AELDWS Week 8 - Drabbles
Here are the drabbles for week 8!
The prompt was:
Genre/trope: pre-canon
Prompt: remorse
Word count: up to 250 words
There will be a single elimination this week.
#1
Title: Gainsborough
Author: earlgreytea68
Warnings: none
Summary: A picture is worth a thousand words.
When Eames decided to disappear from the military, he had no way to get a message to the young American who had sometimes (when Eames was lucky) shown up in the dreams. Eames didn’t even know his name. Frankly, Eames didn’t even know if he was real. But, for a long time, all Eames did was dream of the American and develop a penchant for stealing portrait miniatures of dark-haired, sharp-eyed young men whenever he could.
The American turned out to be real. He turned out to be called Arthur. He turned out to have grown from petulance into more imposing glowers and frowns. He had also grown into some lethal suits. And practically out of them, given the tailoring.
Eames didn’t snog Arthur senseless as soon as he came upon him again. Instead, he took to stealing him paintings: Picassos and Manets and Caravaggios. He delivered them to Arthur, and followed up with unsigned postcards he hoped Arthur understood: Here’s where I am. Come and get me.
Arthur never came to get him. Eames wondered if he was upset that Eames had left without a good-bye all those years ago. Eames felt bad about that. He felt worse about the fact that he still hadn’t snogged Arthur senseless.
Eames stole a Gainsborough, sent it to Arthur, and went underground. When he read the Gainsborough had been returned-Arthur always returned the paintings-he sent Arthur his customary follow-up. This time, a vintage postcard of Mombasa.
#2
Title: Flight Plans
Author: sofia_gigante
Warnings: none
Summary: Eames doesn’t know what’s worse--the things said, or the things that remained unsaid.
“Flight 8726 for Bangkok now boarding...”
Eames checked his pocket watch. The big hand twitched, marking a full minute since he’d looked last. The knot in his stomach tightened. Arthur was never this late.
He’s not coming.
Eames slugged down the last watery dregs of his whiskey. Two of those on an empty stomach, and he still couldn’t wash out the bitter taste that had been in the back of his throat since last night.
“Eames, he needs me. I’m sorry.”
“It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? Dom snaps his fingers and you come running.”
Eames sighed and slid off the bar stool. He looked back only once before slinking towards the gate.
“What about us, Arthur? Our plans?”
“Plans change.”
He half expected to find Arthur already at the gate, leather valise in hand and a smirk of admonishment for spending too long at the bar.
He wasn’t.
“When are you going to let go of this sick obsession, Arthur? Dom doesn’t love you, never loved you--”
He hadn’t gotten to finish: like I do.
Eames tongued the split skin on his lip. It still stung, but not as much as the memory of the hurt and fury twisting Arthur’s face. The bitter truth set in.
He’s not coming. He never will be.
It’s over.
Eames turned and strode away from the gate. Bangkok had been Arthur’s dream. He scanned the other gates: Prague, Singapore, Paris…aha.
“One ticket to Mombasa,” he told the attendant. “One way.”
#3
Title: I Am Your Density
Author: involuntaryorange
Warnings: none
Summary: Arthur isn’t good at changing his mind.
Arthur immediately regretted turning Eames down; as he boarded his flight he could still envision the disappointment that had flitted across Eames’s face when Arthur had refused his proposition. They’d been in the airport bar, toasting a successful job, when Arthur had asked Eames where he was headed.
“I’m going back to Mombasa. You should come with me.”
Arthur had rolled his eyes at that; although this was the only job they’d worked together, he’d already gotten used to Eames’s relentless (and aimless) flirting. Like anyone often accused of being “too serious,” Arthur had developed a nearly flawless ability to tell when someone was messing with him.
Nearly flawless, Arthur had reminded himself when he’d seen Eames’s face fall for a moment, quickly replaced by an insincere grin. But it was too late; like anyone often accused of being “too serious,” Arthur had a deep-seated inability to change his mind. At least, not right away. It was like turning an aircraft-carrier around; it couldn’t be done too quickly.
But the regret - that was a maneuverable little speedboat.
***
It took Eames a minute or so to notice Arthur, standing amongst the emergency personnel swarming the terminal.
“What happened?”
“Someone called in a bomb threat on my flight.”
“Really,” Eames said, arching an eyebrow. “What are the odds.”
“I know, what’s the world coming to,” Arthur said. “I think I’m going to need some weather-appropriate clothes if I’m going to Kenya.”
“Darling, where we’re going, we don’t need clothes.”
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