Fic: What happens in vegas
Title:What happens in vegas
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Cobb/Mal
Warnings: Mentions of being slightly dead.
Notes: Just a short drabble. idek probably not worth posting.
She’s his world and then she’s dead. It’s no small wonder, Cobb thinks, that he keeps her so vivid and so angry in his mind. It’s how he remembers her last, shoes kicked off against the side of the building and her smile wide and tremulous as she leans forward. His heart catches in his throat when he sees that, every single time. He can’t reach out and stop her. Phillipa and James don’t understand. Their daddy can do anything, they think. Their daddy sends them presents from around the world, surely he can save mummy. He’d love to. He’d love to be a superhero, superfast or super stretchy or super anything so he can cross those fifteen feet in a second and grab her before she falls. Save her for herself, for the children.
But no. All he has is her memory, the top spinning and spinning and spinning in the safe as she falls, smile wide and eyes dead.
She’s always angry in his dreams. She tries to convince him to die. She was sweet, at first. Happy to see him. But no, now he’s got her trapped on too many levels to count, each moment in time another memory to pull apart and examine. He plugs in and dives down and God, he wishes so badly that he could reach out and pull her through with him, like the old mediums used to pull off an apparition. Ghost substance, spun silk from a spider streaming out his nose and mouth and ears and eyes. He doesn’t dream on his own anymore, and he’d find that odd if he could spare a moment to think about it. Instead he stands on the bridge, watching as Mal kills copy after copy and coddles faceless children as his heart aches for home.
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Cobb/Mal
Warnings: Mentions of being slightly dead.
Notes: Just a short drabble. idek probably not worth posting.
She’s his world and then she’s dead. It’s no small wonder, Cobb thinks, that he keeps her so vivid and so angry in his mind. It’s how he remembers her last, shoes kicked off against the side of the building and her smile wide and tremulous as she leans forward. His heart catches in his throat when he sees that, every single time. He can’t reach out and stop her. Phillipa and James don’t understand. Their daddy can do anything, they think. Their daddy sends them presents from around the world, surely he can save mummy. He’d love to. He’d love to be a superhero, superfast or super stretchy or super anything so he can cross those fifteen feet in a second and grab her before she falls. Save her for herself, for the children.
But no. All he has is her memory, the top spinning and spinning and spinning in the safe as she falls, smile wide and eyes dead.
She’s always angry in his dreams. She tries to convince him to die. She was sweet, at first. Happy to see him. But no, now he’s got her trapped on too many levels to count, each moment in time another memory to pull apart and examine. He plugs in and dives down and God, he wishes so badly that he could reach out and pull her through with him, like the old mediums used to pull off an apparition. Ghost substance, spun silk from a spider streaming out his nose and mouth and ears and eyes. He doesn’t dream on his own anymore, and he’d find that odd if he could spare a moment to think about it. Instead he stands on the bridge, watching as Mal kills copy after copy and coddles faceless children as his heart aches for home.