Disclaimer: I don't own  'em... never did... never will... will never earn a penny... no infringement intended... please don't sue me... life is complicated enough these days.

Note: It is Easter Weekend 2002 and the whole family is down to visit (gasp!). I've got a wicked cold or, the way I feel, perhaps it's Dengue Fever or something! So far we've experienced a flat tire and a DEFCON FIVE plumbing emergency - THANK GOD FOR HOME DEPOT! Still, I'm glad they're here. (I can say that now that they're all asleep!) Anyway, the house is finally quiet, the leftovers are put away, the dishwasher is loaded... and I finally took a look at MICKEY'S (gorgeous, IMHO) PICTURE CHALLENGE. The concepts of J/MP and family gatherings sort of melded in my virus-addled brain and the following resulted...

 

Warning: This trifle is rated PG for language and innuendo (it's ME after all!) but it should also rate NS for NAUSEATINGLY SWEET! I just couldn't help it: that picture just got me. They're each glorious enough on their own; together they're almost blinding!

 

 

 

 

Every Picture... Well, You know...

By Ginger

 

 

 

 

"Relax, we have all afternoon," he said soothingly as he strove to keep pace with her as she charged up Main Street.

 

"Like hell we do! Do you know how many people we have to feed? I can't believe I let you talk me into this. I must be out of my fucking mind! I can already smell disaster: your family giving me the hairy eyeball; your mother looking at me and sighing regretfully; all of them picturing what it would be like if only you had settled down with a pretty, sweet young thing."

 

"That's nonsense and you know it."

 

"No, I don't know it! The 'Manson Family' probably enjoyed more peaceful holidays!"

 

"I very much doubt that the 'Manson Family' ever..." She turned and shot him a quick, withering glare. He gulped then muttered, "Never mind..."

 

"This is a mistake. I should have come up here by myself, had a quiet holiday with Ben, and you should have gone to spend it with your family. They shouldn't be forced to spend their first Thanksgiving together as a family in over thirty years, and the first EVER in Emily and Ethan's lifetimes, in MY presence... the woman who..."

 

"I love and makes me very happy." He slowed to a stop and, reaching out to grasp her hand, forced her to stop and look at him. Cupping her cheek, he instructed warmly,

 

"Breathe."

 

She closed her eyes and sighed, relaxing into his touch, a feature of her everyday life now so fundamental to both her happiness and her sanity that she wondered how she'd ever managed to survive so long without it.

 

"It's so easy when it's just the two of us, when we're alone," she remarked softly as he pulled her into his arms. "Why should we press our luck?"

 

"Because it's no longer necessary to sneak around like we're doing something wrong," he replied with a smile as he rested his chin on her head and rocked her gently in his arms. "I want the whole world to see what we are, starting with the people most important to us. We've done just fine around Ben who, you will note, remarked at breakfast that he's known from the beginning that it, that WE, should be this way. As for my mother, well, she's more excited about finally getting to meet you than she is about seeing me again! She wants to have a long talk with you."

 

"She does?" She looked up at him, something resembling blind terror flashing across her face. He chuckled.

 

"Relax," he whispered then pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "I think she wants to discuss her relationship with your mother. She said there are things she'd like to share with you but wouldn't elaborate. Apparently, it's for your ears only."

 

"I kept her from you..." she muttered then looked down. "I don't deserve this... I don't deserve y..."

 

"Hey..." he cut in, tilting her chin up so her eyes met his. "Not another word like that or else. Do you WANT me to hurt you?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked.

 

"Stop that!" she growled, then pulled him into a passionate kiss, eliciting a moan of surprise and delight from him. Pulling away she added breathlessly, "You KNOW what that look does to me and there'll be no 'playtime' today... or tomorrow... or the next day for that matter."

 

"Oh, she of little faith," he commented in a husky tone. "And this from the lips of the woman who introduced me to the concept of the 'quickie' and so dramatically, I might add. Where was that again?" He looked away dreamily, scratching his chin.

 

"The warehouse in Cleveland. Another 30 seconds and Sam would have caught us!" She chuckled and yanked him by the arm, dragging him up the street.

 

"What would you have done, shot him?" he inquired, casting her a sideward glance. "Or, perhaps, me?"

 

"Wouldn't have been necessary to do either; he would have had a coronary," she quipped as she picked up the pace. "Judging by the look on his face when I decided to gently break the news of our, ahem, 'alliance,' I'd say he'd have been dead before he hit the floor. Oh, by the way, I'm supposed to relay a message: if you ever break my heart, he WILL break every bone in your body. Kinda sweet, isn't it?"

 

"Hmmm..." he replied amusedly.

 

"Excuse me sir, ma'am?" spoke the sweet-faced young man approaching them and wearing a 35mm, professional-grade camera around his neck.

 

"Yes?" Jarod responded amiably.

 

"You're the folks hosting that big gathering up at Ben Miller's place, right?"

 

"Yes, we are," Parker replied with a smile and it suddenly occurred to her that she was smiling at complete strangers a lot these days. Weird...

 

"My name is Brian Smythe and I'm a staff photographer for the local rag. I'm out here snapping pictures for tomorrow's edition - you know, slice of life stuff, people out and about making holiday preparations - and I'd really like to get a shot of the two of you. If you don't mind my saying so, you certainly stand out in these parts."

 

"I'm sure we do," Jarod remarked with a wry smile.

 

"I'm not criticizing. You provide an interesting visual counterpoint to most of the people around here!" the kid said with a chuckle.

 

"Well?" Parker glanced inquiringly at Jarod. Even though he wasn't on the lam anymore, he was still rather camera shy. Old habits, she figured, and the fact that he'd spent 30 odd years under constant surveillance. If he wasn't one hundred percent comfortable, she was more than willing to tell the kid to take a hike.

 

"The whole world," he intoned with a shrug and a smile before turning to address the photographer. "Where would you like us?"

 

"How about on that bench over there, in front of the art gallery with the funky window display?" the young man answered, pointing, before turning his attention to his camera and adding, "It's the one interesting storefront in this town. The rest of the place is way too 'Mayberry' for me."

 

"'Andy Griffith Show,'" Parker whispered out of the corner of her mouth and Jarod nodded as they positioned themselves on the bench. "How's this?" she called out to the photographer.

 

"Perfect," the young man chirped as he focused on them. Definitely the best looking couple he'd run across all day, hell, all year, he thought as he snapped the photo. "Now stay put!" he added as he produced a Polaroid camera from one of the pockets of his field jacket.

 

"Here's one to take with you," he offered amiably as he took the picture. Handing it over, he said, "I can't make any promises but I'd be willing to bet that you'll make the cut for tomorrow's paper. My editor loves it when I manage to get a shot of somebody under 70!"

 

With that, the young man bid them adieu and they were on their way. Jarod took Parker's hand in his, holding the Polaroid at his side with the other until the precise moment when he knew the image would be clear. Lifting it to his face he stopped dead in his tracks and grinned broadly.

 

"Well?" Parker turned and looked at him. "How did it come out?"

 

"Well, you're right; next time you should come to the barber with me."

 

"It can't be THAT bad or else you wouldn't be grinning like an idiot."

 

"You love me," he beamed. His tone evoked a mixture of awe and pride.

 

"Oh, really?" she challenged playfully. "And what makes you so sure, genius?"

 

"Your smile," he replied, bearing an adoring smile of his own, then repeated, "your smile."

 

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