Wild Wild West ficlet

[icarus_chained]

For a prompt on comment_fic, for the theme of 'happiness'.

Title: A Taste of Happiness
Rating: PG
Fandom: Wild Wild West (TV)
Characters/Pairings: James West, Artemus Gordon. Jim/Artie
Summary: In the train car, recovering from another mission
Wordcount: 600
Warnings/Notes: Small and random
Disclaimer: Not mine

A Taste of Happiness

Jim leaned back in his chair, stifling a groan at the aches that flooded up his side in the process, listening absently to the clatters and clacks from Artie's workshop. Better than music, those noises. The most relaxing symphony in the world.

Though he could have done without the chemical smell that accompanied them.

"James, my boy," Artie grumbled, backing out of his workshop with Jim's sleeve rig in one hand, and his erstwhile jacket in the other. "One of these days, we're really going to have to do something about this, you know."

Jim raised an eyebrow, not bothering to move otherwise. That damned wrestler had been enormous. His right side was a work of art in purple and green, and he wasn't budging for all the tea in China. Or all the gold in that mansion basement, either.

"About what, Artie?" he managed, feeling a tiny smile tug at his lips as Artie tutted absently over the rips in what had once been a very nice powder blue jacket, and the snarled mess of straps that had done most of the damage. "We can't very well ask villains to hire less impressive guards. Well, we could, but I don't think it would work very well, do you?"

Artie clucked in annoyance, leaving the jacket draped over the arm of his chair as he strode over to lean on the back of Jim's, dropping the rig into his lap. Jim reached for it automatically, and winced at the pull on his ribs, glaring up at an entirely unapologetic Artemus Gordon.

"You could stop always going for the big ones," Artie noted, with a very charming and also very fake smile. "There's a perfectly good gun in that rig, Jim. Much as I enjoy watching you dance, it might be nice once in a while if you could avoid having your arm and most of your ribs pummelled by hands that could do a nice side line as rock crushers."

Jim grinned back, but his was a little more genuine. "It might," he agreed. "But then you wouldn't get the chance to lecture me when we got back." He smiled, tipping his head back to grin right into the worried twinkle in his partner's eyes. "And you know you'd be disappointed if that happened, Artie."

Artie narrowed his eyes, mouth pursing in a frown, but Jim caught the twitch in the corner of it. He caught the smile lurking under it. "James, my boy," Artie murmured. "I could lecture you all damn day, and I wouldn't need an excuse to manage it. You know that."

Jim smiled softly, reaching up with his good arm to catch his partner's sleeve, tugging gently at it until Artie leaned down. Which Artie did, willingly. "Or," he said, smiling faintly. "You could save the lecture for tomorrow, and do something else with that silver tongue of yours?" The one that had gotten them into all that trouble, reliable as clockwork, and the one that had gotten them right back out again, only a few bruises and a small explosion later.

Artie stared at him, his head poised over Jim's, so close and so thoughtful. Artie gazed down at him ... and smiled. A slow, dangerous little grin, that came very, very close to making Jim forget all about his bruises, just by itself. Not a happy smile, but a smile to find happiness in.

"Mmm," Artie agreed, as he leaned in those last few inches, and smiled against Jim's mouth. "Maybe I could at that."

Yes. A smile to find happiness in, and a very enjoyable tongue.