Eames (dream_bigger) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2013-01-24 20:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | !plot |
Who? Arthur and Eames
Where? Outside, and then hopefully, their flat.
When? Thursday, at some point.
What? Eames gets home. Eventually.
Rating? TBD?
Status? Incomplete
Eames had grabbed the blanket from the bed with his clumsy cold-numbed hands before he'd left his cell, wrapping it round him as best he could. He didn't know that his phone and totem were in the pile in the next corridor over, and thought they'd most likely be back in the flat with Arthur. Lucky buggers, that was where he wanted to be. He still had Dean's socks on his feet, and he didn't know what to do with the other man's coat (thinking was unexpectedly difficult, and had been for the past few days) so he just started walking and figured that he'd work out what to do with it once he got home to Arthur.
He followed the others, but kept to himself for the most part, and was soon left behind. He was exhausted, freezing and weak with hunger. Walking any distance was probably a bad idea, but fuck it all, he just wanted to see Arthur and to have a nice warm cup of tea, maybe a shower or a bath, and oh god, a bed with covers and duvets and blankets and things, that sounded like absolute heaven. His legs kept cramping and it got harder and harder to start walking every time he paused for a rest, and his back felt weird and everything ached, but he was an incredibly stubborn idiot and so, he kept trudging along. He must have looked an absolute sight as he walked towards the spire but he was beyond caring.
Eventually, after God alone knew how long, he found himself at the front door of the block of flats he lived in. He wanted to curl up on the step and sleep. He couldn't stop shivering and shuddering, the socks on his feet completely soaked through and as freezing as the rest of him, and he didn't think he had it in him to go any further. He tried to go further, he tried his utmost, but it wasn't to be. He had long since run out of fumes to go on and his body had had enough. Slumping down onto the doorstep, Eames just sat there and tried to think about what he should do.