SERIES: King of Cars

AUTHOR: Missy

EMAIL: lasfic@yahoo.com

PART: 1 of 1

RATING: PG (Adult thematic material)

PAIRING(s): L/L;

DISTRIBUTION: To Myself  so far; any other archives are welcome to ask, but disclaimers must be included, my email left intact. send a URL, and provide full disclaimers as well as credit me fully. Please inform me if you are going to submit my work to any sort of search engine.  Please do not submit my work to a search engine that picks out random sets of words and uses them as key words, such as "Google"

 

Please contact me in order for this story to be placed on an archive, or if you want know of a friend who would enjoy my works, please email me their address and I will mail them the stories, expressly for the purpose of link trading. MiSTiers are welcomed! Please do inform me that you'd like to do the MiSTing, however, and send me a copy of the finished product. I'd also love to archive any MiSTings that are made of my work!

CATEGORY: Romance

FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!  

SETTING IN TIMELINE: Postshow AU

SPOILLER/SUMMARY: Lenny fixes, Laverne watches.  He tastes like peach schnapps....{stream of consciousness}

NOTES: Happy Birthday, Solita!

 

***

 

Long ago, she knew what she wanted.  A fast car.  A good man. 

 

One out of two isn't bad, she decided as she watches him work on their rusted-out old heap.  It's been ten years gone and she doesn't think the poor thing has much life left in it.

 

But Lenny keeps working - he would work himself to death if she didn't stop him sometimes - and working on that damned thing.

 

"Come on inside," she says.  "It's fifty below, Len."

 

"Can't.  Busy."

 

"Lenny, you'll hurt your back."

 

"It's fine."

 

"Len!"

 

"I can fix it!  Just gimmie some more time," he pleads.

 

"I think it's time for her to go to scrap-heap, Len."

 

"But..."

 

"I know."

 

She always knows.  That car, their baby, lasted two presidents and four children.  Now it would be scrap metal like so much other refuse.

 

She helps him up.  He rubs his - fine, no really - back.  "The engine's shot."

 

"We can't afford a new car."

 

"I know it."  He's mirthless and drawn with anxiety.

 

She kisses him.  He tastes like peach schnapps.  You still have what's important.  He's still here.

 

"I'll miss her." he says.

 

"I'll miss her, too."

 

Together, they survey the poor car and imagine a world without their first baby.