[Fic] Hand in hand is the only way to land, pt. 4
Title: Hand in hand is the only way to land
Author/Artist: sirona_gs and red_rahl
Team: ROMANCE!
Prompt: Strength
Word count: 2,100 this part
Rating: PG so far
Warnings: A touch of angst
Summary: Eames frets about his date-not-date with Arthur, and gets a little styling advice from a friend. This fic seems to be developing an actual plot -- now with bonus Eames backstory!
Notes: This story is a WIP collaboration, and will post once a week so that both red_rahl and me can polish our bits (so to speak). Title from The Cure's Lovecats.
Part One Part Two Part Three
[art] by red_rahl
[text] by sirona_gs
"I promise it won't be long before you get your proper new home," Eames says earnestly, placing Pepper's borrowed temporary accommodation on top of the front desk at the bookshop.
It's a medium-sized glass tank that Arthur had half-filled with earth and straw before he'd handed it over. It's not ideal, but it'll do for the rest of the day until Arthur and him manage to find something more appropriate for her. Just thinking about earlier has Eames all warm and flushed -- the look in Arthur's eyes when he'd first seen Pepper, the gentle way his long, elegant fingers had held her, the way Arthur had looked at him when Eames had suggested they find a home for her together -- it was all like some dream come true. Eames had never hoped, never imagined he might find someone like Arthur, someone who not only got his silly, geeky jokes, but liked them, too; someone who shared his love of creatures in need, someone who could simply smile at Eames and Eames would want to fetch him the world on a platter.
Eames is a little worried about that last. This isn't the first time he's fallen for someone like that, instant, a flash of lightning and dimples. The last time, well. He and Nash had not parted in the most amicable of ways, and Eames had been hurting for a long time since. It was hard to let go of the caution he had adopted as a way of coping, even after all those years.
He was proud of what he had achieved, very much so. When Nash had thrown those callous, vicious words at him in their last year of university -- that he was a loser, a nerd who would get nowhere in life -- well, Eames had believed them for a while, because shouldn't the man who had been your lover for the past two years know those things about you? Besides, a bachelor's degree in English Literature was not really the most marketable of subjects when it came to landing a decent job.
Getting into the Publishing masters degree at Oxford Brookes had been one stroke of pure, exhilarating luck. The other was meeting Mal. He remembers it so clearly, as if it was yesterday -- running late, stumbling his way into his first lecture of the Editorial module, seeing the only free spot next to a tall, elegant girl, legs crossed and covered by cream chinos, silk shirt hugging her shapely shoulders, hair floating in curls around her head. All the guys in the room were staring dreamily at her, but none had dared take that spare seat next to her chair.
None but Eames, nervous, flushed, a little intimidated by the air of sophistication the girl--woman, really--wore like a cloak, but sure she would never look at him twice, so why shouldn't he sit next to her? Then she had turned, said "Hello, I'm Mal" in a low, melodious voice, and bestowed such a warm, happy, generous smile on him that Eames had been charmed on the spot.
Mal had been the one to show Eames that it was okay to be different. That it was okay to want to spend your life surrounded by the truest friends you were ever likely to have -- your books. It was Mal's idea to get a summer internship at Waterstone's, her idea to pack up and move across the pond -- and Eames had followed her gladly, she the sister he never had and he the brother she had always wanted.
And in the end, she had been the one to walk past the closed toy store that sported the 'Space To Rent' sign in the window, and stop in her tracks, tugging him back with an excited look on her face.
Thinking of Mal always makes Eames feel better, but this time doubly so, because he can imagine her excited squeals in his ears when he tells her about the new additions to his household, and about the beguiling vet who has helped with them. He can hear her voice in his ear now, 'Eames, stop being an idiot and go for it! Live it, chérie!' He wishes he could call her, but it's early evening in Paris and it's her father's birthday today, the reason she'd flown over there a week ago.
Pepper squeaks, nose twitching as she regards him curiously, and he is brought back to the present with a rush of heat in his cheeks. Only six hours to go until his date with Arthur! What should he do? Should he change his t-shirt? He should, shouldn't he, Batman is his favourite but it's not something to wear on a date with Arthur! He should go fetch a button-down, maybe the blue-and-purple striped shirt, Arthur would like that, wouldn't he? Should he wear a tie? No, surely not, surely Arthur would think he's trying too hard, because it's not a proper date, is it, they're just going to find Pepper a new home, right, and dressing up for that would be stupid.
But what if Arthur wants to go to dinner afterwards?
His helpless fretting is interrupted by the tinkle of the bell over the door and an excited shriek; seconds later the front desk is surrounded by the Shermann triplets, six years old and adorable in their pastel-coloured dresses, long chestnut hair neatly braided in two thick ropes down their shoulders.
"He is so adorable, Melissa, isn't he adorable?" Anne squeals, nose pressed against the wall of the tank.
Pepper scurries away in the corner, and burrows down until half of her is hidden. The three girls pout while Eames exchanges a long-suffering yet indulgent smile with Mr Shermann.
"Sorry about this, Mr Eames," Mr Shermann says sheepishly. "We're here to get the girls one new book each, for being good," he says, and the girls straighten guiltily at the inflection.
"It's okay. Melissa, Anne, Katie, meet Pepper. Pepper's a Mongolian gerbil, and she's a girl."
"Oh! Sorry, Pepper," Anne says, turning to look at her adoringly again. Pepper pokes her nose back out, blinking worriedly at the three girls.
"When did you get her, Mr Eames? She wasn't here the last time we came," Katie says, by far the most reserved of the girls. She blinks owlishly up at him from behind a small pair of glasses.
Eames likes Katie the most. Not to say that he doesn't love all three, but Katie is quiet and polite and she reminds him of himself at that age, clutching his mother's hand until they get inside the bookshop and he could run off in search of new adventures.
"I found her in my cereal box this morning," he confides. The girls look enchanted. "She came to me, if you like. Mr Arthur the vet said she was someone's pet that got lost, and I decided to take care of her."
"Won't her family miss her?" Anne wants to know.
"I'm sure they will, but see, Pepper has been lost for a while now, and she needs someone to care for her. There's no way to find her family, so I will make sure she is okay instead of them."
Anne looks mollified. When Pepper doesn't come back out while they talk, the girls lose interest and skip off to the children's section.
"One book each!" their father reminds them in the voice of one who knows it's a lost cause.
Mr Shermann wonders off, too, and Eames is free to check that Pepper isn't too frightened of the unexpected attention. He feeds her a few nibbles and she seems to calm, shuffling back out and chewing at them contentedly.
The girls are less noisy this time when they come to the counter, and Eames takes Pepper out, allows them to run careful fingers over her fur.
"Daddy, she's so sweet!" Melissa gushes, watching as Pepper gets another treat.
Mr Shermann looks resigned.
"There's a vet clinic just a couple of blocks East from here," Eames confides while he takes the chosen books from the girls, heart beating a little faster just at the thought of its proprietor. "The owner is called Arthur Moss. He's been taking care of my pets. He has a pair of gerbils in the back that are looking for a new home, if you find yourself under siege later. He takes very good care of them."
"Thanks, Mr Eames," Mr Shermann says with a relieved smile, paying for his daughters' books. "They've been wanting a pet for months now, but I don't think we're ready for a cat or a dog. A pair of gerbils might just fit the bill."
Eames grins back, adjusting his glasses self-consciously, and waves to the girls as they leave. Arthur will be pleased -- the Shermanns are a wonderful, caring family who would give the little critters a loving home.
Eames loses a little time, thinking about a happy Arthur and all the ways he might show Eames his appreciation. He shivers a little, feeling his skin grow tight and too warm, and forces himself to think of something else, immediately. It's not easy, at all. Still, thoughts of Arthur swiftly circle back to thoughts of their date-not-date?, and he starts fretting all over again. If he could just figure out what to wear...
The opening strands of Non, je ne regrette rien float from his phone, the ringtone Mal had insisted she pre-programme for herself. Eames tries not to look too relieved; then he realises he's alone in the shop and stops fighting it.
"Mal!"
"Bon soir, cherie! Can you talk?"
"Yes, of course, but aren't you at your father's birthday party?"
"Bah, it's full of boring old farts. Entertain me, darling, before I say something rude that will make Papa give me that disappointed look of his!"
"You could never be rude," Eames says fondly, "and Miles could never be disappointed in you."
"Well, he might not, but Mama will not be so forgiving."
Eames winces, thinking of Marie Miles and her exacting expectations.
"Okay," he says, and proceeds to indulge himself and tell her of everything that has happened this week.
Her reaction is predictably exuberant. "Eames, you cad, how could you not call me and tell me of this lovely Arthur before?" she mock-berates, sounding thrilled. "Is he gorgeous? He is gorgeous, isn't he? And you are panicking, yes?"
Eames smiles ruefully at himself. She knows him far too well.
"Well, stop that right now. You are pretty damn gorgeous yourself, and you are smart and funny and wonderful, how many times do I have to tell you this? What are you wearing for tonight?"
"That's the thing, I don't know what to wear. Is it a date? Is it just him helping me out? I mean, I know he asked if it was a date, and then said he'd love to, but--"
"No buts! You, get yourself home at least an hour early, take a shower, tart yourself up a bit; you'll feel better for it, you know you will. You can close early for one day! And wear that blue-and-purple shirt, the one I bought for you last month, ooh, I knew it would come useful! And don't shave! You look dashing with a five o'clock shadow!"
Eames nods, and doesn't interrupt -- it's no use, anyway, not when she's on a roll like that.
"It'll be great, you'll see!"
"I hope so," he says, I hope I don't make a fool of myself.
"You won't," she says kindly, like she'd heard him ever over thousands of miles of distance. "I love you, darling. You'll be just fine; if he has any sense, he'll take one look at you and snap you right up! And for goodness' sake call me when you get back, or I shall never sleep!"
"I will," Eames promises. "Love you too."
Four hours left until he can go home and get ready. He is never going to survive the wait.
Part Five
Author/Artist: sirona_gs and red_rahl
Team: ROMANCE!
Prompt: Strength
Word count: 2,100 this part
Rating: PG so far
Warnings: A touch of angst
Summary: Eames frets about his date-not-date with Arthur, and gets a little styling advice from a friend. This fic seems to be developing an actual plot -- now with bonus Eames backstory!
Notes: This story is a WIP collaboration, and will post once a week so that both red_rahl and me can polish our bits (so to speak). Title from The Cure's Lovecats.
Part One Part Two Part Three
[art] by red_rahl
[text] by sirona_gs
"I promise it won't be long before you get your proper new home," Eames says earnestly, placing Pepper's borrowed temporary accommodation on top of the front desk at the bookshop.
It's a medium-sized glass tank that Arthur had half-filled with earth and straw before he'd handed it over. It's not ideal, but it'll do for the rest of the day until Arthur and him manage to find something more appropriate for her. Just thinking about earlier has Eames all warm and flushed -- the look in Arthur's eyes when he'd first seen Pepper, the gentle way his long, elegant fingers had held her, the way Arthur had looked at him when Eames had suggested they find a home for her together -- it was all like some dream come true. Eames had never hoped, never imagined he might find someone like Arthur, someone who not only got his silly, geeky jokes, but liked them, too; someone who shared his love of creatures in need, someone who could simply smile at Eames and Eames would want to fetch him the world on a platter.
Eames is a little worried about that last. This isn't the first time he's fallen for someone like that, instant, a flash of lightning and dimples. The last time, well. He and Nash had not parted in the most amicable of ways, and Eames had been hurting for a long time since. It was hard to let go of the caution he had adopted as a way of coping, even after all those years.
He was proud of what he had achieved, very much so. When Nash had thrown those callous, vicious words at him in their last year of university -- that he was a loser, a nerd who would get nowhere in life -- well, Eames had believed them for a while, because shouldn't the man who had been your lover for the past two years know those things about you? Besides, a bachelor's degree in English Literature was not really the most marketable of subjects when it came to landing a decent job.
Getting into the Publishing masters degree at Oxford Brookes had been one stroke of pure, exhilarating luck. The other was meeting Mal. He remembers it so clearly, as if it was yesterday -- running late, stumbling his way into his first lecture of the Editorial module, seeing the only free spot next to a tall, elegant girl, legs crossed and covered by cream chinos, silk shirt hugging her shapely shoulders, hair floating in curls around her head. All the guys in the room were staring dreamily at her, but none had dared take that spare seat next to her chair.
None but Eames, nervous, flushed, a little intimidated by the air of sophistication the girl--woman, really--wore like a cloak, but sure she would never look at him twice, so why shouldn't he sit next to her? Then she had turned, said "Hello, I'm Mal" in a low, melodious voice, and bestowed such a warm, happy, generous smile on him that Eames had been charmed on the spot.
Mal had been the one to show Eames that it was okay to be different. That it was okay to want to spend your life surrounded by the truest friends you were ever likely to have -- your books. It was Mal's idea to get a summer internship at Waterstone's, her idea to pack up and move across the pond -- and Eames had followed her gladly, she the sister he never had and he the brother she had always wanted.
And in the end, she had been the one to walk past the closed toy store that sported the 'Space To Rent' sign in the window, and stop in her tracks, tugging him back with an excited look on her face.
Thinking of Mal always makes Eames feel better, but this time doubly so, because he can imagine her excited squeals in his ears when he tells her about the new additions to his household, and about the beguiling vet who has helped with them. He can hear her voice in his ear now, 'Eames, stop being an idiot and go for it! Live it, chérie!' He wishes he could call her, but it's early evening in Paris and it's her father's birthday today, the reason she'd flown over there a week ago.
Pepper squeaks, nose twitching as she regards him curiously, and he is brought back to the present with a rush of heat in his cheeks. Only six hours to go until his date with Arthur! What should he do? Should he change his t-shirt? He should, shouldn't he, Batman is his favourite but it's not something to wear on a date with Arthur! He should go fetch a button-down, maybe the blue-and-purple striped shirt, Arthur would like that, wouldn't he? Should he wear a tie? No, surely not, surely Arthur would think he's trying too hard, because it's not a proper date, is it, they're just going to find Pepper a new home, right, and dressing up for that would be stupid.
But what if Arthur wants to go to dinner afterwards?
His helpless fretting is interrupted by the tinkle of the bell over the door and an excited shriek; seconds later the front desk is surrounded by the Shermann triplets, six years old and adorable in their pastel-coloured dresses, long chestnut hair neatly braided in two thick ropes down their shoulders.
"He is so adorable, Melissa, isn't he adorable?" Anne squeals, nose pressed against the wall of the tank.
Pepper scurries away in the corner, and burrows down until half of her is hidden. The three girls pout while Eames exchanges a long-suffering yet indulgent smile with Mr Shermann.
"Sorry about this, Mr Eames," Mr Shermann says sheepishly. "We're here to get the girls one new book each, for being good," he says, and the girls straighten guiltily at the inflection.
"It's okay. Melissa, Anne, Katie, meet Pepper. Pepper's a Mongolian gerbil, and she's a girl."
"Oh! Sorry, Pepper," Anne says, turning to look at her adoringly again. Pepper pokes her nose back out, blinking worriedly at the three girls.
"When did you get her, Mr Eames? She wasn't here the last time we came," Katie says, by far the most reserved of the girls. She blinks owlishly up at him from behind a small pair of glasses.
Eames likes Katie the most. Not to say that he doesn't love all three, but Katie is quiet and polite and she reminds him of himself at that age, clutching his mother's hand until they get inside the bookshop and he could run off in search of new adventures.
"I found her in my cereal box this morning," he confides. The girls look enchanted. "She came to me, if you like. Mr Arthur the vet said she was someone's pet that got lost, and I decided to take care of her."
"Won't her family miss her?" Anne wants to know.
"I'm sure they will, but see, Pepper has been lost for a while now, and she needs someone to care for her. There's no way to find her family, so I will make sure she is okay instead of them."
Anne looks mollified. When Pepper doesn't come back out while they talk, the girls lose interest and skip off to the children's section.
"One book each!" their father reminds them in the voice of one who knows it's a lost cause.
Mr Shermann wonders off, too, and Eames is free to check that Pepper isn't too frightened of the unexpected attention. He feeds her a few nibbles and she seems to calm, shuffling back out and chewing at them contentedly.
The girls are less noisy this time when they come to the counter, and Eames takes Pepper out, allows them to run careful fingers over her fur.
"Daddy, she's so sweet!" Melissa gushes, watching as Pepper gets another treat.
Mr Shermann looks resigned.
"There's a vet clinic just a couple of blocks East from here," Eames confides while he takes the chosen books from the girls, heart beating a little faster just at the thought of its proprietor. "The owner is called Arthur Moss. He's been taking care of my pets. He has a pair of gerbils in the back that are looking for a new home, if you find yourself under siege later. He takes very good care of them."
"Thanks, Mr Eames," Mr Shermann says with a relieved smile, paying for his daughters' books. "They've been wanting a pet for months now, but I don't think we're ready for a cat or a dog. A pair of gerbils might just fit the bill."
Eames grins back, adjusting his glasses self-consciously, and waves to the girls as they leave. Arthur will be pleased -- the Shermanns are a wonderful, caring family who would give the little critters a loving home.
Eames loses a little time, thinking about a happy Arthur and all the ways he might show Eames his appreciation. He shivers a little, feeling his skin grow tight and too warm, and forces himself to think of something else, immediately. It's not easy, at all. Still, thoughts of Arthur swiftly circle back to thoughts of their date-not-date?, and he starts fretting all over again. If he could just figure out what to wear...
The opening strands of Non, je ne regrette rien float from his phone, the ringtone Mal had insisted she pre-programme for herself. Eames tries not to look too relieved; then he realises he's alone in the shop and stops fighting it.
"Mal!"
"Bon soir, cherie! Can you talk?"
"Yes, of course, but aren't you at your father's birthday party?"
"Bah, it's full of boring old farts. Entertain me, darling, before I say something rude that will make Papa give me that disappointed look of his!"
"You could never be rude," Eames says fondly, "and Miles could never be disappointed in you."
"Well, he might not, but Mama will not be so forgiving."
Eames winces, thinking of Marie Miles and her exacting expectations.
"Okay," he says, and proceeds to indulge himself and tell her of everything that has happened this week.
Her reaction is predictably exuberant. "Eames, you cad, how could you not call me and tell me of this lovely Arthur before?" she mock-berates, sounding thrilled. "Is he gorgeous? He is gorgeous, isn't he? And you are panicking, yes?"
Eames smiles ruefully at himself. She knows him far too well.
"Well, stop that right now. You are pretty damn gorgeous yourself, and you are smart and funny and wonderful, how many times do I have to tell you this? What are you wearing for tonight?"
"That's the thing, I don't know what to wear. Is it a date? Is it just him helping me out? I mean, I know he asked if it was a date, and then said he'd love to, but--"
"No buts! You, get yourself home at least an hour early, take a shower, tart yourself up a bit; you'll feel better for it, you know you will. You can close early for one day! And wear that blue-and-purple shirt, the one I bought for you last month, ooh, I knew it would come useful! And don't shave! You look dashing with a five o'clock shadow!"
Eames nods, and doesn't interrupt -- it's no use, anyway, not when she's on a roll like that.
"It'll be great, you'll see!"
"I hope so," he says, I hope I don't make a fool of myself.
"You won't," she says kindly, like she'd heard him ever over thousands of miles of distance. "I love you, darling. You'll be just fine; if he has any sense, he'll take one look at you and snap you right up! And for goodness' sake call me when you get back, or I shall never sleep!"
"I will," Eames promises. "Love you too."
Four hours left until he can go home and get ready. He is never going to survive the wait.
Part Five