Archive of Our Own

Notes:

This drabble was hard to wrangle. It kept veering off into a rambling debate about Cheetos flavors that do not contain cheese and whether they should be packaged as Cheetos. Uh, guys...hard word limit here. BTW Seaweed Cheetos are pretty good, even if toasted corn and nori are not the most obvious combination (no cheese). As far as I know they are only sold in Taiwan. A friend's MIL ships them to Texas for him. The last time I had some the bag featured Chester Cheetah wielding a flame-thrower (IDK? They're not spicy. Who knows?) which was, no doubt, the reason Arthur picked them up.

Thanks to Valancy_Joy for an absolutely last minute beta - she probably should stop enabling my wretched procrastination.

I was not particularly happy with the version above that I submitted for the challenge. I didn't HATE it but wasn't what I wanted it to be. After the submission deadline I fiddled some more and got it closer to what I was trying to write. I'm plunking the rewrite here mostly for my own records but it may be interesting to see what a few small tweaks can do when you're constrained to 300 words. This version is un-beta'd. Proceed at your own risk.

I'd love to hear what did and didn't work (on either or both versions). Concrit is absolutely welcome but please do not leave anonymous comments. Thanks.

 

In Focus (2.0)

They’re renting the third floor flat for its view. The hills beyond Taipei City look ethereal in the golden afternoon light but Eames’ attention is on the narrow townhouse opposite him. He can’t think of anything more tedious than extended surveillance and he’s had a lot of time to think.

Three clicks on the radio precede the squeak of the door. The rustle of a plastic bag has him grinning; Arthur, like most ex-military, is a reliable source of caffeine and carbs.

“Hey, need a break?”

“God yes,” Eames loses no time passing off the binoculars. “No visitors, no calls. Are we sure about her?”

“No, but Huang still thinks she’s our best chance.”

Eames cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders. After a visit to the loo he rifles through the snacks with a pleased hum. Leaving the disturbingly sweet iced coffee for Arthur, he snags a cola and a bag of seaweed-flavored Cheetos then heads back to the window.

Arthur's prone, resting the binocs on the low windowsill and flaunting his absolute peach of an arse. With his Air Force High and Tight growing out into floppy curls Arthur can probably pass for a teenager, though his confidence and his facility with deadly weapons belie his jailbait looks.

Eames sits against the wall and stretches his legs out beside Arthur. It’s utter torment but he can look his fill.

Without looking away from the house, Arthur says, “Fish or cut bait, Eames.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m grateful that you never pressed, back on base, but it’s been five months.”

“And I should, what? Man up?”

“Or back off.”

“Alright...Arthur, I hold you in the highest esteem. When we’re done here would you have dinner with me and engage in unspeakably filthy sexual acts?”

“Why, Mr. Eames, I thought you’d never ask.”