Title: Ramblin' Rose
Author: Emily L.
Email: lavennyfic@gmail.com
Category: Romance

Rating: PG-13

Het/Gen/Bi: Het

Parts: 1/1

Spoilers: None.

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, they belong to Paramount. Don’t sue me - I might cry.
Pairing: LDF/LK, mention of SF/WM
Distribution: I’m keeping my fic on here for now. E-mail me if you have any requests.

Authors Notes: For the 2008 Lavenny Day exchange

Setting: California, 30 years later
Summary: Their 30^th  Valentines Day together...

 

 

            “For you, m'lady,” he uttered in what he believed to be an English accent. She giggled at him and swatted his hand away – no matter how hard he tried, his voice was pure New Jersey. He playfully frowned at her and she kissed him. Pulling away, she visually took in the boquet of flowers.

 

            “Jeez Len, how many'd you get? I don't think I've seen this many roses in my life!”

 

            “Thirty,” he said proudly. “One for every year we've been together.” She staggered backwards a bit and gasped as he raised his eyebrows and nodded.

 

            “You know I love you to death but... THIRTY?! I'm gettin' to old for this...”

 

            In a way, it was true. They hadn't started to date until they were thirty years of age, which now put them each at a cool sixty. Past child bearing age she thought, inwardly smacking herself. Why the hell after seven years was she still bitter about having gone through the change? They managed to easily have five little hellions when she was still able. Five little hellions that meant the world to them.

 

            She knew the reason for her bitterness towards menopause was the decline of her once perfect body. It was the one thing she had that she had always felt confident about, and now it was starting to gain a few pounds and sag. Her husband still thought she was the sexiest thing since Rita Hayworth, but then again, he was the one with a receeding hairline and pot belly...

 

            “Aw, c'mon Vernie, we ain't old. We're just... cultured. I'd even go as far as to say that we're wordly.”

 

            She let out a nasal bark. “That's 'worldly', Len, and no we ain't. Worldy people are people who travel and know everything about everything and yanno... have money and stuff.”

 

            “Hey,” he said accusingly. “We know as much as we need to know. You know how to cap bottles and wrap presents like a pro and tap dance and cook real good and change diapers...”

 

            “Which I'm gonna need to start doin' again within the next few years when we have grandchildren...” she mumbled, interrupting him.

 

            “And I know how to drive a truck and play guitar...”

 

            “The best,” she said smiling.

 

            “We know a lotta stuff, Vernie,” he whispered as he put his arm around her. “And we got a big family like we always wanted and a nice house, and we go to New York every year to visit your cousins...” She looked up at him, silently wondering how he always managed to make her feel better.

 

            “I know we're lucky, Len. I just hate gettin' old and  feelin' like I don't have as much as an exciting life as Shirley. She gets to travel the world with Walter and go to big fancy parties, and what do we do? Sit here and wait to retire.”

 

            He glared at her. “Shirley also happens to be one of the most unhappiest people I've ever known since she's been married to him.”

 

            “True...” she muttered. Shirley was unhappy, but her greatest fear was divorcing and thus becoming her mother. With Walter always working, she had plenty of time to spend with friends and her children, which tended to take her mind off of their relationship.

 

            “Oh well,” she continued. “We got plenty of time. Maybe even another thirty years.”

 

            “Or more!” He whined. He was never going to let her go, and she knew it. If either one of them was ever going to leave this earth, they would have to put up a huge fight.

 

            “But in the mean time,” she whispered huskily into his ear, manuvering her arms around his neck, “how 'bout we pretend this is our first Valentines Day together...”

 

            His eyes grew as big as saucers. “You mean the time we...”

 

            “Uh huh,” she soothed, gently bitting his neck.

 

            He closed his eyes and gulped. “You promise to do that thing with your tongue?”

 

            Licking his earlobe, she ran her finger tips over the width of his shoulders. “Mmhmmm. As long as you promise to do that thing with your hand...”

 

            “Oh, you got it, Babe,” he said with more boldness than he'd had in years. As he pushed her down on to the couch, she looked into his eyes.

 

             “Happy Valentines Day, Len.”

 

            “Happy Valentines Day, Vernie. I love you.”

 

            And suddenly, they were thirty again.