fic: things you should have learned (had you been paying attention) (inception rpf; joe/ellen)
Title: things you should have learned (had you been paying attention)
Author: empressearwig
Pairing/Fandom: Ellen Page/Joseph Gordon-Levitt; Inception RPF
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~ 1000
Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is all for fun. This hasn't happened. Yet. Etc.
Summary: The thing that no one ever warned Ellen about Joe when they started doing whatever it is that they're doing is this -- Joe is the world's biggest baby when sick.
Author's Notes: Written for the schmoop_bingo prompt "sick in bed" and because I've officially lost my mind.
The thing that no one ever warned Ellen about Joe when they started doing whatever it is that they're doing is this -- Joe is the world's biggest baby when sick.
It's not like she didn't get plenty of other advice and random, often disturbing, bits of information dropped in her lap without her having to ask for them. Joe took her to a party at Zooey's not long after they started sleeping together and it seemed like the entire room was filled with either his ex-girlfriends or his former co-stars, all with a Joe story of their very own, a story that Ellen just had to hear that instant or the world would end. She made it through that night by the grace of a never less than half full glass of box wine and many conveniently timed pinches to Joe's arm to let him know when it was time to change the subject or risk not having sex again for a long, long time.
The next morning Ellen had a massive hangover and Joe's left arm was covered in bruises. They both agreed that they wouldn't be repeating that scenario any time soon.
But Ellen learned many valuable things that night. Zooey told her about Joe's habit of organizing his sock drawer by color, a fact that Ellen found just plain weird. Matthew told her about the time when they went bar hopping in L.A. and he wrecked his knee. (Ellen didn't have the heart to tell him she'd already seen the video, not when he was telling the story with such glee, so she just nodded and made sympathetic noises in the right places.) Nora just looked at her over the rim of her glass of what was clearly not box wine and asked "You know he snores, right?" before walking away to whisper with Zooey, and Ellen was pretty sure she'd never been so effectively put in her place before.
After that, it was actually a relief to see Cera, something Ellen had rarely felt before in her life, though what he was doing there she didn't know. But she spent most of the rest of the night hiding out on Zooey's balcony, chain smoking the cigarettes that she stole from Joe and listening to Michael tell her about his pet fish.
That it was a very long night goes without saying.
But none of them ever bothered to tell Ellen that when Joe is sick he lays in bed making plaintive (pitiful) moaning noises or that he'll trick you into waiting on him hand and foot by insisting that he can manage by himself all the while acting like he can't so much as move his pinkie. No one told her these things and even when they happen, Ellen still doesn't believe it.
She just can't reconcile this person with the one that went tumbling head over ass into a taxicab and then showed off the bleeding gash on twitter. (So she heard. Ellen doesn't do twitter.) But looking at him, laying in her bed, they somehow are the same person.
On day three, the day by which any reasonable person should be getting over a cold or sucking it up and pretending like they're getting over it already, Ellen stands over him and tries to look stern. "Joe," she says, arms crossed over her chest, "enough, already."
Joe looks up at her from his spot in the bed, head propped up on mismatched pillows, covers tucked up around his neck. He's got a three day beard and he needs a haircut desperately, and even though she knows he probably smells and that it's an act, he looks sweet somehow. Innocent, maybe. Ellen hardens her heart against it. It is an act, she knows that. This is why she doesn't date actors, she reminds herself. They act. Everywhere, all the time. They can't help it.
"I'm sorry," he says, voice a little rough. "I can go back to --"
"No," she sighs, cutting him off. Apparently the heart hardening thing is something she needs to work on. She doesn't like that it doesn't work against him. She doesn't want to know what it means. She drops down onto the side of the bed, shoving the used kleenex to the floor. She reaches up to feel his forehead. He is still kind of warm.
She knows she's making excuses and she hates herself for it.
He catches her hand against his face, and kisses her palm. "Hey," he says. "I'm kind of a jackass when I'm sick. So, thanks."
She laughs, just a little, and scratches her nails against his beard affectionately. "You are," she agrees, nodding her head.
He frowns. "You weren't supposed to agree with me."
Her eyebrow goes up and she can't help the incredulous laugh that spills out. "Oh, really?" she asks, starting to stand up before his hand closes around her wrist and tugs her back down. "Take a look in the mirror, buddy."
His lip slides out into a pout and she's too busy rolling her eyes at that to see what he does next. She doesn't know how it happens; one second she's sitting on the edge of the bed, the next she's sprawled out alongside him, her head on his chest.
She looks up, confusion and awe written plainly on her face. "How did you do that?"
He laughs, bending his head to kiss her, even though she's trying to squirm away. "Magic," he says against her lips, and in the end, she lets him kiss her anyway. She thinks it's probably a sign of something she doesn't want to think about so she doesn't.
"You're sick," she reminds him as she breaks the kiss and pulls back, curling up against his side. She feels him shrug.
"So I'll take care of you when you catch it," he says. "Now shut up, I'm trying to sleep here."
She falls asleep next to him and the next day, when she starts feeling her head get all stuffy and her throat all scratchy, Joe tucks her into bed and brings her soup.
Ellen thinks that's a sign of something, too.
Author: empressearwig
Pairing/Fandom: Ellen Page/Joseph Gordon-Levitt; Inception RPF
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~ 1000
Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is all for fun. This hasn't happened. Yet. Etc.
Summary: The thing that no one ever warned Ellen about Joe when they started doing whatever it is that they're doing is this -- Joe is the world's biggest baby when sick.
Author's Notes: Written for the schmoop_bingo prompt "sick in bed" and because I've officially lost my mind.
The thing that no one ever warned Ellen about Joe when they started doing whatever it is that they're doing is this -- Joe is the world's biggest baby when sick.
It's not like she didn't get plenty of other advice and random, often disturbing, bits of information dropped in her lap without her having to ask for them. Joe took her to a party at Zooey's not long after they started sleeping together and it seemed like the entire room was filled with either his ex-girlfriends or his former co-stars, all with a Joe story of their very own, a story that Ellen just had to hear that instant or the world would end. She made it through that night by the grace of a never less than half full glass of box wine and many conveniently timed pinches to Joe's arm to let him know when it was time to change the subject or risk not having sex again for a long, long time.
The next morning Ellen had a massive hangover and Joe's left arm was covered in bruises. They both agreed that they wouldn't be repeating that scenario any time soon.
But Ellen learned many valuable things that night. Zooey told her about Joe's habit of organizing his sock drawer by color, a fact that Ellen found just plain weird. Matthew told her about the time when they went bar hopping in L.A. and he wrecked his knee. (Ellen didn't have the heart to tell him she'd already seen the video, not when he was telling the story with such glee, so she just nodded and made sympathetic noises in the right places.) Nora just looked at her over the rim of her glass of what was clearly not box wine and asked "You know he snores, right?" before walking away to whisper with Zooey, and Ellen was pretty sure she'd never been so effectively put in her place before.
After that, it was actually a relief to see Cera, something Ellen had rarely felt before in her life, though what he was doing there she didn't know. But she spent most of the rest of the night hiding out on Zooey's balcony, chain smoking the cigarettes that she stole from Joe and listening to Michael tell her about his pet fish.
That it was a very long night goes without saying.
But none of them ever bothered to tell Ellen that when Joe is sick he lays in bed making plaintive (pitiful) moaning noises or that he'll trick you into waiting on him hand and foot by insisting that he can manage by himself all the while acting like he can't so much as move his pinkie. No one told her these things and even when they happen, Ellen still doesn't believe it.
She just can't reconcile this person with the one that went tumbling head over ass into a taxicab and then showed off the bleeding gash on twitter. (So she heard. Ellen doesn't do twitter.) But looking at him, laying in her bed, they somehow are the same person.
On day three, the day by which any reasonable person should be getting over a cold or sucking it up and pretending like they're getting over it already, Ellen stands over him and tries to look stern. "Joe," she says, arms crossed over her chest, "enough, already."
Joe looks up at her from his spot in the bed, head propped up on mismatched pillows, covers tucked up around his neck. He's got a three day beard and he needs a haircut desperately, and even though she knows he probably smells and that it's an act, he looks sweet somehow. Innocent, maybe. Ellen hardens her heart against it. It is an act, she knows that. This is why she doesn't date actors, she reminds herself. They act. Everywhere, all the time. They can't help it.
"I'm sorry," he says, voice a little rough. "I can go back to --"
"No," she sighs, cutting him off. Apparently the heart hardening thing is something she needs to work on. She doesn't like that it doesn't work against him. She doesn't want to know what it means. She drops down onto the side of the bed, shoving the used kleenex to the floor. She reaches up to feel his forehead. He is still kind of warm.
She knows she's making excuses and she hates herself for it.
He catches her hand against his face, and kisses her palm. "Hey," he says. "I'm kind of a jackass when I'm sick. So, thanks."
She laughs, just a little, and scratches her nails against his beard affectionately. "You are," she agrees, nodding her head.
He frowns. "You weren't supposed to agree with me."
Her eyebrow goes up and she can't help the incredulous laugh that spills out. "Oh, really?" she asks, starting to stand up before his hand closes around her wrist and tugs her back down. "Take a look in the mirror, buddy."
His lip slides out into a pout and she's too busy rolling her eyes at that to see what he does next. She doesn't know how it happens; one second she's sitting on the edge of the bed, the next she's sprawled out alongside him, her head on his chest.
She looks up, confusion and awe written plainly on her face. "How did you do that?"
He laughs, bending his head to kiss her, even though she's trying to squirm away. "Magic," he says against her lips, and in the end, she lets him kiss her anyway. She thinks it's probably a sign of something she doesn't want to think about so she doesn't.
"You're sick," she reminds him as she breaks the kiss and pulls back, curling up against his side. She feels him shrug.
"So I'll take care of you when you catch it," he says. "Now shut up, I'm trying to sleep here."
She falls asleep next to him and the next day, when she starts feeling her head get all stuffy and her throat all scratchy, Joe tucks her into bed and brings her soup.
Ellen thinks that's a sign of something, too.