Goldfish
Rating: PG-13 ish (for mild swearing and threats of violence)
Word Count: ~1500
Notes: Inspired by my roommate, who got a goldfish and became very, very attached to it. Unbeta-ed. Established relationship and all that fluffy stuff.
“Ooh, who’s this little guy?” Eames asks, bending down to look at the little fancy goldfish in the coffee mug.
“His name is Spitz,” Arthur replies, walking back into the kitchen.
“Is there a reason that Spitz has taken up residence in my favorite mug? I drink tea out of that, darling, and this fish is…oh Christ, it’s pooping in my mug.”
“Don’t worry,” Arthur says, “I’ll wash it…”
“With bleach.”
“With bleach.” Arthur rolls his eyes but there’s a smile quirking up the corners of his lips.
“So what brought this about?”
“Philippa gave him to me. She’d won him in a carnival at school but James kept poking at the bag and she thought he’d be safer with me-us-than at home with an over-interested little brother.”
“Ah. And you just took him?”
“Yeah,” Arthur replies. “He’s cute, isn’t he?” Arthur beams at the goldfish and Eames stares.
“I suppose,” Eames says, shrugging. He prefers dogs, personally. “Nice to meet you, Spitz.”
“I’m worried, though,” Arthur confesses, coming to stand behind Eames. He rests his chin on Eames’ shoulder, wraps his arms around his waist.
“About what?” he asks, turning his head to give Arthur a quick kiss.
“The guys at the pet store said we should have at least a gallon of water for every inch of fish and he’s at least an inch and a half. This bowl isn’t nearly large enough for him.”
“This matters…why?”
“Because,” Arthur says, with the extreme patience of one who’s explaining very simple concepts to a very slow person, “if the bowl is too small, he’s going to get stressed and die.”
“It’s a fish.”
“I am aware of that, thank you.” Arthur casts a look at the fish and frowns. “But I don’t want him to die.”
“Plus, he’s not going to get enough oxygen in this fishbowl. Maybe I should get one of those things that blow bubbles in the water.”
“You do that,” Eames says, quickly losing interest. He extricates himself from Arthur’s arms in favor of the bedroom where he changes into sweatpants. When he comes back to the kitchen to start dinner, Arthur is humming to the fish.
-
Eames needs to use the Internet but his laptop refuses to turn on so he uses Arthur’s instead. The Firefox browser opens to a window that reads Goldfish Care Basics: Tips for Giving Your Pet Goldfish a Long and Healthy Life.
“You Googled goldfish care?” he calls, though he isn’t at all surprised.
“Don’t mock me. I fully intend to have Spitz live as long as possible.”
“Not mocking at all, darling, not mocking at all.”
-
“Eames!”
He jumps at Arthur’s sharp voice and quickly withdraws the chopstick from the fishbowl.
“Yes, darling?” he asks, going for an innocent expression. Arthur approaches him angrily.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I was petting him, darling.”
“Petting. Him.”
“Spitz looked bored.”
“Eames, you can’t pet the damn fish.”
“Why not?”
“You’re stressing him the fuck out.”
“He likes it, though. Look,” Eames puts the chopstick in the bowl and pokes the fish, causing it to wriggle wildly. Arthur grabs him by the wrist.
“Stop that.”
“But I want to pet the fish! He likes it.” Eames wrenches his hand away from Arthur as he lets a hint of a whine color his tone because he knows how much Arthur hates it when Philippa and James do it. He also knows Arthur only hates it because he can’t say no to it.
“Don’t. Pet. The. Fish.”
“But I wanna!”
“Oh my god, what are you? Five?”
Eames sticks his tongue at Arthur and swirls the chopstick in the bowl. Arthur takes the chopstick away from him.
“Don’t pet the goddamn fish, Eames!” he snarls. “Do it one more time and I swear to god that chopstick is going to end up someplace very unpleasant.”
Eames is about to retort but he spots something out of the corner of his eye.
“Arthur, did you buy a fish tank? For one fish?”
-
As the days go by, Eames notices that the fish tank gets decorated. Tastefully, as is Arthur’s wont, and gradually.
It starts with the colored pebbles at the bottom of the tank.
“Don’t they bring out Spitz’s color?” Arthur asks, smiling at the little fish who opens and closes his mouth in reply. Eames is not at all jealous of the fact that a fish can bring out Arthur’s dimples simply by existing.
The next day, Eames passes by and notices a few live plants. He knows they’re real because he sticks his hand in the tank to check. They wave gently in the water and Spitz swims around them.
A large rock goes into the tank next. Followed by several smaller ones. The fish tank hums with color, and Eames adds a little castle with turrets and archways. Arthur shakes his head, rolls his eyes at it but there’s a not-quite smile on his lips that makes Eames add a little treasure chest.
-
Spitz is, on the whole, rather cute, Eames has to admit. He catches himself staring at the fish swimming around the tank, wondering what goes on in that little fishy brain. It’s soothing, strangely enough, to sit by the tank and daydream as Spitz swims round and round.
-
“Arthur, d’you think Spitz is lonely?” Eames asks idly one night. They’re sitting on the couch; Arthur is reading a book and leaning against his chest, his legs hanging over one of the arms of the chair. Eames freezes as soon as the question is out of his mouth and he’s glad that Arthur isn’t really in a position to be looking at him because he can feel his cheeks warming.
“What?” Arthur tilts his head back and looks at Eames. His lips twitch in a smirk but Eames decided to ignore it.
“Well, he’s looking kind of lonely in that fish tank all by himself,” he replies, striving for casual and indifferent and failing miserably.
“He’s fine.” Arthur shrugs, returns to his book.
Eames casts a glance at the fish and suddenly realizes that he’s attached to the damn thing too.
“If you’re that worried about him, Eames, you can get him a friend,” Arthur sighs, turning the page.
“You’re worried about him too.”
“Uh-huh,” Arthur agrees vaguely.
“Oh my god,” Eames groans. “What has my life become that I’m worried about a goddamn fish?”
“Don’t worry, I ask myself that question all the time. Not about the fish, though. About other things,” Arthur says, reaching up to pat Eames on the cheek. “You get used to it.”
Eames makes a face at Arthur because he never said he wasn’t five and he’s still upset that a stupid fish has wormed its way into his heart and home.
-
Pretty soon, Spitz has a goldfish friend named Fizzer. The two get on fantastically. Eames smiles at them, and Arthur smiles at him.
-
Philippa and James love the fish. Consequently, Cobb begins to ask Eames and Arthur to watch the children so he can jump back into the hazards of the dating world.
“Spitz is like Uncle Arthur,” Philippa announces on one such evening, apropos of nothing. She has her nose pressed up against the tank, her small hands splayed on either side of her face.
“Explain,” Arthur says, bemused.
“Well, he likes to watch Fizzer just like you watch Uncle Eames. And Fizzer is like Uncle Eames!” she says brightly. “He’s kind of a show-off.” As if to punctuate her point, Fizzer does a complicated twirl while Spitz watches calmly from the castle’s archway.
Arthur stifles a laugh behind his hand as Eames makes a sound of protest.
“What? Philly, I am not a show-off.”
“You are too a show-off,” James chimes in, clapping his hands gleefully over Philippa’s shrieks of “Don’t call me Philly!”.
“Don’t look at me,” Arthur says, smiling soft and fond, when Eames turns to him for support. “I agree with them.”
Eames huffs in indignation, even as he smiles back.
-
Yusuf is slightly bemused when Eames calls him to take care of the fish for a week while he and Arthur take a trip to Hawaii.
“I am a chemist, not a babysitter of fish,” Yusuf cries in distress.
“Look, mate, all you have to do is sprinkle a bit of fish food in here once a day. Once a day,” Eames says.
“And you’ll do it,” Arthur calls from the other room, where he’s doing a last-minute check of everything they need. Personally, Eames feels he’s over-packing. If he had anything to say about it, all they’d really need is a generous supply of condoms and lube and maybe a swimsuit or two.
“What if I don’t?” Yusuf challenges.
“You really don’t want to find out,” Arthur replies, coming into the room with his suitcase.
“Spitz and Fizzer die, Yusuf, mate, and I wash my hands of you,” Eames adds. “I’d even help Arthur hide your body.” He’s semi-serious because Arthur is fond of their fish and he’d be upset if they died.
“You two…” Yusuf shakes his head and rolls his eyes with a put-upon expression. “Seriously, the level of attachment you have for these fish is unhealthy.”
Eames laughs and Arthur scowls.
“Yes, yes,” Eames says cheerfully, “but, see, they’re our fish.”
“Ours,” Arthur agrees, a grin blooming on his face.
Word Count: ~1500
Notes: Inspired by my roommate, who got a goldfish and became very, very attached to it. Unbeta-ed. Established relationship and all that fluffy stuff.
“Ooh, who’s this little guy?” Eames asks, bending down to look at the little fancy goldfish in the coffee mug.
“His name is Spitz,” Arthur replies, walking back into the kitchen.
“Is there a reason that Spitz has taken up residence in my favorite mug? I drink tea out of that, darling, and this fish is…oh Christ, it’s pooping in my mug.”
“Don’t worry,” Arthur says, “I’ll wash it…”
“With bleach.”
“With bleach.” Arthur rolls his eyes but there’s a smile quirking up the corners of his lips.
“So what brought this about?”
“Philippa gave him to me. She’d won him in a carnival at school but James kept poking at the bag and she thought he’d be safer with me-us-than at home with an over-interested little brother.”
“Ah. And you just took him?”
“Yeah,” Arthur replies. “He’s cute, isn’t he?” Arthur beams at the goldfish and Eames stares.
“I suppose,” Eames says, shrugging. He prefers dogs, personally. “Nice to meet you, Spitz.”
“I’m worried, though,” Arthur confesses, coming to stand behind Eames. He rests his chin on Eames’ shoulder, wraps his arms around his waist.
“About what?” he asks, turning his head to give Arthur a quick kiss.
“The guys at the pet store said we should have at least a gallon of water for every inch of fish and he’s at least an inch and a half. This bowl isn’t nearly large enough for him.”
“This matters…why?”
“Because,” Arthur says, with the extreme patience of one who’s explaining very simple concepts to a very slow person, “if the bowl is too small, he’s going to get stressed and die.”
“It’s a fish.”
“I am aware of that, thank you.” Arthur casts a look at the fish and frowns. “But I don’t want him to die.”
“Plus, he’s not going to get enough oxygen in this fishbowl. Maybe I should get one of those things that blow bubbles in the water.”
“You do that,” Eames says, quickly losing interest. He extricates himself from Arthur’s arms in favor of the bedroom where he changes into sweatpants. When he comes back to the kitchen to start dinner, Arthur is humming to the fish.
-
Eames needs to use the Internet but his laptop refuses to turn on so he uses Arthur’s instead. The Firefox browser opens to a window that reads Goldfish Care Basics: Tips for Giving Your Pet Goldfish a Long and Healthy Life.
“You Googled goldfish care?” he calls, though he isn’t at all surprised.
“Don’t mock me. I fully intend to have Spitz live as long as possible.”
“Not mocking at all, darling, not mocking at all.”
-
“Eames!”
He jumps at Arthur’s sharp voice and quickly withdraws the chopstick from the fishbowl.
“Yes, darling?” he asks, going for an innocent expression. Arthur approaches him angrily.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I was petting him, darling.”
“Petting. Him.”
“Spitz looked bored.”
“Eames, you can’t pet the damn fish.”
“Why not?”
“You’re stressing him the fuck out.”
“He likes it, though. Look,” Eames puts the chopstick in the bowl and pokes the fish, causing it to wriggle wildly. Arthur grabs him by the wrist.
“Stop that.”
“But I want to pet the fish! He likes it.” Eames wrenches his hand away from Arthur as he lets a hint of a whine color his tone because he knows how much Arthur hates it when Philippa and James do it. He also knows Arthur only hates it because he can’t say no to it.
“Don’t. Pet. The. Fish.”
“But I wanna!”
“Oh my god, what are you? Five?”
Eames sticks his tongue at Arthur and swirls the chopstick in the bowl. Arthur takes the chopstick away from him.
“Don’t pet the goddamn fish, Eames!” he snarls. “Do it one more time and I swear to god that chopstick is going to end up someplace very unpleasant.”
Eames is about to retort but he spots something out of the corner of his eye.
“Arthur, did you buy a fish tank? For one fish?”
-
As the days go by, Eames notices that the fish tank gets decorated. Tastefully, as is Arthur’s wont, and gradually.
It starts with the colored pebbles at the bottom of the tank.
“Don’t they bring out Spitz’s color?” Arthur asks, smiling at the little fish who opens and closes his mouth in reply. Eames is not at all jealous of the fact that a fish can bring out Arthur’s dimples simply by existing.
The next day, Eames passes by and notices a few live plants. He knows they’re real because he sticks his hand in the tank to check. They wave gently in the water and Spitz swims around them.
A large rock goes into the tank next. Followed by several smaller ones. The fish tank hums with color, and Eames adds a little castle with turrets and archways. Arthur shakes his head, rolls his eyes at it but there’s a not-quite smile on his lips that makes Eames add a little treasure chest.
-
Spitz is, on the whole, rather cute, Eames has to admit. He catches himself staring at the fish swimming around the tank, wondering what goes on in that little fishy brain. It’s soothing, strangely enough, to sit by the tank and daydream as Spitz swims round and round.
-
“Arthur, d’you think Spitz is lonely?” Eames asks idly one night. They’re sitting on the couch; Arthur is reading a book and leaning against his chest, his legs hanging over one of the arms of the chair. Eames freezes as soon as the question is out of his mouth and he’s glad that Arthur isn’t really in a position to be looking at him because he can feel his cheeks warming.
“What?” Arthur tilts his head back and looks at Eames. His lips twitch in a smirk but Eames decided to ignore it.
“Well, he’s looking kind of lonely in that fish tank all by himself,” he replies, striving for casual and indifferent and failing miserably.
“He’s fine.” Arthur shrugs, returns to his book.
Eames casts a glance at the fish and suddenly realizes that he’s attached to the damn thing too.
“If you’re that worried about him, Eames, you can get him a friend,” Arthur sighs, turning the page.
“You’re worried about him too.”
“Uh-huh,” Arthur agrees vaguely.
“Oh my god,” Eames groans. “What has my life become that I’m worried about a goddamn fish?”
“Don’t worry, I ask myself that question all the time. Not about the fish, though. About other things,” Arthur says, reaching up to pat Eames on the cheek. “You get used to it.”
Eames makes a face at Arthur because he never said he wasn’t five and he’s still upset that a stupid fish has wormed its way into his heart and home.
-
Pretty soon, Spitz has a goldfish friend named Fizzer. The two get on fantastically. Eames smiles at them, and Arthur smiles at him.
-
Philippa and James love the fish. Consequently, Cobb begins to ask Eames and Arthur to watch the children so he can jump back into the hazards of the dating world.
“Spitz is like Uncle Arthur,” Philippa announces on one such evening, apropos of nothing. She has her nose pressed up against the tank, her small hands splayed on either side of her face.
“Explain,” Arthur says, bemused.
“Well, he likes to watch Fizzer just like you watch Uncle Eames. And Fizzer is like Uncle Eames!” she says brightly. “He’s kind of a show-off.” As if to punctuate her point, Fizzer does a complicated twirl while Spitz watches calmly from the castle’s archway.
Arthur stifles a laugh behind his hand as Eames makes a sound of protest.
“What? Philly, I am not a show-off.”
“You are too a show-off,” James chimes in, clapping his hands gleefully over Philippa’s shrieks of “Don’t call me Philly!”.
“Don’t look at me,” Arthur says, smiling soft and fond, when Eames turns to him for support. “I agree with them.”
Eames huffs in indignation, even as he smiles back.
-
Yusuf is slightly bemused when Eames calls him to take care of the fish for a week while he and Arthur take a trip to Hawaii.
“I am a chemist, not a babysitter of fish,” Yusuf cries in distress.
“Look, mate, all you have to do is sprinkle a bit of fish food in here once a day. Once a day,” Eames says.
“And you’ll do it,” Arthur calls from the other room, where he’s doing a last-minute check of everything they need. Personally, Eames feels he’s over-packing. If he had anything to say about it, all they’d really need is a generous supply of condoms and lube and maybe a swimsuit or two.
“What if I don’t?” Yusuf challenges.
“You really don’t want to find out,” Arthur replies, coming into the room with his suitcase.
“Spitz and Fizzer die, Yusuf, mate, and I wash my hands of you,” Eames adds. “I’d even help Arthur hide your body.” He’s semi-serious because Arthur is fond of their fish and he’d be upset if they died.
“You two…” Yusuf shakes his head and rolls his eyes with a put-upon expression. “Seriously, the level of attachment you have for these fish is unhealthy.”
Eames laughs and Arthur scowls.
“Yes, yes,” Eames says cheerfully, “but, see, they’re our fish.”
“Ours,” Arthur agrees, a grin blooming on his face.