FIC: Settling Debts - 1/1, PG, A/E, Inception
Title: Settling Debts
Author: Jo (jo@fadedink.com)
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG
Word count: 567
Summary: You made an impression; sometimes I still feel the bruise.
Disclaimer: Characters are, sadly, not mine, but much love to Christopher Nolan for creating them.
Author's Notes: The 'thirtieth day of Christmas' for dreambastion, because I liked the prompt. :)
It's been five years since the Fischer job. Five years in which Eames has buried himself in the depths of Mombasa once more, emerging only for random jobs that he carefully selects.
Five years to forget.
Five years to remember.
He realizes that five years isn't all that long of a time when he looks up from the chips in his hand to find Arthur there, watching him across the table. Arthur just stares when Eames tilts his head, arches an eyebrow. So Eames shrugs and finishes out the round.
He's not surprised when Arthur appears at his elbow as Eames is cashing in his chips.
"Fancy meeting you here," Eames says, by way of greeting, and he catches the faintest twitch in Arthur's expression.
"I need a forger," Arthur says, as they walk away, his voice pitched low so no one can hear.
Eames gives him a sidelong glance. "And the reason you're here and not Dom is...?"
"Dom retired."
"Did he?" Eames is delighted at the idea. "Good for him. But again, why are you here?"
"I told you, I need a forger."
Eames just looks at him.
"You're the best in the business."
Again, Eames doesn't say a word. He knows the silence will get to Arthur, drive him crazy, make him honest.
"Because," Arthur finally says as they break out into the bright, afternoon sun, "I fucked up, and you deserved better."
"Payment, then, is that what this is?" Eames asks, his voice coming out far more mild than he feels. An ache sweeps over him, like a long-forgotten bruise that was prodded long past soreness. "And how is dear Ariadne? Things not work out there?"
"Things..." Arthur shakes his head, sighs, and he looks tired. Older. It's a look that's startling in how well it suits him. "Things with Ariadne never got started, you know that."
"Do I?"
"You should."
Eames stops, waits for Arthur to turn. Then they just look at each other for a moment. There's a look in Arthur's eyes that Eames has only seen once before, only seen in the near darkness and tangled sheets of a Los Angeles hotel, and suddenly Eames is feeling far too fragile for this conversation.
It's not a feeling he particularly likes.
So he turns down a side street and starts walking. Arthur catches up, and they walk in silence for a while.
"So why are you really here?" Eames asks, and a part of him is savagely pleased when Arthur's eyes flinch at the sudden words.
"I told you."
"You fucked up."
"Yes."
"And this is what, settling debts?"
"I..." Arthur stops, shakes his head. "I don't know, honestly. I just know I shouldn't have walked away."
"No, you shouldn't have," Eames hisses, twisting to push Arthur against the closest building, pressing against Arthur to hold him there. Arthur doesn't struggle, even though Eames knows it would be easy enough for him to free himself if that was what Arthur wanted.
All Arthur does is shift a little, bringing their bodies into total alignment, and the memory threatens to swamp Eames, drown him in its intensity. He sucks in a sharp breath as Arthur just looks at him.
"I won't do it again," Arthur says, voice low, husky, tugging at something deep inside Eames. "I won't walk away."
"No, you won't," Eames says, and smiles. "I'm not going to let you."
Author: Jo (jo@fadedink.com)
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG
Word count: 567
Summary: You made an impression; sometimes I still feel the bruise.
Disclaimer: Characters are, sadly, not mine, but much love to Christopher Nolan for creating them.
Author's Notes: The 'thirtieth day of Christmas' for dreambastion, because I liked the prompt. :)
It's been five years since the Fischer job. Five years in which Eames has buried himself in the depths of Mombasa once more, emerging only for random jobs that he carefully selects.
Five years to forget.
Five years to remember.
He realizes that five years isn't all that long of a time when he looks up from the chips in his hand to find Arthur there, watching him across the table. Arthur just stares when Eames tilts his head, arches an eyebrow. So Eames shrugs and finishes out the round.
He's not surprised when Arthur appears at his elbow as Eames is cashing in his chips.
"Fancy meeting you here," Eames says, by way of greeting, and he catches the faintest twitch in Arthur's expression.
"I need a forger," Arthur says, as they walk away, his voice pitched low so no one can hear.
Eames gives him a sidelong glance. "And the reason you're here and not Dom is...?"
"Dom retired."
"Did he?" Eames is delighted at the idea. "Good for him. But again, why are you here?"
"I told you, I need a forger."
Eames just looks at him.
"You're the best in the business."
Again, Eames doesn't say a word. He knows the silence will get to Arthur, drive him crazy, make him honest.
"Because," Arthur finally says as they break out into the bright, afternoon sun, "I fucked up, and you deserved better."
"Payment, then, is that what this is?" Eames asks, his voice coming out far more mild than he feels. An ache sweeps over him, like a long-forgotten bruise that was prodded long past soreness. "And how is dear Ariadne? Things not work out there?"
"Things..." Arthur shakes his head, sighs, and he looks tired. Older. It's a look that's startling in how well it suits him. "Things with Ariadne never got started, you know that."
"Do I?"
"You should."
Eames stops, waits for Arthur to turn. Then they just look at each other for a moment. There's a look in Arthur's eyes that Eames has only seen once before, only seen in the near darkness and tangled sheets of a Los Angeles hotel, and suddenly Eames is feeling far too fragile for this conversation.
It's not a feeling he particularly likes.
So he turns down a side street and starts walking. Arthur catches up, and they walk in silence for a while.
"So why are you really here?" Eames asks, and a part of him is savagely pleased when Arthur's eyes flinch at the sudden words.
"I told you."
"You fucked up."
"Yes."
"And this is what, settling debts?"
"I..." Arthur stops, shakes his head. "I don't know, honestly. I just know I shouldn't have walked away."
"No, you shouldn't have," Eames hisses, twisting to push Arthur against the closest building, pressing against Arthur to hold him there. Arthur doesn't struggle, even though Eames knows it would be easy enough for him to free himself if that was what Arthur wanted.
All Arthur does is shift a little, bringing their bodies into total alignment, and the memory threatens to swamp Eames, drown him in its intensity. He sucks in a sharp breath as Arthur just looks at him.
"I won't do it again," Arthur says, voice low, husky, tugging at something deep inside Eames. "I won't walk away."
"No, you won't," Eames says, and smiles. "I'm not going to let you."