i talk of dreams
Title: I Talk Of Dreams
Author: beanarie
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Arthur, Eames
Summary: From this little guy at inception_kink.
Arthur lets Eames get down to the dirty ground mostly on his own, in a sort of controlled fall.
"Oof."
"It's not that bad," Arthur lies.
Eames looks down. And because he's Eames, when he catches sight of the hole between his ribs, the blood turning his white jacket varying shades of red and pink, he grins. "All-all my life I've harbored the secret wish to quote Mercutio in a horribly appropriate scenario, and... here we are."
Arthur rips open the jacket, destroying the zipper, so he can press a wad of clothing to Eames's chest hard enough to keep him from bleeding out in an abandoned gas station. Oh, well. The jacket was just a cheap piece of shit Eames grabbed from the clearance rack of the airport gift shop because he hadn't packed for the weather. "God," he huffs. "You and your fucking English sangfroid."
Eames frowns, but it doesn't look like it's because of the pain.
"What?" Arthur's breathing hard. His arms already feel like they're going to let him, the both of them, down.
"I can't remember it." Then Eames gasps, throwing his gaze to the wall, and that clearly is the pain. Arthur wishes he had something for him, but he just doesn't.
Lalita and Krongell will be there, soon, though. They aren't far, and they've got guns and a rented SUV with GPS that can take them directly to a hospital. "Easy." If he had a free hand, he would touch Eames's forehead. It's supposed to be comforting. "Remember what? Romeo and Juliet?"
Nodding, Eames sucks in another breath. There's a hole in his lung, Arthur thinks. "It's just... gone."
He can think of nothing else to do, so he does this. "O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you."
Eames closes his eyes. "That's... not the one I was thinking of and-and you... you know it. ...Wormsmeat... something."
In a manner of speaking, Arthur ignores him, ignores the growing wheeze to his breathing and the fact that he's starting to cough. "She is the fairies midwife, and she comes. In shape no bigger than an agate-stone." He increases the pressure.
Eames's eyes pop open. "Steady on, Arthur," he rasps, more annoyed than he would be if he were dead. There is blood on his lips. Arthur ignores that as well.
"Come on. I know you know this. You're from London, for God sake. It's in your genetic code."
"True, I talk... of... dreams." Eames has jumped forward in the text, but Arthur isn't about to nitpick. It's bad enough that his voice is barely audible. And the faint, distracted smile on his face isn't too reassuring, either. "Which are the children... of an... idle... idle brain."
"Top marks. Keep going."
His eyes close again. "Begot of..."
"Shit." Eames's face has turned towards the floor. "Eames? Eames!"
The body underneath his red and sticky hands is still warm. The broad chest still attempts to rise. He forces himself to take solace in that.
Plus the others, they're on their way.
next part
Author: beanarie
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Arthur, Eames
Summary: From this little guy at inception_kink.
Arthur lets Eames get down to the dirty ground mostly on his own, in a sort of controlled fall.
"Oof."
"It's not that bad," Arthur lies.
Eames looks down. And because he's Eames, when he catches sight of the hole between his ribs, the blood turning his white jacket varying shades of red and pink, he grins. "All-all my life I've harbored the secret wish to quote Mercutio in a horribly appropriate scenario, and... here we are."
Arthur rips open the jacket, destroying the zipper, so he can press a wad of clothing to Eames's chest hard enough to keep him from bleeding out in an abandoned gas station. Oh, well. The jacket was just a cheap piece of shit Eames grabbed from the clearance rack of the airport gift shop because he hadn't packed for the weather. "God," he huffs. "You and your fucking English sangfroid."
Eames frowns, but it doesn't look like it's because of the pain.
"What?" Arthur's breathing hard. His arms already feel like they're going to let him, the both of them, down.
"I can't remember it." Then Eames gasps, throwing his gaze to the wall, and that clearly is the pain. Arthur wishes he had something for him, but he just doesn't.
Lalita and Krongell will be there, soon, though. They aren't far, and they've got guns and a rented SUV with GPS that can take them directly to a hospital. "Easy." If he had a free hand, he would touch Eames's forehead. It's supposed to be comforting. "Remember what? Romeo and Juliet?"
Nodding, Eames sucks in another breath. There's a hole in his lung, Arthur thinks. "It's just... gone."
He can think of nothing else to do, so he does this. "O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you."
Eames closes his eyes. "That's... not the one I was thinking of and-and you... you know it. ...Wormsmeat... something."
In a manner of speaking, Arthur ignores him, ignores the growing wheeze to his breathing and the fact that he's starting to cough. "She is the fairies midwife, and she comes. In shape no bigger than an agate-stone." He increases the pressure.
Eames's eyes pop open. "Steady on, Arthur," he rasps, more annoyed than he would be if he were dead. There is blood on his lips. Arthur ignores that as well.
"Come on. I know you know this. You're from London, for God sake. It's in your genetic code."
"True, I talk... of... dreams." Eames has jumped forward in the text, but Arthur isn't about to nitpick. It's bad enough that his voice is barely audible. And the faint, distracted smile on his face isn't too reassuring, either. "Which are the children... of an... idle... idle brain."
"Top marks. Keep going."
His eyes close again. "Begot of..."
"Shit." Eames's face has turned towards the floor. "Eames? Eames!"
The body underneath his red and sticky hands is still warm. The broad chest still attempts to rise. He forces himself to take solace in that.
Plus the others, they're on their way.
next part