Word Count: 269

ETA: forgot that @boisinberryjamarama asked to be tagged in future ficlets! Sorry about that! I’ll try to remember for the next one ❤️

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“Really Eames?” Ariadne scoffs when he walks by her desk, bouquet in hand. “No roses? This is Valentine’s Day, you know.”

“I am well aware,” he assures her without breaking stride. She trails along behind him, already knowing where these flowers - she wasn’t sure exactly what type, not roses at least - were going to end up.

“So? Is there some deep meaning to these…?”

“Dahlias. And I honestly have no idea. Think it’s something about strength and commitment?”

“Ah! So you’re trying to express the strength of your commitment to him, then?”

Eames shrugs, a strange movement to combine with his slow walk to his boyfriend’s desk. Which was for the moment unoccupied. “If you like.”

“If I- Eames! Is that it or not?”

He only seems to smile at her frustration. Arriving at the pristine desk, Eames sets the bouquet down right in the center, careful not to displace any items already there, and leans against it himself. Seeing his man approaching, Eames waves Ari away to give them some semblance of privacy. Which she does. By hiding behind the wall one cubicle over so she wouldn’t miss anything.

“Eames,” Arthur says by way of greeting.

“Darling,” Eames returns. He sees the exact moment Arthur noticed the flowers by the way the other man’s eyes light up.

“Oh! Dahlias! Those are my favorite flower!”

“I know.” Eames looks over Arthur’s shoulder, locking eyes with Ariadne for a brief second. She gives him a knowing look. Well played.

“Thank you,” Arthur says, leaning over to kiss him.

“Oh my- they’re killing people!”

“What? Who? What’s killing people?”

“The app.” Oliver waved his hands agitatedly. “The TherapAI App. It’s not just ineffective.” He motioned his colleague over. “Look at this.”

Harris peered at the screen. “What am I looking at?”

“The suicide rate. Among users of the app there is a sudden spike starting around three months in. I don’t know what’s going on, or how it’s doing it.”

“Did you hear about venus?” Stiles said as he curled up against Derek.

“What am I meant to have heard about venus?”

“They found chemicals that might suggest the presence of microscopic alien life having been there.”

“That’s...wow. That’s pretty incredible.”

“I know.” Stiles stared at the ceiling of Derek’s bedroom, following an intricate crack for awhile and feeling particularly small in his place in the universe.

He could hear Derek’s heart pumping against his ear, feel his warmth beneath his cheek as he turned to his side. Everything seemed to move slowly as Derek’s breaths drew slower with growing sleep, and Stiles closed his eyes and soon joined him.

11. Accidental Confession

The Doctor wasn't prepared for the ways in which his human mind dealt with pent up emotions. Had something existed in his Time Lord physiology that allowed him to ignore feelings or shut them away in areas of his brain, never to be bothered with them again? Or was 'ordinary' life always full of little things that amounted to one large issue?

Jackie had brought up the idea of children three times a week on average. Whether it was a comment on 'how good a father' he'd be or a rather rude comment on how Rose 'isn't getting any younger.'

Rose's mother wasn't the only one to bring it up. It was as if the human's all had little scripts of the average person's life and they kept prompting him and Rose to say their next 'line' already. He heard the inquiries aimed at Rose when they were at Torchwood, he was aware of Pete's wish to be a grandfather.

He just wasn't aware of his own feelings about the manner till it just popped out of his mouth one afternoon.

"I don't want children."

The four words fell from his lips like cold weights. Dropping to the floor and shattering all his premeditated thoughts on the matter. He was going to say 'I think we should give it a lot of thought,' or 'I worry what the offspring of a human and metacrisis would be' or 'I've had children before and I've had to endure their deaths...'.