NOOO, DON'T STOP, DON'T BE SORRY! OH MY GOD. This is so beautiful, bb, I am in RAPTURES. My dog is looking at me like I'm touched in the head because I'm grinning and making these strangled little squee-ing noises. haha Also, good luck with your paper!
Eames and Arthur wake at the same time. Arthur sits up, slides their IVs out, dabs at Leora's wrist with a disinfectant wipe as she blinks awake.
"Daddy," Leora whispers, "Papa. I - I flew." Her voice is alight with wonder, her expression one of fierce joy. Arthur knows that feeling, sees his past reflected in her eyes, the marvel of discovery, of pure creation.
"Did you like it, sweetheart?" Eames asks. She nods fervently and crawls into Arthur's lap, curls into him but faces Eames. "Did you like it?" He brushes a stray lock of hair out of her face, traces the side of her face with his hand. She sighs, closes her eyes and he can almost see the city of light as she thinks of it.
"Can we do it again?" she asks in lieu of a reply. Arthur throws Eames a glance that clearly says 'She picked that up from you' as he smooths her hair.
"Why don't you learn to dream on your own first," he says, smiling gently. She starts to protest, her face scrunching in consternation, but he taps her on the face, his eyebrows raised.
"Why not?" she asks, the barest hint of a whine in her question. She's trying hard to control herself and, really, Arthur is the luckiest man in the world because his three year old resists whining.
"Trust me," he replies. "You'll see why when you're older."
She looks confused but shrugs, accepts it, lets it go. And he can't help but pull her into a hug, kiss the top of her head because he just loves her so much.
For the rest of the day, Leora draws. With her small hands wrapped around the large crayons that she loves so much, she draws sweeping landscapes and cities brighter than the sun. Arthur reads a book and Eames works on a forgery, and it's a quiet and perfect afternoon.
Later that night, after Eames has tucked her into bed with her favorite teddy bear, as she hovers on the edge of sleep, Arthur tells her another story. She'll dream of her adventures in the City of Light, she'll dream of wings and wind, of cotton-candy clouds and laughter that rises like bubbles before her. She'll dream of mermaids with jeweled tails and bats with butterfly wings, of marvelous things.
"Can I fly again?" she asks, more asleep than awake.
"You can do anything you want," he tells her. "In your dreams, you can do whatever you want."
"That's good," she sighs. "I'm going to..."
Oh god, stop me. Stop me now. I'm going to get cavities. Also, not happy with how I ended that. Sigh.
Re: what is this I dont even know make me stop i've never written wings before sorry but not really
Also, good luck with your paper!
Eames and Arthur wake at the same time. Arthur sits up, slides their IVs out, dabs at Leora's wrist with a disinfectant wipe as she blinks awake.
"Daddy," Leora whispers, "Papa. I - I flew." Her voice is alight with wonder, her expression one of fierce joy. Arthur knows that feeling, sees his past reflected in her eyes, the marvel of discovery, of pure creation.
"Did you like it, sweetheart?" Eames asks. She nods fervently and crawls into Arthur's lap, curls into him but faces Eames. "Did you like it?" He brushes a stray lock of hair out of her face, traces the side of her face with his hand. She sighs, closes her eyes and he can almost see the city of light as she thinks of it.
"Can we do it again?" she asks in lieu of a reply. Arthur throws Eames a glance that clearly says 'She picked that up from you' as he smooths her hair.
"Why don't you learn to dream on your own first," he says, smiling gently. She starts to protest, her face scrunching in consternation, but he taps her on the face, his eyebrows raised.
"Why not?" she asks, the barest hint of a whine in her question. She's trying hard to control herself and, really, Arthur is the luckiest man in the world because his three year old resists whining.
"Trust me," he replies. "You'll see why when you're older."
She looks confused but shrugs, accepts it, lets it go. And he can't help but pull her into a hug, kiss the top of her head because he just loves her so much.
For the rest of the day, Leora draws. With her small hands wrapped around the large crayons that she loves so much, she draws sweeping landscapes and cities brighter than the sun. Arthur reads a book and Eames works on a forgery, and it's a quiet and perfect afternoon.
Later that night, after Eames has tucked her into bed with her favorite teddy bear, as she hovers on the edge of sleep, Arthur tells her another story. She'll dream of her adventures in the City of Light, she'll dream of wings and wind, of cotton-candy clouds and laughter that rises like bubbles before her. She'll dream of mermaids with jeweled tails and bats with butterfly wings, of marvelous things.
"Can I fly again?" she asks, more asleep than awake.
"You can do anything you want," he tells her. "In your dreams, you can do whatever you want."
"That's good," she sighs. "I'm going to..."
Oh god, stop me. Stop me now. I'm going to get cavities. Also, not happy with how I ended that. Sigh.