Absolution
It never comes easy, but when it does, it happens all at once, a sudden release of pressure that's at once terrifying and exhilarating. And he can feel it approaching, a gurgling in the pit of his stomach, the anticipation adding to the weight, making the relief all the sweeter. It doesn't happen with every case, only those where he feels he's done the most good, put away the worst of the bad guys. Most of them add to the pressure; Nicole, she added to it. Like a dump truck on a compost pile she added to it. The worst is when someone else dies because of him. Either he didn't piece it together soon enough, leaving a killer loose and unworried, or those few times when he let his personal feelings get in his way, blurring that line no cop was ever supposed to cross. Those were the worst, and took the longest, but they were also the sweetest release when it finally arrived. Absolution. When the universe wipes the slate clean and evens the score once again. God, Fate, Destiny, Providence, take your pick, winks, nods and says Ok, Keep going. Absolution. Forgiveness of sins. Forgiveness of self.
Beauty
It's not that she had never thought about it, its that she didn't ever think much about it. A fleeting emptiness of her arms once in a while. Her biological clock ticking only in the late hours of her birthday, when she lay in the dark, trying to sleep. She'd heard about the bond between mother and child, and certainly had one with her own mother, but the immensity of it had escaped her. She had been no more than an incubator, a nest. She shared no more DNA with this child than she did with her brothers' daughter, and yet she saw a beauty in this baby that she hadn't seen anywhere before, one of innocence, of a life yet to be lived and all the possibilities it held. A beauty of a miracle itself.
Creativity
A quiet office, a silent phone, two packs of playing cards. Stand two cards together, balancing them against each other and you have a couple of walls. A third card, a steady hand, and you have the attention of your bored partner sitting across from you. Together you build and stack, hold your breaths, work as a team, each knowing what the other is about to do. No talking, only muttered sounds; relief, tension, an occasional embarrassed giggle. The second pack of cards gets opened; the house takes up half a desk and is threatening to rise above Eames head. A few of your co-workers come in, and plop down by your desk giving the two of you an audience and cheers of encouragement with each new card. The muttered noises turn into tips and good-hearted picking at one another. The audience grows with the change of shift. The last card is held up for inspection and approval with great flamboyance and is met by hooting and applause. The room holds its breath as it is placed on the top, a tiara for the structure. A small quiver and the house is still, and standing. Cheers arise and you look at your partner grinning, just as you flick your finger at the bottom row of cards, collapsing the whole thing.
Dream
Colors billow about like quilted clouds. He reaches out grabbing at red, but it's to fast for him. Yellow jumps over and hops into his palm for just a moment before it takes off again. Somewhere, an elephant trumpets, the sound echoing with in the colors, bouncing off one to another. Purple scoots up and tickles his nose. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye he is standing in the middle of a track field. The familiar referee blows a whistle and the colors line up on the track. A gun is raised, pointed at the sky, and even though he sees it, knows it's going to fire, he is frightened when it goes off. The colors whip around the track, bumping into each other. They begin to take shapes, purple becomes a hurricane, then a tornado winding around itself as it moves down the track. Yellow forms itself into a canary, flying to him, swirling around his head, deftly avoiding his swats before it flies back rejoining the race. Red becomes a ribbon, twisting and turning, making a circle in the air, then a bow; it formed itself into a heart for just a split second. Around and around they went, each color vying for his attention, the ref doing her best to quiet the colors, calm him. Around and around, each lap the colors getting faster and more desperate. Each lap the ref had less and less of an effect on him. He spun in circles, looking for the finish line that wasn't there.
