#364 - [FIC] I'll be Home for Christmas (Cobb/Arthur)
Title: I'll be Home for Christmas
Word Count: 1,257
Pairing: a hint of Cobb/Arthur, but mostly gen
Rating: PG-13 for talk of suicide
Summary: Alone, drunk, and tired of running... it was a hell of a way for the man to spend the holidays.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be!
Author's Note: A belated b-day gift and token of appreciation for coldthermistor, who keeps me sane and focused through the worst of it. Seek, you are the Arthur to my Cobb, minus the UST. ♥
Dom watched the snow fall from the bed, fat flakes of it swirling in a downpour beyond the glass, Copenhagen blanketed in blinding white too brilliant for his tired, drink-reddened eyes. Another year, another Christmas-another hotel room with sterile sheets that didn’t smell of home and didn’t smell of her, smells he could only seem to remember with the taste of cheap whiskey in his mouth and the weight of her totem in his palm.
It was a hell of a way for a man to spend the holidays-alone, drunk and tired of running. Tired of every day spent feeling the absence of her, dragging his feet with the guilt burning a hole in his pocket, spinning and spinning inside his skull whenever he had it tucked away.
The safety of his revolver disengaged with a satisfying click. Dom had always liked that sound, grim but resolute. The cool metal of the barrel felt good against the fevered heat of his lips, the taste of it bleeding onto his tongue like he’d been sucking on pennies. Dom could hear her laugh as he fingered the trigger. He closed his eyes to keep the image of her there, her smile, their children’s faces flanking hers.
You’re halfway home, kid, he thought. Mal was opening up her arms and-
The creak of the door hit his ears, jerking him out of the moment. Dom had the muzzle trained on the intruder as quickly as his liquored reflexes would allow, ready to fire.
“Put the goddamn gun down before you hurt someone."
His eyes were slow to focus, but it was Arthur’s voice he heard as the hazy, twin images floating before him converged into a single man. Dom flicked the safety back on and tossed the gun back on the bed.
“I almost shot you,” he said as Arthur sat next to him on the bed and cracked open the chamber of the gun. He pocketed the bullets. “How’d you find me?”
“You should be wondering why no one else has,” Arthur said, flatly. His brows drew together. “You’re getting sloppy.”
Dom was silent as he reached for the bottle of whiskey he had dropped earlier. Before he could get it halfway to his mouth, Arthur was pulling it out of his hands. Dom let it go without a fight, watching Arthur pour the rest of it down the drain with a grimace of disgust.
The bed seemed to rise up to meet him as he fell back against it and let his eyes drift closed again, hoping to find her there still-but she was gone like smoke through his fingers. There was no getting her back now. Not until Arthur left, at least. The mattress dipped under the addition of his weight as he returned to the bed.
He huffed. “You’re a fucking mess, you know that?”
Dom smiled, humorlessly. It was all the agreement he was willing to give.
“I can’t decide what’s worse,” Arthur was saying. Dom cracked an eye to see the disapproval written in the tight line of his mouth. “The way you look or the way you smell.” His nose wrinkled in distaste. “Jesus, Dom-when’s the last time you showered?”
Arthur didn’t give him a chance to answer before grabbing him by the shoulders and hauling him roughly to his feet, drawing his attention for the first time to the tinny sound in his ears. Dom leaned heavily on Arthur on the way to the bathroom, shielding his eyes against the fluorescent glare of the lights as Arthur flicked them on.
“Stay there for a minute,” he said.
Dom sat on the toilet with his head between his knees. He listened as Arthur ran a bath, feeling the slow beat of blood with a whiskey chaser at his temples. Time seemed slow, thick like honey or molasses, and it took him a moment to realize that Arthur was talking to him again, trying to get his attention.
He raised his head and Arthur was standing there in front of him. The sound of running water had stopped sometime in the interim.
“Come on, get up,” Arthur said, brisk but not unkind.
Dom rose unsteadily to his feet, where he wavered. It wasn’t quite a sigh, the sound that came out of Arthur’s mouth, but it was close. He started in on the buttons of Dom’s shirt with quick, precise gestures. He wanted to tell Arthur that he could undress himself, that he wasn’t a kid for chrissakes, but nothing came out. Arthur undid his belt and stripped off his pants without ceremony. His hands were warm, Dom thought through the haze, as Arthur helped him into the tub.
Once in the water, he sank down gratefully. He thought Arthur would leave, then, but instead he took a seat on the edge of the bathtub.
Dom looked over at him and Arthur gave a minute shake of his head. “I’m not leaving you in here by yourself.”
“I can take a goddamn bath without your help, Arthur.”
“All evidence to the contrary,” Arthur said dryly. He rolled his sleeves to the elbow and reached for a little bottle of shampoo, admittedly untouched since Dom’s arrival. Not that he could remember when that was, anymore. The days blurred together, an expanse of glaring white that had begun to creep in on him.
“Close your eyes.”
They slipped shut on their own, suddenly too heavy to keep open anymore, anchored down by Arthur’s words. Dom felt Arthur’s hands in his hair, working the shampoo to lather, the sharp almost medicinal scent of it in his nostrils. But it felt good with Arthur’s fingers massaging his scalp and Dom let himself relax into it. Arthur could take care of him if he wanted, for a while. He was a good guy. Arthur had always been a good guy.
There was a touch of humor in his voice, now. “This really wasn’t how I planned to spend Christmas.”
“Why’d you come, then?”
Arthur didn’t answer for a long beat. “Just a feeling. You can rinse.”
When he came back up, Dom thought Arthur’s eyes looked a little softer, his mouth less taut around the edges. The whirring in his ears had quieted to a dull hum, his eyes clear for the moment. Arthur’s hand trailed idly through the water. Without giving it much thought, Dom wound his fingers around Arthur’s. Maybe it was the whiskey and maybe it was the snow, and maybe he just couldn’t remember the last real contact he’d had with anyone who wasn’t smoke and mirrors.
Dom squeezed his hand, still slippery with shampoo. After a moment, Arthur returned the pressure, warm and firm. Comforting. Dom held onto his hand and somewhere in the back of his mind there was a clatter, echoing with a flat finality across all the silent, shadowed spaces.
“I thought I was going home,” he said. The words tumbled from his mouth before he could even think of taking them back, reining them in and keeping them locked up somewhere. “I really thought I could go back.”
Arthur clutched his hand so hard it hurt, not saying anything. There was no need.
“I’m glad you came,” Dom told him. And there was no need for that either, but he wanted to say it. Arthur met his eyes and Dom tried to smile. Another year, another Christmas-another hotel room, but Arthur was here and that made all the difference in the world.
“Merry Christmas, Arthur.”
Word Count: 1,257
Pairing: a hint of Cobb/Arthur, but mostly gen
Rating: PG-13 for talk of suicide
Summary: Alone, drunk, and tired of running... it was a hell of a way for the man to spend the holidays.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be!
Author's Note: A belated b-day gift and token of appreciation for coldthermistor, who keeps me sane and focused through the worst of it. Seek, you are the Arthur to my Cobb, minus the UST. ♥
Dom watched the snow fall from the bed, fat flakes of it swirling in a downpour beyond the glass, Copenhagen blanketed in blinding white too brilliant for his tired, drink-reddened eyes. Another year, another Christmas-another hotel room with sterile sheets that didn’t smell of home and didn’t smell of her, smells he could only seem to remember with the taste of cheap whiskey in his mouth and the weight of her totem in his palm.
It was a hell of a way for a man to spend the holidays-alone, drunk and tired of running. Tired of every day spent feeling the absence of her, dragging his feet with the guilt burning a hole in his pocket, spinning and spinning inside his skull whenever he had it tucked away.
The safety of his revolver disengaged with a satisfying click. Dom had always liked that sound, grim but resolute. The cool metal of the barrel felt good against the fevered heat of his lips, the taste of it bleeding onto his tongue like he’d been sucking on pennies. Dom could hear her laugh as he fingered the trigger. He closed his eyes to keep the image of her there, her smile, their children’s faces flanking hers.
You’re halfway home, kid, he thought. Mal was opening up her arms and-
The creak of the door hit his ears, jerking him out of the moment. Dom had the muzzle trained on the intruder as quickly as his liquored reflexes would allow, ready to fire.
“Put the goddamn gun down before you hurt someone."
His eyes were slow to focus, but it was Arthur’s voice he heard as the hazy, twin images floating before him converged into a single man. Dom flicked the safety back on and tossed the gun back on the bed.
“I almost shot you,” he said as Arthur sat next to him on the bed and cracked open the chamber of the gun. He pocketed the bullets. “How’d you find me?”
“You should be wondering why no one else has,” Arthur said, flatly. His brows drew together. “You’re getting sloppy.”
Dom was silent as he reached for the bottle of whiskey he had dropped earlier. Before he could get it halfway to his mouth, Arthur was pulling it out of his hands. Dom let it go without a fight, watching Arthur pour the rest of it down the drain with a grimace of disgust.
The bed seemed to rise up to meet him as he fell back against it and let his eyes drift closed again, hoping to find her there still-but she was gone like smoke through his fingers. There was no getting her back now. Not until Arthur left, at least. The mattress dipped under the addition of his weight as he returned to the bed.
He huffed. “You’re a fucking mess, you know that?”
Dom smiled, humorlessly. It was all the agreement he was willing to give.
“I can’t decide what’s worse,” Arthur was saying. Dom cracked an eye to see the disapproval written in the tight line of his mouth. “The way you look or the way you smell.” His nose wrinkled in distaste. “Jesus, Dom-when’s the last time you showered?”
Arthur didn’t give him a chance to answer before grabbing him by the shoulders and hauling him roughly to his feet, drawing his attention for the first time to the tinny sound in his ears. Dom leaned heavily on Arthur on the way to the bathroom, shielding his eyes against the fluorescent glare of the lights as Arthur flicked them on.
“Stay there for a minute,” he said.
Dom sat on the toilet with his head between his knees. He listened as Arthur ran a bath, feeling the slow beat of blood with a whiskey chaser at his temples. Time seemed slow, thick like honey or molasses, and it took him a moment to realize that Arthur was talking to him again, trying to get his attention.
He raised his head and Arthur was standing there in front of him. The sound of running water had stopped sometime in the interim.
“Come on, get up,” Arthur said, brisk but not unkind.
Dom rose unsteadily to his feet, where he wavered. It wasn’t quite a sigh, the sound that came out of Arthur’s mouth, but it was close. He started in on the buttons of Dom’s shirt with quick, precise gestures. He wanted to tell Arthur that he could undress himself, that he wasn’t a kid for chrissakes, but nothing came out. Arthur undid his belt and stripped off his pants without ceremony. His hands were warm, Dom thought through the haze, as Arthur helped him into the tub.
Once in the water, he sank down gratefully. He thought Arthur would leave, then, but instead he took a seat on the edge of the bathtub.
Dom looked over at him and Arthur gave a minute shake of his head. “I’m not leaving you in here by yourself.”
“I can take a goddamn bath without your help, Arthur.”
“All evidence to the contrary,” Arthur said dryly. He rolled his sleeves to the elbow and reached for a little bottle of shampoo, admittedly untouched since Dom’s arrival. Not that he could remember when that was, anymore. The days blurred together, an expanse of glaring white that had begun to creep in on him.
“Close your eyes.”
They slipped shut on their own, suddenly too heavy to keep open anymore, anchored down by Arthur’s words. Dom felt Arthur’s hands in his hair, working the shampoo to lather, the sharp almost medicinal scent of it in his nostrils. But it felt good with Arthur’s fingers massaging his scalp and Dom let himself relax into it. Arthur could take care of him if he wanted, for a while. He was a good guy. Arthur had always been a good guy.
There was a touch of humor in his voice, now. “This really wasn’t how I planned to spend Christmas.”
“Why’d you come, then?”
Arthur didn’t answer for a long beat. “Just a feeling. You can rinse.”
When he came back up, Dom thought Arthur’s eyes looked a little softer, his mouth less taut around the edges. The whirring in his ears had quieted to a dull hum, his eyes clear for the moment. Arthur’s hand trailed idly through the water. Without giving it much thought, Dom wound his fingers around Arthur’s. Maybe it was the whiskey and maybe it was the snow, and maybe he just couldn’t remember the last real contact he’d had with anyone who wasn’t smoke and mirrors.
Dom squeezed his hand, still slippery with shampoo. After a moment, Arthur returned the pressure, warm and firm. Comforting. Dom held onto his hand and somewhere in the back of his mind there was a clatter, echoing with a flat finality across all the silent, shadowed spaces.
“I thought I was going home,” he said. The words tumbled from his mouth before he could even think of taking them back, reining them in and keeping them locked up somewhere. “I really thought I could go back.”
Arthur clutched his hand so hard it hurt, not saying anything. There was no need.
“I’m glad you came,” Dom told him. And there was no need for that either, but he wanted to say it. Arthur met his eyes and Dom tried to smile. Another year, another Christmas-another hotel room, but Arthur was here and that made all the difference in the world.
“Merry Christmas, Arthur.”