The little AU: Winter Woven Fine: Trajectory
The little AU: Winter Woven Fine: Trajectory
slashfairy
~~
He no longer feels as though he'd been shot from a cannon aimed at the moon, sailing at some tremendous velocity through the sky as the air gets colder and thinner and the stars brighter until they're hidden behind the enlarging face of the moon, inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circl'd orb, someplace you might hit without noticing, might aim for without seeing clearly.
He lets his hair grow out until the extensions aren't necessary, and travels in his rock-star braces, and buys the biggest, baddest bike he can and pays a carbon offset for it and wonders at himself, and what Harry would say about it, and gets his girl and their bags and runs through the airport holding hands and smiling just like any ordinary fellow would who's found himself back on earth after an unplanned moon launch he'd barely survived.
He knows they watch, the piranha in the water, their flashes glinting like rows of sharp teeth. He goes where he will though, doesn't court them by wading carelessly in their streams but doesn't avoid living, either. He calls his men, he emails, he wraps one arm around her waist while he texts them with the other hand, and he smiles when she laughs at his big heart and his adventurous spirit, and feels the flight computer correct itself minutely with each bit of love they give him.
One day he'll be apple cheeked like Sonia and craggy like Colin, and with luck he'll have been effective in his own way as Harry was in his, and he'll have his men to help him raise his children, and she'll let them be there, booster rockets, guidance modules, fellow travelers, the ones who keep him steady on this mad flight of living.
previously: Arcs and Pauses
next: Rush
slashfairy
~~
He no longer feels as though he'd been shot from a cannon aimed at the moon, sailing at some tremendous velocity through the sky as the air gets colder and thinner and the stars brighter until they're hidden behind the enlarging face of the moon, inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circl'd orb, someplace you might hit without noticing, might aim for without seeing clearly.
He lets his hair grow out until the extensions aren't necessary, and travels in his rock-star braces, and buys the biggest, baddest bike he can and pays a carbon offset for it and wonders at himself, and what Harry would say about it, and gets his girl and their bags and runs through the airport holding hands and smiling just like any ordinary fellow would who's found himself back on earth after an unplanned moon launch he'd barely survived.
He knows they watch, the piranha in the water, their flashes glinting like rows of sharp teeth. He goes where he will though, doesn't court them by wading carelessly in their streams but doesn't avoid living, either. He calls his men, he emails, he wraps one arm around her waist while he texts them with the other hand, and he smiles when she laughs at his big heart and his adventurous spirit, and feels the flight computer correct itself minutely with each bit of love they give him.
One day he'll be apple cheeked like Sonia and craggy like Colin, and with luck he'll have been effective in his own way as Harry was in his, and he'll have his men to help him raise his children, and she'll let them be there, booster rockets, guidance modules, fellow travelers, the ones who keep him steady on this mad flight of living.
previously: Arcs and Pauses
next: Rush