A/N: I wrote some of these drabbles a while ago and had them stored in my computer just in case I ever decided to do something with them. Normally at this time of night I'm scaring myself silly with Ghost Adventures or something on YouTube, but tonight it's quiet. So here goes with another upload-

seven tiny MAG drabbles, very loosely connected, based on the sweet, tentative relationship we all know they have.

For JWood201, best MAG buddy ever!

If Only

He was never popular with girls. He didn't know what they wanted and any effort he made to get to know them usually ended in disaster. So one day he just stopped trying.

Skinny told him he gave up too easily. They won't come to you, Goofy. You gotta make an effort.

But Skinny's words fell on deaf ears.

I'm not interested. 'Sides, if there's one out there for me, Mom says I'll find her without even trying.

Well, said Skinny, good luck.

Now, years later, she smiles, and he recalls his mother's words. And realises-

I wasn't even trying.

oOoOoOo

Boys always called her pretty. Not beautiful. Just pretty. She wishes she were taller, that her legs were longer, that she was more graceful. That would make her beautiful. But she doesn't spend hours looking in the mirror.

She's had a couple of boyfriends. She likes the hunky types- a farmhand once asked her out but her Uncle George soon put a stop to that.

She saw him fall over today. She watched him get up, dust himself off as though nothing had happened. He caught her looking. She blushed.

Her boyfriends never made her blush.

So why does he?

oOoOoOo

Sometimes she sings while she sweeps. She does it quietly, hoping that no-one will hear.

Her Aunt used to sing. The sound of it soothed her. Housework and singing, memories of childhood.

He's going to collect coconuts when he hears her. He wonders what's making that sound. Low and humming, like a swarm of bees. But then he realises- it's coming from the girls' hut.

He sneaks quietly over to the window.

It's not a tune he knows. It's not even really a tune at all, but it melts his heart just the same as if it were a symphony.

oOoOoOo

He's woken up by fingers stroking through his hair. It must be Saturday, he thinks. Mom wants me awake because the Beach Bus will be here soon. Today me and Skinny are gonna build the biggest sandcastle in the world!

Wake up, Sleepy, she says.

'm awake, Mom, he mumbles.

She smiles. I brought you soup. Just like you brought me soup when I was sick.

His eyes open. He's not home- he's in his hammock with a cold.

I was gonna build a sandcastle today, he pouts.

Then drink your soup, she laughs, and I'll build it with you.

oOoOoOo

The water is cool, sluicing through his hair and streaming down his chest as he surfaces, gasping for air. He's been trying to hold his breath for two minutes. He looks at his watch. Ninety seconds. That's no good. He signals to her, sitting on the beach. He shakes his head. He submerges again.

She holds her own breath, unconsciously. She times him with her tapping fingers.

He shoots up after only forty five seconds.

I can't do it he laughs, I'm breathless.

She watches him swim. He's sleek as an otter, lean muscles rippling.

He makes her breathless, too.

oOoOoOo

His hair went white. He thought I was just trying to make him feel young again. But he hadn't aged- he was no older than he'd been the day before.

He needed to be convinced, because he was getting too caught up in his imagination.

He sat in his rocker and I saw the doubt in his eyes, his young eyes, as I stroked his arm.

He thinks I was pretending that I loved him. He thinks I was pretending when I kissed him.

I wasn't.

It's love. I've known it from the first.

I wasn't pretending.

I love him.

oOoOoOo

If only she knew.

She invades my dreams, long dark hair enveloping me as she leans over my face. A smile plays along her lips, her eyes twinkle like starlight.

Her hands slide under my rugby shirt, her mouth descends to my throat. Kisses drop like tiny jewels upon my skin. My lips part, and she kisses my mouth gently and somehow I'm not afraid.

I always wake at that point, my pillow clutched tightly to my chest, staring at the ceiling.

Wishing I could just stay asleep for a few minutes longer.

If only she knew.

I love her.