Fic: Hello Goodbye
Title: Hello Goodbye
Author: five_of_five
Team: Angst
Prompt: Defeat
Word count: 814
Rating: PG13
Warnings: None
Summery: Goodbyes always suck, especially when you don’t know they’re coming.
Notes: Title borrowed from the Beatles. Thanks and love to my betas gelbwax and phenylic
“You’re not Eames.” Arthur would wince at the obviousness of his statement if he weren’t too busy being shocked and resisting the urge to reach for his gun.
“No, I’m not,” the unknown and undeniably gorgeous woman who answers the door to Eames’ apartment in Mombasa replies. “But I can get him for you if you like.” Her smile is as beautiful as the rest of her.
“Yeah, thanks. That would be...good.” Arthur stands on the stoop twiddling his thumbs while he waits for Eames, and ponders what he’s going to say.
He doesn’t have long to think.
“Arthur.” Eames is blocking the entryway, arms crossed and muscles straining against a threadbare t-shirt.
“Hey,” Arthur says so softly that he almost doesn’t recognize his own voice. “How have you been? You know, since Fischer?”
“I’m quite well, Arthur, thank you.” Eames smiles insincerely. “What are you doing here?”
Arthur deflates slightly. “I just- I wanted to see you.” He steps closer to Eames, smiling just enough to bring out the dimples Eames had always had a weakness for. “I thought maybe we could… talk,” Arthur says, leaving no room to misinterpret his visit as having anything to do with a quiet chat.
“No.” Arthur’s never heard Eames sound like that- not when talking to him, anyway. Flat. Uncompromising. Cold.
“What?” Arthur asks, half-desperate, half-angry, and all confused.
“I said, ‘no’, Arthur. You don’t get to just flit off after Cobb, abandon me, abandon us without so much as a fucking discussion, and then show up on my doorstep and expect me to allow you back in.”
“But, I thought,” Arthur looks around nervously and lowers his voice. “When you agreed to come on board for the inception, I thought,” but Arthur isn’t sure what he thought. Not when Eames is shooting incredulous glares at him.
“What?” Eames asks. “That all would be forgotten, that I wouldn’t move on?” Eames laughs; a harsh, bitter thing Arthur never wants to hear again. “Taking that job was about performing a successful inception, nothing more. As far as I’m concerned, you and I were over when you trotted after Cobb like the faithful family hound.”
Arthur nearly stumbles backwards, surprised by Eames’ vehemence, but anger quickly replaces shock when he looks past Eames’ shoulder and sees his lady friend preparing food in the kitchen like she belongs there. “Don’t make this about me,” Arthur hisses. “You’ve got yourself a hot new piece of ass and you’re not done playing with her yet.”
“Fuck you, Arthur!” Eames glances back into the apartment and lowers his voice. “Rashida’s a friend.”
“A friend that you’re fucking,” Arthur insists.
“A friend who pulled me away from the tables when I’d been gambling for three days straight after you left. A friend who poured out all my booze, and came by every day to kick my ass out of bed.” Eames stops himself mid-tirade and swallows harshly. “After Mal’s death and your and Cobb’s great escape, I was a wreck. I moved back here, and drank or gambled my way through several jobs worth of money.” He scrubs his hands across his face, like he’s trying to scrub away the memories.
Arthur steps closer, wanting to comfort Eames, to apologize and explain. He wants to take back every moment which made Eames doubt that Arthur cares for him and fix it somehow. Instead he hears himself saying, “That doesn’t answer my question, Eames. Are you sleeping with her?”
“You don’t get to ask that, Arthur,” Eames snaps. “Rashida’s my neighbor, her husband passed away a few years ago and she… she’s just a nice person, okay? None of this is her fault.”
“But it’s mine?” Arthur asks.
“I- I don’t have an answer to that,” Eames hedges, but he won’t meet Arthur’s eyes.
“Sure you do.” Arthur doesn’t know why he’s pressing this. It’s not like he actually wants to know that Eames blames him.
Eames sighs. “Yes, alright Arthur? We had a good thing, you and me. We were happy. And before you pull the Mal card, she was my friend too.” Eames’ hand twitches, like he wants to reach out. “I loved her,” he says, his voice softening. “I loved you.”
“Eames, I-”
“Eames,” Rashida calls from inside. “Is your friend staying for supper?” Eames leans his head against the doorjamb.
“Shit,” Eames breathes. “No,” he replies; locking eyes with Arthur. “No, he can’t stay.” The ‘I’m sorry,’ is unspoken, but Arthur hears it just the same in the droop of Eames’ shoulders and the way he can’t stop staring at his fingernails.
Arthur nods. “So where does that leave us?” He asks. The fight is drained out of him with Eames’ dismissal, and he’s wearier than he’d ever been while on the run with Cobb.
Eames looks up from studying his hands, and finally meets Arthur’s eyes. “I don’t know.”
Author: five_of_five
Team: Angst
Prompt: Defeat
Word count: 814
Rating: PG13
Warnings: None
Summery: Goodbyes always suck, especially when you don’t know they’re coming.
Notes: Title borrowed from the Beatles. Thanks and love to my betas gelbwax and phenylic
“You’re not Eames.” Arthur would wince at the obviousness of his statement if he weren’t too busy being shocked and resisting the urge to reach for his gun.
“No, I’m not,” the unknown and undeniably gorgeous woman who answers the door to Eames’ apartment in Mombasa replies. “But I can get him for you if you like.” Her smile is as beautiful as the rest of her.
“Yeah, thanks. That would be...good.” Arthur stands on the stoop twiddling his thumbs while he waits for Eames, and ponders what he’s going to say.
He doesn’t have long to think.
“Arthur.” Eames is blocking the entryway, arms crossed and muscles straining against a threadbare t-shirt.
“Hey,” Arthur says so softly that he almost doesn’t recognize his own voice. “How have you been? You know, since Fischer?”
“I’m quite well, Arthur, thank you.” Eames smiles insincerely. “What are you doing here?”
Arthur deflates slightly. “I just- I wanted to see you.” He steps closer to Eames, smiling just enough to bring out the dimples Eames had always had a weakness for. “I thought maybe we could… talk,” Arthur says, leaving no room to misinterpret his visit as having anything to do with a quiet chat.
“No.” Arthur’s never heard Eames sound like that- not when talking to him, anyway. Flat. Uncompromising. Cold.
“What?” Arthur asks, half-desperate, half-angry, and all confused.
“I said, ‘no’, Arthur. You don’t get to just flit off after Cobb, abandon me, abandon us without so much as a fucking discussion, and then show up on my doorstep and expect me to allow you back in.”
“But, I thought,” Arthur looks around nervously and lowers his voice. “When you agreed to come on board for the inception, I thought,” but Arthur isn’t sure what he thought. Not when Eames is shooting incredulous glares at him.
“What?” Eames asks. “That all would be forgotten, that I wouldn’t move on?” Eames laughs; a harsh, bitter thing Arthur never wants to hear again. “Taking that job was about performing a successful inception, nothing more. As far as I’m concerned, you and I were over when you trotted after Cobb like the faithful family hound.”
Arthur nearly stumbles backwards, surprised by Eames’ vehemence, but anger quickly replaces shock when he looks past Eames’ shoulder and sees his lady friend preparing food in the kitchen like she belongs there. “Don’t make this about me,” Arthur hisses. “You’ve got yourself a hot new piece of ass and you’re not done playing with her yet.”
“Fuck you, Arthur!” Eames glances back into the apartment and lowers his voice. “Rashida’s a friend.”
“A friend that you’re fucking,” Arthur insists.
“A friend who pulled me away from the tables when I’d been gambling for three days straight after you left. A friend who poured out all my booze, and came by every day to kick my ass out of bed.” Eames stops himself mid-tirade and swallows harshly. “After Mal’s death and your and Cobb’s great escape, I was a wreck. I moved back here, and drank or gambled my way through several jobs worth of money.” He scrubs his hands across his face, like he’s trying to scrub away the memories.
Arthur steps closer, wanting to comfort Eames, to apologize and explain. He wants to take back every moment which made Eames doubt that Arthur cares for him and fix it somehow. Instead he hears himself saying, “That doesn’t answer my question, Eames. Are you sleeping with her?”
“You don’t get to ask that, Arthur,” Eames snaps. “Rashida’s my neighbor, her husband passed away a few years ago and she… she’s just a nice person, okay? None of this is her fault.”
“But it’s mine?” Arthur asks.
“I- I don’t have an answer to that,” Eames hedges, but he won’t meet Arthur’s eyes.
“Sure you do.” Arthur doesn’t know why he’s pressing this. It’s not like he actually wants to know that Eames blames him.
Eames sighs. “Yes, alright Arthur? We had a good thing, you and me. We were happy. And before you pull the Mal card, she was my friend too.” Eames’ hand twitches, like he wants to reach out. “I loved her,” he says, his voice softening. “I loved you.”
“Eames, I-”
“Eames,” Rashida calls from inside. “Is your friend staying for supper?” Eames leans his head against the doorjamb.
“Shit,” Eames breathes. “No,” he replies; locking eyes with Arthur. “No, he can’t stay.” The ‘I’m sorry,’ is unspoken, but Arthur hears it just the same in the droop of Eames’ shoulders and the way he can’t stop staring at his fingernails.
Arthur nods. “So where does that leave us?” He asks. The fight is drained out of him with Eames’ dismissal, and he’s wearier than he’d ever been while on the run with Cobb.
Eames looks up from studying his hands, and finally meets Arthur’s eyes. “I don’t know.”