jenna_marianne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jenna_marianne) wrote2010-09-12 03:04 am
jenna_marianne) wrote2010-09-12 03:04 am
Entry tags:
Shock & Disbelief 1/?
Title: Shock & Disbelief 1/?
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jenna_marianne
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1,896
Summary: Fill for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
inception_kink prompt: The only things that the police finds are the two corpses of Mr. and Mrs. Cobb at the feet of a building, a small top in a destroyed hotel room and the godfather of the two orphans. AU where Dom jumped together with Mal and the police is questioning Arthur about Mal's letter and so on also Arthur is now the legal guardian for the kids.
Arthur gripped his die hard inside his pocket, wishing the weight of it didn’t feel so right. This was no dream, but he couldn’t focus on what the policeman in front of him was saying. Not after the words the cop had said, right after introductions and “why don’t we sit down.” Everything was blurred, muffled. Arthur could only focus on one long series of denials, stuck on repeat, that it couldn’t be true, no, they would never, it couldn’t, they couldn’t, no, no. Still, the weight of his totem didn’t lie.
Beyond the rushing in his ears, he heard, “Sir, sir, is there someone we can call...sir,” then another voice, high pitched and sweet, “Uncle Arthur, Uncle Arthur, what’s going on? Uncle Arthur?” and everything snapped into focus again.
Arthur turned to Phillipa, standing in the kitchen doorway clutching her teddy bear. He stood and picked her up. She automatically put her arms around his neck and settled her head on his shoulder. “What are you doing up, Pippa?” tweaking her nose gently with is index finger. She giggled at the nickname, which only Arthur used.
“I heard noises, Uncle Arthur,” she said, “and you looked sad.”
Arthur suppressed a sigh. Phillipa was just as observant as both her parents, and precocious for her age. He glanced up warily at the police detective, who was observing their interaction, and turned his back to him. Fortunately, the detective was in plain clothes; a uniform might have fascinated or scared Phillipa. Either would be bad. He ruffled her hair, and said, “Nothing to worry about, Pippa, and you know you're not supposed to be up after bedtime.” Phillipa nodded. “Lets get you tucked back in, okay?” and carried her back to the kids bedroom. The cops could wait.
After he’d checked on James (fast asleep), gotten Phillipa settled, and firmly closed the children’s door behind him, he made his way back to the kitchen. The detective was still there, watching. Arthur sat down in the chair across from him. “I think you’ll have to repeat everything you said earlier, I didn’t catch it all.”
The detective nodded. “Is there anyone you want to call first?”
Arthur nearly said no, but considering the shape he was in before Phillipa’s voice snapped in out of it--rather close to shock--he could use back up. Of course, he normal back up was unavailable, according to the officer. He took a deep, shuddering breath. Eames hadn’t left town for his next job yet, not for another few days. “Yes, I’d better make a call,” he said to the detective, and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. Thankfully, Eames answered on the second ring.
“Hello darling, didn’t expect a call from you so soon,” Eames said in greeting, before Arthur could say anything.
“Eames...” his throat went dry, and he croaked the next word, which turned into a repeat of the name, “Eames.” He paused again, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat.
This time, Eames’ voice lacked all joviality, “Arthur, what’s wrong.”
“They’re dead, Eames.” God, he had to get a grip he thought, his hand tightening on the phone until his fingertips turned white, and coughed past the tightness in his throat. “Dom and Mal are d-dead.”
“Arthur, are you still at the Cobb’s with the kids,” Eames asked, sounding a little breathless, and the sounds behind him quieted from 'cocktail party’ to ‘street noise.’
“Yes. You’re on your way?” Arthur felt the need to confirm.
“I’ll be there in fifteen to twenty minutes. Less if I can. What happened?” then more distantly, Arthur could hear Eames giving the Cobb’s address to someone, probably a cabbie.
“I don’t know, an officer is here now...he asked if I should call anyone.” Arthur felt more capable of breathing now, knowing he’d have some back up. Eames was always better getting information out of people, and Arthur knew he wasn’t tracking like he should be. Eames could get more out of the detective than Arthur was capable of, right now.
“Okay, I’m getting closer, shall I stay on the line?” Eames asked.
“No, just get here soon.”
“I will,” Eames said, and Arthur hung up.
The detective was still watching him closely; Arthur felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. Still having trouble focusing, a disconcerting feeling, Arthur went to the sink and filled a glass from the drainer with tap water, and took a quick gulp. It sat in his stomach like a stone. “Can I get you a drink, Detective...” he left a pause, waiting for the officer to fill in his name, which Arthur had misplaced in the aftermath of his statements after their first introduction.
“Sanchez, and no, I’m alright.”
Arthur was shocked when a second voice said “Detective Jones,” from next to the refrigerator. He hadn’t even noticed the second officer until then. The lapse would have horrified him in normal circumstances, but after Sanchez’s announcement earlier, everything was still numb and distant.
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Sanchez said, drawing Arthur’s attention back to him, “but we have some questions. Do you feel up to answering them?”
Before Arthur could formulate an answer, he heard a key turning in the front door, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Eames was here. Sanchez and Jones exchanged a glance, Jones’ brows raised, as Eames entered the kitchen. He paused in the doorway briefly, taking in Sanchez at the table, Jones by the refrigerator, and Arthur at the sink, then strode quickly to Arthur. Arthur set his glass back down and practically fell into Eames’ arms, clutching at his biceps. Eames pulled him in, and pressed their cheeks together.
“Arthur, what’s happened?” Eames breathed into Arthur’s ear.
Arthur shook his head, and leaned forward, pressing his forehead into Eames’ shoulder. “I don’t know, we haven’t gotten that far.” Tightening his grip on Eames’ arms, he pulled back to look at Eames’ face. “I’m not tracking like I should.” He broke eye-contact to look at Sanchez, still observing him, then back to Eames. His barely there nod and the flex of his arms around Arthur’s back let him know Eames got the message. He’d gather all the intel he could from the officers.
“Well, let’s remedy that,” said Eames, turning to face Sanchez and adjusting his grip to a supportive arm around Arthur. Eames guided Arthur back to the table and they sat across from Sanchez side-by-side, pulling their chairs close together. “Right, fill me in. On the phone Arthur said Mal and Dom are dead?”
“Yes, at just past 6 o'clock tonight, both their bodies were found. It looks like they both fell from the window of their hotel room. The room itself was ransacked. We’re trying to determine what happened.” Sanchez said, a dry tone for the plain facts; it was all incomprehensible to Arthur, and he unconsciously shook his head in denial. Eames arm tightened around his shoulder in response. “Do you know anyone that would want to hurt the Cobbs? Anyone with a vendetta, any threatening phone calls?”
Eames looked to Arthur for confirmation; he was already shaking his head. “No, neither of us heard anything liked that,” Eames said for both of them. Arthur knew it was possible one of their marks could be responsible, getting revenge for an extraction, but anyone likely to kill an extractor would most likely order a hit. One that clearly looked like what it was, to send a message to the other extractors out there. A ransacked hotel room and two bodies on the pavement below didn’t sound like a professional hit. That, and they'd barely been working since the kids had come along. They mostly worked on dream security, militarizing corporate minds against extraction.
Arthur realized he’d lost time during his contemplations when he looked up and all eyes were on him expectantly, as if he’d been asked a question. He leaned further into Eames, and pressed a hand into his temple, trying to press away the headache that had been pushing insistently for attention. “What, I missed that?”
“Alright, I think Arthur’s done for the night. Can you come back tomorrow?” Eames said, letting go of Arthur and standing. Sanchez stood with him, and Jones came up from his lean against the fridge. Arthur thought he should protest, but couldn’t form up the motivation.
“You’ll both be here tomorrow? Do you know who to contact regarding the children?” Jones asked, speaking up for the first time since stating his name earlier. The second question got Arthur’s attention.
“Mal and Dom listed me in their will as their children’s guardian. I’m the one to contact.” Arthur said, tension filling him, overcoming his shocked detachment.
Sanchez nodded, “Alright. You’ll be here tomorrow?”
“Yes, we’ll be right here,” said Eames.
“We’ll be back to continue at, say 11 am.” Sanchez stated, and handed Eames his card.
“We’ll see you then,” Eames said, and walked the two detectives to the door. Arthur stayed in the kitchen, and leaned forward until his head rested on the table. This couldn’t be happening. Dom and Mal would walk through the door at any moment...no, it must all be a dream. He pulled his die out of his pocket, free to do so now that the detectives weren’t there to watch, and rolled it over and over.
“Sorry, love, this is no dream,” Eames said from the doorway.
“Yeah,” said Arthur, rolling it one more time, before scooping it up and putting it back in his pocket. His limbs felt too heavy to contemplate moving, and the rushing sound was filling his ears again.
“Hey, lets get you tucked in,” said Eames from shockingly close to Arthur, who hadn’t registered his movement. Arthur blinked up at him. “Up we go,” said Eames, as he guided a stiff but compliant Arthur up out of the chair and down the hall to the guest bedroom, which was Arthur’s, really, the room he always stayed in when in town. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Eames unbuttoning his waistcoat, Arthur petted the bedspread, remembering Mal teasing him about picking it out just for him. He squeezed his eyes closed, and heard a strange, animal whine. He didn’t realize it was himself until Eames shushed him and pulled him into another hug. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, then Eames leaned back, asking “you ready for a lie down?”
Arthur, exhausted, said “Sure,” and helped Eames take off the rest of their clothes. Clad in their boxers, they climbed under the covers and back into each others arms.
“I don’t understand,” Arthur murmured into Eames’ collarbone, “they were just here. They were going out to celebrate their anniversary.”
“I know, I know,” said Eames, a hand combing through Arthur’s hair. “I don’t understand either. We’ll get more details tomorrow.”
“We have to call Miles, he needs to know,” Arthur said, jumping with the realization.
“Tomorrow,” Eames said firmly, and kept carding his fingers front-to-back through Arthur’s hair. He relaxed back into Eames’ arms. “Just close your eyes. Tomorrow will come soon enough.”
“Yeah,” said Arthur, exhausted. There was so much to do, but Eames was right, it’d all wait until later. He'd make a to-do list. His headache was still there, but Eames was helping with his touch and some soft tune he was humming under his breath. Curling into Eames, he closed his eyes and let oblivion take him.
Author:
jenna_marianne Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1,896
Summary: Fill for the
inception_kink prompt: The only things that the police finds are the two corpses of Mr. and Mrs. Cobb at the feet of a building, a small top in a destroyed hotel room and the godfather of the two orphans. AU where Dom jumped together with Mal and the police is questioning Arthur about Mal's letter and so on also Arthur is now the legal guardian for the kids.Arthur gripped his die hard inside his pocket, wishing the weight of it didn’t feel so right. This was no dream, but he couldn’t focus on what the policeman in front of him was saying. Not after the words the cop had said, right after introductions and “why don’t we sit down.” Everything was blurred, muffled. Arthur could only focus on one long series of denials, stuck on repeat, that it couldn’t be true, no, they would never, it couldn’t, they couldn’t, no, no. Still, the weight of his totem didn’t lie.
Beyond the rushing in his ears, he heard, “Sir, sir, is there someone we can call...sir,” then another voice, high pitched and sweet, “Uncle Arthur, Uncle Arthur, what’s going on? Uncle Arthur?” and everything snapped into focus again.
Arthur turned to Phillipa, standing in the kitchen doorway clutching her teddy bear. He stood and picked her up. She automatically put her arms around his neck and settled her head on his shoulder. “What are you doing up, Pippa?” tweaking her nose gently with is index finger. She giggled at the nickname, which only Arthur used.
“I heard noises, Uncle Arthur,” she said, “and you looked sad.”
Arthur suppressed a sigh. Phillipa was just as observant as both her parents, and precocious for her age. He glanced up warily at the police detective, who was observing their interaction, and turned his back to him. Fortunately, the detective was in plain clothes; a uniform might have fascinated or scared Phillipa. Either would be bad. He ruffled her hair, and said, “Nothing to worry about, Pippa, and you know you're not supposed to be up after bedtime.” Phillipa nodded. “Lets get you tucked back in, okay?” and carried her back to the kids bedroom. The cops could wait.
After he’d checked on James (fast asleep), gotten Phillipa settled, and firmly closed the children’s door behind him, he made his way back to the kitchen. The detective was still there, watching. Arthur sat down in the chair across from him. “I think you’ll have to repeat everything you said earlier, I didn’t catch it all.”
The detective nodded. “Is there anyone you want to call first?”
Arthur nearly said no, but considering the shape he was in before Phillipa’s voice snapped in out of it--rather close to shock--he could use back up. Of course, he normal back up was unavailable, according to the officer. He took a deep, shuddering breath. Eames hadn’t left town for his next job yet, not for another few days. “Yes, I’d better make a call,” he said to the detective, and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. Thankfully, Eames answered on the second ring.
“Hello darling, didn’t expect a call from you so soon,” Eames said in greeting, before Arthur could say anything.
“Eames...” his throat went dry, and he croaked the next word, which turned into a repeat of the name, “Eames.” He paused again, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat.
This time, Eames’ voice lacked all joviality, “Arthur, what’s wrong.”
“They’re dead, Eames.” God, he had to get a grip he thought, his hand tightening on the phone until his fingertips turned white, and coughed past the tightness in his throat. “Dom and Mal are d-dead.”
“Arthur, are you still at the Cobb’s with the kids,” Eames asked, sounding a little breathless, and the sounds behind him quieted from 'cocktail party’ to ‘street noise.’
“Yes. You’re on your way?” Arthur felt the need to confirm.
“I’ll be there in fifteen to twenty minutes. Less if I can. What happened?” then more distantly, Arthur could hear Eames giving the Cobb’s address to someone, probably a cabbie.
“I don’t know, an officer is here now...he asked if I should call anyone.” Arthur felt more capable of breathing now, knowing he’d have some back up. Eames was always better getting information out of people, and Arthur knew he wasn’t tracking like he should be. Eames could get more out of the detective than Arthur was capable of, right now.
“Okay, I’m getting closer, shall I stay on the line?” Eames asked.
“No, just get here soon.”
“I will,” Eames said, and Arthur hung up.
The detective was still watching him closely; Arthur felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. Still having trouble focusing, a disconcerting feeling, Arthur went to the sink and filled a glass from the drainer with tap water, and took a quick gulp. It sat in his stomach like a stone. “Can I get you a drink, Detective...” he left a pause, waiting for the officer to fill in his name, which Arthur had misplaced in the aftermath of his statements after their first introduction.
“Sanchez, and no, I’m alright.”
Arthur was shocked when a second voice said “Detective Jones,” from next to the refrigerator. He hadn’t even noticed the second officer until then. The lapse would have horrified him in normal circumstances, but after Sanchez’s announcement earlier, everything was still numb and distant.
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Sanchez said, drawing Arthur’s attention back to him, “but we have some questions. Do you feel up to answering them?”
Before Arthur could formulate an answer, he heard a key turning in the front door, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Eames was here. Sanchez and Jones exchanged a glance, Jones’ brows raised, as Eames entered the kitchen. He paused in the doorway briefly, taking in Sanchez at the table, Jones by the refrigerator, and Arthur at the sink, then strode quickly to Arthur. Arthur set his glass back down and practically fell into Eames’ arms, clutching at his biceps. Eames pulled him in, and pressed their cheeks together.
“Arthur, what’s happened?” Eames breathed into Arthur’s ear.
Arthur shook his head, and leaned forward, pressing his forehead into Eames’ shoulder. “I don’t know, we haven’t gotten that far.” Tightening his grip on Eames’ arms, he pulled back to look at Eames’ face. “I’m not tracking like I should.” He broke eye-contact to look at Sanchez, still observing him, then back to Eames. His barely there nod and the flex of his arms around Arthur’s back let him know Eames got the message. He’d gather all the intel he could from the officers.
“Well, let’s remedy that,” said Eames, turning to face Sanchez and adjusting his grip to a supportive arm around Arthur. Eames guided Arthur back to the table and they sat across from Sanchez side-by-side, pulling their chairs close together. “Right, fill me in. On the phone Arthur said Mal and Dom are dead?”
“Yes, at just past 6 o'clock tonight, both their bodies were found. It looks like they both fell from the window of their hotel room. The room itself was ransacked. We’re trying to determine what happened.” Sanchez said, a dry tone for the plain facts; it was all incomprehensible to Arthur, and he unconsciously shook his head in denial. Eames arm tightened around his shoulder in response. “Do you know anyone that would want to hurt the Cobbs? Anyone with a vendetta, any threatening phone calls?”
Eames looked to Arthur for confirmation; he was already shaking his head. “No, neither of us heard anything liked that,” Eames said for both of them. Arthur knew it was possible one of their marks could be responsible, getting revenge for an extraction, but anyone likely to kill an extractor would most likely order a hit. One that clearly looked like what it was, to send a message to the other extractors out there. A ransacked hotel room and two bodies on the pavement below didn’t sound like a professional hit. That, and they'd barely been working since the kids had come along. They mostly worked on dream security, militarizing corporate minds against extraction.
Arthur realized he’d lost time during his contemplations when he looked up and all eyes were on him expectantly, as if he’d been asked a question. He leaned further into Eames, and pressed a hand into his temple, trying to press away the headache that had been pushing insistently for attention. “What, I missed that?”
“Alright, I think Arthur’s done for the night. Can you come back tomorrow?” Eames said, letting go of Arthur and standing. Sanchez stood with him, and Jones came up from his lean against the fridge. Arthur thought he should protest, but couldn’t form up the motivation.
“You’ll both be here tomorrow? Do you know who to contact regarding the children?” Jones asked, speaking up for the first time since stating his name earlier. The second question got Arthur’s attention.
“Mal and Dom listed me in their will as their children’s guardian. I’m the one to contact.” Arthur said, tension filling him, overcoming his shocked detachment.
Sanchez nodded, “Alright. You’ll be here tomorrow?”
“Yes, we’ll be right here,” said Eames.
“We’ll be back to continue at, say 11 am.” Sanchez stated, and handed Eames his card.
“We’ll see you then,” Eames said, and walked the two detectives to the door. Arthur stayed in the kitchen, and leaned forward until his head rested on the table. This couldn’t be happening. Dom and Mal would walk through the door at any moment...no, it must all be a dream. He pulled his die out of his pocket, free to do so now that the detectives weren’t there to watch, and rolled it over and over.
“Sorry, love, this is no dream,” Eames said from the doorway.
“Yeah,” said Arthur, rolling it one more time, before scooping it up and putting it back in his pocket. His limbs felt too heavy to contemplate moving, and the rushing sound was filling his ears again.
“Hey, lets get you tucked in,” said Eames from shockingly close to Arthur, who hadn’t registered his movement. Arthur blinked up at him. “Up we go,” said Eames, as he guided a stiff but compliant Arthur up out of the chair and down the hall to the guest bedroom, which was Arthur’s, really, the room he always stayed in when in town. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Eames unbuttoning his waistcoat, Arthur petted the bedspread, remembering Mal teasing him about picking it out just for him. He squeezed his eyes closed, and heard a strange, animal whine. He didn’t realize it was himself until Eames shushed him and pulled him into another hug. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, then Eames leaned back, asking “you ready for a lie down?”
Arthur, exhausted, said “Sure,” and helped Eames take off the rest of their clothes. Clad in their boxers, they climbed under the covers and back into each others arms.
“I don’t understand,” Arthur murmured into Eames’ collarbone, “they were just here. They were going out to celebrate their anniversary.”
“I know, I know,” said Eames, a hand combing through Arthur’s hair. “I don’t understand either. We’ll get more details tomorrow.”
“We have to call Miles, he needs to know,” Arthur said, jumping with the realization.
“Tomorrow,” Eames said firmly, and kept carding his fingers front-to-back through Arthur’s hair. He relaxed back into Eames’ arms. “Just close your eyes. Tomorrow will come soon enough.”
“Yeah,” said Arthur, exhausted. There was so much to do, but Eames was right, it’d all wait until later. He'd make a to-do list. His headache was still there, but Eames was helping with his touch and some soft tune he was humming under his breath. Curling into Eames, he closed his eyes and let oblivion take him.
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i spotted a typo though, "What are you don’t up, Pippa?" prettu sure you meant doing instead of don't :)
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Considering I wrote this at 3 am, I'm amazed there are more errors. ;) Thanks for spotting it.
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I so want to now what happens next
awesome
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*hands you almost-kleenex*
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*blows almost nose*
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SO TRAGIC. SO GOOD. I'm so glad someone's written this scenario now, oh man. And EAMES BEING ALL COMFORTING AND WITH-IT, YESSSSS.
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I'm taking your advice and writing, yay!
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(there's just a wee typo here: "...to send a message to another extractors out there." and the singular of "dice" is "die" ♥)
Can't wait to read the next part. :D
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:D
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There's about half a chapter languishing in googledocs; I'll give it a look over and maybe post it. It needs some editing and fleshing out. Thanks again!
Chapter 2:
----
Arthur woke slowly, comfortable with his face buried in his pillow to avoid the morning sun, and a warm, muscular weight at this back. He was contemplating how nice it was that Eames was back from his trip when it hit him. Eames hadn’t left yet, he was there still here because Mal and Dom, Mal and Dom...he tensed, then sat up, gripping the covers in both fists.
“Easy there,” said Eames from his side, “We’ve got a few minutes yet.” Arthur gave him a stern look over his shoulder. “No, you’re right. We should get started.”
Arthur nodded, “You good to get the kids going and make them breakfast? I need to do some planning.”
“When will they wake up?” asked Eames, rubbing Arthur’s back.
Arthur glanced at the alarm clock. Not quite six o’clock. “We have another hour, max.” They sat quietly for a moment. “Eames, how much did I miss last night?”
“I can’t say for sure, but you seemed to miss a lot. Want me to fill you in?” asked Eames.
“Yes,” said Arthur, grabbing his moleskin notebook and pen from the bedside table. Eames outlined what the detectives had stated and implied. They suspected foul-play. That the guests next-door to the hotel room had heard shouting. Eames could tell they’d been suspicious of Arthur, but they’d believed he was truly shocked and distraught.
Arthur noted all the details Eames could give, which wasn’t much. Then he turned the page, and started making a list. There were bullet points, with ‘contact family,’ ‘call the Cobb’ lawyer,’ ‘contact funeral home.’ at the top of the list. Then something terrible occurred to him, and he looked up at Eames, who was watching him. “How do we tell the kids? What do I tell them?”
“We can’t lie, it’ll just make it worse. I was older than them when my mum died, but I hated when people lied about it. It just makes it worse,” said Eames, frowning.
“I always knew my parents were dead, I can’t remember how anyone told me,” said Arthur, shaking off the bad times in foster care, and tapping his pen against his open notebook, trying to brainstorm.
“We can said Maman and Daddy were in an accident and...er, that sounds terrible. And it breaks the rule about lying, since we don’t know what happened.”
“Maman and Daddy are gone...went away...are with the angels...none of these sound better.”
“How about that they’re staying with Uncle Arthur for a while?”
“Lie of omission. They need to know. There must be a book or something.”
“We have a little time. How about we get dressed, I start breakfast and you do some research. Maybe if we both think on it, we’ll have an idea by the time they’re up?”
“It’s a start,” said Arthur, getting up and opening the closet. What do you wear the day after you find our your best friends are dead and their children are in your care? He settled for semi-formal, sombre tones. Dark gray slacks, white shirt and a soft sweater. There was no time for a shower, but he brushed his teeth, staring into his own shocked eyes and gelled his hair back. Eames was dressed by the time he got out of the bathroom from his own stash of clothes stored in the guest room, the closest to muted shirt he had, with stripes in deep blues and purples and some khakis.
Arthur booted up his laptop and pulled out files from the cabinet, while Eames washed up. Shortly after James was born, Mal and Dom had updated their wills, so he knew their paperwork was at least that up-to-date. He didn’t have a copy here, but he did have some emergency check-lists with contact numbers. He reviewed them; they seemed to match what he’d written up from memory in his notebook. Then he searched for ways to tell children about death on the internet. It was overwhelming, but he had to tell them something.
He found some logical advice, such as not using euphemisms, which could confuse the child, and to answer questions honestly but simply.
Re: Chapter 2:
BTW, thanks for posting the fact that this story is abandoned...so many writers don't do that.
Re: Chapter 2:
And I'm glad you reminded me of the fic, since I'd put it out of my mind, and it also bothers me when people abandon things with no indication (and then I did it myself!). :D