[When the old lady approaches, Arthur stops still on the spot, the wide, amused grin falling slowly into a look of confusion as he tries to make out what she's saying, takes note of her gestures and glances over at the cardboard box curiously.
He's about to ask what it is he's missing, what's in the box that makes Eames throw him the unreadable glance, but then he sees it, the puppy popping out over the top, a tiny ball of black and white fluff. He can't help it, he smiles, heart aching a little at how adorable he finds it. But then he catches himself, brings back the baffled expression as he turns to Eames.]
What is it, what is she saying? [Looking back to the puppy, he frowns as he tries to see if it's okay while it attempts to scramble fully out of the confinement.] Is there something wrong with it? It seems a bit...small. [He shuffles closer, gaze torn between the dog and Eames.]
[Crouching down, Eames reaches out a hand to ruffle his fingers through the puppy's soft fur. The little thing yips at him in response, tries to use Eames' hand as leverage to get outside of his carboard home.]
She's trying to sell him off. [Eames explains to Arthur, tilting his head because even though the puppy is adorable, his world is still angled Arthur's way.] This little mite is a runt, apparently, not been very well by the look of it. I think she's trying to get us to take him off her hands. I don't suppose she can keep him, dogs are still another mouth to feed.
[As if to prove Eames' point the little puppy snags his teeth in Eames' jacket sleeve and pulls, soft little baby growl falling from him. The man he's tugging on laughs, quiet and utterly delighted as he extracts himself from his trap.] People don't really like the small dogs, I suppose. If they've been a bit poorly then I guess it's a sign they're a little bit more difficult. I knew someone who used to breed dogs and the runts never faired very well.
[Listening, he gives a small nod of the head, having thought it might be something along those lines. He looks over to the woman who's still muttering in a language he frustratingly doesn't understand and gesturing every which way with an urgency. She's small, frail, and not at all well-kept, as if she can only just scrape by herself without a dog to take care of as well.]
That's what I thought. [He watches Eames with the small animal, heart swelling and face fond, and he knows what they have to do, that he can't leave the dog with the old woman because he could never live with himself if he does, forever wondering if it survived or not and what he could have done, and the way the other man is, the evident way it brightens him, draws out a side that he's never witnessed before and never wants to stop seeing.
His wallet is in his hand before he realises it, thumb flipping over the notes he exchanged for dollars earlier that day.] How much does she want for it?
Anything, I think she's pretty desperate Arthur. [He looks up at that though, hand still pressed against the puppy's head. He nudges Eames with the curve of his nose, yipping and wagging his tail excitedly as he tries to fight his way inside Eames' sleeve.]
What are you doing? [It's just the slightest tinge of curious, confused as he frowns up at Arthur.] Even if we give her money to look after him it won't last.
[He rolls his eyes, amused, but fond, and removes a hefty amount from the wallet, more than enough for the cost of buying the dog and a little extra to help keep the old woman fed for a while.] Oh, Eames, sometimes you really don't have to pretend to be stupid, not when it comes so naturally.
[Stepping up to the lady, he takes one of her hands, places the money into it with a kind gentleness he doesn't often show, smiling politely as he nods his head in the hope that she understands what he means, talking that little bit slower than usual and gesticulating around to stress the words.] We'll take the puppy, ma'am. I hope this will be enough. [At first he isn't sure if it gets across, the lady staring at him after looking to the money, but then she's laughing, almost jumping for joy with what he thinks might be gratitude or relief, or both, and then she turns away after one last glance at the dog.
Arthur crouches down beside Eames, reaching out to give the puppy a light pat to the head.] Hmm, we should get him home, feed him up and
( ... )
[He can't stop looking at Arthur for a moment, fingers curled in the puppy's fur. He blinks as though he can't quite realise what Arthur means before a flicker of a smile starts on his face, building momentum. He leans forward, presses his mouth to Arthur's in the softest, gentlest of kisses, only pulling back because they're too in public here.]
I think you're beautiful, darling. [Eames turns his attention back to the dog, manages to lift him free of the box and is greeted with a little mound of puppy trying to lick every inch of his face. Eames' smile only widens, like a little boy in a candy store as he holds the puppy carefully in the circle of his arms.] Say thank you to Arthur, scamp.
[The kiss takes him off guard and a giggle makes its way out, mouth stretching into a grin.] I have my moments.
[Still crouching, he watches Eames with the puppy, head tilting the tiniest amount and eyes glistening bright, as if the image is that overwhelming he might actually cry with glee.] He loves you already. [He almost leans in to kiss his cheek, but quickly thinks better of it, patting his shoulder instead.] I love you.
[He pushes himself up, shoves his cold hands into the warm pockets of his coat. It worries him, how thin the dog is, how small, and the thought of anything happening to it pains him as he thinks of how Eames might take it going from this alone.] Come on, we should take it back to the flat, before it freezes. The poor thing looks starved.
[He beams at him brightly at Arthur's admission, as though he's surprised by the fact that he cares that much about him, taken aback by it. It's obvious he's pleased, a little flushed, holding on to the squirming animal like he's something precious and in every way he is.
Eames stands, knees cracking as he carries the dog, shifts him in his arms to be able to take him along. The puppy just sort of looks over at Arthur and then curls up in the circle of his arms like it's his rightful place.] We'll have to get him puppy food and a bed, get a vet to take a look at him and give him his shots, but he looks better already, don't you scamp?
[His smile is bright, excitable really, as he falls into step with the other man. When he speaks his tone is curious.] What are you going to call him?
[Arthur's lungs pull in a large amount of cold air without warning, almost making him cough, but he exhales slowly, a happy sigh carrying with it. There are things that make him melt on the inside, things he might secretly consider to be cute, adorable even, but nothing has ever made him feel like this, like he wants to throw his arms around the other man and make a horrible sound like a group of girls in a school yard might be heard doing
( ... )
[He carries the puppy further into the flat, holding the now trembling thing closer to him. Smoothing his hand down the dog's little side, Eames makes a shushing sound deep in his throat, staying by the door so as not to frighten him further.] Come on now, it's okay, I know it must smell different but this is your new home.
[He doesn't seem to care that he's prattling on at something that can't understand him, nudging Arthur with his hip as they come home. He smiles at his boyfriend, teeth flashing.] You're a big strong thing, aren't you little man? And we've got Arthur to take care of us, mm? Don't worry, he's brilliant.
Oh god, please stop. You're killing me. [As soon as the door is closed behind them, something he makes a point to do carefully so it doesn't make much of a noise to startle the puppy, he steps up to his side, slides his arms around his middle and presses a kiss to his cheek.
He smiles at the compliment, or at least that's what he's going to take it as, and rests his chin on Eames' shoulder.] And don't you forget it. But you know I will. I'll take very good care of both my strays.
[He kisses his cheek again before moving away, going to the fridge and pulling out the slices of ham and other pieces of left over meat, and breaks it all up into a dish, the pieces small enough for the puppy, filling another with a bit of water.] What you gonna call him?
[He hums under Arthur's touch, thrills from it and when he's done, Eames ends up sitting on the floor with the puppy. He places him down gently, ruffling his hair and watches his tentative worried little movements towards the bowl.
It's then that Eames tugs on Arthur's arm, pulls him down beside the forger so he can lean into his space, warm and happy and ever so content. Eames watches the puppy like a mother hen, ready to scoop him up to safety if he has to as the small thing explores their floor.]
[He makes himself comfortable on the hard floor beside the forger, arm going around his back and head gently leaning against him. He's torn between watching the puppy and watching Eames watch the ball of fur.]
Hmm, I did, but I bought him for you. [Smiling, he pulls back a little, combs his fingers through Eames' hair to flat it down where the wind's pulled it out of place.] I never thought I'd see you so happy. The way your little face lit up at the sight of him, it reminded me of my sister on Christmas mornings. [He pokes the food bowl with his foot, nudging it closer to the puppy so he knows it's there.] Besides, if you leave it to me, I'll only call him William.
Oh. [Eames turns at that, eyes a little too wide, lips parted.] For me?
[He looks a little bewildered for a second, blue eyes so full of something gentle and soft, loving and very surprised.] Oh Arthur, Arthur. You - thank you.
[He leans in, presses a kiss to just below Arthur's ear before settling against him, watching the tiny puppy as it seems to realise the magical food is near.] I don't know then, I'll have to think about it.
There was no way I could make you walk away without it. [He shrugs, watching the puppy and trying to hide the affection on his face, voice as close to casual as possible.] Besides, if we left it there, it'd never survive.
[But he can't help smiling at the way the other man reacts, so grateful and happy, and he realises, then, in that moment, that this is what it feels like to be happy. It stirs something old inside him, something he spent so long trying to forget, but now he can remember and it doesn't hurt, not the way it did, because he never thought he could ever be so content again.
He wraps both arms around Eames, shifts as close as he can, and keeps him close, the hold maybe a little tighter than necessary.] Don't think too hard, I don't want you hurting yourself. But you should, the stork brought him to you especially.
[Instead of eating the food from the bowl, the puppy ends up sniffing around Eames shoe like his laces are a particularly exciting find. He snaps at them, misjudges the distance and finds only air. Eames can feel something constrict in his chest at how adorable the little thing is.]
He needs a good name, something regal mm? Hamlet or something ridiculous like that. Sherlock. Ford? Nah, actually that one's stupid.
He's about to ask what it is he's missing, what's in the box that makes Eames throw him the unreadable glance, but then he sees it, the puppy popping out over the top, a tiny ball of black and white fluff. He can't help it, he smiles, heart aching a little at how adorable he finds it. But then he catches himself, brings back the baffled expression as he turns to Eames.]
What is it, what is she saying? [Looking back to the puppy, he frowns as he tries to see if it's okay while it attempts to scramble fully out of the confinement.] Is there something wrong with it? It seems a bit...small. [He shuffles closer, gaze torn between the dog and Eames.]
Reply
She's trying to sell him off. [Eames explains to Arthur, tilting his head because even though the puppy is adorable, his world is still angled Arthur's way.] This little mite is a runt, apparently, not been very well by the look of it. I think she's trying to get us to take him off her hands. I don't suppose she can keep him, dogs are still another mouth to feed.
[As if to prove Eames' point the little puppy snags his teeth in Eames' jacket sleeve and pulls, soft little baby growl falling from him. The man he's tugging on laughs, quiet and utterly delighted as he extracts himself from his trap.] People don't really like the small dogs, I suppose. If they've been a bit poorly then I guess it's a sign they're a little bit more difficult. I knew someone who used to breed dogs and the runts never faired very well.
Reply
That's what I thought. [He watches Eames with the small animal, heart swelling and face fond, and he knows what they have to do, that he can't leave the dog with the old woman because he could never live with himself if he does, forever wondering if it survived or not and what he could have done, and the way the other man is, the evident way it brightens him, draws out a side that he's never witnessed before and never wants to stop seeing.
His wallet is in his hand before he realises it, thumb flipping over the notes he exchanged for dollars earlier that day.] How much does she want for it?
Reply
What are you doing? [It's just the slightest tinge of curious, confused as he frowns up at Arthur.] Even if we give her money to look after him it won't last.
Reply
[Stepping up to the lady, he takes one of her hands, places the money into it with a kind gentleness he doesn't often show, smiling politely as he nods his head in the hope that she understands what he means, talking that little bit slower than usual and gesticulating around to stress the words.] We'll take the puppy, ma'am. I hope this will be enough. [At first he isn't sure if it gets across, the lady staring at him after looking to the money, but then she's laughing, almost jumping for joy with what he thinks might be gratitude or relief, or both, and then she turns away after one last glance at the dog.
Arthur crouches down beside Eames, reaching out to give the puppy a light pat to the head.] Hmm, we should get him home, feed him up and ( ... )
Reply
I think you're beautiful, darling. [Eames turns his attention back to the dog, manages to lift him free of the box and is greeted with a little mound of puppy trying to lick every inch of his face. Eames' smile only widens, like a little boy in a candy store as he holds the puppy carefully in the circle of his arms.] Say thank you to Arthur, scamp.
Reply
[Still crouching, he watches Eames with the puppy, head tilting the tiniest amount and eyes glistening bright, as if the image is that overwhelming he might actually cry with glee.] He loves you already. [He almost leans in to kiss his cheek, but quickly thinks better of it, patting his shoulder instead.] I love you.
[He pushes himself up, shoves his cold hands into the warm pockets of his coat. It worries him, how thin the dog is, how small, and the thought of anything happening to it pains him as he thinks of how Eames might take it going from this alone.] Come on, we should take it back to the flat, before it freezes. The poor thing looks starved.
Reply
Eames stands, knees cracking as he carries the dog, shifts him in his arms to be able to take him along. The puppy just sort of looks over at Arthur and then curls up in the circle of his arms like it's his rightful place.] We'll have to get him puppy food and a bed, get a vet to take a look at him and give him his shots, but he looks better already, don't you scamp?
[His smile is bright, excitable really, as he falls into step with the other man. When he speaks his tone is curious.] What are you going to call him?
Reply
Reply
[He doesn't seem to care that he's prattling on at something that can't understand him, nudging Arthur with his hip as they come home. He smiles at his boyfriend, teeth flashing.] You're a big strong thing, aren't you little man? And we've got Arthur to take care of us, mm? Don't worry, he's brilliant.
Reply
He smiles at the compliment, or at least that's what he's going to take it as, and rests his chin on Eames' shoulder.] And don't you forget it. But you know I will. I'll take very good care of both my strays.
[He kisses his cheek again before moving away, going to the fridge and pulling out the slices of ham and other pieces of left over meat, and breaks it all up into a dish, the pieces small enough for the puppy, filling another with a bit of water.] What you gonna call him?
Reply
It's then that Eames tugs on Arthur's arm, pulls him down beside the forger so he can lean into his space, warm and happy and ever so content. Eames watches the puppy like a mother hen, ready to scoop him up to safety if he has to as the small thing explores their floor.]
Shouldn't you name him? You bought him.
Reply
Hmm, I did, but I bought him for you. [Smiling, he pulls back a little, combs his fingers through Eames' hair to flat it down where the wind's pulled it out of place.] I never thought I'd see you so happy. The way your little face lit up at the sight of him, it reminded me of my sister on Christmas mornings. [He pokes the food bowl with his foot, nudging it closer to the puppy so he knows it's there.] Besides, if you leave it to me, I'll only call him William.
Reply
[He looks a little bewildered for a second, blue eyes so full of something gentle and soft, loving and very surprised.] Oh Arthur, Arthur. You - thank you.
[He leans in, presses a kiss to just below Arthur's ear before settling against him, watching the tiny puppy as it seems to realise the magical food is near.] I don't know then, I'll have to think about it.
Reply
[But he can't help smiling at the way the other man reacts, so grateful and happy, and he realises, then, in that moment, that this is what it feels like to be happy. It stirs something old inside him, something he spent so long trying to forget, but now he can remember and it doesn't hurt, not the way it did, because he never thought he could ever be so content again.
He wraps both arms around Eames, shifts as close as he can, and keeps him close, the hold maybe a little tighter than necessary.] Don't think too hard, I don't want you hurting yourself. But you should, the stork brought him to you especially.
Reply
He needs a good name, something regal mm? Hamlet or something ridiculous like that. Sherlock. Ford? Nah, actually that one's stupid.
Reply
Leave a comment