artfulforger (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
artfulforger) wrote2012-01-11 06:32 pm
artfulforger) wrote2012-01-11 06:32 pm
Eventually the storm gives way to silence - For Muted
The talk with Arthur at Mallorie's graveside had been less than logical, at least on Eames' part. In fairness, he wasn't trying to be logical, or use reason. At the time he'd wanted nothing more than to find an answer, a quick and easy solution to fix things, and let him move on with his life.
Instead he'd found an uneasy peace, believing he had the answer and could work it all out on his own. That had lasted nearly three weeks before the dream.
Mallorie had looked smug, smart and sharp as she always had in life. The place was her home, that overdone California house that she had turned into a home. Music and light, the children playing and friends even if they had begun life with business and dreams.
Despite knowing it was a dream, Eames couldn't help himself. He wanted to go to her, hold her in his arms and then dance with her on the deck as they had one night with Dominick sitting nearby, sipping his scotch and watching them with a laugh and a fond smile.
It was not to be.
The moment he touched her, everything changed. They were falling. Hurtling towards the ground, hurtling towards death at fifty miles per hours towards concrete and certain death.
He came to with a jerk, crying out to the empty hotel room. Alone.
His hands shook as he picked up his phone, dialing a number he memorized each and every time he'd found Arthur had changed it, waiting for the point man to answer.
Instead he'd found an uneasy peace, believing he had the answer and could work it all out on his own. That had lasted nearly three weeks before the dream.
Mallorie had looked smug, smart and sharp as she always had in life. The place was her home, that overdone California house that she had turned into a home. Music and light, the children playing and friends even if they had begun life with business and dreams.
Despite knowing it was a dream, Eames couldn't help himself. He wanted to go to her, hold her in his arms and then dance with her on the deck as they had one night with Dominick sitting nearby, sipping his scotch and watching them with a laugh and a fond smile.
It was not to be.
The moment he touched her, everything changed. They were falling. Hurtling towards the ground, hurtling towards death at fifty miles per hours towards concrete and certain death.
He came to with a jerk, crying out to the empty hotel room. Alone.
His hands shook as he picked up his phone, dialing a number he memorized each and every time he'd found Arthur had changed it, waiting for the point man to answer.