fic + art: Arthur Has Never Seen Eames Cry
Title: Arthur Has Never Seen Eames Cry
Author: croik, art by essouffle
Team: Angst
Prompt: Silence, Overwhelmed
Word Count: 481
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Arthur has never seen Eames cry before.
He's just come back from getting ice and Eames is slumped on the sofa, his phone dangling in a loose grip. He doesn't know who was on the other end, what could have happened in such short a time, but Eames's brow is deeply lined, and his upper lip is pulling back, a grimace, denial and confusion. The light from the hall falls over his fingers and he glances up, and their eyes meet.
It's not an emergency--Arthur has seen we need to go, right now, but this isn't that. Whatever's happened is over. Eames is staring back at him, trying to speak, but Arthur can see his throat flex and stutter around the words, and all that comes out is breath, incredulous and pained. Eames shakes his head. He smiles, a flash of bitter teeth. It makes no sense. He's holding it back because he can't understand where they're coming from, the tears welling in his eyes. He's not supposed to be feeling this. He's not supposed to have any emotion left for this.
The tears slide down Eames' cheeks, startling him. He takes in a breath and it's sharp, almost panicked--he knows he's supposed to do something, but there's nothing to do because whatever's happened, it's over, and it's somewhere else, and he's here, and he's helpless. He's never felt so helpless and it frightens him. The phone taps softly on the carpet when it falls, and Eames' fingers stretch as if having been relieved of a great weight. He straightens, intending to stand, but there's nowhere to go.
There's nowhere to go because there's nothing he can do but get stared at by Arthur, who is still standing in the doorway with the ice bucket.
Eames sags over his knees. He doesn't try to hide. His shoulders tremble and he's breaking, right in front of Arthur's eyes, because with one phone call something in his world has changed, or has been taken, or has simply faded away. All the could haves and should haves mean nothing, and he regrets it so much, more than he ever thought was possible. He's crying. His eyes are bright and glossy and his full lips are parted, slack, and he's beautiful, heart-breaking, in all his fragility and pain.
Arthur can't breathe, but he closes the door behind him, and he sets the ice bucket on the table. He's not brave enough to ask yet but he moves closer until Eames' bowed head is leaning into his vest. He touches the back of Eames' neck in a way that he hopes is soothing, because he doesn't know what else to do; he's not supposed to feel this, either. When Eames doesn't urge him away he assumes it's invitation enough, and he just holds him, silent and aching, confused and helpless.
And the ice melts.
Author: croik, art by essouffle
Team: Angst
Prompt: Silence, Overwhelmed
Word Count: 481
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Arthur has never seen Eames cry before.
He's just come back from getting ice and Eames is slumped on the sofa, his phone dangling in a loose grip. He doesn't know who was on the other end, what could have happened in such short a time, but Eames's brow is deeply lined, and his upper lip is pulling back, a grimace, denial and confusion. The light from the hall falls over his fingers and he glances up, and their eyes meet.
It's not an emergency--Arthur has seen we need to go, right now, but this isn't that. Whatever's happened is over. Eames is staring back at him, trying to speak, but Arthur can see his throat flex and stutter around the words, and all that comes out is breath, incredulous and pained. Eames shakes his head. He smiles, a flash of bitter teeth. It makes no sense. He's holding it back because he can't understand where they're coming from, the tears welling in his eyes. He's not supposed to be feeling this. He's not supposed to have any emotion left for this.
The tears slide down Eames' cheeks, startling him. He takes in a breath and it's sharp, almost panicked--he knows he's supposed to do something, but there's nothing to do because whatever's happened, it's over, and it's somewhere else, and he's here, and he's helpless. He's never felt so helpless and it frightens him. The phone taps softly on the carpet when it falls, and Eames' fingers stretch as if having been relieved of a great weight. He straightens, intending to stand, but there's nowhere to go.
There's nowhere to go because there's nothing he can do but get stared at by Arthur, who is still standing in the doorway with the ice bucket.
Eames sags over his knees. He doesn't try to hide. His shoulders tremble and he's breaking, right in front of Arthur's eyes, because with one phone call something in his world has changed, or has been taken, or has simply faded away. All the could haves and should haves mean nothing, and he regrets it so much, more than he ever thought was possible. He's crying. His eyes are bright and glossy and his full lips are parted, slack, and he's beautiful, heart-breaking, in all his fragility and pain.
Arthur can't breathe, but he closes the door behind him, and he sets the ice bucket on the table. He's not brave enough to ask yet but he moves closer until Eames' bowed head is leaning into his vest. He touches the back of Eames' neck in a way that he hopes is soothing, because he doesn't know what else to do; he's not supposed to feel this, either. When Eames doesn't urge him away he assumes it's invitation enough, and he just holds him, silent and aching, confused and helpless.
And the ice melts.