[fic] Rapid Eye Movement - 4/5 (Eames/Arthur), Inception
Title: Rapid Eye Movement (4/5)
Rating: R
Pairing/character(s): Eames/Arthur, Ariadne, Yusuf, Cobb
Word count: this part, ~5,900 (overall, ~28k)
Disclaimer: Guess what? Not mine.
Summary: “She can build the world of your dreams. Literally. Imagine that, Arthur. All the specificity you could ask for.”
Warnings: Eames/Ariadne friendship (sort of), language and extremely vague sex.
Notes: Today is holiday in my country (happy children’s day!), so I have a little time to post a new part. The last one should be up tomorrow. ;*
Thanks to: ilovetakahana, laria_gwyn and brilligspoons for the patience and suggestions. Remaining mistakes are mine.
It wasn’t impossible.
Eames didn’t show Cobb how surprised he was. Though he really didn’t pay too much attention, Eames still heard all about Cobol’s price on Cobb’s head. And though Eames knew they had their own ways to even the score, he also knew Cobb being there so soon was pretty much suicidal. He avoided Cobb’s eyes for most of the conversation, out of habit, yes, but also because Eames had no idea whether Cobb was aware of his point man’s relapses.
Because although he didn’t seem fooled by Eames’ nonchalant reaction at the mention of Arthur’s name, Cobb didn’t insist. Still, Eames did try to picture the scene: Cobb breaking the news to Arthur, warning Arthur he was going to ask for Eames’ assistance, then Cobb pretending he didn’t realize how convenient it was that Arthur knew exactly where Eames would be. Not that Eames and Arthur had seen each other much, lately, anyway. Seven months had passed since the last time they had kissed. Five since they fucked. And Eames had lost count of how much time had passed since he and Arthur had actually talked. In their last few meetings Eames was only able to tell how Arthur was doing by guessing at Arthur’s body language, the way he frowned and sighed when he thought Eames wasn’t looking, how Arthur distractedly drummed his fingertips on the tabletop in a bar.
It was nice to know Arthur still kept an eye on him, Eames thought, even if that didn’t mean much. After all, Arthur being Arthur, he just had to know everything. So, Eames tried not to get his hopes up as he spent the next few days following Peter Browning from Sydney across the globe. The guy wasn’t exactly hard to read, but Browning’s schedule was insane. Eames must have visited at least three different continents in a matter of two weeks and he spent his nights in front of numberless hotel room mirrors, practicing every one of Browning’s pursuits, expressions and mannerisms he had observed during the day.
When he finally took a plane to Paris, Eames knew he had everything he needed to get the job done. And yet, he had not one single clue of how hard it could be, having Arthur around.
Eames walked into the warehouse on his first morning with deja vu. And he just couldn’t shake it off until he noticed noises and found Arthur next to a chalkboard covered with papers, notes and photographs. Arthur had his back to him and he was bent over a desk, where Eames spotted a familiar aluminum case. He also couldn’t help noticing the way the fabric of Arthur’s trousers was stretched against the curve of his ass.
“Precisely what I’d call a nice angle to see things differently.”
Arthur rose up at the sound of his voice. An involuntary smile grew over Eames’ face as he expected for Arthur’s default annoyed glare to pierce him. But once Arthur shifted, what Eames first noticed was the young woman sitting behind the desk, so far shielded by Arthur’s body.
Eames knew her name was Ariadne and that she was Cobb’s architect. What Eames didn’t know was that she had already built more than just a few labyrinths for him to cross. Arthur followed the line of Eames’ eyes to Ariadne, raised his eyebrows and stuck both of his hands into his trousers’ back pockets. He glanced at Eames and Eames thought he saw a shadow of a smile on his face. It didn’t last, if it ever had existed, though.
“Ariadne,” Arthur’s voice all business. “Meet Eames.” Then, the shadow of a smile turned into an unmistakable smirk. “Just try not to get too close. You could end up losing your wallet or something.”
That Ariadne girl didn’t seem to know whether or not she should laugh at that. Eames didn’t have the answer, either. Arthur used to be a little less aggressive when there were other people around, but Eames was okay with that. A bad reputation was better than none and he would rather have Arthur being aggressive than just choosing to ignore him. Eames walked over to them as Ariadne stood up so they could shake hands..
Eames thought she had a pretty hard grip for such a small bird.
“You’re a thief, then.” Ariadne smiled a little smile, tilting her head.
“Or something.” Eames winked and, from the corner of his eyes, he saw Arthur rolling his back. “Little Arty here could tell you a good story or two.”
Ariadne chuckled, releasing Eames’ hand. Arthur put a hand on her shoulder, glaring at him. “Hey,” Arthur said. “Can you show me the level two model one more time? I need to check on something.”
She gave Eames a wave of her hand as Arthur dragged them both away. Eames watched Arthur’s back for a while and, as they disappeared into another room, he sighed audibly. Eames had known it wouldn’t be easy for him and Arthur to be this close and yet he had accepted Cobb’s offer anyway.
Eames just hadn’t know it could become almost impossible.
During the first days, Eames thought Arthur was just trying to play with him. A payback for all his bad jokes and inappropriately placed comments, maybe. So Eames played along. Arthur snapped at him, Eames teased him back. For while, Eames let himself believe that it was some kind of elaborate, even if sick, scheme that Arthur had chosen to show Eames he still cared about him.
It wasn’t. Eames noticed how Arthur acted with Ariadne, how he smiled when she made a joke. An ordinary person could have missed it all. Anyone else would have thought Arthur was just being a gentleman, a good teammate. But Eames knew better. Over the past two years he had memorized the shape of Arthur’s smile and he thought of how much it hurt to watch that impossible smile being given to someone else.
Eames couldn’t blame her, though. He liked the girl. Ariadne’s only faults were to be pretty, funny and bright. Not that this made things any easier for Eames. Because of course he had fucked other people since he and Arthur stopped seeing each other, and Eames was pretty sure Arthur did the same. Yet somehow, Eames had never thought he would live to watch Arthur falling for somebody else.
It wasn’t that Eames thought Arthur would love him forever and all. The truth was Eames didn’t really know if Arthur had ever loved him. And it wasn’t a self-loathing thing, either; he just believed it was okay for two people to not love each other in the exactly same way. Eames also knew he couldn’t stop himself believing in that. Like Cobb used to say, an idea was the most resilient parasite. Eames wouldn’t have proclaimed Arthur had crawled under his skin, lodged himself inside a vital organ and started to suck the life out of Eames, but, well. The truth was sometimes Eames did feel sick just looking at Arthur.
So, Eames smirked back, he practiced on Browning and teased the hell out of Arthur every chance he got. It wasn’t enough, wasn’t near close to enough, but it was a lot better than listening to Arthur telling Ariadne how good she was.
Not that Eames could ever say otherwise, even if he wanted to. Not after he and Ariadne went under together for the first time. Because while Eames had been busy following Browning around the world, Ariadne had been busy right there, designing the three dream levels and she had already gone under with Yusuf and Arthur to show them the first two level’s sketches. Following their first group briefing, Ariadne approached Eames and asked if she could steal fifteen minutes of his time. She explained the need to visualize the third level’s labyrinth so she could add some features onto her final project. So, since Eames’ services as a forger wouldn’t be necessary once they had hit the bottom level and he was the one designated to dream it, wouldn’t it be easier if they went together down there first?
Right before Yusuf put them out, Ariadne had shown Eames the hospital model and he wasn’t impressed. The thing was that up here, in the real world, Ariadne’s work was nothing. Absolutely nothing compared to what she was able to do down there. Eames had been on the job for awhile and he had never, ever seen a dream that felt so real. They were on the top of a mountain and Eames could feel the icy cold wind rushing over him, the smell of the snow. He wasn’t really big on snow and all, either, but in that dream, it did feel great.
“Bloody hell,” Eames exclaimed as they climbed down the mountain and started to explore the building. He dropped his hood to look down at her, panting. “It is something.”
Ariadne was panting a little as well. “Thanks,” she replied. “But I still have a lot to do in this one. It’s just a sketch.”
“Hell of a sketch.” Eames smiled and Ariadne smiled back.
Stairwells grew beneath their feet and walls rose around them as he and Ariadne made their way through the maze. Eames’ mind switched into automatic mode, looking for exits, memorizing useful spots for future reference. Yes, Cobb had mentioned they would have lots of times to cross this one last maze, but Eames hadn’t gotten this far by being stupid enough to believe that. When they reached the second floor, Ariadne spoke again.
“Can I ask you a question?” She bit down on her lower lip and glanced up at Eames.
He frowned back, puzzled. Eames probably was the most imaginative member of their entire team and even so he couldn’t think of one single question Ariadne could bother to ask him. Eames looked sideways and smirked.
“Only if you won’t mind if I answer it.”
Her clear laugh echoed on the newly built walls. “I always thought that was the general idea.”
“Is that right?” Eames was walking faster now he wasn’t knee deep in the snow. Then he realized Ariadne’s short legs were forcing her to jog to keep up with him and he slowed down a little. “I know my share of people who don’t like it very much.”
Ariadne wrinkled her forehead.
“Why would people ask a question that they didn’t want to know the answer to?”
Eames noticed she seemed truly baffled at the very idea and he couldn’t blame her, really. Ariadne was far too young. Eames couldn’t help but think about Arthur, who was pretty young, too. Still, Eames asked him a lot of those questions. Remembering Arthur made his chest ache, as usual. Down here, amazed over the dreamscape, Eames could try to forget about him a little, but it wasn’t real, he knew it. And once he woke up, Arthur would be there and Eames wouldn’t be able to hold him, to kiss him like he wanted to do. He looked down at Ariadne who was watching him patiently, innocent curiosity dancing in her eyes.
Eames winked at her in a soft way. “Maybe they just wanted to hear them talking.”
Ariadne parted her lips, her frown deepening and, before she could come up with anything else, Eames continued. “So, my dear. What can I do for you?”
She gave him a suspicious glance that lasted at least three seconds. Smart kid, Eames thought.
Ariadne cleared her throat. “I was just thinking about my totem and I’d like your opinion.”
Eames raised his eyebrows. That’s odd, he thought. Ariadne had just started on this job, why would she need a totem already? Eames himself had only gotten his after two years in the field. Not that he would judge her, of course. Always better to be safe than sorry.
“Fear of losing track of reality, huh?” he teased, but just a little.
Ariadne chuckled. “Let’s say I maybe might have added real places to my second dream workshop’s lesson.” And Eames noticed she didn’t look one bit guilty.
He whistled, impressed. “Bold. Guess daddy didn’t like it.”
“If you’re talking about Cobb, you bet. He was mad.” Ariadne laughed and grew a small bridge on their way into a larger chamber. “Anyway, I noticed you always have your poker chip and Arthur told me that-”
“Sorry?” Eames interrupted her. Arthur’s name had unsettled him more than the mention of his totem, but Ariadne didn’t need to know that.
“It’s a poker chip, right? Your totem, I mean. I saw it these past few days, you’re rubbing it in your hand.”
Really smart kid.
“Right,” Eames offered.
Ariadne stopped to study a collection of windows, frowning and talking at the same time. “So, Arthur told me I should choose something unique. You picked a poker chip. He has a loaded die. What’s that? Some kind of rule?”
Eames’ heart started to pound and he shut his thoughts down before Ariadne could notice it as well. He grinned at her. “Well, you must choose something with a special meaning, for you, I mean. This way, you always will be able to remember it, even during a very stressful job.”
She turned back from the windows, staring at him. “How much stress are we talking about? Stress-inception?” Ariadne pointed out, sharply.
Eames snorted. “Pretty much.”
They went back to walking in silence and Eames felt his mind slipping away at each and every step. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Ariadne had revealed just a few minutes ago. She obviously hadn’t known it was that important, otherwise she wouldn’t have said anything. Or, maybe she did know and it just wasn’t really as important as Eames used to think it was.
The point was that Eames knew Arthur’s totem, back then, when they were together.
And it wasn’t a die.
Eames remembered that night like it was a shared dream. Like it happened inside someone else’s mind, filled up with another subconscious, all clear and yet kind of alien. “A key?” He had asked Arthur, then, curious, as he spotted it over the nightstand. Following an especially good job, they had decided to stay in London for a couple of weeks. Eames had mixed feelings towards Chelsea. There was the first bed Arthur ever fucked him in, but it was also where they had had their first big fight. The night Arthur had talked about his totem was one of the good ones, though. After Arthur slowly slid out of him, that was the first thing Eames’ eyes focused on. It was a small, slim, aluminum key.
“Don’t touch it,” Arthur warned, his voice muffled against Eames’ shoulder. Eames laughed, feeling Arthur’s warmth breathing into his hair. “Does it open something?” Eames asked, just to prevent Arthur from falling asleep. Arthur groaned, pressing his forehead against Eames’ neck. He could feel Arthur’s wet hair and he shivered a bit. “Does it?” Eames insisted and Arthur sighed deeply, lifting an arm over Eames’ body so he could reach for the key. Arthur held it right under Eames’ eyes and Eames frowned, confused. There weren’t any marks on it, like that key was never made for use.
Then Arthur said “What good has a key without its lock?” and Eames laughed again and asked Arthur if he was drunk or high or something. Arthur closed his fingers around the key and held Eames, pressing a fisted hand against his bare chest. And Eames had almost fallen asleep when he heard Arthur’s voice telling him to never mind, that it was just a thing his mother used to say to-
Eames felt a hard pull on his arm. He gazed down at Ariadne, but she wasn’t really looking at him. Her eyes were running around the room they just had stepped in.
“Is that music?” she wondered with a little twist of her lips.
It was Piaf, of course. He remembered how Arthur used to love that song and it was becoming obvious to Eames that the whole bloody universe hated him. He took a deep breath, just paying attention to the lyrics because he had to. Eames ran a hand over his face, not quite ready to go back up above and to face Arthur and his loaded die.
Because it had to be Arthur’s idea of a joke. He had fought Eames for months, most times just because Eames was Eames and Arthur was Arthur and children shouldn’t try to attempt mixing that sort of thing at home. And Eames used to tease Arthur about that, that Arthur needed to deal with a little chance in his life, that Arthur couldn’t plan everything ahead of time, that unexpected things did happen. Then, what? Once Arthur was over Eames, he went and chose to pick a new totem which screamed a yes, Mr. Eames, that’s how I deal with a little chance in my life.
Eames sighed hard, feeling stupid, paranoid and only a bit relieved at having just Ariadne down there with him. He finally caught up with the song (“Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs... Je n’ai plus besoin d’eux!”), snorted and checked his wristwatch.
“Ten minutes, my dear. Got everything you needed?”
Ariadne thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
They were in the antechamber, right outside the strong-room, which really was just a room that didn’t look very strong. Not yet, Eames supposed. Still, if he thought about it, the point was it had taken them a lot just to get down there. And mind there weren’t any hostile projections on their arses or even two levels up above, unstable and ready to crumble down over their heads. Eames shut out an annoying inner voice saying look who likes to plan things ahead, too? and cleared his throat, which caused Ariadne to frown up at him.
“Yes?” she asked.
“’Think you could add an air duct system cutting through the maze?”
Ariadne gave him a face, a hand on her hip.
“I see,” Eames rephrased. “Do you think it would be okay? Because, of course you could do it. You’re the architect and you can do anything you want down here. You’re like the little queen for this entire little world, my dear Ariadne.”
She laughed, shaking her head, and then she smiled softly at Eames. “Let’s see it.” Ariadne started to run her eyes around the room, tilting her head like she was trying to visualize inside the walls and probably cracking it.
“It’s doable.” She crossed her arms over her chest a couple of seconds later. “I don’t know about this queen thing, though. You know, I always thought of myself more as a pawn that needs to build up the game for the bigger players before they-”
Eames had just checked his watch one more time when Ariadne stopped talking with a hard gasp and he stared down at her. Eames thought she looked like someone who had just discovered electricity.
“You know what?” Ariadne announced, triumphantly. “I do like chess.”
“What, looks like someone just got a brand new totem.” Eames patted Ariadne’s shoulder.
The music grew louder as the seconds died. They walked closer to the window to watch the snow outside.
“The air duct is a great idea, by the way,” Ariadne added, thoughtful. “I should have something done by tomorrow, if you’d like to see it.”
“No worries, my dear.” Eames stared up over the mountain, watching an avalanche getting closer to them. “You take your time.”
The floor beneath their feet shook, hard. Eames closed his eyes. All he could hear was Piaf singing she regretted nothing and then, then Arthur was looking directly down at him, his firm hand taking the needle out off Eames’ wrist. Eames opened his mouth, trying to come up with something, but the moment passed and Arthur turned his back to check on Ariadne. He left without talking to either of them.
Eventually, Eames spotted Arthur’s die, but he didn’t say anything. If Eames was completely honest with himself, he would have admitted he just hadn’t anything to say. He noticed Arthur slipping a hand inside his pocket every now and then, though not as often as Eames did.
He rubbed the poker chip through his knuckles when Arthur smiled in his direction and, for a second or two, Eames got his breath taken away, but as the totem didn’t change, the air was back in Eames’ lungs and his heart sank as he realized Arthur was actually smiling back at Ariadne, who had just waved to him from the other side of the room.
She and Eames went under a few other times and every time Eames liked Ariadne better and liked that fucking job less. He watched Arthur and Ariadne lying down in their respective lawn chairs and Eames was certain he had just seen them both holding hands, but the poker chip turned in two between his fingers and Eames woke up in his hotel bed. As his breath settled down he felt relieved, yes, but mostly just stupid.
He forced a laugh when Yusuf tested the first versions of the sedative, pushing Arthur off a chair. Eames kept his hands crossed tight over his chest, because he knew he would be tempted to reach for Arthur before he could even fall. But he didn’t dare to talk to Arthur when they found themselves alone and glanced up at each other over a desk full of papers, a reclining chair, an aluminum case, like they were challenging the other to even try.
Arthur didn’t speak to him more than was strictly necessary and Eames wasn’t really surprised, just disappointed. Of whom, he didn’t really know. As Eames arrived in the mornings Arthur was always there, and he immediately looked up at the sound of Eames’ voice, like he was waiting for a joke, a tease, or nothing.
Every day Eames went under for a few minutes in order to practice inside Browning’s skin and every day he woke to find Arthur unhooking him off the tubes. One evening, Eames couldn’t stop himself from grabbing Arthur’s wrist as their eyes met. Arthur looked down at him.
“Do you mind?” Arthur asked, then, calm and polite.
And Eames smirked back at Arthur, but he didn’t know what to say, so he just let him go.
That night, Eames jerked himself off in the shower, like a bloody teenager, pressing his cock between his fingers, hissing the orgasm through his clenched teeth as the hot water hit him on the back, running down his legs. Arthur’s name was on his mouth the whole time.
The next day, when Eames woke up after his daily practice as Browning, it was Yusuf who was there to unhook him and Eames shook his head hard, trying not to, but knowing it was already a lost battle. If Eames couldn’t convince himself that he and Arthur were over, so fucking over, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do his job and this time, well, this time it wasn’t exactly the kind of job you could just choose to walk away from.
Arthur didn’t look up when Eames approached his desk, two days later. It was early morning and Arthur was alone in the warehouse, working on his laptop, his eyes running from an open folder, then back to the screen. Arthur’s inseparable notebook was open with a pen stuck between the pages filled with an illegible handwriting that nobody but Arthur himself could decipher. Pictures and files covering every possible aspect of Robert Fischer’s life were spread over the tabletop in some sort of organized chaos. Eames stepped closer and peered over Arthur’s shoulder.
“What difference does it make if we give Fischer the wrong blood type in a dream?”
Eames heard Arthur sighing deeply, but he waited in silence as Arthur saved the file and closed the laptop, before turning his chair and facing him.
“None,” Arthur answered. “But let’s say he’s injured and he needs a medic. It would be strange if we gave him the wrong type in a hospital, for example, since they should have his file or something. And Fischer could notice it and his subconscious would throw a mess onto our hands.”
Arthur’s voice was all business, as usual. Eames wondered if Arthur had always had that tone or it was something new on him. He couldn’t remember. Maybe Arthur had always had it and Eames just hadn’t wanted to admit it, because it would mean the Arthur who kissed him and the Arthur who looked away from him were the exact same person and maybe, maybe all the things that had happened just didn’t matter.
“I see.” Eames straightened up, his hands in his jacket pockets.
Arthur crossed his arms and lay back in the chair. “You do? Really?” His face was unreadable, but his tone had turned into obvious impatience. “That’s a question I could have expected from Saito or even Ariadne, Eames. You know that. You should know. Because if you don’t, you also don’t have any business being here, doing this job.” There was a sparkle of anger in the brown eyes. “We can’t fuck this up.”
Eames knew Arthur was right. He knew that it was a bloody amateur question, but he wasn’t thinking straight. How could he? When Eames had decided to have this little chat with Arthur, he had promised himself he would get directly to the point and then be out of Arthur’s impeccable slicked hair as fast as he could. Now, Eames wasn’t so sure. Now, he just felt happy listening to Arthur talking, even it was for Arthur to criticize him. And maybe even that did make some sense. After all, criticizing Eames was something he knew Arthur loved to do.
Masochist, definitely, Eames thought with an inner grin.
“That’s interesting,” he stated, balancing on the balls of his feet. “You see, I remember Cobb telling me that you didn’t believe this could even be done.”
Arthur sighed, again. “And I don’t.”
And as he observed Arthur uncrossing his arms, relaxing his shoulders, Eames realized Arthur had just confided in him. Why in hell, Eames could only wonder. He wet his lips, swallowed hard and looked away for a second, before turning back to Arthur. Eames knew he couldn’t stop now, even if he wanted to. He had to push, he needed to understand.
“And you are doing it anyway,” Eames pointed out. “For what? Money? To impress our little architect? To-”
Eames stopped as Arthur stared down at his hands in his lap, like Arthur could find an answer in the lines traced over his palms.
“You know why, Eames,” Arthur muttered, then.
Eames did know, of course. He had to push Arthur, but he already knew the answer. Arthur wasn’t doing it for money, for recognition, not even for the fun in having an impossible puzzle to solve. Arthur was doing it for Cobb. He might not believe it could work, but Arthur had to be there to point Cobb toward the way out in case everything fell apart. A very possible case, in Arthur’s perspective. Eames wondered if during their time together Arthur had trusted him that much, at least for awhile. But he didn’t know and he wouldn’t dare to ask. That’s why Eames tried another question, instead.
“What is it that Cobb needs Saito to fix this badly?”
Arthur looked up at him. He didn’t seem really surprised at the question itself, more like Arthur just didn’t expect for Eames to say it aloud. Well, Eames hadn’t planned to ask that one, either. He still believed Cobb’s life was Cobb’s business only. Yet Eames knew he wouldn’t just walk away if he smelled trouble this time. He couldn’t do it anymore. Because even if Arthur didn’t trust Eames with his life, Eames trusted Arthur with his.
“They think he killed his wife.” Arthur blinked. “He can’t go home.”
Eames already knew that one, of course. And that sucked, sure, but it wasn’t his problem. Or Arthur’s problem, for that matter. He couldn’t help Cobb to bring his wife back. It wasn’t even like Arthur could do better research this time in order to prevent such a thing from happening again either. They could dream about it, but they couldn’t change reality. Eames couldn’t change what had happened to any of them. To Cobb and his wife, to Arthur and to himself. But he and Arthur were both alive, right here, and Eames would be a fool if he didn’t at least try. And maybe that was what he was doing, then. He was trying.
Because someone had to try.
“And what, Arthur?” Eames blinked back. “Did Mr. Cobb kill Mrs. Cobb, then? Is that why you’re keeping this up, even if you don’t believe this can be done? Because it’s the only escape?”
Eames himself didn’t think that was true, but he had to extract some reaction from Arthur. Something that could make him understand Arthur’s blind trust in Cobb. Something that could make Eames understand what had happened to Arthur and to him. Because how could Arthur rely on some kind of hope for this job to work for Cobb, but be incapable of doing the same for them? Eames had never asked for an Inception. He just wanted a reason which made the slighting bit of sense.
“That’s just sick,” Arthur huffed in disbelief at him.
“Is it?” Eames’ voice was firm, but his heart had started to pound fast against his chest. “Because we’ve been through this before, Arthur. One day, we are perfectly okay, then we had a job. Things go a little wrong, a dream collapses and you fucking lose it. So I realized you just can’t look at me anymore. Why are you willing to follow Cobb into something so bloody difficult, something that you don’t believe is even going to work, and yet not be able to tell me what the hell happened to us?”
Arthur’s eyes seemed tired as he slid a hand over his hair, fixing an imaginary strand out of place.
“It’s complicated,” he said softly and Eames rolled his eyes.
“So uncomplicate it, bollocks!” Eames threw up his hands. “Aren’t you a bloody point man? Isn’t it your job to know all the complicated things so you can explain them in a way anyone can understand?”
And Eames hadn’t realized he had started shouting until he saw Arthur’s face, his jaw hanging open.
“You just yelled at me,” Arthur offered, wrinkling his forehead.
“No, I did not,” Eames blurted out before he could stop himself, but as he noticed Arthur smiling smugly at him, Eames thought it was worth it. “Okay, maybe I did. Just a little.”
“More than a little. It was-” Arthur trailed off, raising an eyebrow at Eames. “Wait a minute. You said our little architect? You meant Ariadne?”
Eames fought back a laugh. He knew Arthur was doing that on purpose. Because Arthur never missed a thing and he had obviously caught that line the first time Eames said it. He thought about pointing it out, but Eames decided against it. He could use that as well.
“I guess I did,” Eames shrugged.
Arthur crossed his arms again. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but his face still looked smug. “Why would I want to impress her?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” Eames tilted his head and observed Arthur shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
“I don’t like her,” Arthur responded, avoiding Eames’ eyes. “Not like that, anyway.”
Eames hadn’t expected that. And he knew Arthur was telling him the truth. He knew because Arthur would have to be an idiot to refuse a way out like this one and Eames knew Arthur was no idiot. Eames knew that because he did know Arthur and the truth was Arthur just couldn’t lie to him. Because Arthur couldn’t bring himself to lie to Eames even when that was the only merciful thing to do.
“Maybe you don’t.” Eames allowed it, lowering his head to get closer to Arthur. “But you wish you did, right? Because wouldn’t it be easier, this way?”
Arthur didn’t flinch when he looked up at Eames. He didn’t try to move, to shove him away. But he didn’t try to touch Eames’ face, just a few inches apart, either.
“Easier? Me and Ariadne?” Arthur looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. Whether it was because he found that funny or scary, Eames couldn’t know. “Is that some kind of reverse psychology bullshit?”
“Is it?” Eames asked already knowing his question could mean anything. This time, Arthur scowled at him. He shoved Eames back with the palm of his hand and got up, putting some distance between them. He didn’t walk away and leave Eames alone, though.
And when Arthur remained silent, Eames chose to tease him.
“Wanna know what I think, Arthur?”
And Arthur snapped back.
“Do I really have a choice or are you going to tell me anyway?”
Eames grinned. God, he had missed that.
“I think you see yourself in her,” Eames explained. “Young and talented, amazed with this fascinating new power. Not to mention all the preciseness of those models and rules. She can build the world of your dreams. Literally. Imagine that, Arthur. All the specificity you could ask for.”
All the smugness on Arthur had disappeared. “In short, you think I empathize.”
“Or that you have a nasty secret desire to fuck a doppelganger. Either way, I still would be a better option.” Eames shrugged, smirking.
The corner of Arthur’s mouth twisted a bit. “Are you calling me a narcissist?”
Without a warning, Eames grabbed Arthur’s tie, hauling him into a hard, quick kiss. Eames felt the warmth of Arthur’s breath against his face and when he glanced up, Arthur lips were slightly parted in something that could be surprise, fear or indifference. Eames couldn’t decide which one would be worse. Or better.
“Not at all, darling,” he sighed, replying with a small tilt of his head. “I’m calling you a coward.”
Eames released Arthur’s tie and turned to leave. Yes, he knew he hadn’t done what he had planned to do, but that was okay. Eames could wait. He had thought he couldn’t, but the truth was Eames had been waiting for Arthur all this time. He had never ceased to hope for them. Yes, Eames knew he couldn’t stop believing in that as much as he couldn’t force Arthur to do anything he didn’t plan or want to do. And even if Arthur didn’t know what he wanted, Eames understood Arthur had to see it for himself. Only that way could Arthur decide what was worth trying or wasn’t.
Eames was just five feet away from Arthur’s desk when his voice reached him.
“About Cobb.” Arthur articulated. “It’s still complicated.”
Eames nodded, his smirk gone. “I bet it is.”
Back to part III | Part V
Rating: R
Pairing/character(s): Eames/Arthur, Ariadne, Yusuf, Cobb
Word count: this part, ~5,900 (overall, ~28k)
Disclaimer: Guess what? Not mine.
Summary: “She can build the world of your dreams. Literally. Imagine that, Arthur. All the specificity you could ask for.”
Warnings: Eames/Ariadne friendship (sort of), language and extremely vague sex.
Notes: Today is holiday in my country (happy children’s day!), so I have a little time to post a new part. The last one should be up tomorrow. ;*
Thanks to: ilovetakahana, laria_gwyn and brilligspoons for the patience and suggestions. Remaining mistakes are mine.
It wasn’t impossible.
Eames didn’t show Cobb how surprised he was. Though he really didn’t pay too much attention, Eames still heard all about Cobol’s price on Cobb’s head. And though Eames knew they had their own ways to even the score, he also knew Cobb being there so soon was pretty much suicidal. He avoided Cobb’s eyes for most of the conversation, out of habit, yes, but also because Eames had no idea whether Cobb was aware of his point man’s relapses.
Because although he didn’t seem fooled by Eames’ nonchalant reaction at the mention of Arthur’s name, Cobb didn’t insist. Still, Eames did try to picture the scene: Cobb breaking the news to Arthur, warning Arthur he was going to ask for Eames’ assistance, then Cobb pretending he didn’t realize how convenient it was that Arthur knew exactly where Eames would be. Not that Eames and Arthur had seen each other much, lately, anyway. Seven months had passed since the last time they had kissed. Five since they fucked. And Eames had lost count of how much time had passed since he and Arthur had actually talked. In their last few meetings Eames was only able to tell how Arthur was doing by guessing at Arthur’s body language, the way he frowned and sighed when he thought Eames wasn’t looking, how Arthur distractedly drummed his fingertips on the tabletop in a bar.
It was nice to know Arthur still kept an eye on him, Eames thought, even if that didn’t mean much. After all, Arthur being Arthur, he just had to know everything. So, Eames tried not to get his hopes up as he spent the next few days following Peter Browning from Sydney across the globe. The guy wasn’t exactly hard to read, but Browning’s schedule was insane. Eames must have visited at least three different continents in a matter of two weeks and he spent his nights in front of numberless hotel room mirrors, practicing every one of Browning’s pursuits, expressions and mannerisms he had observed during the day.
When he finally took a plane to Paris, Eames knew he had everything he needed to get the job done. And yet, he had not one single clue of how hard it could be, having Arthur around.
Eames walked into the warehouse on his first morning with deja vu. And he just couldn’t shake it off until he noticed noises and found Arthur next to a chalkboard covered with papers, notes and photographs. Arthur had his back to him and he was bent over a desk, where Eames spotted a familiar aluminum case. He also couldn’t help noticing the way the fabric of Arthur’s trousers was stretched against the curve of his ass.
“Precisely what I’d call a nice angle to see things differently.”
Arthur rose up at the sound of his voice. An involuntary smile grew over Eames’ face as he expected for Arthur’s default annoyed glare to pierce him. But once Arthur shifted, what Eames first noticed was the young woman sitting behind the desk, so far shielded by Arthur’s body.
Eames knew her name was Ariadne and that she was Cobb’s architect. What Eames didn’t know was that she had already built more than just a few labyrinths for him to cross. Arthur followed the line of Eames’ eyes to Ariadne, raised his eyebrows and stuck both of his hands into his trousers’ back pockets. He glanced at Eames and Eames thought he saw a shadow of a smile on his face. It didn’t last, if it ever had existed, though.
“Ariadne,” Arthur’s voice all business. “Meet Eames.” Then, the shadow of a smile turned into an unmistakable smirk. “Just try not to get too close. You could end up losing your wallet or something.”
That Ariadne girl didn’t seem to know whether or not she should laugh at that. Eames didn’t have the answer, either. Arthur used to be a little less aggressive when there were other people around, but Eames was okay with that. A bad reputation was better than none and he would rather have Arthur being aggressive than just choosing to ignore him. Eames walked over to them as Ariadne stood up so they could shake hands..
Eames thought she had a pretty hard grip for such a small bird.
“You’re a thief, then.” Ariadne smiled a little smile, tilting her head.
“Or something.” Eames winked and, from the corner of his eyes, he saw Arthur rolling his back. “Little Arty here could tell you a good story or two.”
Ariadne chuckled, releasing Eames’ hand. Arthur put a hand on her shoulder, glaring at him. “Hey,” Arthur said. “Can you show me the level two model one more time? I need to check on something.”
She gave Eames a wave of her hand as Arthur dragged them both away. Eames watched Arthur’s back for a while and, as they disappeared into another room, he sighed audibly. Eames had known it wouldn’t be easy for him and Arthur to be this close and yet he had accepted Cobb’s offer anyway.
Eames just hadn’t know it could become almost impossible.
During the first days, Eames thought Arthur was just trying to play with him. A payback for all his bad jokes and inappropriately placed comments, maybe. So Eames played along. Arthur snapped at him, Eames teased him back. For while, Eames let himself believe that it was some kind of elaborate, even if sick, scheme that Arthur had chosen to show Eames he still cared about him.
It wasn’t. Eames noticed how Arthur acted with Ariadne, how he smiled when she made a joke. An ordinary person could have missed it all. Anyone else would have thought Arthur was just being a gentleman, a good teammate. But Eames knew better. Over the past two years he had memorized the shape of Arthur’s smile and he thought of how much it hurt to watch that impossible smile being given to someone else.
Eames couldn’t blame her, though. He liked the girl. Ariadne’s only faults were to be pretty, funny and bright. Not that this made things any easier for Eames. Because of course he had fucked other people since he and Arthur stopped seeing each other, and Eames was pretty sure Arthur did the same. Yet somehow, Eames had never thought he would live to watch Arthur falling for somebody else.
It wasn’t that Eames thought Arthur would love him forever and all. The truth was Eames didn’t really know if Arthur had ever loved him. And it wasn’t a self-loathing thing, either; he just believed it was okay for two people to not love each other in the exactly same way. Eames also knew he couldn’t stop himself believing in that. Like Cobb used to say, an idea was the most resilient parasite. Eames wouldn’t have proclaimed Arthur had crawled under his skin, lodged himself inside a vital organ and started to suck the life out of Eames, but, well. The truth was sometimes Eames did feel sick just looking at Arthur.
So, Eames smirked back, he practiced on Browning and teased the hell out of Arthur every chance he got. It wasn’t enough, wasn’t near close to enough, but it was a lot better than listening to Arthur telling Ariadne how good she was.
Not that Eames could ever say otherwise, even if he wanted to. Not after he and Ariadne went under together for the first time. Because while Eames had been busy following Browning around the world, Ariadne had been busy right there, designing the three dream levels and she had already gone under with Yusuf and Arthur to show them the first two level’s sketches. Following their first group briefing, Ariadne approached Eames and asked if she could steal fifteen minutes of his time. She explained the need to visualize the third level’s labyrinth so she could add some features onto her final project. So, since Eames’ services as a forger wouldn’t be necessary once they had hit the bottom level and he was the one designated to dream it, wouldn’t it be easier if they went together down there first?
Right before Yusuf put them out, Ariadne had shown Eames the hospital model and he wasn’t impressed. The thing was that up here, in the real world, Ariadne’s work was nothing. Absolutely nothing compared to what she was able to do down there. Eames had been on the job for awhile and he had never, ever seen a dream that felt so real. They were on the top of a mountain and Eames could feel the icy cold wind rushing over him, the smell of the snow. He wasn’t really big on snow and all, either, but in that dream, it did feel great.
“Bloody hell,” Eames exclaimed as they climbed down the mountain and started to explore the building. He dropped his hood to look down at her, panting. “It is something.”
Ariadne was panting a little as well. “Thanks,” she replied. “But I still have a lot to do in this one. It’s just a sketch.”
“Hell of a sketch.” Eames smiled and Ariadne smiled back.
Stairwells grew beneath their feet and walls rose around them as he and Ariadne made their way through the maze. Eames’ mind switched into automatic mode, looking for exits, memorizing useful spots for future reference. Yes, Cobb had mentioned they would have lots of times to cross this one last maze, but Eames hadn’t gotten this far by being stupid enough to believe that. When they reached the second floor, Ariadne spoke again.
“Can I ask you a question?” She bit down on her lower lip and glanced up at Eames.
He frowned back, puzzled. Eames probably was the most imaginative member of their entire team and even so he couldn’t think of one single question Ariadne could bother to ask him. Eames looked sideways and smirked.
“Only if you won’t mind if I answer it.”
Her clear laugh echoed on the newly built walls. “I always thought that was the general idea.”
“Is that right?” Eames was walking faster now he wasn’t knee deep in the snow. Then he realized Ariadne’s short legs were forcing her to jog to keep up with him and he slowed down a little. “I know my share of people who don’t like it very much.”
Ariadne wrinkled her forehead.
“Why would people ask a question that they didn’t want to know the answer to?”
Eames noticed she seemed truly baffled at the very idea and he couldn’t blame her, really. Ariadne was far too young. Eames couldn’t help but think about Arthur, who was pretty young, too. Still, Eames asked him a lot of those questions. Remembering Arthur made his chest ache, as usual. Down here, amazed over the dreamscape, Eames could try to forget about him a little, but it wasn’t real, he knew it. And once he woke up, Arthur would be there and Eames wouldn’t be able to hold him, to kiss him like he wanted to do. He looked down at Ariadne who was watching him patiently, innocent curiosity dancing in her eyes.
Eames winked at her in a soft way. “Maybe they just wanted to hear them talking.”
Ariadne parted her lips, her frown deepening and, before she could come up with anything else, Eames continued. “So, my dear. What can I do for you?”
She gave him a suspicious glance that lasted at least three seconds. Smart kid, Eames thought.
Ariadne cleared her throat. “I was just thinking about my totem and I’d like your opinion.”
Eames raised his eyebrows. That’s odd, he thought. Ariadne had just started on this job, why would she need a totem already? Eames himself had only gotten his after two years in the field. Not that he would judge her, of course. Always better to be safe than sorry.
“Fear of losing track of reality, huh?” he teased, but just a little.
Ariadne chuckled. “Let’s say I maybe might have added real places to my second dream workshop’s lesson.” And Eames noticed she didn’t look one bit guilty.
He whistled, impressed. “Bold. Guess daddy didn’t like it.”
“If you’re talking about Cobb, you bet. He was mad.” Ariadne laughed and grew a small bridge on their way into a larger chamber. “Anyway, I noticed you always have your poker chip and Arthur told me that-”
“Sorry?” Eames interrupted her. Arthur’s name had unsettled him more than the mention of his totem, but Ariadne didn’t need to know that.
“It’s a poker chip, right? Your totem, I mean. I saw it these past few days, you’re rubbing it in your hand.”
Really smart kid.
“Right,” Eames offered.
Ariadne stopped to study a collection of windows, frowning and talking at the same time. “So, Arthur told me I should choose something unique. You picked a poker chip. He has a loaded die. What’s that? Some kind of rule?”
Eames’ heart started to pound and he shut his thoughts down before Ariadne could notice it as well. He grinned at her. “Well, you must choose something with a special meaning, for you, I mean. This way, you always will be able to remember it, even during a very stressful job.”
She turned back from the windows, staring at him. “How much stress are we talking about? Stress-inception?” Ariadne pointed out, sharply.
Eames snorted. “Pretty much.”
They went back to walking in silence and Eames felt his mind slipping away at each and every step. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Ariadne had revealed just a few minutes ago. She obviously hadn’t known it was that important, otherwise she wouldn’t have said anything. Or, maybe she did know and it just wasn’t really as important as Eames used to think it was.
The point was that Eames knew Arthur’s totem, back then, when they were together.
And it wasn’t a die.
Eames remembered that night like it was a shared dream. Like it happened inside someone else’s mind, filled up with another subconscious, all clear and yet kind of alien. “A key?” He had asked Arthur, then, curious, as he spotted it over the nightstand. Following an especially good job, they had decided to stay in London for a couple of weeks. Eames had mixed feelings towards Chelsea. There was the first bed Arthur ever fucked him in, but it was also where they had had their first big fight. The night Arthur had talked about his totem was one of the good ones, though. After Arthur slowly slid out of him, that was the first thing Eames’ eyes focused on. It was a small, slim, aluminum key.
“Don’t touch it,” Arthur warned, his voice muffled against Eames’ shoulder. Eames laughed, feeling Arthur’s warmth breathing into his hair. “Does it open something?” Eames asked, just to prevent Arthur from falling asleep. Arthur groaned, pressing his forehead against Eames’ neck. He could feel Arthur’s wet hair and he shivered a bit. “Does it?” Eames insisted and Arthur sighed deeply, lifting an arm over Eames’ body so he could reach for the key. Arthur held it right under Eames’ eyes and Eames frowned, confused. There weren’t any marks on it, like that key was never made for use.
Then Arthur said “What good has a key without its lock?” and Eames laughed again and asked Arthur if he was drunk or high or something. Arthur closed his fingers around the key and held Eames, pressing a fisted hand against his bare chest. And Eames had almost fallen asleep when he heard Arthur’s voice telling him to never mind, that it was just a thing his mother used to say to-
Eames felt a hard pull on his arm. He gazed down at Ariadne, but she wasn’t really looking at him. Her eyes were running around the room they just had stepped in.
“Is that music?” she wondered with a little twist of her lips.
It was Piaf, of course. He remembered how Arthur used to love that song and it was becoming obvious to Eames that the whole bloody universe hated him. He took a deep breath, just paying attention to the lyrics because he had to. Eames ran a hand over his face, not quite ready to go back up above and to face Arthur and his loaded die.
Because it had to be Arthur’s idea of a joke. He had fought Eames for months, most times just because Eames was Eames and Arthur was Arthur and children shouldn’t try to attempt mixing that sort of thing at home. And Eames used to tease Arthur about that, that Arthur needed to deal with a little chance in his life, that Arthur couldn’t plan everything ahead of time, that unexpected things did happen. Then, what? Once Arthur was over Eames, he went and chose to pick a new totem which screamed a yes, Mr. Eames, that’s how I deal with a little chance in my life.
Eames sighed hard, feeling stupid, paranoid and only a bit relieved at having just Ariadne down there with him. He finally caught up with the song (“Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs... Je n’ai plus besoin d’eux!”), snorted and checked his wristwatch.
“Ten minutes, my dear. Got everything you needed?”
Ariadne thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
They were in the antechamber, right outside the strong-room, which really was just a room that didn’t look very strong. Not yet, Eames supposed. Still, if he thought about it, the point was it had taken them a lot just to get down there. And mind there weren’t any hostile projections on their arses or even two levels up above, unstable and ready to crumble down over their heads. Eames shut out an annoying inner voice saying look who likes to plan things ahead, too? and cleared his throat, which caused Ariadne to frown up at him.
“Yes?” she asked.
“’Think you could add an air duct system cutting through the maze?”
Ariadne gave him a face, a hand on her hip.
“I see,” Eames rephrased. “Do you think it would be okay? Because, of course you could do it. You’re the architect and you can do anything you want down here. You’re like the little queen for this entire little world, my dear Ariadne.”
She laughed, shaking her head, and then she smiled softly at Eames. “Let’s see it.” Ariadne started to run her eyes around the room, tilting her head like she was trying to visualize inside the walls and probably cracking it.
“It’s doable.” She crossed her arms over her chest a couple of seconds later. “I don’t know about this queen thing, though. You know, I always thought of myself more as a pawn that needs to build up the game for the bigger players before they-”
Eames had just checked his watch one more time when Ariadne stopped talking with a hard gasp and he stared down at her. Eames thought she looked like someone who had just discovered electricity.
“You know what?” Ariadne announced, triumphantly. “I do like chess.”
“What, looks like someone just got a brand new totem.” Eames patted Ariadne’s shoulder.
The music grew louder as the seconds died. They walked closer to the window to watch the snow outside.
“The air duct is a great idea, by the way,” Ariadne added, thoughtful. “I should have something done by tomorrow, if you’d like to see it.”
“No worries, my dear.” Eames stared up over the mountain, watching an avalanche getting closer to them. “You take your time.”
The floor beneath their feet shook, hard. Eames closed his eyes. All he could hear was Piaf singing she regretted nothing and then, then Arthur was looking directly down at him, his firm hand taking the needle out off Eames’ wrist. Eames opened his mouth, trying to come up with something, but the moment passed and Arthur turned his back to check on Ariadne. He left without talking to either of them.
Eventually, Eames spotted Arthur’s die, but he didn’t say anything. If Eames was completely honest with himself, he would have admitted he just hadn’t anything to say. He noticed Arthur slipping a hand inside his pocket every now and then, though not as often as Eames did.
He rubbed the poker chip through his knuckles when Arthur smiled in his direction and, for a second or two, Eames got his breath taken away, but as the totem didn’t change, the air was back in Eames’ lungs and his heart sank as he realized Arthur was actually smiling back at Ariadne, who had just waved to him from the other side of the room.
She and Eames went under a few other times and every time Eames liked Ariadne better and liked that fucking job less. He watched Arthur and Ariadne lying down in their respective lawn chairs and Eames was certain he had just seen them both holding hands, but the poker chip turned in two between his fingers and Eames woke up in his hotel bed. As his breath settled down he felt relieved, yes, but mostly just stupid.
He forced a laugh when Yusuf tested the first versions of the sedative, pushing Arthur off a chair. Eames kept his hands crossed tight over his chest, because he knew he would be tempted to reach for Arthur before he could even fall. But he didn’t dare to talk to Arthur when they found themselves alone and glanced up at each other over a desk full of papers, a reclining chair, an aluminum case, like they were challenging the other to even try.
Arthur didn’t speak to him more than was strictly necessary and Eames wasn’t really surprised, just disappointed. Of whom, he didn’t really know. As Eames arrived in the mornings Arthur was always there, and he immediately looked up at the sound of Eames’ voice, like he was waiting for a joke, a tease, or nothing.
Every day Eames went under for a few minutes in order to practice inside Browning’s skin and every day he woke to find Arthur unhooking him off the tubes. One evening, Eames couldn’t stop himself from grabbing Arthur’s wrist as their eyes met. Arthur looked down at him.
“Do you mind?” Arthur asked, then, calm and polite.
And Eames smirked back at Arthur, but he didn’t know what to say, so he just let him go.
That night, Eames jerked himself off in the shower, like a bloody teenager, pressing his cock between his fingers, hissing the orgasm through his clenched teeth as the hot water hit him on the back, running down his legs. Arthur’s name was on his mouth the whole time.
The next day, when Eames woke up after his daily practice as Browning, it was Yusuf who was there to unhook him and Eames shook his head hard, trying not to, but knowing it was already a lost battle. If Eames couldn’t convince himself that he and Arthur were over, so fucking over, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do his job and this time, well, this time it wasn’t exactly the kind of job you could just choose to walk away from.
Arthur didn’t look up when Eames approached his desk, two days later. It was early morning and Arthur was alone in the warehouse, working on his laptop, his eyes running from an open folder, then back to the screen. Arthur’s inseparable notebook was open with a pen stuck between the pages filled with an illegible handwriting that nobody but Arthur himself could decipher. Pictures and files covering every possible aspect of Robert Fischer’s life were spread over the tabletop in some sort of organized chaos. Eames stepped closer and peered over Arthur’s shoulder.
“What difference does it make if we give Fischer the wrong blood type in a dream?”
Eames heard Arthur sighing deeply, but he waited in silence as Arthur saved the file and closed the laptop, before turning his chair and facing him.
“None,” Arthur answered. “But let’s say he’s injured and he needs a medic. It would be strange if we gave him the wrong type in a hospital, for example, since they should have his file or something. And Fischer could notice it and his subconscious would throw a mess onto our hands.”
Arthur’s voice was all business, as usual. Eames wondered if Arthur had always had that tone or it was something new on him. He couldn’t remember. Maybe Arthur had always had it and Eames just hadn’t wanted to admit it, because it would mean the Arthur who kissed him and the Arthur who looked away from him were the exact same person and maybe, maybe all the things that had happened just didn’t matter.
“I see.” Eames straightened up, his hands in his jacket pockets.
Arthur crossed his arms and lay back in the chair. “You do? Really?” His face was unreadable, but his tone had turned into obvious impatience. “That’s a question I could have expected from Saito or even Ariadne, Eames. You know that. You should know. Because if you don’t, you also don’t have any business being here, doing this job.” There was a sparkle of anger in the brown eyes. “We can’t fuck this up.”
Eames knew Arthur was right. He knew that it was a bloody amateur question, but he wasn’t thinking straight. How could he? When Eames had decided to have this little chat with Arthur, he had promised himself he would get directly to the point and then be out of Arthur’s impeccable slicked hair as fast as he could. Now, Eames wasn’t so sure. Now, he just felt happy listening to Arthur talking, even it was for Arthur to criticize him. And maybe even that did make some sense. After all, criticizing Eames was something he knew Arthur loved to do.
Masochist, definitely, Eames thought with an inner grin.
“That’s interesting,” he stated, balancing on the balls of his feet. “You see, I remember Cobb telling me that you didn’t believe this could even be done.”
Arthur sighed, again. “And I don’t.”
And as he observed Arthur uncrossing his arms, relaxing his shoulders, Eames realized Arthur had just confided in him. Why in hell, Eames could only wonder. He wet his lips, swallowed hard and looked away for a second, before turning back to Arthur. Eames knew he couldn’t stop now, even if he wanted to. He had to push, he needed to understand.
“And you are doing it anyway,” Eames pointed out. “For what? Money? To impress our little architect? To-”
Eames stopped as Arthur stared down at his hands in his lap, like Arthur could find an answer in the lines traced over his palms.
“You know why, Eames,” Arthur muttered, then.
Eames did know, of course. He had to push Arthur, but he already knew the answer. Arthur wasn’t doing it for money, for recognition, not even for the fun in having an impossible puzzle to solve. Arthur was doing it for Cobb. He might not believe it could work, but Arthur had to be there to point Cobb toward the way out in case everything fell apart. A very possible case, in Arthur’s perspective. Eames wondered if during their time together Arthur had trusted him that much, at least for awhile. But he didn’t know and he wouldn’t dare to ask. That’s why Eames tried another question, instead.
“What is it that Cobb needs Saito to fix this badly?”
Arthur looked up at him. He didn’t seem really surprised at the question itself, more like Arthur just didn’t expect for Eames to say it aloud. Well, Eames hadn’t planned to ask that one, either. He still believed Cobb’s life was Cobb’s business only. Yet Eames knew he wouldn’t just walk away if he smelled trouble this time. He couldn’t do it anymore. Because even if Arthur didn’t trust Eames with his life, Eames trusted Arthur with his.
“They think he killed his wife.” Arthur blinked. “He can’t go home.”
Eames already knew that one, of course. And that sucked, sure, but it wasn’t his problem. Or Arthur’s problem, for that matter. He couldn’t help Cobb to bring his wife back. It wasn’t even like Arthur could do better research this time in order to prevent such a thing from happening again either. They could dream about it, but they couldn’t change reality. Eames couldn’t change what had happened to any of them. To Cobb and his wife, to Arthur and to himself. But he and Arthur were both alive, right here, and Eames would be a fool if he didn’t at least try. And maybe that was what he was doing, then. He was trying.
Because someone had to try.
“And what, Arthur?” Eames blinked back. “Did Mr. Cobb kill Mrs. Cobb, then? Is that why you’re keeping this up, even if you don’t believe this can be done? Because it’s the only escape?”
Eames himself didn’t think that was true, but he had to extract some reaction from Arthur. Something that could make him understand Arthur’s blind trust in Cobb. Something that could make Eames understand what had happened to Arthur and to him. Because how could Arthur rely on some kind of hope for this job to work for Cobb, but be incapable of doing the same for them? Eames had never asked for an Inception. He just wanted a reason which made the slighting bit of sense.
“That’s just sick,” Arthur huffed in disbelief at him.
“Is it?” Eames’ voice was firm, but his heart had started to pound fast against his chest. “Because we’ve been through this before, Arthur. One day, we are perfectly okay, then we had a job. Things go a little wrong, a dream collapses and you fucking lose it. So I realized you just can’t look at me anymore. Why are you willing to follow Cobb into something so bloody difficult, something that you don’t believe is even going to work, and yet not be able to tell me what the hell happened to us?”
Arthur’s eyes seemed tired as he slid a hand over his hair, fixing an imaginary strand out of place.
“It’s complicated,” he said softly and Eames rolled his eyes.
“So uncomplicate it, bollocks!” Eames threw up his hands. “Aren’t you a bloody point man? Isn’t it your job to know all the complicated things so you can explain them in a way anyone can understand?”
And Eames hadn’t realized he had started shouting until he saw Arthur’s face, his jaw hanging open.
“You just yelled at me,” Arthur offered, wrinkling his forehead.
“No, I did not,” Eames blurted out before he could stop himself, but as he noticed Arthur smiling smugly at him, Eames thought it was worth it. “Okay, maybe I did. Just a little.”
“More than a little. It was-” Arthur trailed off, raising an eyebrow at Eames. “Wait a minute. You said our little architect? You meant Ariadne?”
Eames fought back a laugh. He knew Arthur was doing that on purpose. Because Arthur never missed a thing and he had obviously caught that line the first time Eames said it. He thought about pointing it out, but Eames decided against it. He could use that as well.
“I guess I did,” Eames shrugged.
Arthur crossed his arms again. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but his face still looked smug. “Why would I want to impress her?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” Eames tilted his head and observed Arthur shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
“I don’t like her,” Arthur responded, avoiding Eames’ eyes. “Not like that, anyway.”
Eames hadn’t expected that. And he knew Arthur was telling him the truth. He knew because Arthur would have to be an idiot to refuse a way out like this one and Eames knew Arthur was no idiot. Eames knew that because he did know Arthur and the truth was Arthur just couldn’t lie to him. Because Arthur couldn’t bring himself to lie to Eames even when that was the only merciful thing to do.
“Maybe you don’t.” Eames allowed it, lowering his head to get closer to Arthur. “But you wish you did, right? Because wouldn’t it be easier, this way?”
Arthur didn’t flinch when he looked up at Eames. He didn’t try to move, to shove him away. But he didn’t try to touch Eames’ face, just a few inches apart, either.
“Easier? Me and Ariadne?” Arthur looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. Whether it was because he found that funny or scary, Eames couldn’t know. “Is that some kind of reverse psychology bullshit?”
“Is it?” Eames asked already knowing his question could mean anything. This time, Arthur scowled at him. He shoved Eames back with the palm of his hand and got up, putting some distance between them. He didn’t walk away and leave Eames alone, though.
And when Arthur remained silent, Eames chose to tease him.
“Wanna know what I think, Arthur?”
And Arthur snapped back.
“Do I really have a choice or are you going to tell me anyway?”
Eames grinned. God, he had missed that.
“I think you see yourself in her,” Eames explained. “Young and talented, amazed with this fascinating new power. Not to mention all the preciseness of those models and rules. She can build the world of your dreams. Literally. Imagine that, Arthur. All the specificity you could ask for.”
All the smugness on Arthur had disappeared. “In short, you think I empathize.”
“Or that you have a nasty secret desire to fuck a doppelganger. Either way, I still would be a better option.” Eames shrugged, smirking.
The corner of Arthur’s mouth twisted a bit. “Are you calling me a narcissist?”
Without a warning, Eames grabbed Arthur’s tie, hauling him into a hard, quick kiss. Eames felt the warmth of Arthur’s breath against his face and when he glanced up, Arthur lips were slightly parted in something that could be surprise, fear or indifference. Eames couldn’t decide which one would be worse. Or better.
“Not at all, darling,” he sighed, replying with a small tilt of his head. “I’m calling you a coward.”
Eames released Arthur’s tie and turned to leave. Yes, he knew he hadn’t done what he had planned to do, but that was okay. Eames could wait. He had thought he couldn’t, but the truth was Eames had been waiting for Arthur all this time. He had never ceased to hope for them. Yes, Eames knew he couldn’t stop believing in that as much as he couldn’t force Arthur to do anything he didn’t plan or want to do. And even if Arthur didn’t know what he wanted, Eames understood Arthur had to see it for himself. Only that way could Arthur decide what was worth trying or wasn’t.
Eames was just five feet away from Arthur’s desk when his voice reached him.
“About Cobb.” Arthur articulated. “It’s still complicated.”
Eames nodded, his smirk gone. “I bet it is.”
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