Fic: Take A Look At Your Face
Title: Take A Look At Your Face
Author: sparrow_hubris
Team: Angst
Prompt(s): Smile
Word Count: 592
Rating: PG-13
Beta: none
Warnings: Dream death, violence
Summary: Arthur only smiles for Eames.
Authors Notes: This is part of a much longer story that I hope to finish soon.
______________
The smooth curve of the spring-loaded metal is familiar underneath his fingertip. Just an effortless nudge away from unleashing death. His other hand is in his pocket, tracing over the edges of his poker chip absently. He knows this is a dream, but it’s instinct to check anyway, just to be certain.
Arthur chews on his lower lip, blood trickling from a wound near his hairline and fingers twitching at his sides in aborted gestures. His eyes are cast down as he calculates the next step, the new plan, exactly what he’s going to do when he wakes up. Eames can feel the warmth radiating off Arthur’s body as he presses the muzzle of his gun to Arthur’s temple. Arthur doesn’t react. This is familiar, they’ve done this so many times now, and Arthur is distracted. He’s still figuring out exactly what circumstances are going to play out when they wake.
“Arthur,” Eames says, trying to gain the man’s attention. Arthur continues to process a strategy, mentally running through endless scenarios. Eames removes his his hand from his pocket to tilt Arthur’s chin up, to force him to focus. Arthur finally glances up at him, thoughts interrupted by Eames request for attention. “Are you ready?” Eames asks softly, searching in Arthur’s eyes for permission.
Huffing a quick breath of frustration, Arthur thinks for a moment, finalizing whatever decision he’s made, then speaks, “just follow me out quickly, in case they have backup.”
Eames nods and Arthur smiles at him, dimples just barely hinted on his cheeks. He sucks in a deep breath, and closes his eyes. Arthur’s entire body relaxes and a look of pure serenity washes over him. His smile doesn’t waiver at all. This moment, like every other time Eames has killed Arthur in a dream, is just for them. Eames is the one allowed to see exactly when Arthur lets go, when his mind goes blank, the second before death. Eames is the only one who gives Arthur this peace.
Leaning in, Eames brushes his lips on the corner of Arthur’s mouth. It’s chaste so that he doesn’t pull Arthur out of his relaxed state. When he pulls the trigger, a warm spray of blood coats his face. Eames can smell the sweetness of it mixed with the cordite burn of the fired shot. Arthur’s body disappears before it hits the ground. The building starts to shudder as the dream collapses. Eames glances out the window and allows himself a fraction of a second to watch as Arthur’s beautiful landscape crumbles.
When he turns the gun on himself his stomach does a small flip. It’s strange how calm he is when he has his gun trained on Arthur. His hand never waivers. But when he presses the muzzle to his own head he hesitates. He shoves a hand back in his pocket, rolling his chip between his fingers. He will never get used to this. His death isn’t like Arthur’s. There’s no serenity for him, no calm blankness, no release. Every time he feels tension, fear, and the instinctual knowledge that what he’s doing is wrong. But he wouldn’t give this up for the world. It’s always Arthur first, a quick death, a smile, and then he’ll take himself out.
Arthur has already secured the room by the time he wakes. They leave hastily, though unfortunately leaving two bodies and a compromised mark behind. They know their trail will go cold when Arthur has access to wireless and with the two backup identities Eames has ready for any job.
Author: sparrow_hubris
Team: Angst
Prompt(s): Smile
Word Count: 592
Rating: PG-13
Beta: none
Warnings: Dream death, violence
Summary: Arthur only smiles for Eames.
Authors Notes: This is part of a much longer story that I hope to finish soon.
______________
The smooth curve of the spring-loaded metal is familiar underneath his fingertip. Just an effortless nudge away from unleashing death. His other hand is in his pocket, tracing over the edges of his poker chip absently. He knows this is a dream, but it’s instinct to check anyway, just to be certain.
Arthur chews on his lower lip, blood trickling from a wound near his hairline and fingers twitching at his sides in aborted gestures. His eyes are cast down as he calculates the next step, the new plan, exactly what he’s going to do when he wakes up. Eames can feel the warmth radiating off Arthur’s body as he presses the muzzle of his gun to Arthur’s temple. Arthur doesn’t react. This is familiar, they’ve done this so many times now, and Arthur is distracted. He’s still figuring out exactly what circumstances are going to play out when they wake.
“Arthur,” Eames says, trying to gain the man’s attention. Arthur continues to process a strategy, mentally running through endless scenarios. Eames removes his his hand from his pocket to tilt Arthur’s chin up, to force him to focus. Arthur finally glances up at him, thoughts interrupted by Eames request for attention. “Are you ready?” Eames asks softly, searching in Arthur’s eyes for permission.
Huffing a quick breath of frustration, Arthur thinks for a moment, finalizing whatever decision he’s made, then speaks, “just follow me out quickly, in case they have backup.”
Eames nods and Arthur smiles at him, dimples just barely hinted on his cheeks. He sucks in a deep breath, and closes his eyes. Arthur’s entire body relaxes and a look of pure serenity washes over him. His smile doesn’t waiver at all. This moment, like every other time Eames has killed Arthur in a dream, is just for them. Eames is the one allowed to see exactly when Arthur lets go, when his mind goes blank, the second before death. Eames is the only one who gives Arthur this peace.
Leaning in, Eames brushes his lips on the corner of Arthur’s mouth. It’s chaste so that he doesn’t pull Arthur out of his relaxed state. When he pulls the trigger, a warm spray of blood coats his face. Eames can smell the sweetness of it mixed with the cordite burn of the fired shot. Arthur’s body disappears before it hits the ground. The building starts to shudder as the dream collapses. Eames glances out the window and allows himself a fraction of a second to watch as Arthur’s beautiful landscape crumbles.
When he turns the gun on himself his stomach does a small flip. It’s strange how calm he is when he has his gun trained on Arthur. His hand never waivers. But when he presses the muzzle to his own head he hesitates. He shoves a hand back in his pocket, rolling his chip between his fingers. He will never get used to this. His death isn’t like Arthur’s. There’s no serenity for him, no calm blankness, no release. Every time he feels tension, fear, and the instinctual knowledge that what he’s doing is wrong. But he wouldn’t give this up for the world. It’s always Arthur first, a quick death, a smile, and then he’ll take himself out.
Arthur has already secured the room by the time he wakes. They leave hastily, though unfortunately leaving two bodies and a compromised mark behind. They know their trail will go cold when Arthur has access to wireless and with the two backup identities Eames has ready for any job.