[Fic] Hand in hand is the only way to land, pt. 2
Title: Hand in hand is the only way to land
Author/Artist: sirona_gs and red_rahl
Team: ROMANCE!
Prompt: Natural
Word count: ~1,500 this part
Rating: PG so far
Warnings: None
Summary: Arthur needs help -- so he goes to the newly opened bookstore a couple blocks away. Imagine his surprise to find it run by a familiar face...
Notes: This story is a WIP collaboration, and will post once a week so that both red_rahl and me can polish our bits (so to speak). Title from The Cure's Lovecats. This installment is a liiittle later than I promised, but look! Bonus pretty! <3
Part One
[art] by red_rahl
[text] by sirona_gs
One week later
Eames pushes his sliding glasses up his nose and leans back in his chair, cracks his neck to relieve the tension making his head ache. He rubs at the sore spot on his nose where his glasses press down, swipes his thumb and forefinger over his tired eyes. It's his own fault, really -- he'd stayed up way later than he should last night with Derek, watching the kitten's antics with barely-disguised delight. Who knew that all the happiness in the world could be found in a ball of string? The memory floods him with joy and he really can't help the smile on his face.
He pushes the weariness away and stands, picking up the pile of books by the till. Today's shipment is later than he would have liked, but the important thing is they're here now, and all the orders have been collected by his grateful customers. Running a bookshop is not what Eames had imagined he'd be doing with his life, when he was little -- international man of mystery had been more his choice of vocation those days. Still, there's a quiet sort of happiness in his chosen profession, and really, Eames would not change it for anything.
The replacement books slip into the empty spaces left by sold copies, and the shelves look pleasingly full once again. He rubs the spine of a beautiful deluxe hard-cover edition of The Secret Garden, his favourite book as a child, and remembers his mother's low, soothing voice reading to him and his twin sister Annabel, remembers her slipping into the different accents like the sleek body of an otter through the flow of the river, remembers the magic coming to life in the dark, cozy space of their bedroom before they'd grown up enough to warrant separate quarters.
He had always loved reading, fascinated by the way he could travel through a pirate ship at noon, dive into the ocean waters at night, all from his living room. And of course, knowing that his father would be back in a week to continue reading The Tempest with him -- he had hardly been able to wait.
The bell over the door tinkles, startling him badly. He always does tend to drift away into his own head at the bookshop, safe between the bookcases he designed himself, filled with everything needed to feed people's imagination, leave them craving more. He makes his way through the maze of books and plush heather carpet, heads for the front till.
"Hello there, how may I... Arthur?" He can hardly believe his eyes, for there he stands, a little awkwardly, his very own superhero.
Arthur stares at him, looking just as startled as Eames feels. "Hi," Arthur says haltingly. "I never realised... I used to come in here all the time, when it was a toy store. I've been meaning to come by ever since I saw it turned into a bookshop, but..."
"Yeah," Eames adds, rubbing at the back of his neck, a nervous tick he's been trying to train himself out of. "We've only been open a couple of months."
There's an awkward silence. Eames finds himself searching for something, anything vaguely intelligent to say, but there's something about Arthur, the lithe frame of his body, the toned forearms exposed by his rolled-up shirtsleeves, that makes all the words fly out of his head without a trace.
Arthur, bless him, decides to help him. "How is Derek? Is he settling in okay?"
Eames practically feels himself relax. "Yes! Yes, he's going great! He's shredded his first curtain, the little tyke," he says fondly.
Arthur dimples at him. Eames' knees threaten to betray him. How had he not noticed those the first time round?
"I'm so pleased to hear that," Arthur says warmly, amusement in his voice. "Congratulations."
"Yes, well," Eames demurs with a wave he hopes doesn't look as contrived as it feels. "I am expecting him to graduate to widdling in my shoes any day now."
Arthur smothers a laugh, half-turning as if to hide it. Eames can't imagine why he should want to do that -- he looks so lovely when he laughs.
Eames becomes aware that he is staring like a lovesick teenager. He shakes himself, feeling a flush climbing up his neck and heating his cheeks.
"Um," he says eloquently. "Was there something--" he trails off, worried that Arthur might think he was trying to get rid of him. That would be terrible, since it's the very last thing Eames wants in the world.
"Oh! Yes, there was! Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm taking up your time," Arthur says, looking chagrined.
"No!" Eames says far too quickly. "No, no, not at all! There's nothing more important--I mean, I don't have anything else--um." Oh god. He's changed his mind. He wants nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Arthur probably thinks he's an absolute idiot.
Arthur is looking at him. Eames has to battle a desperate desire to go hide between his bookshelves, but that would mean that Arthur would go away, and that would be awful.
"Actually, I was hoping you'd be able to help me find a book on exotic birds. I work with the State SPCA, you see, and they've just brought in a toucan that's not been cared for properly. I rarely have to deal with them, though, and I need to brush up on my reading."
It's amazing how much this calms Eames; he feels work mode settle over him like a cloak, the confidence he finds himself sorely lacking around Arthur coming back now he's in his element again.
"Of course, I have just the thing. I'll bring it right out!" He scuttles away, heading for the shop's Biology section.
He thanks his lucky stars for Yusuf's strangely emphatic interest in all sorts of bizarre creatures, because it means he carries everything from the British Small Animal Veterinary Assosiation Manual of Exotic Pets to Exotic Pets: A Veterinary Guide for Owners. He fishes out the former; there's an actual picture of a toucan on the front, but Eames flips through the contents just in case, and yes, there's a whole chapter on exotic birds.
Arthur's perusing the Children's section when Eames comes back. It's a bright spot just by the till, set up in a natural niche of the shop that allows for small chairs to be scattered between the low bookshelves, and an AstroTurf flooring to cover the ground. It's Eames' favourite part of the shop -- all primary colours, the solid parts of the bookshelves painted with aeroplanes and boats and fairies and unicorns. They had taken him ages to draw, especially with the way he'd had to contort himself to get at the odd angles, but he's absolutely chuffed with the way they came out.
Arthur is looking at them, a fond if nostalgic smile on his lips. It sets off a warm, gushing feeling in Eames' chest. It takes him a few moments to recognise it as happiness, pure and simple.
Eames hates to break the moment, hates the thought that as soon as Arthur has what he came for, he would leave, but it's what Arthur needs, and Eames has to stop mooning at him and get him what he asked for. Any minute now.
Arthur turns and spots him; the smile grows. So does the thing in Eames' chest.
"Found it," Eames manages after a moment, determined not to make even more of a fool of himself than he already has.
"Fantastic," Arthur says. Eames has never been more aware of just how bloody sexy an American accent could be. Though it might have something to do with the person shaping his lips around the sounds.
He gives Arthur a discount. Arthur tries to protest, but Eames is adamant.
"I am investing in my cat's well being," he says lightly. "Think of me as your knowledge supplier."
"I'll do that," Arthur says dryly, but he sounds pleased."Certainly you're more pleasant to talk to than my ancient computer."
"I'd clue you in on a deal for a new one, but I think I'd rather keep you coming back to me," Eames grins.
Arthur snorts. "Some dealer you are."
"I know," Eames says happily.
"See you next week," Arthur says on his way out of the door.
"Absolutely," Eames replies, and watches Arthur leave.
He feels the strange desire to get a new pet. The stranger the better, just so he would be able to call on Arthur as often as he could come up with an excuse.
When he finds the gerbil in his cereal cupboard two days later, Eames is not even remotely amused.
Part Three
Author/Artist: sirona_gs and red_rahl
Team: ROMANCE!
Prompt: Natural
Word count: ~1,500 this part
Rating: PG so far
Warnings: None
Summary: Arthur needs help -- so he goes to the newly opened bookstore a couple blocks away. Imagine his surprise to find it run by a familiar face...
Notes: This story is a WIP collaboration, and will post once a week so that both red_rahl and me can polish our bits (so to speak). Title from The Cure's Lovecats. This installment is a liiittle later than I promised, but look! Bonus pretty! <3
Part One
[art] by red_rahl
[text] by sirona_gs
One week later
Eames pushes his sliding glasses up his nose and leans back in his chair, cracks his neck to relieve the tension making his head ache. He rubs at the sore spot on his nose where his glasses press down, swipes his thumb and forefinger over his tired eyes. It's his own fault, really -- he'd stayed up way later than he should last night with Derek, watching the kitten's antics with barely-disguised delight. Who knew that all the happiness in the world could be found in a ball of string? The memory floods him with joy and he really can't help the smile on his face.
He pushes the weariness away and stands, picking up the pile of books by the till. Today's shipment is later than he would have liked, but the important thing is they're here now, and all the orders have been collected by his grateful customers. Running a bookshop is not what Eames had imagined he'd be doing with his life, when he was little -- international man of mystery had been more his choice of vocation those days. Still, there's a quiet sort of happiness in his chosen profession, and really, Eames would not change it for anything.
The replacement books slip into the empty spaces left by sold copies, and the shelves look pleasingly full once again. He rubs the spine of a beautiful deluxe hard-cover edition of The Secret Garden, his favourite book as a child, and remembers his mother's low, soothing voice reading to him and his twin sister Annabel, remembers her slipping into the different accents like the sleek body of an otter through the flow of the river, remembers the magic coming to life in the dark, cozy space of their bedroom before they'd grown up enough to warrant separate quarters.
He had always loved reading, fascinated by the way he could travel through a pirate ship at noon, dive into the ocean waters at night, all from his living room. And of course, knowing that his father would be back in a week to continue reading The Tempest with him -- he had hardly been able to wait.
The bell over the door tinkles, startling him badly. He always does tend to drift away into his own head at the bookshop, safe between the bookcases he designed himself, filled with everything needed to feed people's imagination, leave them craving more. He makes his way through the maze of books and plush heather carpet, heads for the front till.
"Hello there, how may I... Arthur?" He can hardly believe his eyes, for there he stands, a little awkwardly, his very own superhero.
Arthur stares at him, looking just as startled as Eames feels. "Hi," Arthur says haltingly. "I never realised... I used to come in here all the time, when it was a toy store. I've been meaning to come by ever since I saw it turned into a bookshop, but..."
"Yeah," Eames adds, rubbing at the back of his neck, a nervous tick he's been trying to train himself out of. "We've only been open a couple of months."
There's an awkward silence. Eames finds himself searching for something, anything vaguely intelligent to say, but there's something about Arthur, the lithe frame of his body, the toned forearms exposed by his rolled-up shirtsleeves, that makes all the words fly out of his head without a trace.
Arthur, bless him, decides to help him. "How is Derek? Is he settling in okay?"
Eames practically feels himself relax. "Yes! Yes, he's going great! He's shredded his first curtain, the little tyke," he says fondly.
Arthur dimples at him. Eames' knees threaten to betray him. How had he not noticed those the first time round?
"I'm so pleased to hear that," Arthur says warmly, amusement in his voice. "Congratulations."
"Yes, well," Eames demurs with a wave he hopes doesn't look as contrived as it feels. "I am expecting him to graduate to widdling in my shoes any day now."
Arthur smothers a laugh, half-turning as if to hide it. Eames can't imagine why he should want to do that -- he looks so lovely when he laughs.
Eames becomes aware that he is staring like a lovesick teenager. He shakes himself, feeling a flush climbing up his neck and heating his cheeks.
"Um," he says eloquently. "Was there something--" he trails off, worried that Arthur might think he was trying to get rid of him. That would be terrible, since it's the very last thing Eames wants in the world.
"Oh! Yes, there was! Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm taking up your time," Arthur says, looking chagrined.
"No!" Eames says far too quickly. "No, no, not at all! There's nothing more important--I mean, I don't have anything else--um." Oh god. He's changed his mind. He wants nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Arthur probably thinks he's an absolute idiot.
Arthur is looking at him. Eames has to battle a desperate desire to go hide between his bookshelves, but that would mean that Arthur would go away, and that would be awful.
"Actually, I was hoping you'd be able to help me find a book on exotic birds. I work with the State SPCA, you see, and they've just brought in a toucan that's not been cared for properly. I rarely have to deal with them, though, and I need to brush up on my reading."
It's amazing how much this calms Eames; he feels work mode settle over him like a cloak, the confidence he finds himself sorely lacking around Arthur coming back now he's in his element again.
"Of course, I have just the thing. I'll bring it right out!" He scuttles away, heading for the shop's Biology section.
He thanks his lucky stars for Yusuf's strangely emphatic interest in all sorts of bizarre creatures, because it means he carries everything from the British Small Animal Veterinary Assosiation Manual of Exotic Pets to Exotic Pets: A Veterinary Guide for Owners. He fishes out the former; there's an actual picture of a toucan on the front, but Eames flips through the contents just in case, and yes, there's a whole chapter on exotic birds.
Arthur's perusing the Children's section when Eames comes back. It's a bright spot just by the till, set up in a natural niche of the shop that allows for small chairs to be scattered between the low bookshelves, and an AstroTurf flooring to cover the ground. It's Eames' favourite part of the shop -- all primary colours, the solid parts of the bookshelves painted with aeroplanes and boats and fairies and unicorns. They had taken him ages to draw, especially with the way he'd had to contort himself to get at the odd angles, but he's absolutely chuffed with the way they came out.
Arthur is looking at them, a fond if nostalgic smile on his lips. It sets off a warm, gushing feeling in Eames' chest. It takes him a few moments to recognise it as happiness, pure and simple.
Eames hates to break the moment, hates the thought that as soon as Arthur has what he came for, he would leave, but it's what Arthur needs, and Eames has to stop mooning at him and get him what he asked for. Any minute now.
Arthur turns and spots him; the smile grows. So does the thing in Eames' chest.
"Found it," Eames manages after a moment, determined not to make even more of a fool of himself than he already has.
"Fantastic," Arthur says. Eames has never been more aware of just how bloody sexy an American accent could be. Though it might have something to do with the person shaping his lips around the sounds.
He gives Arthur a discount. Arthur tries to protest, but Eames is adamant.
"I am investing in my cat's well being," he says lightly. "Think of me as your knowledge supplier."
"I'll do that," Arthur says dryly, but he sounds pleased."Certainly you're more pleasant to talk to than my ancient computer."
"I'd clue you in on a deal for a new one, but I think I'd rather keep you coming back to me," Eames grins.
Arthur snorts. "Some dealer you are."
"I know," Eames says happily.
"See you next week," Arthur says on his way out of the door.
"Absolutely," Eames replies, and watches Arthur leave.
He feels the strange desire to get a new pet. The stranger the better, just so he would be able to call on Arthur as often as he could come up with an excuse.
When he finds the gerbil in his cereal cupboard two days later, Eames is not even remotely amused.
Part Three