She was supposed to be on her way to work five minutes ago, but she admires his new toy, nodding as he talks about pixels and increased memory. “And it’s loaded and ready to go,” he finishes in a coaxing tone, eyeing her in an alarmingly speculative fashion, as though already factoring in the lighting and the distance between himself and his subject.
“Wonderful.” Putting her hand on his chest, she stands on her toes and presses a firm kiss to his mouth. “You can tell me more about it tonight.”
For the first time, he seems to notice she’s dressed for work, and his disappointment is so comically obvious she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from chuckling. “They called you in?”
“I’m afraid so.” She’d been looking forward to this day off all week, but there’s no arguing with the gastric complaint that’s currently making the rounds of the staff. “They had to send Louisa home,” she mutters as she shoves a banana and a bottle of water into her purse. “She had to keep going to the bathroom in between patients to throw up.” He gives her a pained look, and she tosses him an apologetic smile. “Sorry.” Swinging her purse over her shoulder, she starts for the front door. “If I’m not home by nine, please come and break me out.”
His disappointed expression vanishes, replaced by a slow grin that makes her want to dump the purse and turn off her phone and feign a medical condition of her own. “Consider it done.”
~*~
It’s after midnight by the time she makes it home. Shutting and locking the front door behind her, she leans against it and closes her eyes for a moment, absorbing the tranquility of utter silence. Louisa, she decides, definitely owes her big time.
The house is still and dark, Michael obviously having given up waiting for her and gone to bed. In the refrigerator she finds a foil-covered plate of grilled chicken and vegetables, complete with a yellow post-it note with the words EAT ME affixed to the silver wrapping. Smiling, she shuts the refrigerator door. She’ll hear about it in the morning, she’s sure, but right now she’s too tired for anything more than a cup of tea.
As she waits for the kettle to boil, she yawns loudly, enjoying the simple luxury of not having to stifle it or politely cover her mouth with her hand. Her eyes watering, she tugs her hair free of its loose ponytail, dropping the elastic band onto the kitchen counter and rubbing her fingers up the back of her neck, stretching her tired muscles. She spots Michael’s new toy at the same time the kettle clicks off, and it’s the camera she reaches for, rather than the teabags.
She may not be a camera aficionado, but it doesn’t take her long to work out the mechanics of scrolling through the images. A moment later, she’s sitting at the kitchen table, the kettle forgotten, smiling as she studies the first batch of images Michael has chosen to record with his new camera.
Lincoln and Michael in what’s obviously a self-portrait, both of them laughing so hard their eyes are almost closed, Lincoln sticking out his tongue at the camera, Michael’s free hand holding a beer high as if poised to pour it over his brother’s head.
Lincoln and LJ trudging along the sand, weighed down by fishing gear, the late afternoon sunlight illuminating their smiling faces as they preen for the camera.
LJ standing next to the Rambler, his arms sweeping across his body towards the car as though he’s a spokesmodel at a car show, his grin reaching from ear to ear.
The brilliance of the sunset, the oranges and the blues bleeding into each other at the edge of the horizon.
Close ups of the scarlet flowers that dot the native bushes growing wild at the side of the house, the tiniest details of petals and stems lovingly captured.
Photograph after photograph, each of them cataloguing the world around them, the life they’ve spent the last few months building together. The only thing missing, she realises with a pang, is her.
Flicking off the few lights Michael had left on for her, she quickly washes up and cleans her teeth, then slides into a warm bed beside an even warmer body. Sliding her arm around his waist, she fits her body around his, pressing a kiss to the smooth, blank patch of skin on his shoulder. “Hi.”
He shifts against her, stretching out his long legs, then rolls onto his back. In the darkness, she hears him yawn. “You made it over the wall okay, then?”
“I did.”
“Good,” he murmurs thickly as he wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer until her head is tucked beneath his chin. He seems to fall asleep again in a matter of seconds, and she wriggles carefully against him, seeking the most comfortable combination of pillow placement and entanglement. The last thing she remembers thinking is that she must ask him about his photographs in the morning.
~*~
“Oh, Michael, don’t.” She knows she sounds like the most clichéd of protesting females, but she literally just rolled out of bed. “I look awful.”
Taking the mug of coffee from her hand, he puts it on the table, his eyes smiling as he studies her. “You look beautiful.”
“You’re biased.”
“Of course I am.” He weighs his new camera in his hand, and the early morning sunlight glints off the silver casing. “That doesn’t stop it from being true.”
She capitulates, recognising the determined set of his jaw and the faint flutter of pleasure that stirs inside her at his words. She tightens the belt on her robe, runs her hands through her hair, then issues an edict of her own. “You have to be in it, too, in that case.”
His eyes light up, no doubt because she’s just handed him an excuse to play with the timer. “Good idea.”
She watches him as he sets the camera up - he eventually decides a stack of dog-eared paperbacks on the wooden table is a good enough base - smiling at the nimble surety of his fingers, the way his bright gaze narrows and widens as he considers the logistics of his task. “I really liked all the shots you took yesterday.”
He glances up at her, a faintly shy expression creeping cross his face. “Thank you.”
Finally satisfied with the placement of the camera, he sets the timer and makes his way to where she’s standing against the railing of the deck. She holds out one arm, expecting him to slide in next to her, but instead he slips behind her and wraps his arms around her, pulling her back against him, his face close to hers. “Smile for the birdie,” he whispers in her ear, making her smile even as the brush of his whiskered chin sends a ripple of goosebumps skittering across her skin.
The camera clicks and whirrs, then falls silent. His arms tighten around her, then she feels the brush of his lips on her temple. “Thank you.”
Putting her hands over his, she twists her body to one side, pulling back so she can see his face. “What for?”
“I spent yesterday taking photographs of everything I love about being here in this place,” he says quietly, his eyes glowing as he studies her face. “I was missing a shot.”
“Well, maybe I’ll let you take some more when I’m properly dressed,” she shoots back, her pulse worryingly rapid for this time of the morning, and he grins, mischief dancing in his eyes.
“Define properly.”
Deciding not to dignify his request with an answer, she simply kisses him, tasting coffee and toothpaste, her hands curling into the softness of his bathrobe. A second later she hears the click and whirr of the camera, and feels his mouth curve into a smile against hers. “Multiple timer,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down her back, gathering her closer. “Want to try for third time lucky?”
~*~
Pairing: Michael/Sara, mentions of Lincoln and LJ
Genre: Het, AU
Length: 1,449 words
Rating: PG
Summary:The camera never lies.
Author's Note:For the incomparable smirky_turkey, who has shared so much of her genius with us and created beautiful things to keep us from going off the rails after a certain incident last October. Happy, happy birthday smirky_turkey, and I hope you find something to like about this little ficlet which is set in the Full Circle universe. I was inspired by a particular photograph you may find familiar. ETA: I totally forgot to say that wrldpossiblity actually put this picture in my head today and I am very grateful to her for it. *g*
~*~
If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.
~ Orson Wells
She’s running out the door as he arrives home, a plastic shopping bag dangling from his fingers, a wide smile on his face. “I found it.”
Distracted as she is by her usual ritual of checking she has everything she needs - car keys, purse, money, ID - it takes her a moment to remember the discussion they’d had earlier that day about buying a new camera. “You got the one you wanted?”
He nods, his eyes gleaming as he pulls it out of the bag to show her. She was supposed to be on her way to work five minutes ago, but she admires his new toy, nodding as he talks about pixels and increased memory. “And it’s loaded and ready to go,” he finishes in a coaxing tone, eyeing her in an alarmingly speculative fashion, as though already factoring in the lighting and the distance between himself and his subject.
“Wonderful.” Putting her hand on his chest, she stands on her toes and presses a firm kiss to his mouth. “You can tell me more about it tonight.”
For the first time, he seems to notice she’s dressed for work, and his disappointment is so comically obvious she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from chuckling. “They called you in?”
“I’m afraid so.” She’d been looking forward to this day off all week, but there’s no arguing with the gastric complaint that’s currently making the rounds of the staff. “They had to send Louisa home,” she mutters as she shoves a banana and a bottle of water into her purse. “She had to keep going to the bathroom in between patients to throw up.” He gives her a pained look, and she tosses him an apologetic smile. “Sorry.” Swinging her purse over her shoulder, she starts for the front door. “If I’m not home by nine, please come and break me out.”
His disappointed expression vanishes, replaced by a slow grin that makes her want to dump the purse and turn off her phone and feign a medical condition of her own. “Consider it done.”
~*~
It’s after midnight by the time she makes it home. Shutting and locking the front door behind her, she leans against it and closes her eyes for a moment, absorbing the tranquility of utter silence. Louisa, she decides, definitely owes her big time.
The house is still and dark, Michael obviously having given up waiting for her and gone to bed. In the refrigerator she finds a foil-covered plate of grilled chicken and vegetables, complete with a yellow post-it note with the words EAT ME affixed to the silver wrapping. Smiling, she shuts the refrigerator door. She’ll hear about it in the morning, she’s sure, but right now she’s too tired for anything more than a cup of tea.
As she waits for the kettle to boil, she yawns loudly, enjoying the simple luxury of not having to stifle it or politely cover her mouth with her hand. Her eyes watering, she tugs her hair free of its loose ponytail, dropping the elastic band onto the kitchen counter and rubbing her fingers up the back of her neck, stretching her tired muscles. She spots Michael’s new toy at the same time the kettle clicks off, and it’s the camera she reaches for, rather than the teabags.
She may not be a camera aficionado, but it doesn’t take her long to work out the mechanics of scrolling through the images. A moment later, she’s sitting at the kitchen table, the kettle forgotten, smiling as she studies the first batch of images Michael has chosen to record with his new camera.
Lincoln and Michael in what’s obviously a self-portrait, both of them laughing so hard their eyes are almost closed, Lincoln sticking out his tongue at the camera, Michael’s free hand holding a beer high as if poised to pour it over his brother’s head.
Lincoln and LJ trudging along the sand, weighed down by fishing gear, the late afternoon sunlight illuminating their smiling faces as they preen for the camera.
LJ standing next to the Rambler, his arms sweeping across his body towards the car as though he’s a spokesmodel at a car show, his grin reaching from ear to ear.
The brilliance of the sunset, the oranges and the blues bleeding into each other at the edge of the horizon.
Close ups of the scarlet flowers that dot the native bushes growing wild at the side of the house, the tiniest details of petals and stems lovingly captured.
Photograph after photograph, each of them cataloguing the world around them, the life they’ve spent the last few months building together. The only thing missing, she realises with a pang, is her.
Flicking off the few lights Michael had left on for her, she quickly washes up and cleans her teeth, then slides into a warm bed beside an even warmer body. Sliding her arm around his waist, she fits her body around his, pressing a kiss to the smooth, blank patch of skin on his shoulder. “Hi.”
He shifts against her, stretching out his long legs, then rolls onto his back. In the darkness, she hears him yawn. “You made it over the wall okay, then?”
“I did.”
“Good,” he murmurs thickly as he wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer until her head is tucked beneath his chin. He seems to fall asleep again in a matter of seconds, and she wriggles carefully against him, seeking the most comfortable combination of pillow placement and entanglement. The last thing she remembers thinking is that she must ask him about his photographs in the morning.
~*~
“Oh, Michael, don’t.” She knows she sounds like the most clichéd of protesting females, but she literally just rolled out of bed. “I look awful.”
Taking the mug of coffee from her hand, he puts it on the table, his eyes smiling as he studies her. “You look beautiful.”
“You’re biased.”
“Of course I am.” He weighs his new camera in his hand, and the early morning sunlight glints off the silver casing. “That doesn’t stop it from being true.”
She capitulates, recognising the determined set of his jaw and the faint flutter of pleasure that stirs inside her at his words. She tightens the belt on her robe, runs her hands through her hair, then issues an edict of her own. “You have to be in it, too, in that case.”
His eyes light up, no doubt because she’s just handed him an excuse to play with the timer. “Good idea.”
She watches him as he sets the camera up - he eventually decides a stack of dog-eared paperbacks on the wooden table is a good enough base - smiling at the nimble surety of his fingers, the way his bright gaze narrows and widens as he considers the logistics of his task. “I really liked all the shots you took yesterday.”
He glances up at her, a faintly shy expression creeping cross his face. “Thank you.”
Finally satisfied with the placement of the camera, he sets the timer and makes his way to where she’s standing against the railing of the deck. She holds out one arm, expecting him to slide in next to her, but instead he slips behind her and wraps his arms around her, pulling her back against him, his face close to hers. “Smile for the birdie,” he whispers in her ear, making her smile even as the brush of his whiskered chin sends a ripple of goosebumps skittering across her skin.
The camera clicks and whirrs, then falls silent. His arms tighten around her, then she feels the brush of his lips on her temple. “Thank you.”
Putting her hands over his, she twists her body to one side, pulling back so she can see his face. “What for?”
“I spent yesterday taking photographs of everything I love about being here in this place,” he says quietly, his eyes glowing as he studies her face. “I was missing a shot.”
“Well, maybe I’ll let you take some more when I’m properly dressed,” she shoots back, her pulse worryingly rapid for this time of the morning, and he grins, mischief dancing in his eyes.
“Define properly.”
Deciding not to dignify his request with an answer, she simply kisses him, tasting coffee and toothpaste, her hands curling into the softness of his bathrobe. A second later she hears the click and whirr of the camera, and feels his mouth curve into a smile against hers. “Multiple timer,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down her back, gathering her closer. “Want to try for third time lucky?”
~*~