i'm sure. take a bigger bastard than whoever runs this sorry show to keep me down for long.
[ Which is why he's upright. Though it's mostly stubborn will alone keeping him that way, blanket in hand as he uses the time courier he'd gotten back on his wrist to open a portal to Eames' flat.
He manages to stumble the step or two through it and to the couch, settling down in a heap with the blanket still clutched in hand. He still manages a shaky grin. ]
Eames is pretty much just curled up on the couch under his blanket, staring idly at his Fluid. When the portal opens he's up, though, on his feet and staring, eyes wide and expression completely unnerved.
Congrats, John, you've managed to render him speechless.
The portal closes and then John is on his couch, Eames finds himself succumbing to a fit of coughing. Bloody hell, what was that?
"You've got some serious magic, mate," he mutters as he lets himself fall back on the couch. He's wearing an old t-shirt and pyjama bottoms and a cardigan on top of that with elbow patches no less.
His blanket is yanked out from under him and he crawls to the corner of the couch, lifting his arm in invitation. "C'mere." Sharing some body heat is a good idea right about now.
If he had more of a head to think about it, John would've warned the bloke first. As it stands, he can't really be bothered with how he's feeling. He waves him down when he notices his standing. That just looks exhausting.
"Not magic, actually," he mumbles but still tries to grin a little. It falls a bit short. He taps at his wrist at the band there. He's only got a soft, thin robe on from where he managed to get out of his other clothes earlier. "Called a Time Courier. Doesn't do much but make fancy doorways at the moment but still nifty."
The idea of getting settled on something soft again sounds far too enticing and once Eames motions him down he's, sure enough, crawling over to lay chest to chest with him. He drags his own blanket into the mix, feeling very much like a child in the moment. He hasn't felt so miserable to do something like this for about as many years, he supposes.
"This resurrection business is about as bloody awful as I thought it'd be."
"Mmn," Eames would normally be a lot more curious about the tech that John is talking about but right now he can't muster up the energy for it. He'll ask about it later, yeah?
Instead he wraps his blanket on top of John's when the man has crawled over him. They're cocooned soon inside a blanket forth, body heat shared and somewhat more comfortable with it.
"Yeah, innit just," Eames mutters as he tucks John's head under his chin and wraps both of his arms around him. He prods the blanket under his feet and after some consideration reaches down briefly to tuck the side of it under his thigh as well.
"What did you in?" Did he ask already? He's not sure.
Can't fault him for the waning interest, all things considered. Once they're both a little more coherent and less ready to keel over again.
It's easy enough to settle in against Eames, shivering a little as he gets back the warmth he lost in getting here. This is absolutely rotten. He's going to have words with whoever is in charge here one day, mark him.
He slides his arms up, one hand to press against Eames' chest and the other that nudges up under an arm to splay against his ribs. Once he's stopped moving, it's a little easier to focus on just answering the questions. It's nice, this, especially with the last few days in mind.
"Kid I've been trying to help had somebody after him gone mad with all this despair business," he mutters. "Used a glamour to buy some time, get him out, but I couldn't talk the other person down." Beat. "Stabbed me."
Eventually when they have to get up, it's going to be so awful. Right now, the toasty warmth of combined body heat is slowly building up and Eames doesn't know anything better. Usually he can will away headaches and flues in dreamland but this one seems persistent enough to cling to him like a parasite.
Perhaps it is a parasite. He contemplates that thought for a moment, then pushes it aside. There's definitely not enough of clarity in his mind right now to go on those uncharted territories of wild theories.
"Wow, okay, that's rough," Eames replies. "I hope you went fast at least and didn't suffer from the stabbing." Also: "Your decent guy side is showing again, John, a little embarrassing."
That is an eventuality that they don't have to entertain just yet. They have each other. Even with the misery they're both contending with, at least the shivering is starting to subside for now.
He'd be interested to know what Eames was thinking if he wasn't so addled. Could be on to something.
"Not my first time bleeding out. Managed to stop that one." That was way back though. One of the first jobs he ran with Zed in tow. "Don't think it was that long, felt like bloody ages." Unfortunately, there was a bit of suffering between the injury and the end. He groans. "Don't you start."
Punctuated by a gentle jab at the other man's ribs.
"Here I thought you started it," Eames murmurs with an amused little snort and instead of jolting from John's poking, he reaches for the remote, turning the TV on.
It's showing Brian's life, because he wants it so.
"I'm used to dying in dreams. Fast or slow, it's always a bloody annoyance. But this is the first time it's resulted with something like this."
He thinks about it for a moment, idly following the TV with half an eye.
"Usually you wake up when you die. But usually when you wake up, there are some rules that apply to dreaming. I talked with someone who said they had woken up for a little while, and they had not remembered Deerington at all, and only a decent night's sleep had passed while they were here. It doesn't work like that..."
Usually Eames wouldn't be caught dead whining about something like that but right now he's hurting and sick and nothing makes sense.
"Shut it." Muttered affectionately though. His focus wanders to the television moment before Eames' voice draws him back.
"Sounds like a bloody awful line of work if it happens so often." Even if that's from the outside looking in. He wonders, briefly, what Ritchie would have to say about it. In the dreams he's travelled through, if you die there, you die in the real world. "Doesn't work that way in my world. Least not that I've seen.
Tell me about it?" If he's up for it. Maybe John just wants to hear the other man's voice.
Eames laughs softly at that command to shut up. He's never going to stop with this, you know that, don't you, John?
"I work with this thing called Dreamshare," Eames starts, his voice quiet and soft, obviously settling in for a story time. "They made a device that links you with other people and you all enter the dream of one you. It works in a very similar way to dreams usually, time is stretched out, you can control the dream when you realise that you are actually dreaming."
The fingers of one of his hands trail gently down along John's back as he speaks, his eyes on the telly but not really watching it.
"So, first they realised the way it could be used in training soldiers. Shooting each other in a dream kind of gives you a good idea how it feels like. Doesn't make a whole lot of well adjusted soldiers but..."
What's the old saying? Hope for the best but prepare for the worst? He'll live through it at any rate if Eames doesn't let it go.
When he starts explaining it all, he's sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ritchie would love it. Well, minus the killing portion. Or the dying bit. The idea that one could wander in and out of someone else's dreams in that way? John reckons it's a way better high than astral projection or a shared acid trip.
His face twists up at the mention of what they used it for. Course they went that route. Makes sense in a bollocksed up sort of way. "Don't imagine it does. Sounds like a rotten deal." He hums. "What do you do with it. The dreamshare?"
He lets his hand trail along Eames' side, slow and gentle.
"It was dreadfully boring," Eames says with a soft sigh, arching a little under John's hands because it's nice to feel something good instead of this constant ache. "Endless nights of training new soldiers. Watching them turn into hardened murder machines. I showed some promise with Dreaming early on so they signed me for the gig."
He snorts softly then and shrugs. "But I got tired of it. Unsurprisingly. Haven't looked once back and thought Gosh, I wish I was with the army still."
He lets the edges of his nails drag a bit across John's back, scratching that itch that everyone has unknowingly.
"Can you imagine? How ungrateful of me." Definitely. "Well, the private sector got their hands on the technology eventually. "How did that happen? Gosh, Eames has no idea. "They came up with more innovative ways to use it. I got involved with some ground breaking projects early on. It was explored quite deeply and of course first with all the innocent intentions of helping people with it, learning new ways to utilise the unbridled innovation of human mind, deep subconsciousness."
"Was it? Would've figured you for a man of action type," he murmurs, continuing the gentle run of his hands along Eames' sides. "But that sounds like a rough deal for anybody. Can't blame you for skipping out on it."
There's a chuckle at the sarcastic bit about wishing being back and a tired grin. Arching at the nails through his shirt, it earns a soft groan, feeling himself relax a bit more after.
"Sure sounds like it," John huffs with amusement. Though he has suspicions as to how the private sector might've gotten something like that. But maybe that scrutiny is better saved for another day. "Mmm, let me guess. All that unbridled access twisted up by the idea of just how far it can be pushed? What one might be able to find buried in someone's mind?"
He's tiptoed through the minds of people in other ways. The allure is always the same.
"I suppose I can be a man of action," Eames admits, giving a weak, husky laughter as he runs his hands down until John's arse and gives it a lazy squeeze. "But I hardly can see how you in particular would think so. We're again huddled on this couch like two invalids."
He shakes his head then and for a moment he closes his eyes, just to give them rest. A headache is reminding him of its existence, bounding behind his eyes.
"Yes, corporate espionage got involved. I'm sure a government or two got their dirty fingers in the play somewhere as well, but what I'm more familiar with is the private sector. The temptation of learning the secrets of anyone without them even knowing was just too much.
That response earns another huff of laughter and the squeeze earns a mild swat from where his hand is at his side. Neither of them are in any form for it this time than they were last time as well. Bloody hell, so much for a break ever. "The way you carry yourself, mate."
He shifts the hand on his side up, bringing it up between them and massaging Eames' temple when his eyes close.
"Seems like you'd make a lot of enemies with a gig like that," just an idle comment, really.
Eames lets out a little chuckle and it ends up in a fit of coughing. He holds onto John while his lungs try to exit through his breathing canals. When it calms down he slumps back down and breathes for a moment.
"Yeah," he admits hoarsely after that moment. "I did not gain a whole lot of friends in high places. But there were some people who were in the business as well, so I suppose there's some honour among thieves after all..."
The way the cough wracks the other man's frame causes him to wince in sympathy. Despite the aches and pains of it all, he doesn't try to shift away when he's held onto, just smooths his hand over his back carefully, waiting until he's got himself sorted.
"Suppose that's the whole saying when one door closes and all," he murmurs. He looks up at him. "Let's get some water in you after that." Not that he wants to move but he's pretty sure if Eames tries to reach past him they'll both wind up on the floor in a ridiculous heap. He'd rather avoid it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ He's a little worried, be good John, don't strain yourself too much. ]
action.
[ Which is why he's upright. Though it's mostly stubborn will alone keeping him that way, blanket in hand as he uses the time courier he'd gotten back on his wrist to open a portal to Eames' flat.
He manages to stumble the step or two through it and to the couch, settling down in a heap with the blanket still clutched in hand. He still manages a shaky grin. ]
Abracafuckingdabra.
no subject
Congrats, John, you've managed to render him speechless.
The portal closes and then John is on his couch, Eames finds himself succumbing to a fit of coughing. Bloody hell, what was that?
"You've got some serious magic, mate," he mutters as he lets himself fall back on the couch. He's wearing an old t-shirt and pyjama bottoms and a cardigan on top of that with elbow patches no less.
His blanket is yanked out from under him and he crawls to the corner of the couch, lifting his arm in invitation. "C'mere." Sharing some body heat is a good idea right about now.
no subject
"Not magic, actually," he mumbles but still tries to grin a little. It falls a bit short. He taps at his wrist at the band there. He's only got a soft, thin robe on from where he managed to get out of his other clothes earlier. "Called a Time Courier. Doesn't do much but make fancy doorways at the moment but still nifty."
The idea of getting settled on something soft again sounds far too enticing and once Eames motions him down he's, sure enough, crawling over to lay chest to chest with him. He drags his own blanket into the mix, feeling very much like a child in the moment. He hasn't felt so miserable to do something like this for about as many years, he supposes.
"This resurrection business is about as bloody awful as I thought it'd be."
no subject
Instead he wraps his blanket on top of John's when the man has crawled over him. They're cocooned soon inside a blanket forth, body heat shared and somewhat more comfortable with it.
"Yeah, innit just," Eames mutters as he tucks John's head under his chin and wraps both of his arms around him. He prods the blanket under his feet and after some consideration reaches down briefly to tuck the side of it under his thigh as well.
"What did you in?" Did he ask already? He's not sure.
no subject
It's easy enough to settle in against Eames, shivering a little as he gets back the warmth he lost in getting here. This is absolutely rotten. He's going to have words with whoever is in charge here one day, mark him.
He slides his arms up, one hand to press against Eames' chest and the other that nudges up under an arm to splay against his ribs. Once he's stopped moving, it's a little easier to focus on just answering the questions. It's nice, this, especially with the last few days in mind.
"Kid I've been trying to help had somebody after him gone mad with all this despair business," he mutters. "Used a glamour to buy some time, get him out, but I couldn't talk the other person down." Beat. "Stabbed me."
no subject
Perhaps it is a parasite. He contemplates that thought for a moment, then pushes it aside. There's definitely not enough of clarity in his mind right now to go on those uncharted territories of wild theories.
"Wow, okay, that's rough," Eames replies. "I hope you went fast at least and didn't suffer from the stabbing." Also: "Your decent guy side is showing again, John, a little embarrassing."
no subject
He'd be interested to know what Eames was thinking if he wasn't so addled. Could be on to something.
"Not my first time bleeding out. Managed to stop that one." That was way back though. One of the first jobs he ran with Zed in tow. "Don't think it was that long, felt like bloody ages." Unfortunately, there was a bit of suffering between the injury and the end. He groans. "Don't you start."
Punctuated by a gentle jab at the other man's ribs.
no subject
It's showing Brian's life, because he wants it so.
"I'm used to dying in dreams. Fast or slow, it's always a bloody annoyance. But this is the first time it's resulted with something like this."
He thinks about it for a moment, idly following the TV with half an eye.
"Usually you wake up when you die. But usually when you wake up, there are some rules that apply to dreaming. I talked with someone who said they had woken up for a little while, and they had not remembered Deerington at all, and only a decent night's sleep had passed while they were here. It doesn't work like that..."
Usually Eames wouldn't be caught dead whining about something like that but right now he's hurting and sick and nothing makes sense.
no subject
"Sounds like a bloody awful line of work if it happens so often." Even if that's from the outside looking in. He wonders, briefly, what Ritchie would have to say about it. In the dreams he's travelled through, if you die there, you die in the real world. "Doesn't work that way in my world. Least not that I've seen.
Tell me about it?" If he's up for it. Maybe John just wants to hear the other man's voice.
no subject
"I work with this thing called Dreamshare," Eames starts, his voice quiet and soft, obviously settling in for a story time. "They made a device that links you with other people and you all enter the dream of one you. It works in a very similar way to dreams usually, time is stretched out, you can control the dream when you realise that you are actually dreaming."
The fingers of one of his hands trail gently down along John's back as he speaks, his eyes on the telly but not really watching it.
"So, first they realised the way it could be used in training soldiers. Shooting each other in a dream kind of gives you a good idea how it feels like. Doesn't make a whole lot of well adjusted soldiers but..."
no subject
When he starts explaining it all, he's sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ritchie would love it. Well, minus the killing portion. Or the dying bit. The idea that one could wander in and out of someone else's dreams in that way? John reckons it's a way better high than astral projection or a shared acid trip.
His face twists up at the mention of what they used it for. Course they went that route. Makes sense in a bollocksed up sort of way. "Don't imagine it does. Sounds like a rotten deal." He hums. "What do you do with it. The dreamshare?"
He lets his hand trail along Eames' side, slow and gentle.
no subject
He snorts softly then and shrugs. "But I got tired of it. Unsurprisingly. Haven't looked once back and thought Gosh, I wish I was with the army still."
He lets the edges of his nails drag a bit across John's back, scratching that itch that everyone has unknowingly.
"Can you imagine? How ungrateful of me." Definitely. "Well, the private sector got their hands on the technology eventually. "How did that happen? Gosh, Eames has no idea. "They came up with more innovative ways to use it. I got involved with some ground breaking projects early on. It was explored quite deeply and of course first with all the innocent intentions of helping people with it, learning new ways to utilise the unbridled innovation of human mind, deep subconsciousness."
no subject
There's a chuckle at the sarcastic bit about wishing being back and a tired grin. Arching at the nails through his shirt, it earns a soft groan, feeling himself relax a bit more after.
"Sure sounds like it," John huffs with amusement. Though he has suspicions as to how the private sector might've gotten something like that. But maybe that scrutiny is better saved for another day. "Mmm, let me guess. All that unbridled access twisted up by the idea of just how far it can be pushed? What one might be able to find buried in someone's mind?"
He's tiptoed through the minds of people in other ways. The allure is always the same.
no subject
He shakes his head then and for a moment he closes his eyes, just to give them rest. A headache is reminding him of its existence, bounding behind his eyes.
"Yes, corporate espionage got involved. I'm sure a government or two got their dirty fingers in the play somewhere as well, but what I'm more familiar with is the private sector. The temptation of learning the secrets of anyone without them even knowing was just too much.
no subject
He shifts the hand on his side up, bringing it up between them and massaging Eames' temple when his eyes close.
"Seems like you'd make a lot of enemies with a gig like that," just an idle comment, really.
no subject
"Yeah," he admits hoarsely after that moment. "I did not gain a whole lot of friends in high places. But there were some people who were in the business as well, so I suppose there's some honour among thieves after all..."
no subject
"Suppose that's the whole saying when one door closes and all," he murmurs. He looks up at him. "Let's get some water in you after that." Not that he wants to move but he's pretty sure if Eames tries to reach past him they'll both wind up on the floor in a ridiculous heap. He'd rather avoid it.