fic: The effect of living backwards
Title: The effect of living backwards
Author: ohmydarlingdear
Team: ANGST!
Prompt: whimsy
Word count: approx. 500
Rating: PG
Warnings: major character death
Summary: Eames often believes in as many as six impossible things before breakfast.
A/N: title borrowed from Through The Looking-Glass, by Lewis Carroll. inspiration for this fic did, in fact, come from the aforementioned story, because there's this brilliant line about believing in impossible things, and, well, I just couldn't help myself. also I just wanted to try to make the prompt "whimsy" angsty. enjoy~
ETA: now with bonus podfic courtesy of templemarker! *flails* how exciting! :D :D :D
Eames often believes in as many as six impossible things before breakfast. Sometimes. Just for a little bit. Half an hour, usually. An hour if he’s feeling indulgent. He doesn’t dream anymore, not naturally anyways, but he can always imagine, pretend that everything is still how it was back then.
The first is that he won’t have to make breakfast for himself this morning. He’ll wake up and he’ll smell pancakes cooked with just the right amount of butter, scrambled eggs with a pinch of salt, bacon sizzling away. Maybe there will be some fresh fruit, neatly sliced oranges or a bowl of plump blueberries. He won’t have to worry about breakfast because it’s not his turn.
The second is similar to the first, only he’ll smell coffee. He’ll smell the familiar rich, bitter scent of fresh, warm coffee and smile, even though he’s never been terribly much of a coffee drinker. He’ll hear the clinking of ceramic cups in the kitchen and the soft pitter-patter of restless feet, awake too early, too awake to sleep.
The third is that he’ll wake up with a warm body wrapped around his, soft lips pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his neck with a murmured ‘good morning.’ Eames will hear the quiet, familiar rise and fall of a sleepy ‘hello’ in his ear and he’ll curl deeper into the warm embrace of sleep and comfort and murmur back, ‘morning, love.’ He’ll probably fall asleep again, and when he wakes, he’ll hear the shower running.
The fourth is that he’ll roll over in the morning to the lovely, welcome sight of a slight smile, quiet, just for him. The gentle upward slope of pink lips and the crescent shape of grinning eyes. And Eames will smile back.
The fifth is that he’s still in Paris, because for some reason, this is the city that ridiculous Jewish point men fall in love with. Fall in love in. Eames will wake up to the soft subtleties of French being read aloud to him from the daily paper, and Eames will close his eyes again and listen, comfortable and content even though he only knows the most rudimentary elements of the language.
The sixth -- oh, the sixth, the last hurdle, the final, shaking breath before the plunge -- the sixth is that Arthur is still alive. The sixth is what it all comes down to, the desire to see him once more, to hold him, to have him. The need for closeness, for reassuring touches that aren’t dreamt up, for smiles that are more than an afterimage burned into his eyes from staring at the sun for too long. The need to love and feel loved. The need to feel fearless again.
Eames sometimes believes in as many as six impossible things before breakfast. But only for a moment. Only when it’s safe. Only then. Only.
Author: ohmydarlingdear
Team: ANGST!
Prompt: whimsy
Word count: approx. 500
Rating: PG
Warnings: major character death
Summary: Eames often believes in as many as six impossible things before breakfast.
A/N: title borrowed from Through The Looking-Glass, by Lewis Carroll. inspiration for this fic did, in fact, come from the aforementioned story, because there's this brilliant line about believing in impossible things, and, well, I just couldn't help myself. also I just wanted to try to make the prompt "whimsy" angsty. enjoy~
ETA: now with bonus podfic courtesy of templemarker! *flails* how exciting! :D :D :D
Eames often believes in as many as six impossible things before breakfast. Sometimes. Just for a little bit. Half an hour, usually. An hour if he’s feeling indulgent. He doesn’t dream anymore, not naturally anyways, but he can always imagine, pretend that everything is still how it was back then.
The first is that he won’t have to make breakfast for himself this morning. He’ll wake up and he’ll smell pancakes cooked with just the right amount of butter, scrambled eggs with a pinch of salt, bacon sizzling away. Maybe there will be some fresh fruit, neatly sliced oranges or a bowl of plump blueberries. He won’t have to worry about breakfast because it’s not his turn.
The second is similar to the first, only he’ll smell coffee. He’ll smell the familiar rich, bitter scent of fresh, warm coffee and smile, even though he’s never been terribly much of a coffee drinker. He’ll hear the clinking of ceramic cups in the kitchen and the soft pitter-patter of restless feet, awake too early, too awake to sleep.
The third is that he’ll wake up with a warm body wrapped around his, soft lips pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his neck with a murmured ‘good morning.’ Eames will hear the quiet, familiar rise and fall of a sleepy ‘hello’ in his ear and he’ll curl deeper into the warm embrace of sleep and comfort and murmur back, ‘morning, love.’ He’ll probably fall asleep again, and when he wakes, he’ll hear the shower running.
The fourth is that he’ll roll over in the morning to the lovely, welcome sight of a slight smile, quiet, just for him. The gentle upward slope of pink lips and the crescent shape of grinning eyes. And Eames will smile back.
The fifth is that he’s still in Paris, because for some reason, this is the city that ridiculous Jewish point men fall in love with. Fall in love in. Eames will wake up to the soft subtleties of French being read aloud to him from the daily paper, and Eames will close his eyes again and listen, comfortable and content even though he only knows the most rudimentary elements of the language.
The sixth -- oh, the sixth, the last hurdle, the final, shaking breath before the plunge -- the sixth is that Arthur is still alive. The sixth is what it all comes down to, the desire to see him once more, to hold him, to have him. The need for closeness, for reassuring touches that aren’t dreamt up, for smiles that are more than an afterimage burned into his eyes from staring at the sun for too long. The need to love and feel loved. The need to feel fearless again.
Eames sometimes believes in as many as six impossible things before breakfast. But only for a moment. Only when it’s safe. Only then. Only.