FIC: Short Circuit (2/?)
Title: Short Circuit (2/?)
Authors: five_of_five and metacheese
Team: ANGST
Prompt: silence
Word count: 1,100
Rating: R
Warnings: angst
Summary: After six months together, Eames discovers that Arthur is actually a very lifelike robot, designed to do things humans can't do in dreamshare. It's hard to process.
Beta: templemarker
Part 1
Eames’ finger trembles against the trigger. He wonders why he hasn’t already made the microscopic movement that would execute the first of two taps to Arthur’s chest, followed by one between his eyes. Those eyes he’s seen so many times fluttering shut with pleasure, or wordlessly signalling their next move during a stakeout, or looking fondly at Eames when he seemed to think Eames wasn’t paying attention to him.
And it isn’t Eames’ rational mind negotiating with his muscles right now, coaxing his shaking arms to lower the gun to his side. He takes a step back, still holding the gun away from him, showing Arthur that he means no harm despite the terror in his eyes.
“I’m not going to shoot you, Arthur,” he says. “Not unless you give me no other choice.”
Arthur nods in understanding and begins to slowly walk towards Eames.
“What are you doing?” Eames demands, his hands itching to raise his gun again.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Eames." Arthur stops moving. “I just thought maybe we should continue this discussion somewhere other than the bathroom.”
Eames’ lips quirk upwards despite his best efforts. He steps out of the way, allowing Arthur to pass without getting too close. Arthur immediately walks to his closet; Eames frowns as Arthur digs an old suitcase out of the back. He knows what it is. Eames has one just like it in every residence and safehouse he’s ever stayed in.
“Going somewhere?” Eames asks, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
“Don’t worry,” Arthur says, his back still turned. “I won’t be using one of our boltholes, I’ll just disappear. You won’t ever have to see me again.” Arthur stands and smiles tightly at Eames. “Consider it my way of saying thank you for not killing me.”
“You’re just gonna leave?” Eames demands, stepping closer to Arthur than he’s been since opening the bathroom door. “Just like that. No explanations, no discussions, just ‘ta, so long and thanks for all the fish?”
Arthur’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “Isn’t that what you want?”
“Did I say that’s what I wanted? No, you just assumed, you ass.” Eames throws his hands up in exasperation. “You always do this! You never listen, just go off on your own little agenda with absolutely no concern for what I want in this relationship. It’s running off after Cobb all over again.”
“Seriously?” Arthur drops his suitcase. “You cannot be bringing up Cobb again. That was ages ago, and as I recall, you forgave me after those three weeks in Tahiti.” Arthur pauses, letting out a hefty sigh. “Why are we even arguing about this? Our relationship’s over, no point in beating a dead horse.”
Eames steps back, swallowing against the pain in his chest. “You’re breaking up with me?”
“Eames. I hardly think it would be fair to you to expect you to stay in a relationship with someone...like me. Human relationships don’t exactly mean the same thing to both of us. I’m sorry if I have misled you.” Arthur pivots to look him in the eye. For the first time since that violent revelation Eames sees a steely, artificial cast to Arthur’s expression, and it hits him: this chilling fact that Eames has been trying to talk around, trying to continue to see in the light of human motivation and behavior. Arthur is an artificial being. He was created for some purpose Eames can only guess at. And he’s probably all too right about not feeling human emotions. All of those little gestures of care--the soft kisses, the organic home-cooked meals, to say nothing of saving Eames’ life again and again--had been calculated.
But why?
“Why--why would you even have pretended to care about me for all that time?” Eames stammers, his own mental circuits overloaded with conflicting information. His head is starting to pound, and he hates himself for wishing that he were with anyone but this unfairly handsome robot.
“It wasn’t pretending,” Arthur says. “I am programmed to provide support to those who have earned my loyalty. That includes...many different kinds of support.”
“I’ll say,” Eames mutters.
“I understood that there were things you needed in order to function optimally. Sex and touching are basic needs for most humans. They’ve been shown to increase neural connections, to improve performance in mental and physical tasks.”
“Great, so I was a robotic pity fuck?” Eames clenches and releases a fist. “I suppose you did all those things for Cobb then, too. And hell, for everyone. Architect not performing up to par? Five minutes in the closet with Arthur the Wonder Robot will fix that right up!”
Arthur glares at him, just like he’s glared at him every time Eames made a childish or catty remark, and if Eames didn’t know any better he’d swear that Arthur was genuinely irritated.
“I never did any of those things with anyone else.” says Arthur. He sits down on the bed, lips pursed tight.
“Why? Was I so pathetic?”
“No, Eames,” Arthur says softly. “You...you were unique.”
Eames thinks on this for a moment. Allows his eyes to rest on Arthur, who is looking up at him, unblinking, pleading soundlessly with him for--something. Begging him to understand? To let him go and fulfill his robotic destiny? For something else? It is difficult not to reach out and touch Arthur, difficult to accept that for Arthur there is perhaps no such thing as Arthur’s own personal comfort. Because he looks so--sad.
“Am I understanding it correctly,” Eames says, stepping closer to Arthur, “that you felt something for me, that you didn’t feel for anyone else? Whatever you might call it, your circuits lighting up, your processor processing--it might not be emotion like I know it, but you felt something. Something real. For me.”
“I don’t know if I can call it feeling, I’m sorry,” Arthur begins. “But you have become an integral part of my fundamental processes, and...when I am not interfacing with you, it feels like there is a glitch in my system, of sorts. Like my programming is corrupted.”
“Why, that’s the sweetest...” He can’t finish the flippant remark. “Arthur, don’t leave. Please.” He finally lets himself move near to Arthur, perching on the edge of the bed and sliding his hand down Arthur’s smooth forearm until his fingers are slotted loosely between Arthur’s. And he wonders if it even matters what Arthur is made of, when his hands are this soft and strong, and when the tightness in his body all seems to ebb away at Eames’ touch as if he can’t help it. “You asked me what I want,” Eames continues. “And that’s it. That’s all of it. I don’t want you to go.”
Authors: five_of_five and metacheese
Team: ANGST
Prompt: silence
Word count: 1,100
Rating: R
Warnings: angst
Summary: After six months together, Eames discovers that Arthur is actually a very lifelike robot, designed to do things humans can't do in dreamshare. It's hard to process.
Beta: templemarker
Part 1
Eames’ finger trembles against the trigger. He wonders why he hasn’t already made the microscopic movement that would execute the first of two taps to Arthur’s chest, followed by one between his eyes. Those eyes he’s seen so many times fluttering shut with pleasure, or wordlessly signalling their next move during a stakeout, or looking fondly at Eames when he seemed to think Eames wasn’t paying attention to him.
And it isn’t Eames’ rational mind negotiating with his muscles right now, coaxing his shaking arms to lower the gun to his side. He takes a step back, still holding the gun away from him, showing Arthur that he means no harm despite the terror in his eyes.
“I’m not going to shoot you, Arthur,” he says. “Not unless you give me no other choice.”
Arthur nods in understanding and begins to slowly walk towards Eames.
“What are you doing?” Eames demands, his hands itching to raise his gun again.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Eames." Arthur stops moving. “I just thought maybe we should continue this discussion somewhere other than the bathroom.”
Eames’ lips quirk upwards despite his best efforts. He steps out of the way, allowing Arthur to pass without getting too close. Arthur immediately walks to his closet; Eames frowns as Arthur digs an old suitcase out of the back. He knows what it is. Eames has one just like it in every residence and safehouse he’s ever stayed in.
“Going somewhere?” Eames asks, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
“Don’t worry,” Arthur says, his back still turned. “I won’t be using one of our boltholes, I’ll just disappear. You won’t ever have to see me again.” Arthur stands and smiles tightly at Eames. “Consider it my way of saying thank you for not killing me.”
“You’re just gonna leave?” Eames demands, stepping closer to Arthur than he’s been since opening the bathroom door. “Just like that. No explanations, no discussions, just ‘ta, so long and thanks for all the fish?”
Arthur’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “Isn’t that what you want?”
“Did I say that’s what I wanted? No, you just assumed, you ass.” Eames throws his hands up in exasperation. “You always do this! You never listen, just go off on your own little agenda with absolutely no concern for what I want in this relationship. It’s running off after Cobb all over again.”
“Seriously?” Arthur drops his suitcase. “You cannot be bringing up Cobb again. That was ages ago, and as I recall, you forgave me after those three weeks in Tahiti.” Arthur pauses, letting out a hefty sigh. “Why are we even arguing about this? Our relationship’s over, no point in beating a dead horse.”
Eames steps back, swallowing against the pain in his chest. “You’re breaking up with me?”
“Eames. I hardly think it would be fair to you to expect you to stay in a relationship with someone...like me. Human relationships don’t exactly mean the same thing to both of us. I’m sorry if I have misled you.” Arthur pivots to look him in the eye. For the first time since that violent revelation Eames sees a steely, artificial cast to Arthur’s expression, and it hits him: this chilling fact that Eames has been trying to talk around, trying to continue to see in the light of human motivation and behavior. Arthur is an artificial being. He was created for some purpose Eames can only guess at. And he’s probably all too right about not feeling human emotions. All of those little gestures of care--the soft kisses, the organic home-cooked meals, to say nothing of saving Eames’ life again and again--had been calculated.
But why?
“Why--why would you even have pretended to care about me for all that time?” Eames stammers, his own mental circuits overloaded with conflicting information. His head is starting to pound, and he hates himself for wishing that he were with anyone but this unfairly handsome robot.
“It wasn’t pretending,” Arthur says. “I am programmed to provide support to those who have earned my loyalty. That includes...many different kinds of support.”
“I’ll say,” Eames mutters.
“I understood that there were things you needed in order to function optimally. Sex and touching are basic needs for most humans. They’ve been shown to increase neural connections, to improve performance in mental and physical tasks.”
“Great, so I was a robotic pity fuck?” Eames clenches and releases a fist. “I suppose you did all those things for Cobb then, too. And hell, for everyone. Architect not performing up to par? Five minutes in the closet with Arthur the Wonder Robot will fix that right up!”
Arthur glares at him, just like he’s glared at him every time Eames made a childish or catty remark, and if Eames didn’t know any better he’d swear that Arthur was genuinely irritated.
“I never did any of those things with anyone else.” says Arthur. He sits down on the bed, lips pursed tight.
“Why? Was I so pathetic?”
“No, Eames,” Arthur says softly. “You...you were unique.”
Eames thinks on this for a moment. Allows his eyes to rest on Arthur, who is looking up at him, unblinking, pleading soundlessly with him for--something. Begging him to understand? To let him go and fulfill his robotic destiny? For something else? It is difficult not to reach out and touch Arthur, difficult to accept that for Arthur there is perhaps no such thing as Arthur’s own personal comfort. Because he looks so--sad.
“Am I understanding it correctly,” Eames says, stepping closer to Arthur, “that you felt something for me, that you didn’t feel for anyone else? Whatever you might call it, your circuits lighting up, your processor processing--it might not be emotion like I know it, but you felt something. Something real. For me.”
“I don’t know if I can call it feeling, I’m sorry,” Arthur begins. “But you have become an integral part of my fundamental processes, and...when I am not interfacing with you, it feels like there is a glitch in my system, of sorts. Like my programming is corrupted.”
“Why, that’s the sweetest...” He can’t finish the flippant remark. “Arthur, don’t leave. Please.” He finally lets himself move near to Arthur, perching on the edge of the bed and sliding his hand down Arthur’s smooth forearm until his fingers are slotted loosely between Arthur’s. And he wonders if it even matters what Arthur is made of, when his hands are this soft and strong, and when the tightness in his body all seems to ebb away at Eames’ touch as if he can’t help it. “You asked me what I want,” Eames continues. “And that’s it. That’s all of it. I don’t want you to go.”