Fic: Near Perfect
Title: Near Perfect
Author: zeto
Pairings: Arthur/Eames
Rating: G
Warning: AU, fluffy goodness
Word Count: 1.5K
Disclaimer: Inception is Christopher Nolan's. I don't own these characters.
Summary: In which Arthur is adopted by a cat.
Note: This is for fabberline. :3 You're always so supportive and wonderful, hon!
The first time Edie goes missing, Arthur doesn't think much of it. Being on the seventh floor has never stopped her from having an adventure before. All she really needs is a few inches of an open window, and since Arthur hates the thought of her being cooped up inside all day, he's more than happy to let her have free reign in the neighbourhood.
She's never gone for more than a couple hours at a time and she's always back by bedtime, ready to curl under the covers, safely cocooned in Arthur's arms.
Except this time.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Edie had always been somewhat of a fierce, independent little thing. Arthur had been coming home after a long shift at the café one night and he'd been so tired, he hadn't even noticed his little ghostly stalker. He had tried to shoo her away when he saw her pawing at his door but she'd had none of that and had apparently followed him all the way home. To this day, Arthur still isn't sure how she tailed him four blocks and hitched a ride on the elevator with him. After a fantastic battle of wills and lengthy staring contest (in which he had lost spectacularly) Arthur finally let her into his apartment.
He had opened up a can of tuna for her, given her a little saucer of milk and then gone to sleep. Come morning, his graceful feline friend was gone. She'd evidently taken her leave through the open window in his bedroom.
And that had been the end of that. Or so Arthur thought.
A couple of nights later, Arthur had been curled up on his couch, watching some comedy about geeky boys and their non-existent love lives. He'd nearly jumped out of his skin when something brushed against the back of his neck. As it was, he'd practically fallen off the couch.
Jerking around, he'd found himself nose to little pink nose with a smug-looking, white little cat. She preened, calmly perched on the back of his sofa. Given the way he felt, Arthur had a feeling he was no longer the master of his own apartment, much less his own couch.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It's getting near dawn and Arthur is still restlessly tossing and turning. Edie isn't really his cat (because really, who is he kidding? It's more like he's her human at this point) but that doesn't mean he doesn't miss her. Doesn't worry, worry, worry. It makes his forehead wrinkle as sleep eludes him.
Finally, he gets up and slides his feet into a pair of slippers. Shuffles to the front door and lets himself out. A tiny little part of Arthur's brain is wondering at his sanity for looking for a cat in the middle of the night in his fuzzy, blue slippers. A cat that isn't even his. Another tiny little part of Arthur's brain figures his sanity was scared off that very first night Edie followed him home.
He's hardly taken more than a couple of steps outside when he notices Edie in the hallway. Arthur crosses his arms and taps his foot. “Edith La Môme Piaf!” he scolds her, using her full name. “I've been going crazy, wondering where you were, wondering if maybe you'd gotten run over by a train, or worse yet, catnapped by a couple of wayward, little children.”
Edie ignores him.
“Don't make me give you a curfew,” he threatens.
She licks her paw.
“Or take away your Salmon Saturdays.”
She sniffs.
“You'll be the death of me one day.” Arthur shakes his head, giving up the cause. He knows a lost one when he sees it.
It's been over half a year since she's moved in and he has yet to win a single argument against her.
Edie: 528, 491
Arthur: 0
Just then, a low chuckle reaches his ears. Arthur stiffens and turns, catching sight of a tall, broad-shouldered stranger, leaning against the door of Apartment 707.
“Do you always have one-sided conversations with cats?” comes a British drawl.
Embarrassment heats his cheeks and Arthur turns red. Great, now his neighbour probably thinks he's absolutely nuts.
“I'm Eames,” the stranger continues, pushing away from the door and holding his hand out. “I moved in last week.”
“Arthur,” mutters the brunet, taking his hand for a quick shake.
“I'm quite pleased to meet you, Arthur,” purrs the other man, drawing out the 'R' in his name as he holds onto Arthur's hand for just a shade longer than appropriate before releasing it. “So her name is Edith Piaf? She's a lovely gal.”
Edie slinks over to Eames and nudges his leg. He obligingly leans down to scoop her into his arms but finds her leaping up and curling about his neck instead. Laughing, Eames scratches her between her little ears and she immediately begins to purr, purr, purr.
Traitor, Arthur scowls inwardly. Then he realizes Eames is still talking to him. “Pardon?” he says with a blink. He's certain he misheard the other man.
By the slightly-crooked smile on Eames' lips, Arthur is certain the other man is laughing at him. Rather, still laughing at him.
“I asked if you would like to come over for a drink.”
“Right now?” Arthur stares at him.
“Why not?”
“I'm wearing my pyjamas! And blue slippers!”
“And you look absolutely lovely, I promise you,” Eames tells him.
“That is not the point,” counters Arthur as he refuses (absolutely refuses, he tells himself) to be flattered in any way, shape or form.
“So if you have no other objections...” says Eames as he ushers Arthur into the apartment, shutting the dor.
“I don't even know you,” he protests weakly as he wonders, what if he's a crazy axe murderer?
“I'm not a crazy axe murderer,” assures Eames while Edie leaps from her perch to explore her new territory.
“What?” Arthur spits out. “I didn't say--”
“No, but you're thinking it,” Eames chuckles, tapping Arthur on the nose.
The brunet scowls, batting the hand away.
“Besides, if I were a bad guy, would your cat trust me?” reasons the other man.
“All right then. Coffee, two cream and two sugar, please,” the brown-eyed barista acquiesces. He's not used to having anyone make his coffee for him. It comes, he figures, from working in a coffee shop.
While they wait, Eames throws open the balcony curtains and opens the sliding glass door, gesturing for Arthur to join him.
“So what do you do?”
“I work in a coffee shop part-time and I'm studying full-time. Just your typical poor, starving student,” Arthur replies. “You?”
“I'm an artist. Photography mostly but I do dabble in other mediums as well.”
“I'd like to see your works,” Arthur asks without asking. It's an invitation without being an invitation. Perhaps Eames isn't a crazy axe murderer after all. He seems nice enough; Arthur wouldn't mind getting to know him a little better. And the accent doesn't hurt.
The sun is barely creeping over the horizon, and Arthur has to admit, the view is rather lovely. Edie mewls at him and he leans down to pick her up, absently scratching under her chin. She purrs contentedly in his arms, a warm bundle of sleek white fur.
Eames disappears for a couple of minutes, and returns with two steaming mugs. Edie, clever little thing that she is, leaps from Arthur's arms and settles right in the middle, between the two men, her tail curling around Eames' ankle. He passes one of the drinks to Arthur.
“This isn't coffee.”
“I don't actually have any but I promise you, this tea is just as good. No, better, I dare say.”
Arthur takes a sip. It is good. Really good, but he's not about to say so because Eames looks like he's dying to know. Arthur can tell he's bursting to ask for his opinion on the tea. The pyjama-clad man bites back a smile and takes another drink instead. It's time the tables were turned, he figures.
“Well?” Eames finally demands. “Don't tell me you don't like it. I make a mean cuppa tea and you know it.”
Arthur glances to the east, watching the sun as it spills out, flooding the city with light. The clouds and the skies are bathed in breath-taking tones of rose and gold, streaked with purple and violet. The other buildings remain dark, its tenants most likely still asleep. The streets are quiet, except for the occasional car passing by underneath. Dewdrops slowly form on the balcony railing. He's in his pyjamas, sipping tea with a near-perfect stranger and his cat. It's just a little bit cold but the tea is hot. And he's never felt more serene or at peace.
“It's perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
The End
Feedback is, as always, much appreciated. Just a cute, little ficlet to get me back into the groove of writing. Hopefully I am here to stay~!
Author: zeto
Pairings: Arthur/Eames
Rating: G
Warning: AU, fluffy goodness
Word Count: 1.5K
Disclaimer: Inception is Christopher Nolan's. I don't own these characters.
Summary: In which Arthur is adopted by a cat.
Note: This is for fabberline. :3 You're always so supportive and wonderful, hon!
The first time Edie goes missing, Arthur doesn't think much of it. Being on the seventh floor has never stopped her from having an adventure before. All she really needs is a few inches of an open window, and since Arthur hates the thought of her being cooped up inside all day, he's more than happy to let her have free reign in the neighbourhood.
She's never gone for more than a couple hours at a time and she's always back by bedtime, ready to curl under the covers, safely cocooned in Arthur's arms.
Except this time.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Edie had always been somewhat of a fierce, independent little thing. Arthur had been coming home after a long shift at the café one night and he'd been so tired, he hadn't even noticed his little ghostly stalker. He had tried to shoo her away when he saw her pawing at his door but she'd had none of that and had apparently followed him all the way home. To this day, Arthur still isn't sure how she tailed him four blocks and hitched a ride on the elevator with him. After a fantastic battle of wills and lengthy staring contest (in which he had lost spectacularly) Arthur finally let her into his apartment.
He had opened up a can of tuna for her, given her a little saucer of milk and then gone to sleep. Come morning, his graceful feline friend was gone. She'd evidently taken her leave through the open window in his bedroom.
And that had been the end of that. Or so Arthur thought.
A couple of nights later, Arthur had been curled up on his couch, watching some comedy about geeky boys and their non-existent love lives. He'd nearly jumped out of his skin when something brushed against the back of his neck. As it was, he'd practically fallen off the couch.
Jerking around, he'd found himself nose to little pink nose with a smug-looking, white little cat. She preened, calmly perched on the back of his sofa. Given the way he felt, Arthur had a feeling he was no longer the master of his own apartment, much less his own couch.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It's getting near dawn and Arthur is still restlessly tossing and turning. Edie isn't really his cat (because really, who is he kidding? It's more like he's her human at this point) but that doesn't mean he doesn't miss her. Doesn't worry, worry, worry. It makes his forehead wrinkle as sleep eludes him.
Finally, he gets up and slides his feet into a pair of slippers. Shuffles to the front door and lets himself out. A tiny little part of Arthur's brain is wondering at his sanity for looking for a cat in the middle of the night in his fuzzy, blue slippers. A cat that isn't even his. Another tiny little part of Arthur's brain figures his sanity was scared off that very first night Edie followed him home.
He's hardly taken more than a couple of steps outside when he notices Edie in the hallway. Arthur crosses his arms and taps his foot. “Edith La Môme Piaf!” he scolds her, using her full name. “I've been going crazy, wondering where you were, wondering if maybe you'd gotten run over by a train, or worse yet, catnapped by a couple of wayward, little children.”
Edie ignores him.
“Don't make me give you a curfew,” he threatens.
She licks her paw.
“Or take away your Salmon Saturdays.”
She sniffs.
“You'll be the death of me one day.” Arthur shakes his head, giving up the cause. He knows a lost one when he sees it.
It's been over half a year since she's moved in and he has yet to win a single argument against her.
Edie: 528, 491
Arthur: 0
Just then, a low chuckle reaches his ears. Arthur stiffens and turns, catching sight of a tall, broad-shouldered stranger, leaning against the door of Apartment 707.
“Do you always have one-sided conversations with cats?” comes a British drawl.
Embarrassment heats his cheeks and Arthur turns red. Great, now his neighbour probably thinks he's absolutely nuts.
“I'm Eames,” the stranger continues, pushing away from the door and holding his hand out. “I moved in last week.”
“Arthur,” mutters the brunet, taking his hand for a quick shake.
“I'm quite pleased to meet you, Arthur,” purrs the other man, drawing out the 'R' in his name as he holds onto Arthur's hand for just a shade longer than appropriate before releasing it. “So her name is Edith Piaf? She's a lovely gal.”
Edie slinks over to Eames and nudges his leg. He obligingly leans down to scoop her into his arms but finds her leaping up and curling about his neck instead. Laughing, Eames scratches her between her little ears and she immediately begins to purr, purr, purr.
Traitor, Arthur scowls inwardly. Then he realizes Eames is still talking to him. “Pardon?” he says with a blink. He's certain he misheard the other man.
By the slightly-crooked smile on Eames' lips, Arthur is certain the other man is laughing at him. Rather, still laughing at him.
“I asked if you would like to come over for a drink.”
“Right now?” Arthur stares at him.
“Why not?”
“I'm wearing my pyjamas! And blue slippers!”
“And you look absolutely lovely, I promise you,” Eames tells him.
“That is not the point,” counters Arthur as he refuses (absolutely refuses, he tells himself) to be flattered in any way, shape or form.
“So if you have no other objections...” says Eames as he ushers Arthur into the apartment, shutting the dor.
“I don't even know you,” he protests weakly as he wonders, what if he's a crazy axe murderer?
“I'm not a crazy axe murderer,” assures Eames while Edie leaps from her perch to explore her new territory.
“What?” Arthur spits out. “I didn't say--”
“No, but you're thinking it,” Eames chuckles, tapping Arthur on the nose.
The brunet scowls, batting the hand away.
“Besides, if I were a bad guy, would your cat trust me?” reasons the other man.
“All right then. Coffee, two cream and two sugar, please,” the brown-eyed barista acquiesces. He's not used to having anyone make his coffee for him. It comes, he figures, from working in a coffee shop.
While they wait, Eames throws open the balcony curtains and opens the sliding glass door, gesturing for Arthur to join him.
“So what do you do?”
“I work in a coffee shop part-time and I'm studying full-time. Just your typical poor, starving student,” Arthur replies. “You?”
“I'm an artist. Photography mostly but I do dabble in other mediums as well.”
“I'd like to see your works,” Arthur asks without asking. It's an invitation without being an invitation. Perhaps Eames isn't a crazy axe murderer after all. He seems nice enough; Arthur wouldn't mind getting to know him a little better. And the accent doesn't hurt.
The sun is barely creeping over the horizon, and Arthur has to admit, the view is rather lovely. Edie mewls at him and he leans down to pick her up, absently scratching under her chin. She purrs contentedly in his arms, a warm bundle of sleek white fur.
Eames disappears for a couple of minutes, and returns with two steaming mugs. Edie, clever little thing that she is, leaps from Arthur's arms and settles right in the middle, between the two men, her tail curling around Eames' ankle. He passes one of the drinks to Arthur.
“This isn't coffee.”
“I don't actually have any but I promise you, this tea is just as good. No, better, I dare say.”
Arthur takes a sip. It is good. Really good, but he's not about to say so because Eames looks like he's dying to know. Arthur can tell he's bursting to ask for his opinion on the tea. The pyjama-clad man bites back a smile and takes another drink instead. It's time the tables were turned, he figures.
“Well?” Eames finally demands. “Don't tell me you don't like it. I make a mean cuppa tea and you know it.”
Arthur glances to the east, watching the sun as it spills out, flooding the city with light. The clouds and the skies are bathed in breath-taking tones of rose and gold, streaked with purple and violet. The other buildings remain dark, its tenants most likely still asleep. The streets are quiet, except for the occasional car passing by underneath. Dewdrops slowly form on the balcony railing. He's in his pyjamas, sipping tea with a near-perfect stranger and his cat. It's just a little bit cold but the tea is hot. And he's never felt more serene or at peace.
“It's perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
The End
Feedback is, as always, much appreciated. Just a cute, little ficlet to get me back into the groove of writing. Hopefully I am here to stay~!