[Fic] Here I Will Be
Title: Here I Will Be
Author: cathenian
Team: Angst
Prompt: Overwhelmed.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 900
Summary: Arthur takes a small step in his recovery, but it's rewards are huge.
A/N: Sequel to 'Take My Mind' and 'Don't Make Me Sleep Alone' This is rushed crazy fic man, I have no idea! D:
This is the third morning in a row that Arthur has stood in front of the sliding glass doors leading out of the apartment and onto a balcony. It’s been just over a week since he worked himself up to opening the curtains, which had been a safety net of sorts. The curtains had blocked out the outside world, closing off the nights where it was dark enough that all he could see was his own reflection, trapping him; and they kept him hidden away from the day, where the world carried on as if nothing had happened.
Eames had quietly tolerated Arthur’s behaviour, but Arthur knew that it had to be straining to deal with him. He shook off that line of thought, because if he started thinking about Eames, his stomach would twist into knots and he would get caught on the ‘why’ of it all again.
He braced his hand against the glass, the last barrier between him and an uncaring world. He leaned forward, resting his forehead beside his hand and closing his eyes. Breathing softly, he felt his tense muscles loosen, his fear melt away until he was numb.
He was alone, but this was different than it had been when he had been left to sleep alone for a night. This time there was warm daylight filtering in from the windows, beating against his skin pleasantly. There was the smell of coffee on the air, subtle, but grounding. The bustle of traffic wiped away all the sounds of the building that could possibly drag him back down into the nightmares of his memories.
Being left alone in the day was tolerable, if not pleasant. He knew that it was a sign that he was getting better, because at the start, he had needed a constant companion. He had needed someone to talk, someone to brush a hand across his arm or cheek, someone to fill the oppressive void left by the neglect of his senses.
With a shaking hand, he reached for the door handle, but he kept his eyes on the world outside. The lock slid with a delicate click under his fingers, no resistance against the barest of touch. His fingers wrapped around the handle, his hold loose and hesitant.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, before pulling on the handle. The door slid in its frame, a burst of heat and noise moving seamlessly into the apartment. It was familiar, reminiscent of nights spent in hotel rooms and pulling open the windows to take in the places of the world: New York, Milan, London, Toronto, Tokyo, Paris, Prague and Los Angeles.
He was tempting fate by opening himself up to the world, by stepping out into what could be an overwhelming experience. He has spent too much time hiding though, an opinion of his own. He pushed past the fear and took that final step outside.
He stumbled forward, his hands grasping the balcony giving himself a moment to catch the air in his lungs. After a moment, he opened his eyes, looking out into the streets, where people are walking and driving by, as if nothing had changed. The laugh that bubbled through him was unexpected, but he was hysterical with the realization that it was all okay.
Stepping outside hadn’t set him off, hadn’t abused his senses that haven’t been right for a while now. His shoulders slumped, the tension draining from his body on a wave. He contained the laugh, running a hand down his face and just taking it all in.
The sudden touch down his back had him spinning around, arms up and prepared to attack. Eames was there though, grabbing onto his hands and giving them a slight squeeze. There was a smile blooming on his face, relief and what looked like joy.
“What are you doing out here?” Eames asked, cocking his head to the side. He had bags under his eyes, stress worn lines around mouth, new developments. Arthur pulled his hands away from Eames’ and cupped them around his cheeks, pulling him in close so that he can rest their foreheads together.
“I did it, I actually managed it Eames.” Arthur gasped in excitement, a small shiver racing through his body. Eames enfolded his hands over Arthur’s hips, pulling him in close, before leading him back into the apartment. He pulled Arthur to the couch and sat him down, not bothering to close the door behind them.
He knelt in front of Arthur, his arms curling around his waist and his cheek resting against Arthur’s thigh. Arthur’s hand smoothed through his hair: wonderingly, instinctively. Eames released a ragged breath, his hold tightening momentarily. “Welcome back Arthur.”
Arthur didn’t bother saying that he never went anywhere, that he’d been here the whole time. He knew what Eames was trying to say. He was giving the answer to Arthur’s unasked question. He was telling Arthur ‘why’. He was telling him that he stayed to help Arthur get part of himself back.
There was something else too, Arthur realized. It was in the way Eames wasn’t letting him go, it was in the way he was holding him close and the small noises escaping him. He was showing Arthur that he wasn’t going anywhere.
Arthur smiled and let his fingers tangle in the hairs at the back of Eames' neck. "Thank you Eames. I'm glad to be back."
Author: cathenian
Team: Angst
Prompt: Overwhelmed.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 900
Summary: Arthur takes a small step in his recovery, but it's rewards are huge.
A/N: Sequel to 'Take My Mind' and 'Don't Make Me Sleep Alone' This is rushed crazy fic man, I have no idea! D:
This is the third morning in a row that Arthur has stood in front of the sliding glass doors leading out of the apartment and onto a balcony. It’s been just over a week since he worked himself up to opening the curtains, which had been a safety net of sorts. The curtains had blocked out the outside world, closing off the nights where it was dark enough that all he could see was his own reflection, trapping him; and they kept him hidden away from the day, where the world carried on as if nothing had happened.
Eames had quietly tolerated Arthur’s behaviour, but Arthur knew that it had to be straining to deal with him. He shook off that line of thought, because if he started thinking about Eames, his stomach would twist into knots and he would get caught on the ‘why’ of it all again.
He braced his hand against the glass, the last barrier between him and an uncaring world. He leaned forward, resting his forehead beside his hand and closing his eyes. Breathing softly, he felt his tense muscles loosen, his fear melt away until he was numb.
He was alone, but this was different than it had been when he had been left to sleep alone for a night. This time there was warm daylight filtering in from the windows, beating against his skin pleasantly. There was the smell of coffee on the air, subtle, but grounding. The bustle of traffic wiped away all the sounds of the building that could possibly drag him back down into the nightmares of his memories.
Being left alone in the day was tolerable, if not pleasant. He knew that it was a sign that he was getting better, because at the start, he had needed a constant companion. He had needed someone to talk, someone to brush a hand across his arm or cheek, someone to fill the oppressive void left by the neglect of his senses.
With a shaking hand, he reached for the door handle, but he kept his eyes on the world outside. The lock slid with a delicate click under his fingers, no resistance against the barest of touch. His fingers wrapped around the handle, his hold loose and hesitant.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, before pulling on the handle. The door slid in its frame, a burst of heat and noise moving seamlessly into the apartment. It was familiar, reminiscent of nights spent in hotel rooms and pulling open the windows to take in the places of the world: New York, Milan, London, Toronto, Tokyo, Paris, Prague and Los Angeles.
He was tempting fate by opening himself up to the world, by stepping out into what could be an overwhelming experience. He has spent too much time hiding though, an opinion of his own. He pushed past the fear and took that final step outside.
He stumbled forward, his hands grasping the balcony giving himself a moment to catch the air in his lungs. After a moment, he opened his eyes, looking out into the streets, where people are walking and driving by, as if nothing had changed. The laugh that bubbled through him was unexpected, but he was hysterical with the realization that it was all okay.
Stepping outside hadn’t set him off, hadn’t abused his senses that haven’t been right for a while now. His shoulders slumped, the tension draining from his body on a wave. He contained the laugh, running a hand down his face and just taking it all in.
The sudden touch down his back had him spinning around, arms up and prepared to attack. Eames was there though, grabbing onto his hands and giving them a slight squeeze. There was a smile blooming on his face, relief and what looked like joy.
“What are you doing out here?” Eames asked, cocking his head to the side. He had bags under his eyes, stress worn lines around mouth, new developments. Arthur pulled his hands away from Eames’ and cupped them around his cheeks, pulling him in close so that he can rest their foreheads together.
“I did it, I actually managed it Eames.” Arthur gasped in excitement, a small shiver racing through his body. Eames enfolded his hands over Arthur’s hips, pulling him in close, before leading him back into the apartment. He pulled Arthur to the couch and sat him down, not bothering to close the door behind them.
He knelt in front of Arthur, his arms curling around his waist and his cheek resting against Arthur’s thigh. Arthur’s hand smoothed through his hair: wonderingly, instinctively. Eames released a ragged breath, his hold tightening momentarily. “Welcome back Arthur.”
Arthur didn’t bother saying that he never went anywhere, that he’d been here the whole time. He knew what Eames was trying to say. He was giving the answer to Arthur’s unasked question. He was telling Arthur ‘why’. He was telling him that he stayed to help Arthur get part of himself back.
There was something else too, Arthur realized. It was in the way Eames wasn’t letting him go, it was in the way he was holding him close and the small noises escaping him. He was showing Arthur that he wasn’t going anywhere.
Arthur smiled and let his fingers tangle in the hairs at the back of Eames' neck. "Thank you Eames. I'm glad to be back."