I do not own Big Eden.
I do not own Eric Schweig. *sobs*
There and Back Again
A Big Eden Tale About the Shy Guy We All Love
Wild Blue Yonder
They had practiced first, of course.
Lots.
You know, going places.
They'd had to.
Practice.
Henry Hart has always been a hopeless romantic at, well, heart.
And a there's nothing a hopeless romantic enjoys more than a good old-fashioned date.
But . . .
The problem had been, especially at the very beginning, . . .
. . . where to go?
Back-of-the-woods-Big-Eden-Montana didn't really offer . . .
This isn't New York, after all.
. . . much in the way of fine dining . . .
Our options are a little limited.
. . . and a night out on the town.
And Pike.
The other problem had been . . .
Pike is shy. Really shy.
. . . of a more personal nature.
I mean, I'm shy.
But next to Pike, I'm a Rockette.
Even more challenging than the topic of dinner . . .
Hell, next to Pike, I'm the lead in an all-naked production of Fiddler on the Roof.
. . . and a movie.
On Broadway.
So they had started small.
Picnics.
"Oh look at you sweet boys, oh it just makes me giddy to see you two so happy together . . ."
"Good evening, Widow Thayer."
Hikes.
"You okay, Henry?"
"Yeah, whew, just like the thirteenth flight of stairs when the elevator is broken."
On a few occasions, even going so far as Missoula for a . . .
"Good evening, gentlemen. Boys night out, is it?"
"Uh, yeah, yeah, something like that."
. . . nice dinner.
Henry still remembers their first 'real' restaurant date with fondness.
Pike so nervous he could barely . . .
". . . see here. Ahem."
. . . focus to peruse the menu.
"Oh. Wow. Henry, look at this."
"What?"
Only to become quite fascinated . . .
"They have a smoked Alaskan salmon nicoise salad."
. . . with . . .
"Stuffed chicken with sundried tomatoes and gouda cheese."
. . . the contents therein.
"Oh, they have a grilled Haloumi Puttanesea with . . . roasted peppers, anchovies, wow, I wonder if they use sea salt or table salt or Himalayan salt-"
And then Pike had ducked his head, blushing under his dark skin.
Low rumble fading away.
And Henry, of course, . . .
"What is it? What's wrong?"
. . . had noticed.
"I'm sorry. I just, I just got so excited. There's just so much, well . . ."
And Henry had impulsively reached out to that large, warm hand now flat on the tabl-
"So gentlemen, have we decided on an appetizer?"
And nearly knocked over the complimentary water in a reflexive flinch.
"Oh, uh, . . ."
Pike freezing like a deer in headlights.
And Henry trying desperately to recover . . .
"I think we need a few more minutes to decide, thank you."
. . . with a casual and dismissive air.
From the waiter sneaking up on them from absolutely out of nowhere.
"Very good, Sir."
And disappearing over Henry's shoulder . . .
How do they always do that?
. . . just as smoothly.
"Hey, you okay?"
"Yes. Thank you."
"So, what was that you were saying about the salt? You're so knowledgeable about this stuff. I only know how to eat it, ha-"
The outings had gotten better.
Pike had gotten better.
He, Henry, had gotten better.
And now, . . .
"Pike. Pike, look."
"Wh- . . ."
. . . it's much, much better.
Especially at that particular moment.
For the airplane that is currently winging effortlessly them from Kalispell to Minneapolis has finally risen to a cruising altitude of thirty-four thousand feet.
And broken through . . .
"Oh."
. . . the cloudbank.
Pike Dexter, for the last ten minutes, has intently, determinedly, been glowering at the back of the seat in front of him.
Immobile, immovable, unreachable.
A resolute statue of terror and entrapment.
Brow furrowed, corners of his thinned mouth pulled down in what only can be described as a concentrated scowl of epic proportions.
Long tapered fingers gripping the armrests so tight Henry has been surprised not to hear the cloth rip in protest.
He had been, to put it succinctly, tense.
With Henry, . . .
"Pike? It's going to be okay."
"Mmm."
. . . just hoping they'd make it through this.
And now . . .
"Oh."
. . . the forbidding clouds seem to have lifted.
Well, fallen.
Well, been overcome.
Literally and figuratively.
The window is small and tight.
The big, six foot three Indian has to lower his head a little, almost like a bull, to peer out of it.
And see . . .
"Henry. Henry, do you see?"
. . . the view from out over the wing.
"Yeah. I see."
And he can.
A little.
Pike is a very big man.
But Henry can see what he sees.
And see him seeing it.
At least from the side.
The clouds themselves are billowly white.
Floating, endless cotton candy mountains.
Photo negatives of the darker, grassier, snow topped ground-bound ones they've just left behind at home.
A few very high stratus float still even higher above them.
With the clearest azure sky imaginable doming the entire rest of the blue planet from which they have broken free.
The sun, that flaming, massive orb, is hidden behind their stratospheric version of The Land of the Shining Mountains.
Painting everything in a red and orange haze of rimmed fire.
The transported (literally and figuratively) man whom Henry loves stares out over the endless expanse, jaw now relaxed, slightly unhinged.
And then he turns his gleaming dark eyes back to his lover, corners of his mouth upturned.
The absolute joy and rapture glowing out from his very soul delights Henry and he returns the smile.
"Henry, . . ."
And makes anything, quite anything, possible.
". . . do you see?"
Just to be graced with this moment of elation.
Look at him.
And watches on as Pike Dexter turns back to the window.
To gaze out once more.
He's a complete, perfect angel.
To all the golden heavens of all the world.
A big sweet angel.
Laid out.
How could I have ever missed it?
Just for him.
Thanks to MohawkWoman, DinahRay, Conbird, and BlueSaffire for so kindly reviewing!
Speaking of DinahRay, the whole shy Rockette thing at the beginning, complete her! Isn't she brilliant?!
See you again soon! This time we might actually land somewhere, eh? ;)