Na Clocha ar Trá - Pikelan One-Shot
Summary: Scanlan can't skim stones
Word Count: 700
AND FROM THE SHADOWS, SHE RE-EMERGES !
with a teansy pikelan fic <3
Read on AO3!
“Scanlan, this shouldn’t be this hard” Pike said, tinges of pity in her tone, a look of pure love and appreciation plastered on her face. She was currently waist deep in the water of Glendalough Lake, which, despite the warm summer temperatures of the early morning, was freezing.
Her hands shook slightly as they held her baby blue dress in bunches by her chest, but the cold was nothing worthy of note, when before her on shore, her husband, adorned in an outfit of a similar shade (which she lovingly informed him looked like a children’s sailor costume), was starting an argument with the ground he stood on.
“It’s just that the damn pebbles here are too small-or big-or misshapen-or something!” Scanlan responded, frustration filling his own voice. His shaggy hair hung over his head as he turned it downward and shook it from side to side.
In his right hand, Scanlan held a light brown sunhat, a gift from Pike which he hadn’t taken off once since arriving in Ireland; except for 10 minutes ago when in an act of disbelief and frustration, he ripped it off his head; "But I-I did everything right" he had whispered with confusion, as for the sixth time in a row the pebble he had thrown did not skip over the water and instead promptly sank with an unsatisfyingly quiet plop.
10 tries later, and it seemed Scanlan had officially snapped. “No, No, NO!” he exclaimed as he began to analyse the ground below him, using his hat to point to various rocks of differing sizes, shapes and colours as he did, “All of them. Completely insufficient.” He said wistfully, moving his hands to his hips in a move of what could only be described as disappointment.
“Honestly, Pike, I think it’s just something about Irish rocks….they weren’t made for my beautiful hands to hold them…” he said, tearing his eyes from the ground and moving them toward his wife as he did.
And then he completely forgot about rocks.
Before him, she stood a vision. The sun was setting between the mountains which lay beyond the lake, framing her in such a way that the eye, even if trying to look at the mountains or sky, could only ever be drawn to his Pike. The remaining rays of sunlight surrounded her head perfectly, and reflected off her platinum blonde hair as it lay unbrushed on her shoulders. From his spot just a few feet from her on shore, Scanlan's breath stopped as he felt himself fall in love with her all over again.
“So now it’s Ireland’s fault you can’t skim stones, is it? Does that mean there are also Irish stones back in Emon?” She retorted, a teasingly wicked grin on her face. It only took a moment before she realised he was lost in a trance. Again.
"Oh, Saranrae" She whispered to herself, mentally chastising him for his current state as she did. This was nowhere near the first time she had found him frozen in place, really it was a state she found him in more than once a week. She couldn’t say she didn’t do the same, but her moments of blissful admiration were ones she was still able to function through. Scanlan’s, however, were always more paralysing and obvious - the showman in him not shying away from the chance to fully and dramatically embody his emotions outwardly at every chance he got.
“Exactly….” Scanlan assured, voice breathy and mind not fully conscious of what or who he was responding to.
Pike trudged back to shore, freeing her sundress from her hands as she exited the water, and replacing the cold, still fabric she had been clinging to with her husbands warm, worn hands as soon as she found herself before him.
“Okay then, Scanlan. It’s Ireland’s fault” she indulged, smiling into his brown eyes as they jumped from each of hers, unsure which one he should look into, before finally settling on her lips.
For a moment she expected him to kiss her. But then he mirrored her shy smile back at her, his eyes returned back to her own, and they each simply did nothing.
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