FIC: Through Centuries of Nerve || Arthur/Eames || G
Title: Through Centuries of Nerve
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: ~390
Warnings: Arthur is assumed dead.
Summary: Eames waits for Arthur.
A/N: A little something I wrote for this prompt on inception_kink in April. The title is a line from a poem by Emily Dickinson.
*
He comes in every day for breakfast and stays until closing time. He plays guessing games with the waiters; what he ends up ordering over the course of the day keeps changing, depending on his mood, the time of year, the weather.
He always sits at the same table, and the regulars all know him, greeting him with a smile or a kind word as they come and go. He's been coming here for over two decades and is as much of a fixture in the diner as the worn booths or the old fashioned bar stools. Over the years, the diner has changed owners and names and layers of paint, but it's still there, and that's all that matters.
He didn't mean to settle down here, in this city, in this neighbourhood, in this tiny little corner booth of a run down diner. He didn't mean to do a lot of things, but he doesn't regret not having the whole world at his fingertips anymore; it all became meaningless once the person he wanted to share it with was gone.
In the beginning, he poured every resource he had into finding answers, but eventually, years of searching amounting to nothing, he found himself back at the diner where they were supposed to meet all those years ago. It's the last place on Earth where he felt happy, once upon a time; waiting.
He doesn't look up each time the bell above the door announces a new customer, anymore, but he's still waiting. He's always waiting.
If there is a heaven, it will look like this: it will be shaped like a diner, and Eames will sit in his corner, the worn surface of the table familiar under his hands. The food will be nothing special, but it will be delivered with a smile. Outside, people will keep passing by his window. Sometimes it will rain, and sometimes the skies will be bright and blue and clear, and either way, Eames will be content to stay where he is. Because every time the bell above the door goes off, it will be Arthur coming to meet him.
Arthur will smile as he sits across from him, reaching out to lace their fingers together, and he'll say,
"Am I late?"
And each time, Eames will reply:
"No, love. You're just in time."
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: ~390
Warnings: Arthur is assumed dead.
Summary: Eames waits for Arthur.
A/N: A little something I wrote for this prompt on inception_kink in April. The title is a line from a poem by Emily Dickinson.
*
He comes in every day for breakfast and stays until closing time. He plays guessing games with the waiters; what he ends up ordering over the course of the day keeps changing, depending on his mood, the time of year, the weather.
He always sits at the same table, and the regulars all know him, greeting him with a smile or a kind word as they come and go. He's been coming here for over two decades and is as much of a fixture in the diner as the worn booths or the old fashioned bar stools. Over the years, the diner has changed owners and names and layers of paint, but it's still there, and that's all that matters.
He didn't mean to settle down here, in this city, in this neighbourhood, in this tiny little corner booth of a run down diner. He didn't mean to do a lot of things, but he doesn't regret not having the whole world at his fingertips anymore; it all became meaningless once the person he wanted to share it with was gone.
In the beginning, he poured every resource he had into finding answers, but eventually, years of searching amounting to nothing, he found himself back at the diner where they were supposed to meet all those years ago. It's the last place on Earth where he felt happy, once upon a time; waiting.
He doesn't look up each time the bell above the door announces a new customer, anymore, but he's still waiting. He's always waiting.
If there is a heaven, it will look like this: it will be shaped like a diner, and Eames will sit in his corner, the worn surface of the table familiar under his hands. The food will be nothing special, but it will be delivered with a smile. Outside, people will keep passing by his window. Sometimes it will rain, and sometimes the skies will be bright and blue and clear, and either way, Eames will be content to stay where he is. Because every time the bell above the door goes off, it will be Arthur coming to meet him.
Arthur will smile as he sits across from him, reaching out to lace their fingers together, and he'll say,
"Am I late?"
And each time, Eames will reply:
"No, love. You're just in time."