loadedparadox | A need to save everything that was lost

Current Mood: worried
Current Location: Undisclosed Location Paris

Entry tags:

A need to save everything that was lost

Who: Arthur and

acleandive
What: Continued on from here
Verse: Love Stories

Arthur moved around the loft, ensuring all windows were locked, the bars still on the windows. It had been for his own safety before, but now there was the worry about what would become with Mallorie trying to leave, to return to Dom.

After a bit she curled up in the corner and he was okay with that. He could handle her if she wasn't near the door, wasn't fighting him. Yet even as she dozed, he couldn't. He'd fall asleep, wake with a start. Come to and then drop off again. I was going to wear thin quickly but he hadn't had time to think when he realized what was to come, only react.

He watched her, never once truly looking away from her, even when his eyes fell shut. Always he was oriented on her.

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She nods, momentarily unbalanced by the idea that they'll have to dream further, have to go back to get it to work right, but it frightens her. Instead of panicking, fighting back, Mal lets him kiss her, stays still.

"Okay, all right. I trust you lamb."

"I need you to, Mal. I need you to trust me. Just remember that I would never do anything to hurt you. You're my Mal and I will do whatever I have to to protect you," he whispered.

Mal nods, eyes glistening, but seems to pull herself together reasonably well, enough that she can stand on her own, breath normally without the shake of worry to it.

"We will fix this, Mal. I won't ever let you down." He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "You'll be okay. I won't let anything else happen."

She nods, working with him for the first time since she found him in the hotel room. "I trust you."

Mal takes another deep breath, straightening out even further and for a moment she looks like the old Mal, stronger again. It might not last, but she's trying.

His breath came out in a slow release, not realizing how tense he was until that exact moment. "Thank you. Mal... thank you. I appreciate you having faith in me."

He leaned in, kissing her cheek. "Let me get you something to eat. I promise to take care of you."

She nods her ascent, curling her arms around herself but this time instead of hovering she leans against him while he works, cheek pressed into his shoulder, like contact helps.

His heart knotted in his chest. How could it feel right to have her like that when she was broken and hurting. Sighing softly, he started on omlettes.

"It'll be okay, Mal."

"I have seen you make omlettes before my lamb," Mal teases lightly, it's only very slightly off like her energy's flagging but it's still a tease, directing them away. "You'll be fine."

"Smart ass," he said in light, teasing tones, smiling. That made her sound like herself. Reaching around, he stroked her hair lightly. "We'll be fine. Both of us. Promise."

Mal leans into him a little more at the touch, once more falling silent but it's more he tiredness than her being ill this time, more just leaning into the essence of Arthur for safety, for warmth.

He worked with economy of movement, not wanting to disturb her more than he had to as he got the omelette done, splitting it between two plates. "I have tea," he offered. "Or juice."

"I could make the tea," Mal murmurs, stepping away from him experimentally, "I do recall how to."

"Thank you, Darling,' Arthur said before he considered his words. He went tense and nodded to the cabinet. "Tea and pot in there," he said softly, not looking at her.

Mal doesn't even bat an eyelash at the term of endearment, moving to the cabinet to reach it down. When she fills the pot, Mal's hands shake very slightly, but it's like an after-tremor of an earthquake, something almost starting to calm down.

As she moved, he oriented towards her, watching what she did though the tension between his shoulderblades was beginning to ease. Slightly. Yet he knew this wouldn't last. Cobb had screwed with her mind and it wouldn't last until he fixed it.

Mal puts the tea together quietly, all the usual bustle and noise of her work lost from her like a leaky pipe. When she watches the kettle boil, it's not because she's lost in thought, more like she's devoid of it, but at least now she's aware of Arthur's presence, of a port in the storm of her mind.

Sliding buttered croissants onto the plates with some fresh fruit, Arthur turned to Mal. He hesitated a moment before reaching out and sliding his hand along her back. He shouldn't touch her, shouldn't let himself indulge in such things but she was so fragile, like broken glass held together by sheer will.

She immediately leans into it, the weight of his palm against her. It's a foundation of sorts and Mal craves it, wants to keep it hers now, when she's so lost and unsure of herself. She tips her head to the side, looks at him for a long moment, before offering up a small, tentative smile.

The kettle on the stove whistles and Mal almost flinches but catches herself, mouth forming a little 'o' of surprise, like she'd forgotten. She pulls it off the counter hastily, placing it very carefully down like that in itself is very important to her.

Arthur finds himself caught a moment, barely able to breathe the moment that smile is turned to him.

Then whistle of the kettle and he looks away, guilty and worried. "Thank you for helping me with breakfast," he murmured softly.

She rings one hand around the wrist of her other arm, thoughtfully looking at Arthur before she blinks, "You're welcome. I don't mind helping you."

Once more he leaned in, kissing her temple. For years he had denied himself these little touches and yet she was responding to them. Whatever it took to save her.

"Why don't you take a seat and I'll bring things to the table."

Mal smiles, slides her gaze over to the table and moves, light on her feet as she takes a seat. It's a little like playing with building blocks, each step added to the next.

Sighing softly, he poured the water over the tea ball in the pot, moving the plates to the table, then cups and the pot. He brought over cream and sugar before taking the seat across from her.

It was normal and every day and he knew he couldn't believe it was such. She was dangerous and in pain. He couldn't let himself forget that.

Mal plucks at her dress a little, fingers catching on the fabric because it gives her hands something to do, keeps her occupied. Arthur helps, fills up her mind with something other than panic, other than how to get out.

She pours the tea because she knows just how they both take it, a knowledge that she can clink to. That hasn't changed.

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