A/N: Oh, the random fluff! This occurred to me so randomly; that first line just flashed through my head and the rest, as they say, is history. Obviously these are the same characters in "A Fleeting Dance" and "Look Back and Remember"; I guess I thought they deserved some poetic fluff. And they really do. Ah, I lurve them and they're not even real! And you get to find out his name--oh, I can sense your excitement!! Ha ha. Well, anyway, read, enjoy, and review!!

A Matter of Perspective

“It’s all a matter of perspective,” she had said to him those long years ago as they lay on the hood of his car and gazed up at the bluer-than-blue sky studded with spots of white cloud.

He had chuckled at the statement and adjusted his hands so that they better cushioned his head. “A matter of perspective? Seriously, Lana, I can’t believe we’re doing this. Finding cloud pictures—I mean, how old are we, anyway?”

“Last time I checked we were both seventeen,” she had remarked dryly, and he could see her smirk from the corner of his eye. “But who cares how old we are, Rafe? Aren’t we still allowed the use of our imaginations?”

“Of course we are,” he had replied. “I never suggested that we weren’t. But I still don’t see how you think that one looks like a duck.”

She had rolled her hazel eyes and propped herself up on an elbow so that she was gazing down into his gray-green ones. “I already told you…” she had trailed off with a bit of a sigh, and it seemed that she found no joy in repeating herself. She had laid back down and tucked one hand beneath her head, the other resting on her stomach. “Just don’t look so hard,” she had told him, her lilting voice quiet, hard to hear over the rustling leaves of the nearby trees.

Rafe had wondered briefly if she were referring to something larger and greater than the clouds, if she were trying to imply something, but he could not figure out what deeper meaning could exist. So he had simply laid there on his car, soaking in the warmth of the sun, and as his eyelids had drifted half closed, he could distinguish the shape of a bill, the contours of the head and neck, the oblong blob of a body. All belonged to that ethereal bird that she had caught sight of as it flitted across an azure playground.

Feigning annoyance, he had grumbled, “So that cloud is a duck. What’s the point again?”

She had smiled softly at him, an expression so unusual yet so right on her normally sarcastic features. “Didn’t you hear what you just said? The cloud is a duck. And that, Rafe, is the point.”

And now, years later, he lay beside her once more, but this time no words passed between them, no clouds sailed overhead. She slept soundly, the blankets fisted in one hand near her chin, and the brown curls that were not trapped beneath her head were strewn about the pillow and gleaming darkly in the grayish glow of earliest sunlight. He lifted one hand to her face, carefully smoothing one of the rogue strands behind her ear, and his fingertips lingered on the curve of her cheek, amazed anew that she was there at all and that he could have been so fortunate, so blessed by the fates or God or whomever.

She stirred beneath his touch, and her eyelids quivered before rising lethargically, the hazel irises half-masked by dark lashes as she blinked blearily. “Mm, what is it?” she asked in a voice still slurred with sleep.

His fingers slid down her cheek, and he watched their progress for a moment and then met her gaze, which was now clearer, more alert. “I was just thinking about how beautiful you are.”

Lana snorted incredulously at that comment. “Yeah, right, Rafe, sure you were. My hair’s an absolute mess and I’m not wearing any make-up to speak of except the mascara that probably managed to stay on and is now probably smeared across my temple. Add to this that I’m half awake at dawn, of all times of day, and I severely doubt that I look anything remotely close to beautiful,” she informed him, and as if she wanted to prove her point, she yawned and rubbed the heel of her hand against one eye before pulling the covers to her chin again.

He toyed with one of her curls, causing her to cease trying to fall back asleep and look at him, one of her eyebrows arching ever so slightly, perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps out of her usual attitude.

“You’re always beautiful,” he whispered, capturing her lips in a brief, tender kiss.

She opened her mouth, ready to protest again because she just had to be stubborn and contrary, but he spoke before she had a chance.

“Come on, Lana. It’s all a matter of perspective.”

She appeared to consider the matter, and after a moment, she grinned. “Alright. I’ll be beautiful if I must.”

Rafe laughed and she laughed with him, and as he ducked in for another kiss, he wondered if that were what she had meant all along.

Fin