Makings of All That's Wrong
Because I should really know better than post to the kink meme with a comment hoping that someone will talk me out of filling a prompt, since I know I have other fics that I have lined up. And also, more coma!fic. Why do I like coma!fic? However, much closer to standalone than my other fics, so... Yay?
Title: Makings of All That's Wrong
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Summary: We all make mistakes. Sometimes we just don't realize just how badly we've screwed up until it might be too late to fix it.
Author's Note: Response to this prompt from Round 11: community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/13659.html.
Rating: Again, language ratcheting this up to R. *rolls eyes*
Complicated situations are the makings of all that's wrong
And I've been standing in the river of deliverance way too long
There's gotta be a better way for me to say what's on my heart
Without leavin' scars
So can you hear me
When I call your name?
So can you hear me
When I call your name?
And when you fall apart
Am I the reason for your endless sorrow?
There's so much to be said
And with a broken heart
Your walls can only go down
But so low
Can you hear me
When I call your name? - Call Your Name, Daughtry
It comes out of nowhere, just when they all think they're safe. It feels like a punch, first, but Arthur's been shot enough times - mostly in dreamscape, but once or twice in reality - to know what it is even before the burning pain hits. He's distantly aware of Ariadne screaming, more shots being fired, and Eames snapping something so that Ariadne stops screaming. He can hear her on the phone and she still sounds upset, but calmer.
Shit, is she calling 911? “No... no hospitals,” he forces out, coughing and feeling blood trickle from his mouth. Fuck.
Someone's pulling him closer, pressing against the wound. Arthur tries not to cry out and almost succeeds, knowing who's holding him without opening the eyes that he closed automatically, but he looks anyway. Eames is looking at him, gray eyes wild, almost... He looks scared as hell, and Arthur can't figure out why. “You've been shot in the chest, Arthur, we can't fix this with Band-Aids.”
“Can't... Draws attention.”
“Oh, for fuck's sake, only you would care about that when you're bleeding out in a goddamned alley in Seattle.”
Arthur wants to hold on to Eames' voice, to the look in his eyes, anything that will keep him awake, but his vision is already going gray. It's funny, somehow, seeing his coworker like this, as though Arthur actually means something to him. Arthur knows that's not true, and if his chest didn't hurt so damn much he'd laugh. As it is, he does manage to say, “Careful, Mr. Eames. People will... think you actually care.”
His eyes slip shut and he feels Eames shake him just a little, so he forces his eyes open again. “Don't do that, darling, stay with me, all right? You'll be fine, just...”
He really does sound worried, almost frantic. It's so unusual to hear Eames shaken up in any way that it's enough to make Arthur want to try. But it's too hard, he's too tired, and he closes his eyes again, hoping that the darkness will at least bring some relief from the pain.
“Arthur, damn you, don't die on me. Don't you dare die on me.” Eames' words echo in his mind, the last thing he hears before everything goes quiet, the voice he knows so well following him down into the dark.
~ ~ ~
“Lieutenant Eames, I'm Special Agent Arthur Levine. We're going to be working together.”
“Oh, so you're one of those DESI agents, right?” Gray eyes look him up and down, taking in Arthur's simple black suit, neat and pressed. He looks professional, but apparently the SAS officer is not impressed.
“Darling, please tell me you have more imagination than it looks, or else this is going to be a terrible working relationship.”
“Let's just get to work.”
This is how it starts.
~ ~ ~
“Eames, sit down,” Cobb says. “Pacing around isn't going to help Arthur. So just calm down.”
“Fuck off,” Eames says, not even looking over. His hands are still stained, even though he'd washed them, unable to deal with the blood - Arthur's blood - on his hands. But it's still there, around his fingernails, where he can't get rid of it. Looking at it, all he can remember is Arthur telling him no hospitals, worrying about them being discovered when he could be fucking dying. Like their cover wasn't already blown the second people started shooting at them.
He can't die. That's all Eames can think. Arthur can't die, because if he does... If he does... Eames can't even think about that. He can't imagine someone else at Arthur's desk, a different point man... He can't imagine his own life without Arthur, can't think about what that would be like. Especially since he's never told the other man what -
The surgeon comes out, his face carefully blank, and Eames' heart sinks. No, no, he can't...
“You're here for Mr. Cohen?” It takes Eames a moment to remember that Arthur was admitted under his alias of Mark Cohen, but the doctor was talking to all three of them, and Cobb and Ariadne are already nodding.
“He sustained serious injuries, including a punctured lung. We've stabilized him and removed the bullet, but...”
“But what?” Eames asks before Cobb can, voice harsh.
“The next 48 hours are critical. We're still not entirely sure that he's going to wake up, I'm afraid.”
Eames' hand is in his pocket, clutched around his totem. The plastic disk biting into his skin tells him what he already knows, that even though this is a nightmare, it's also reality.
~ ~ ~
No one understands how, despite the sniping, Arthur and Eames work so very well together. Every job the higher-ups assign them, they pull off without a hitch, leaving Agent Carnahan, their team's extractor, scrambling to catch up. Even they can't explain it, it's just the way it is.
Then everything changes. The program is over, and the British contingent's being sent home. Arthur is alone in the lab when Eames comes in, comes up behind him. He turns around, used to the invasion of personal space by now, the pair of them engaging in their usual banter.
He's not expecting the kiss, nor is he aware of how much he wants it until Eames' lips are on his, but he's kissing back, hard, and then his back is against the table, and -
The interruption gives Arthur a chance to escape, which he desperately needs, and three corridors away he stops to catch his breath, head spinning. Because what the hell just happened?
~ ~ ~
Eames flips the poker chip over and under his fingers, wishing that what he knows will change, that suddenly this will become a dream. He'll wake up and Arthur will be looking at him from across the warehouse, one eyebrow raised. And probably saying, in a caustic tone so unlike the bitterly amused, weak one of before, “Careful, Mr. Eames. People will think you actually care.”
The problem, Eames thinks, is that he does. And he's never been more aware of that than now, sitting next to Arthur's hospital bed. The point man, always pale, is so white he almost blends in with the sheets, his hair a dark contrast falling over his eyes and onto the pillow. And that's wrong, because it's Arthur, his hair shouldn't be flopping loose like this. Except he knows that it does, because he's seen Arthur sleeping before.
But that doesn't help. Yes, Arthur usually sleeps on his back, or sometimes on his side, but he's never this fucking still. Even if there wasn't a tube down his throat, Eames couldn't tell himself that Arthur's just sleeping, because in real sleep the other man is never so still, and he sometimes even talks to himself in his sleep. Just mumbles, an occasional coherent word, but now he's silent. There's just the quiet beeping of monitors.
Of course, maybe Arthur doesn't move or talk in his sleep anymore. It has, after all, been nearly two years since Eames has been there to see Arthur sleeping naturally. His own fault, for panicking and running off. He regretted it before he was on the plane, but he never knew how to say it. And then, the Fischer job, Arthur going back to their old banter but with a bite to it, and Eames responding in kind. And it seemed too late to try.
After all, he knew better than to believe what people say in afterglow - especially drunken afterglow - and so he had to leave, because Arthur would have taken back what he said and that Eames could not have handled.
So he did a runner, and now he's sitting here. Because there was something in what Arthur said - “Careful, Mr. Eames. People will... think you actually care” - that is haunting him. Because Arthur wasn't just taking one more chance to be a smart-ass. He actually meant it, Eames knows him well enough to realize this. And it doesn't make any sense.
~ ~ ~
“Now I know why you joined the military. Without them telling you how to dress, you're a walking disaster.”
“And you look posh as ever, darling, even with your sleeves rolled up. Glad to see you've loosened up enough for that, by the way. Now really, Arthur, is that all you can say after nearly three years?”
“Are you two always like this?” Cobb asks, confused, and Arthur wants to laugh. Mal does laugh, bright and amused, eyes twinkling. And Arthur grins at them and at Eames, because, fuck, despite it all he is glad to see the Brit again, knows that even though this is the hardest job he's done with the Cobbs, they can pull it off just fine now.
“Shall we leave them in the dust again, like old times?” Eames murmurs in his ear. Arthur smirks.
“They're better than Carnahan, Mr. Eames, but we can certainly try.”
They don't, but it's close. And afterwards, when Cobb and Eames are getting more drinks at the bar, Mal smiles across the table at Arthur. “How long have you cared for each other?”
“We were partners once, Mal, it's not like that,” Arthur says, a bit unsettled.
“Oh, cherie, don't say such things. You don't know that yet.”
And Arthur thinks about a kiss, thinks about how Eames calmly slings an arm around his shoulders once he and Cobb come back to the table, and wonders if Mal might be right.
~ ~ ~
“I don't know why you're here,” Cobb says, frowning at Eames. Eames glares at him.
“And just what is that supposed to mean, Cobb?” he asks, exhaustion in his voice. 32 hours, and Arthur hasn't so much as twitched.
Cobb sighs. “Look, Arthur's not one to... share. And I'll admit, after Mal died I was such a mess it's a miracle I noticed anything, but that time I called Arthur and he was in Shanghai, he was with you, right?”
Eames doesn't want to think about Shanghai. He's starting to think he fucked up royally in Shanghai - well, no, he's always known he did, but he's starting to think he doesn't know the half of it - and so he would rather not discuss it. But he nods jerkily, not looking away from Arthur's too-still face, hoping for some sign that the other man is waking up.
“I called him, and he said he couldn't come to meet me in Berlin for a week, and then he's there two days later. And the look in his eyes... All I know is, it was a lot like the one I saw in the mirror, which is probably why I saw it. I knew about the two of you, which makes me think, if he had that look it was your fault. So. What the fuck are you doing here like this now, Eames?”
Eames can't say a word for a minute, he's too stunned. And too hurt; he didn't know anything could make him feel worse than he already does, but this... This does. “Maybe I'm here to try and fix the mistake I made,” he says, finally, and it's nothing but the truth.
~ ~ ~
Shanghai isn't the first time Arthur and Eames have sex, or the second, or the third. They've been doing this for some time, actually, in hotel rooms that blend together because they're all so similar, really. And Arthur has to admit that Mal was right, except thinking about Mal hurts. Beautiful Mal, the sister he never had, shattered and cold in the grave for six months now. So he doesn't think about her, just kisses Eames hard, lets the other man fuck him into the mattress.
It's after, when Eames has one arm slung across Arthur's chest - they don't spoon, since Eames sleeps on his stomach and Arthur usually sleeps on his back - that the point man can't hold it back any longer. Besides, he's pretty sure Eames is asleep, so it won't mean anything. “I love you.” He whispers it into the darkness, and expects no response. But then he feels Eames tense beside him.
Arthur holds his breath, but Eames says nothing. He doesn't have to. When Arthur wakes up alone the next morning, it's enough of a message. He packs his things and goes to meet Cobb in Berlin, telling himself that it doesn't matter anyway. Clearly, Eames wasn't worth it, so now he can just get over him.
Staring out of the airplane window as they begin their descent, he knows it's complete bullshit. But his die rolled to six ten times this morning, so this is absolutely reality. And since it's reality, he has to face it and deal with it. So he will. But he's going to try to avoid working with Eames until there's absolutely no choice.
This, Arthur thinks, is how it ends.
~ ~ ~
Jesus, Cobb knows how to twist the knife. He doesn't stay after Eames' reply, but at the door he stops. “I believe you, Eames. But how do you know you aren't just going to make it worse?” Eames ignores him, but when the extractor is gone, he finds himself wondering if Cobb's right. He looks back at Arthur, who still hasn't moved, and decides it doesn't matter.
He's going to try. He's going to explain himself, and maybe, maybe he'll get a second chance. If Arthur wakes up. Christ, he doesn't care if Arthur forgives him or hates him, as long as Arthur wakes up, as long as Eames can see those dark brown eyes looking at him again.
But it's starting to get to the point where Eames can't convince himself that Arthur will pull through. Because it's been over forty hours now, and the doctors are starting to look worried, are starting to get that look that Eames remembers from the last time he was in a hospital for any length of time. It's the look that says the doctors are steeling themselves to deliver bad news, because it's slowly becoming inevitable that they will have to.
His hand shakes when he reaches out to run his fingers through Arthur's hair, trace his jawline, before taking the other man's limp hand in his. Eames knows the strength those long fingers usually have, and it's just one more thing that's wrong about this. “Darling, please, don't do this. Don't go, not now, not like this. Give me a chance to apologize, at least. I thought you didn't mean it, I was so sure you couldn't mean it, so I took off. I shouldn't have, Arthur, now I know that. Just, please, wake up for me. Please.”
There's nothing, no reply, and Eames closes his eyes in defeat. He can't do anything else, and he's never felt so damn useless in his life.
~ ~ ~
Arthur doesn't try very hard to dissuade Cobb when the other man says they need Eames for this. Arthur is aware that they need Eames for this, he's the best and if they're going to pull off inception, they need the best. But he doesn't want the other man there. He tries to hide it when Eames actually arrives, tries to act like it's all normal, but even he can hear the extra edge in his comments, and the responding bite in Eames'.
Well fine. Fucking fine. If Eames doesn't want to love him, then they can just hate each other. At least it's a mutual emotion this time.
Or is it? “Dream a little bigger, darling.” The comment throws Arthur off-balance, has him trying a distraction tactic that he knows won't work. Maybe, if he was kissing someone he actually wanted, it might, but as sweet as Ariadne is, he doesn't want her. Of course, the precise moment he chooses to kiss her might have something to do with Eames in his blonde forge striding across the lobby, eyes flicking up to Arthur and Ariadne's position. Maybe it's meant also as a petty slap, but the real reason is to try and erase the memory of the way Eames had looked at him.
It doesn't work, and he finds himself on his knees, prepping Eames' IV even though they both know the forger is more than capable of hooking himself up. “Security's going to run you down hard.”
“And I will lead them on a merry chase.”
“Just be back before the kick.”
“Go to sleep, Mr. Eames.”
It's just like old times, needling each other but with fondness in their eyes. And Arthur feels like someone's punched him in the gut. When gravity falls out from under him, it only increases the unreality he already feels. Because really, what the fuck is going on, and has he misread any of this? And if he has, Eames had better make it clear, because he's not opening up this time. He did that, and if there's something here that needs to be said, he is not going to be the one saying it this time.
~ ~ ~
The fingers Eames is still holding, even half-asleep, twitch, and it's like a blaring alarm. The forger sits bolt upright and finds himself looking into dark eyes he was beginning to believe he'd never see again. “Arthur?” he says, before he remembers that the other man can't answer him. It's the middle of the night, but even so, there's a nurse on duty who must have seen on some other monitor that Arthur's awake, and she comes in, checks him over. She tells him that she can't remove the tube until the doctor clears it, and Eames almost laughs when Arthur looks at her with narrowed, annoyed eyes. It's so very Arthur, and to see him already so much like himself minutes after waking up is a relief.
The woman must be psychic or something, though, because she leaves a pen and pad of paper on the nightstand, and as soon as she's gone, Arthur gestures for it. Eames hesitates, but hands it to him.
Why are you here? Arthur writes, before pushing the pad into Eames' hand. Eames looks down at it, and considers what to say. He knows what he'd like to say, but he can't help but think that this needs to be a proper talk - and wait, is he actually aiming for a proper talk? That's not like him at all. But this is Arthur, and it's OK to break a few of his habits if it fixes things between them. But he has to say something now.
His voice is quiet when he finally has something to say. “There are so many things that I want to say to you, that I should have said. All I know is that I miss you terribly. You almost died, and... I fucked up, in Shanghai, and when you can talk, we'll talk about it. If you want to, that is. If not, I'll go, if that's what you want me to do.”
Arthur studies him for a moment, and Eames can see the suspicion there. It hurts, but he's probably earned it, so he waits. And then Arthur beckons for the pad again, and scribbles something down.
No, you can stay. And as for that talk... Yeah. We probably do need that.
Eames reads it, and he smiles slightly. Maybe they can work this out after all.
Title: Makings of All That's Wrong
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Summary: We all make mistakes. Sometimes we just don't realize just how badly we've screwed up until it might be too late to fix it.
Author's Note: Response to this prompt from Round 11: community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/13659.html.
Rating: Again, language ratcheting this up to R. *rolls eyes*
Complicated situations are the makings of all that's wrong
And I've been standing in the river of deliverance way too long
There's gotta be a better way for me to say what's on my heart
Without leavin' scars
So can you hear me
When I call your name?
So can you hear me
When I call your name?
And when you fall apart
Am I the reason for your endless sorrow?
There's so much to be said
And with a broken heart
Your walls can only go down
But so low
Can you hear me
When I call your name? - Call Your Name, Daughtry
It comes out of nowhere, just when they all think they're safe. It feels like a punch, first, but Arthur's been shot enough times - mostly in dreamscape, but once or twice in reality - to know what it is even before the burning pain hits. He's distantly aware of Ariadne screaming, more shots being fired, and Eames snapping something so that Ariadne stops screaming. He can hear her on the phone and she still sounds upset, but calmer.
Shit, is she calling 911? “No... no hospitals,” he forces out, coughing and feeling blood trickle from his mouth. Fuck.
Someone's pulling him closer, pressing against the wound. Arthur tries not to cry out and almost succeeds, knowing who's holding him without opening the eyes that he closed automatically, but he looks anyway. Eames is looking at him, gray eyes wild, almost... He looks scared as hell, and Arthur can't figure out why. “You've been shot in the chest, Arthur, we can't fix this with Band-Aids.”
“Can't... Draws attention.”
“Oh, for fuck's sake, only you would care about that when you're bleeding out in a goddamned alley in Seattle.”
Arthur wants to hold on to Eames' voice, to the look in his eyes, anything that will keep him awake, but his vision is already going gray. It's funny, somehow, seeing his coworker like this, as though Arthur actually means something to him. Arthur knows that's not true, and if his chest didn't hurt so damn much he'd laugh. As it is, he does manage to say, “Careful, Mr. Eames. People will... think you actually care.”
His eyes slip shut and he feels Eames shake him just a little, so he forces his eyes open again. “Don't do that, darling, stay with me, all right? You'll be fine, just...”
He really does sound worried, almost frantic. It's so unusual to hear Eames shaken up in any way that it's enough to make Arthur want to try. But it's too hard, he's too tired, and he closes his eyes again, hoping that the darkness will at least bring some relief from the pain.
“Arthur, damn you, don't die on me. Don't you dare die on me.” Eames' words echo in his mind, the last thing he hears before everything goes quiet, the voice he knows so well following him down into the dark.
~ ~ ~
“Lieutenant Eames, I'm Special Agent Arthur Levine. We're going to be working together.”
“Oh, so you're one of those DESI agents, right?” Gray eyes look him up and down, taking in Arthur's simple black suit, neat and pressed. He looks professional, but apparently the SAS officer is not impressed.
“Darling, please tell me you have more imagination than it looks, or else this is going to be a terrible working relationship.”
“Let's just get to work.”
This is how it starts.
~ ~ ~
“Eames, sit down,” Cobb says. “Pacing around isn't going to help Arthur. So just calm down.”
“Fuck off,” Eames says, not even looking over. His hands are still stained, even though he'd washed them, unable to deal with the blood - Arthur's blood - on his hands. But it's still there, around his fingernails, where he can't get rid of it. Looking at it, all he can remember is Arthur telling him no hospitals, worrying about them being discovered when he could be fucking dying. Like their cover wasn't already blown the second people started shooting at them.
He can't die. That's all Eames can think. Arthur can't die, because if he does... If he does... Eames can't even think about that. He can't imagine someone else at Arthur's desk, a different point man... He can't imagine his own life without Arthur, can't think about what that would be like. Especially since he's never told the other man what -
The surgeon comes out, his face carefully blank, and Eames' heart sinks. No, no, he can't...
“You're here for Mr. Cohen?” It takes Eames a moment to remember that Arthur was admitted under his alias of Mark Cohen, but the doctor was talking to all three of them, and Cobb and Ariadne are already nodding.
“He sustained serious injuries, including a punctured lung. We've stabilized him and removed the bullet, but...”
“But what?” Eames asks before Cobb can, voice harsh.
“The next 48 hours are critical. We're still not entirely sure that he's going to wake up, I'm afraid.”
Eames' hand is in his pocket, clutched around his totem. The plastic disk biting into his skin tells him what he already knows, that even though this is a nightmare, it's also reality.
~ ~ ~
No one understands how, despite the sniping, Arthur and Eames work so very well together. Every job the higher-ups assign them, they pull off without a hitch, leaving Agent Carnahan, their team's extractor, scrambling to catch up. Even they can't explain it, it's just the way it is.
Then everything changes. The program is over, and the British contingent's being sent home. Arthur is alone in the lab when Eames comes in, comes up behind him. He turns around, used to the invasion of personal space by now, the pair of them engaging in their usual banter.
He's not expecting the kiss, nor is he aware of how much he wants it until Eames' lips are on his, but he's kissing back, hard, and then his back is against the table, and -
The interruption gives Arthur a chance to escape, which he desperately needs, and three corridors away he stops to catch his breath, head spinning. Because what the hell just happened?
~ ~ ~
Eames flips the poker chip over and under his fingers, wishing that what he knows will change, that suddenly this will become a dream. He'll wake up and Arthur will be looking at him from across the warehouse, one eyebrow raised. And probably saying, in a caustic tone so unlike the bitterly amused, weak one of before, “Careful, Mr. Eames. People will think you actually care.”
The problem, Eames thinks, is that he does. And he's never been more aware of that than now, sitting next to Arthur's hospital bed. The point man, always pale, is so white he almost blends in with the sheets, his hair a dark contrast falling over his eyes and onto the pillow. And that's wrong, because it's Arthur, his hair shouldn't be flopping loose like this. Except he knows that it does, because he's seen Arthur sleeping before.
But that doesn't help. Yes, Arthur usually sleeps on his back, or sometimes on his side, but he's never this fucking still. Even if there wasn't a tube down his throat, Eames couldn't tell himself that Arthur's just sleeping, because in real sleep the other man is never so still, and he sometimes even talks to himself in his sleep. Just mumbles, an occasional coherent word, but now he's silent. There's just the quiet beeping of monitors.
Of course, maybe Arthur doesn't move or talk in his sleep anymore. It has, after all, been nearly two years since Eames has been there to see Arthur sleeping naturally. His own fault, for panicking and running off. He regretted it before he was on the plane, but he never knew how to say it. And then, the Fischer job, Arthur going back to their old banter but with a bite to it, and Eames responding in kind. And it seemed too late to try.
After all, he knew better than to believe what people say in afterglow - especially drunken afterglow - and so he had to leave, because Arthur would have taken back what he said and that Eames could not have handled.
So he did a runner, and now he's sitting here. Because there was something in what Arthur said - “Careful, Mr. Eames. People will... think you actually care” - that is haunting him. Because Arthur wasn't just taking one more chance to be a smart-ass. He actually meant it, Eames knows him well enough to realize this. And it doesn't make any sense.
~ ~ ~
“Now I know why you joined the military. Without them telling you how to dress, you're a walking disaster.”
“And you look posh as ever, darling, even with your sleeves rolled up. Glad to see you've loosened up enough for that, by the way. Now really, Arthur, is that all you can say after nearly three years?”
“Are you two always like this?” Cobb asks, confused, and Arthur wants to laugh. Mal does laugh, bright and amused, eyes twinkling. And Arthur grins at them and at Eames, because, fuck, despite it all he is glad to see the Brit again, knows that even though this is the hardest job he's done with the Cobbs, they can pull it off just fine now.
“Shall we leave them in the dust again, like old times?” Eames murmurs in his ear. Arthur smirks.
“They're better than Carnahan, Mr. Eames, but we can certainly try.”
They don't, but it's close. And afterwards, when Cobb and Eames are getting more drinks at the bar, Mal smiles across the table at Arthur. “How long have you cared for each other?”
“We were partners once, Mal, it's not like that,” Arthur says, a bit unsettled.
“Oh, cherie, don't say such things. You don't know that yet.”
And Arthur thinks about a kiss, thinks about how Eames calmly slings an arm around his shoulders once he and Cobb come back to the table, and wonders if Mal might be right.
~ ~ ~
“I don't know why you're here,” Cobb says, frowning at Eames. Eames glares at him.
“And just what is that supposed to mean, Cobb?” he asks, exhaustion in his voice. 32 hours, and Arthur hasn't so much as twitched.
Cobb sighs. “Look, Arthur's not one to... share. And I'll admit, after Mal died I was such a mess it's a miracle I noticed anything, but that time I called Arthur and he was in Shanghai, he was with you, right?”
Eames doesn't want to think about Shanghai. He's starting to think he fucked up royally in Shanghai - well, no, he's always known he did, but he's starting to think he doesn't know the half of it - and so he would rather not discuss it. But he nods jerkily, not looking away from Arthur's too-still face, hoping for some sign that the other man is waking up.
“I called him, and he said he couldn't come to meet me in Berlin for a week, and then he's there two days later. And the look in his eyes... All I know is, it was a lot like the one I saw in the mirror, which is probably why I saw it. I knew about the two of you, which makes me think, if he had that look it was your fault. So. What the fuck are you doing here like this now, Eames?”
Eames can't say a word for a minute, he's too stunned. And too hurt; he didn't know anything could make him feel worse than he already does, but this... This does. “Maybe I'm here to try and fix the mistake I made,” he says, finally, and it's nothing but the truth.
~ ~ ~
Shanghai isn't the first time Arthur and Eames have sex, or the second, or the third. They've been doing this for some time, actually, in hotel rooms that blend together because they're all so similar, really. And Arthur has to admit that Mal was right, except thinking about Mal hurts. Beautiful Mal, the sister he never had, shattered and cold in the grave for six months now. So he doesn't think about her, just kisses Eames hard, lets the other man fuck him into the mattress.
It's after, when Eames has one arm slung across Arthur's chest - they don't spoon, since Eames sleeps on his stomach and Arthur usually sleeps on his back - that the point man can't hold it back any longer. Besides, he's pretty sure Eames is asleep, so it won't mean anything. “I love you.” He whispers it into the darkness, and expects no response. But then he feels Eames tense beside him.
Arthur holds his breath, but Eames says nothing. He doesn't have to. When Arthur wakes up alone the next morning, it's enough of a message. He packs his things and goes to meet Cobb in Berlin, telling himself that it doesn't matter anyway. Clearly, Eames wasn't worth it, so now he can just get over him.
Staring out of the airplane window as they begin their descent, he knows it's complete bullshit. But his die rolled to six ten times this morning, so this is absolutely reality. And since it's reality, he has to face it and deal with it. So he will. But he's going to try to avoid working with Eames until there's absolutely no choice.
This, Arthur thinks, is how it ends.
~ ~ ~
Jesus, Cobb knows how to twist the knife. He doesn't stay after Eames' reply, but at the door he stops. “I believe you, Eames. But how do you know you aren't just going to make it worse?” Eames ignores him, but when the extractor is gone, he finds himself wondering if Cobb's right. He looks back at Arthur, who still hasn't moved, and decides it doesn't matter.
He's going to try. He's going to explain himself, and maybe, maybe he'll get a second chance. If Arthur wakes up. Christ, he doesn't care if Arthur forgives him or hates him, as long as Arthur wakes up, as long as Eames can see those dark brown eyes looking at him again.
But it's starting to get to the point where Eames can't convince himself that Arthur will pull through. Because it's been over forty hours now, and the doctors are starting to look worried, are starting to get that look that Eames remembers from the last time he was in a hospital for any length of time. It's the look that says the doctors are steeling themselves to deliver bad news, because it's slowly becoming inevitable that they will have to.
His hand shakes when he reaches out to run his fingers through Arthur's hair, trace his jawline, before taking the other man's limp hand in his. Eames knows the strength those long fingers usually have, and it's just one more thing that's wrong about this. “Darling, please, don't do this. Don't go, not now, not like this. Give me a chance to apologize, at least. I thought you didn't mean it, I was so sure you couldn't mean it, so I took off. I shouldn't have, Arthur, now I know that. Just, please, wake up for me. Please.”
There's nothing, no reply, and Eames closes his eyes in defeat. He can't do anything else, and he's never felt so damn useless in his life.
~ ~ ~
Arthur doesn't try very hard to dissuade Cobb when the other man says they need Eames for this. Arthur is aware that they need Eames for this, he's the best and if they're going to pull off inception, they need the best. But he doesn't want the other man there. He tries to hide it when Eames actually arrives, tries to act like it's all normal, but even he can hear the extra edge in his comments, and the responding bite in Eames'.
Well fine. Fucking fine. If Eames doesn't want to love him, then they can just hate each other. At least it's a mutual emotion this time.
Or is it? “Dream a little bigger, darling.” The comment throws Arthur off-balance, has him trying a distraction tactic that he knows won't work. Maybe, if he was kissing someone he actually wanted, it might, but as sweet as Ariadne is, he doesn't want her. Of course, the precise moment he chooses to kiss her might have something to do with Eames in his blonde forge striding across the lobby, eyes flicking up to Arthur and Ariadne's position. Maybe it's meant also as a petty slap, but the real reason is to try and erase the memory of the way Eames had looked at him.
It doesn't work, and he finds himself on his knees, prepping Eames' IV even though they both know the forger is more than capable of hooking himself up. “Security's going to run you down hard.”
“And I will lead them on a merry chase.”
“Just be back before the kick.”
“Go to sleep, Mr. Eames.”
It's just like old times, needling each other but with fondness in their eyes. And Arthur feels like someone's punched him in the gut. When gravity falls out from under him, it only increases the unreality he already feels. Because really, what the fuck is going on, and has he misread any of this? And if he has, Eames had better make it clear, because he's not opening up this time. He did that, and if there's something here that needs to be said, he is not going to be the one saying it this time.
~ ~ ~
The fingers Eames is still holding, even half-asleep, twitch, and it's like a blaring alarm. The forger sits bolt upright and finds himself looking into dark eyes he was beginning to believe he'd never see again. “Arthur?” he says, before he remembers that the other man can't answer him. It's the middle of the night, but even so, there's a nurse on duty who must have seen on some other monitor that Arthur's awake, and she comes in, checks him over. She tells him that she can't remove the tube until the doctor clears it, and Eames almost laughs when Arthur looks at her with narrowed, annoyed eyes. It's so very Arthur, and to see him already so much like himself minutes after waking up is a relief.
The woman must be psychic or something, though, because she leaves a pen and pad of paper on the nightstand, and as soon as she's gone, Arthur gestures for it. Eames hesitates, but hands it to him.
Why are you here? Arthur writes, before pushing the pad into Eames' hand. Eames looks down at it, and considers what to say. He knows what he'd like to say, but he can't help but think that this needs to be a proper talk - and wait, is he actually aiming for a proper talk? That's not like him at all. But this is Arthur, and it's OK to break a few of his habits if it fixes things between them. But he has to say something now.
His voice is quiet when he finally has something to say. “There are so many things that I want to say to you, that I should have said. All I know is that I miss you terribly. You almost died, and... I fucked up, in Shanghai, and when you can talk, we'll talk about it. If you want to, that is. If not, I'll go, if that's what you want me to do.”
Arthur studies him for a moment, and Eames can see the suspicion there. It hurts, but he's probably earned it, so he waits. And then Arthur beckons for the pad again, and scribbles something down.
No, you can stay. And as for that talk... Yeah. We probably do need that.
Eames reads it, and he smiles slightly. Maybe they can work this out after all.