#23 - Daily Routine, for coldthermistor
Title: Daily Routine
Recipient: coldthermistor
Author: misschatelle
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Arthur/Cobb
Word count: 6199
Author’s notes: ATTEMPT at action plot. Please let me emphasize the word ATTEMPT. (This is as close to an action plot as I could get. I really hope you will enjoy it, even though it's probably not what you had in mind.)
Daily Routine
The secret of your future is hidden in your daily routine.
-Mile Murdock
The night before it happened, they went to bed early. As usual.
They had supper at six thirty, all four of them, the children and them two, like they always did. Arthur and Dom then watched the news on CBS, while the children were playing in James' room. They sent the kids to bed at eight thirty, changing them into their pajamas and reading James a bedtime story (because Philipa claimed she was too old for these childish stories now). Then, they watched the first half of a documentary on BBC and, at nine thirty, they decided to call it a night and went to bed. They read in bed for about half an hour (Dom read a novel while Arthur read the National Geographic) and they turned off the lights at ten. As usual.
That night had been so normal. Like all the other nights. Dom had a thought, before falling asleep, for the routine they had developed in such a short amount of time. He never would have imagined. And it made him smile. His life had taken such a turn... and it was so refreshing. He would not have believed it only a year ago, but a routine was comforting. And quiet. But mainly reassuring.
Dom felt Arthur's arm snaking around his waist, felt his breath on the back of his neck, and Dom fell asleep not long after that, dreaming of nothingness. (His sleep, while dreamless, was refreshing. And that was... different. To wake up and feel rested instead of empty and tired.)
When he woke up the following morning, Arthur was gone.
o0O0o
A month after the inception, Arthur started visiting Cobb. At first, it was once a week. He helped with the children and the household chores (though he was terrible at cooking, and Cobb had learned the hard way not to let him in charge of the kitchen). Cobb had not thought he could need that kind of help, but he was soon grateful for his friend's visits. It was harder than he had thought it would be to go back to a normal life, with children who scream, cry and have their moods. Being with them was the best gift he could have ever received, but it hurt to hear them asking for their mother, even after all this time. (It seemed that their father's return had given them hope for their mother to come back too.) Arthur was surprisingly good with children (not that Cobb did not know already, but it was always a shock to see him work his magic on the kids). He could distract them from their difficult questions and avoid terrible tantrums that always left Cobb with a shooting headache. Having Arthur over was relaxing.
In fact, he did not notice the increasing frequency of Arthur's visits right away. It simply reached a point where it just felt natural to see him at his door. As if he belonged in this house.
(And maybe he did.)
o0O0o
Dom waited. A few hours. And he waited. A few more hours. And he waited. A long time. Staring at the door, hoping to see Arthur opening it and stepping in, plastic bags in his hands and a smile on his face, just coming back from the store with food for breakfast.
Except it was way past breakfast now. The children were in school and the afternoon was on its way towards the evening. Dom had not eaten, he was too worried. The children would be back soon, but he could not even think about that because Arthur was not home and Dom could not even remember how he made it without him the house before. Arthur was an integral part of the family and his help was necessary.
But that was not the point. Arthur had been gone for a while now; he had left without leaving a note, without calling, without giving any sort of warning. That was not like him. Dom was worried.
So he waited. Waited. And waited. Welcomed the children back home, lied when they asked where Arthur was, cooked, served their dinner and sent them to watch TV when they were done eating. And waited. Waited. Until the children were in bed and the house was dark and quiet. And then Dom knew Arthur was not coming back.
And all Dom could think of was... why?
Maybe Arthur had gotten tired of it all.
But that did not make sense. Arthur did not run away from his problems. He faced them. When something bothered him, he said it. If something did not suit him, he changed it. Arthur was not a coward.
But was it really about cowardice?
Nothing made sense. Arthur always answered his phone. Always. But even after the fifty voice messages Dom had left him, he had not called back. Dom did not understand. How could it be? How could this even be happening?
Why?
He covered his face with his hands, feeling powerless and useless, overwhelmed and ignorant, and when he lowered his hands and raised his eyes again, it was only then that he saw the note on the desk.
o0O0o
One day, Arthur forced him to go to for a walk in the park. It was strange because Arthur did not strike him as the going-for-a-walk type, but Cobb had learned a long time ago to stop questioning Arthur's ideas and behaviour.
“You're always at home. It's unhealthy. You'll turn into a dry crouton soon if you don't move,” Arthur had said, and while it was probably meant to offend Cobb, it had instead left a smile on his lips.
And that was how they ended up in the park, walking in the snow and enjoying the fresh air. Cobb hated winter. He hated the cold, hated the snow, hated everything that came with it. But a walk with Arthur was surprisingly nice.
Maybe it was just the act of going out after all this time that felt nice. He had indeed spent too much time inside for it to be healthy. He had wanted to devote as much of his time as possible to his children, and he had. But when they were at school, he tended to pace the rooms and watch television absentmindedly, waiting for their return. He tended to forget what it felt like to have a life of his own.
Not that going for a walk really constituted a life in itself, but it was a change. And it felt nice.
They stopped at a Chinese cake shop and bought things Cobb had not even thought possible until he saw and tasted them, like pork buns, egg tarts and unidentified pastries with sausages in them. They ate them while walking and had fun trying to pronounce to Chinese names of the pastries (Arthur was a lot better than Cobb, which was not as annoying as it sounded).
“I'd like to visit China someday,” Arthur said at some point, and Cobb was surprised that he had not gone yet. Not that Cobb had been to China in the past, but Arthur was so... free. Cobb could not imagine what could have kept the younger man from just going.
He did not ask, though. He simply smiled, and Arthur smiled back. And they kept on walking while eating the remains of the Chinese pastries, which tasted a lot better than they sounded.
o0O0o
Next thing Dom knew, he was on a plane heading to Canada. That was where he was to meet Ariadne. Eames was to join them there. Calling them for such a reason after all this time had been weird. He had not given many details, but he knew he had worried them by mentioning Arthur.
He had left the children at their grandmother's house, telling them it was a little vacation for them, and they had liked the idea. The look on his mother-in-law, however, had told him she was scared. She was scared of him leaving again, for a long time. Or even for good. The children did not deserve this, not after all they had gone through, and Dom knew it. And he felt terrible for leaving again. But he had to. He could not just stay at home, taking care of his children while not knowing where Arthur was, not knowing if he was safe... or alive. Maybe he was exaggerating. But he just could not pretend everything was fine when it definitely was not.
He had reassured his mother-in-law with a smile, silently telling her that he would be back soon, that this was not for good, that this was not another prolonged absence. He was not doing this again. She had weakly smiled back, looking only slightly reassured, but that was certainly the best reaction he could get from her. He had kissed the children goodbye and had waved as he was pulling back from the driveway.
The truth was, he was scared too.
o0O0o
One night, Cobb met with Miles for a drink, for old times' sake (they used to have such a great relationship before Mal's death), and he came back home way past the children's curfew. He had somehow expected to find the house loud and chaotic, but he instead found it quiet and as neat as when he had left it, maybe even more. Not that he had ever doubted Arthur's skills with children (or maybe a little at the beginning, when Philipa was still a baby, because Arthur looked like a lot of things, but certainly not like a babysitter; Cobb had soon learned to accept the fact that life was full of oddities like that). But even after all these years, it was weird to imagine that a not-even-30-year-old man with no wife, no girlfriend, no children and practically no family could be better with children than he, Dominic Cobb, 36-year-old widower and actual father of the two children concerned. It was quite upsetting, in a way.
But when Cobb reached the door of Philipa's room and saw her half-asleep, all tucked in her sheets while Arthur was reading her a bedtime story (that was before she decided she was too old for these things), he remembered why he could not find it in himself to blame Arthur, or feel anything near anger or bitterness towards him. The at-work Arthur and at-home Arthur were two completely different people and Cobb always felt privileged to get a glimpse of the latter, even though these felt less and less like furtive glimpses as time passed and these occurrences became more and more frequent. Cobb crossed his arms, leaned on the door frame and watched Arthur smiling and gesturing along with the story he was telling, as Philipa's blinking was slowing down, until her eyes simply remained closed.
Seeing Philipa was not asleep, Arthur closed the book and slowly got up as he put it down on the bedside table without making a sound. Then, he turned around and stopped moving when he saw Cobb standing in the doorway, watching him. There was a moment of hesitation, as if Arthur was wondering if he should go back to the neutral side of his personality (the one he used at work) and it took him a few seconds before he started walking towards the door, closing it silently behind him. The moment that followed was a little awkward; Cobb knew Arthur had been caught with his guards down (which had been happening quite often lately, and it seemed to shock Arthur just as much as it did for Cobb). But Cobb smiled, and laid a hand on Arthur's shoulder, squeezing a little as he led him towards the living room, where they were to watch television together, like they did every night.
Arthur's smile was faint, but Cobb still saw it.
o0O0o
Seeing Eames and Ariadne again, nearly a year after the inception, was weird. They had talked on the phone, sharing news, keeping each other up to date, but they had not been in each other's presence for months. Dom had expected their future reunion to be happier, filled with jokes, with Eames' sarcasm and with Ariadne's constantly rolling eyes (usually attached to a smile that betrayed her amusement). But the circumstances instead made it gloomy and awkward. (It was probably related with the fact that he had expected Arthur to be a part of it.)
Greetings were brief. The circumstances did not call for chatting and catching up on lost time. (It was not like they really felt like it anyway.)
“Without knowing who the enemy is, we can hardly plan anything,” Ariadne said, and her use of the word 'enemy' almost made Dom smile. She was still so young, with clear ideas of the world being black and white, even though she was aware of all the gray that was in it.
“In fact, without knowing if there even is an 'enemy', it's hard to do anything,” Eames added, and Dom wanted to hate him for it, even though he was obviously right. They did not know anything about what happened. Arthur could have been kidnapped (though the option seemed very unlikely, with someone as skilled as Arthur) or he could have just left (which also seemed highly unlikely to Dom, but that was harder to defend).
His two friends (or colleagues, he never knew how to call them) seemed to wait for Dom to speak up, but it did not happen. From the corner of his eyes, the older of the three could see Eames raise his eyebrows swiftly in an unimpressed way. Dom did not know when Eames had become so unhelpful. But then, again, Dom had called for an urgent meeting, worrying them about Arthur and all he had to say was that he woke up one morning and Arthur was gone. It was not commonplace nor was it entirely “normal”, but it did not exactly fit into their definition of worrying or dangerous. They had seen so much through the different jobs they had taken, they knew that unexplainable things happened and sometimes had to remain unexplained. (After all, this kind of job could get out of hands and become too much for someone to take... leaving sometimes seemed like the best option. Even though Arthur had not participated in many missions since the inception...)
Dom was not ready to file Arthur's disappearance into this category of events.
o0O0o
Arthur had been spending a lot of time with them. In fact, he was in their home pretty much all the time. But Cobb really noticed that fact only when Philipa came to him one day and asked him where Arthur was. He replied that he did not know, maybe at work, maybe at home. His use of the word “home” left Philipa puzzled.
“But he's not home. I've looked everywhere, he's not here. When will he be back home again?”
Cobb did not know what to answer. It seemed impossible to tell exactly when their home had also become Arthur's. It had just happened. Almost naturally. And when Cobb thought of it, of “home” and “Arthur” in a same sentence, it somehow made sense.
It just did. And that did not shock him as much as it should have.
o0O0o
“I think we should go to Australia,” Eames had said. He apparently had contacts over there that could possibly help.
And so to Australia they were heading. Dom did not even know if this really made sense, if this track was really logical, but he had no idea what else to do, where to start, where to look. Australia was a start. At least, they were doing something. And it reassured him that Ariadne and Eames were actually trying to help and did not dismiss him for his lack of evidence. (It certainly had to do with the fact that it was Arthur. Had it been anybody else, Dom would have been left all alone on this quest. But everyone had a soft spot for Arthur and no one could bear the idea of him being in danger.)
At least, they were trying. If not for Dom himself, they were doing it for Arthur.
But for how long? How long would it take before they got tired of it? Dom was realistic. They would not find Arthur in Australia. With a little bit of luck, they would find clues. But the chances of this trip being very helpful were slim. How many plane rides would it take before Ariadne and Eames decided that this was a lost cause, one that is not worth the effort. They cared for Arthur, but their past experiences had also taught them about difficult decisions in order to keep going forward.
He did not know how long it would take before reason took over feelings. And that scared him. Very much.
o0O0o
Their first kiss was not romantic.
It happened in the kitchen. Cobb's kitchen, though with time it seemed to have become Arthur's too. They had been washing the dishes for the past half hour (children ate so much, and why they did not have a dishwasher yet was a mystery), talking of different and unrelated subjects (sports, tv, children, cats...), when it happened. In fact, Cobb would not be able to tell exactly how it happened, how it started. It just did. As if it was natural. But it was not. And yet, it was. In a way.
They kissed, bright yellow rubber gloves in Cobb's hands and wet plates in Arthur's, the sink full of dirty water right next to them. There was a dirty plate on the counter; it had contained a lasagna not so long ago, but now it only had stains of sauce and small bits of meat in it. It had been lying on the counter for a few days and it was already starting to smell. Not just a little, in fact. (It was the reason they were washing the dishes now; the entire kitchen was starting to smell of old lasagna.) Also, in the living room, not so far away, the television was turned on, and they could hear the cheers from the football game that was on.
It was anything but romantic.
Cobb would not have wanted it to be anyway.
When they parted, they smiled slightly awkwardly and went back to washing the dishes, in silence this time. But the silence was not uncomfortable. They were sharing it, just like they had been sharing words a little earlier, and it felt just as natural, and Cobb thought that, maybe, this was what really made this moment perfect.
o0O0o
As expected, Australia did not offer anything that could be considered actually helpful. Eames' contacts had not been able to give any kind of information that could eventually lead them to answers. And God knew Eames' contacts were powerful and knowledgeable. That they did not know anything was destabilizing, but not really surprising. They had expected it.
On the other end of the room, Eames and Ariadne were discussing other options, making a new plan of action. They seemed to be working very hard on this case. But from the way they were (intentionally) talking loud enough for him to hear what they were saying, and also from the way they were not talking together the same way they usually did (as if they were playing a role, not being themselves), Dom knew they were doing this for him, and not so much for Arthur anymore. (Or had it ever been for Arthur? How could he be sure of it? Of anything?)
They did not believe in this. Dom would never doubt the sincerity of their friendship with Arthur, but he would also never doubt their cynicism, the one they got from their job when it was not simply a natural characteristic. They did not seem to believe Arthur was in danger (the guy was wise, after all, wiser than most of their possible enemies). But, mostly, they did not believe they had a chance to find him. Whether he was intentionally or unintentionally hiding, the guy knew how to hide. Even his closest friends could never know where he was if he decided to keep it a secret.
Dom could feel it: his two friends would stop trying. Probably very soon.
Too soon.
o0O0o
Arthur had pretty much moved in at this point. It was not exactly official, no one had actually asked for it to happen, no one had really talked about it. It was just the way it was. Arthur was there almost everyday, and when he was not, it felt like something (obviously someone) was missing.
One night, Cobb asked Arthur to sleep in his bed with him instead of on the couch, like he usually did. He said it would be more comfortable this way and, considering that Arthur was spending the night over so often, he would end up having back pains if he slept on the old worn couch every night. Arthur hesitated, but eventually said yes. (It was not very hard to convince him, in fact.) When Cobb thought of it, it was probably when it became “official”.
It was also when Cobb started to become Dom. Not that Arthur had never called him Dom in the past, but “Cobb” had just seemed to suit them best so far. That, of course, was in the past. By seeing each other every day, by slipping into a routine including the children and their television sessions and many other things, they reached a point where “Cobb” seemed out of place, and “Dominic” just felt... too formal (probably more than his last name, in fact). So it became “Dom”.
The day Arthur told them over dinner that he was selling his apartment, it did not come as a surprise. It just seemed like the logical thing to do. They all nodded and kept eating. (Even though Dom could not help the smile that crept on his lips as he chewed the overcooked spaghetti Arthur had made just for them.)
o0O0o
After Australia, France, Sweden, Germany, Japan and Brazil, along with approximately thirty unhelpful contacts, Eames and Ariadne had “the talk” with him. (Or in fact, Ariadne did, Eames just sat in the corner, apparently torn between annoyance and pity.) They were going back home. This thing was not going anywhere. It was not worth the effort anymore. But they were there for him if he needed them (Dom was not sure what that meant) and, if they learned anything, they would let him know right away (which was not as reassuring as it was meant to be, Dom thought).
Dom could not say this was not expected. He was actually surprised they had stuck with him this long. He should be grateful, he guessed.
He shook Eames' hand, hugged Ariadne. Assured them he was fine, it was not a problem, he understood (though he did not, he did not understand anything that was happening to him).
“Go back to your kids,” Eames said before stepping out of the hotel room they had been sharing for the past two days. Dom nodded. This was not a sign of agreement, both of them knew it, but Eames simply offered a smile (not a very convinced one, Dom noted) and left.
Once they were gone, Dom sat in a chair, the nearest one, and stayed there for a long time. Maybe he used this time to think, or maybe he did not. He was not sure if whatever went through his mind during this undetermined amount of time could be considered thinking.
A question came out of it, stronger than all the other ones that haunted his mind.
Is it worth it?
o0O0o
One night, they were watching a movie, just the two of them, like they did almost every night (except sometimes it was the football game, other times a documentary, other times whatever was on television). That night, it was a movie. Edward Scissorhands. (Dom had been shocked to hear Arthur had never seen it. Dom was not a big fan of cinema, but there were classics he believed everyone should see. Arthur was no exception to that “everyone” rule.)
Arthur, on the other hand, had been shocked to hear Dom had not eaten popcorn in at least two years, and had made a point of making some before the movie started.
They sat on the couch, next to one another, Dom's arm around Arthur's shoulders as they watched the movie and ate popcorn, and Dom was struck with the domesticity of the scene. It was probably at this exact moment that he realized how... normal his life had become.
Normal. No danger, no stress. It was absolutely destabilizing to think about it, and yet, it was incredibly reassuring. He never would have thought it could be this agreeable to have a boring life, with a routine and nothing really extraordinary. In fact, the lack of extraordinary events was the most extraordinary thing he had experienced in a very long time.
At some point, he turned his head to look a Arthur, the undeniable source of this routine, which seemed unbelievable and even a little ironic, considering how intense and bold Arthur used to be. (He probably still was, Dom thought, though he could not be sure.)
The weirdest thing in all this probably was that, even after all these years, Dom still felt like he did not know much about Arthur. They were spending all of their time together, and it seemed like they were sharing everything and that they understood each other better than anyone else. But there always was this feeling that there was more to Arthur than he let be known.
Arthur was a living mystery and, when Dom thought about it, it was probably what was so fascinating (and attractive) about him. He made Dom curious and, he had to admit it, Dom found it exciting.
He never thought it could be worrying.
o0O0o
Cobb sat in his hotel room all night. (He only realized for how long he had stayed there when the sun rose again, and he vaguely wondered where the time had gone. Not that he really cared for the answer, though.)
All night long, he thought of Arthur, of how he did not know much about him in the end, though he felt otherwise. He thought of what Ariadne and Eames had told him (but mostly what they had implied), and he wondered if they were right. If he was being unreasonable, if he was making assumptions based on feelings rather than facts. After all, Arthur was so secretive, how could Dom pretend to know him enough to suppose he could not have left on his own, just like that, without a warning? Who was he to claim this? Who was he to pretend he knew Arthur better than anyone else? Arthur was wise, and if there were things he did not want to be known, then they would remain unknown. No matter what.
Dom thought of the children, and he felt terrible for what he was doing to them. Again, he was leaving them. Not permanently, but this did not excuse much. In fact, it excused nothing. By walking in and out of their lives like this, he was only making things worse. He had not seen this sudden “journey” (or whatever this was) as walking out of their lives, not at first. It was just temporary. And he needed to go look for Arthur, because Arthur was in danger and needed him. Or at least, that was what Dom had convinced himself of. Now, he was not sure. He was not sure of anything. All he knew was that he was being a miserable father, and if he kept on doing things like that to them... well, he did not want to imagine the hurt he would cause them every single time. He could not live with this.
Or could he?
He had no idea of what he had to do, of what he should do. He had no idea what he should think or believe. He was lost. He did not believe he could sort things out on himself. But he had to. He was alone, now. He had to make a decision. Do something.
But he did not know what. So he sat there, in the armchair next to the window, and he saw the sun rise from the corner of his eye. (He did not pay it much attention.)
He had no idea where Arthur was, why he was there, what he was doing there, when he would be back, if he ever would. He wanted to find him, but he knew he most likely never would. Not on his own. Not without a track. Not without a clue.
His chances were almost nonexistent. This was ridiculous. This was not worth it, not worth the effort nor the energy. Ariadne and Eames were right, he should go home. It did not feel like that was the right thing to do, but it was. It had to be. He did not have Arthur, but he still had his children. That was what mattered, right? That was what was really important, what he should focus on.
He had to go home. As soon as possible.
And as he had these thoughts, he saw something on the table. A folded piece of paper, one he remembered having left there without really thinking about it.
The note Arthur had left him on the desk before leaving. Nothing near an explanation or a clue, but it was the reason why Dom was here in the first place, in a hotel room in Brazil, blindly looking for a man that had left no trace. Or almost no trace.
Dom got up and walked over to the table and picked up the piece of paper delicately, as if scared of breaking it, and read it one more time.
o0O0o
That night, the night before everything changed, they went to bed early. As usual.
They had supper at six thirty, all four of them, the children and them two, like they always did. Arthur and Dom then watched the news on CBS, while the children were playing in James' room. They sent the kids to bed at eight thirty, changing them into their pajamas and reading James a bedtime story (because Philipa claimed she was too old for these childish stories now). Then, they watched the first half of a documentary on BBC and, at nine thirty, they decided to call it a night and went to bed. They read in bed for about half an hour (Dom read a novel while Arthur read the National Geographic) and they turned the lights off at ten. As usual.
It was their routine, it was how almost every night happened. And Dom, as he lay in bed next to Arthur (whose breathing was even and slow, though Dom knew he was not sleeping yet), contemplated the regular and predictable life they had, the reassurance it brought them, the security it surrounded them with. The more he thought about it, the less he cared about all those people saying routine was the end of excitement and fun, the end of life. Dom felt like his life was just starting. Or at least, he did not think he would ever want to go back to the dangerous lifestyle he used to have. He had had enough of that. (Or so he thought.)
He felt Arthur's arm snaking around his waist and he smiled lightly as he rested his palm on Arthur's forearm. He could feel the other man's breath on the back of his neck and could almost feel the tired smile forming on those lips he could not see. It was comfortable. In fact, Dom felt like he could stay like this forever. (He did not know when he had become so boring and almost romantic, but it made Arthur smile and, as corny as that sounded, he liked Arthur's smile, so he did not care if that meant being a sap.)
“Dom?” he heard Arthur's voice say in a whisper, his name floating above his ear, almost inaudible, but still there.
“Yes?” Dom asked in a tired voice. He was starting to feel his limbs go numb, he could sense sleep approaching.
But the silence that followed kept him awake. He frowned at Arthur's lack of response and partly turned his head to look in Arthur's direction. Because of their position, he could not twist his neck enough to see the other man's face, but he felt he could at least hear him better this way. That was, if he was to speak again.
“Arthur?”
“Just... good night, Dom.”
Dom frowned again. These obviously were not the words Arthur had meant to say.
But when he felt Arthur's nose settling itself between his shoulder blades and Arthur's breath becoming even again (though that still did not mean he was asleep), Dom decided to let it go and simply turned his head back into its original position.
“Good night, Arthur.”
Sleep took over only seconds later.
o0O0o
Cobb stood in the middle of the hotel room, looking around for anything that he might have forgotten. The bed was perfectly made, the carpet perfectly clean and the walls, still as cold as when he had first stepped into this place. His luggage was next to the door, neatly piled up, just waiting for him.
He had made up his mind. He did not know if this was the right decision, but he could be sure of nothing anyway. It felt right, and that was all that mattered.
He walked over to the door, ready to leave, and he was starting to grab his bags when one last look at the room made him notice he had left the note on the table again. The bag in his hand found its way back on the floor and Dom made his way to the table, taking the note between his fingers, just as delicately as before. He carefully straightened it with his thumbs, as it was now all crumpled and even a little dirty from all the time spent in Dom's pocket. The latter man sighed as he read for the millionth time the words that were written on it.
I love you.
In itself, it did not make much sense, but it meant everything to Dom. He could imagine Arthur waking up in the middle of the night (like he did sometimes, but not very often, as far as Dom knew), sitting at his desk and burying his face in his hands, willing sleep to come back. And then, just like that, Dom could imagine him grabbing a piece of paper and writing those words. Maybe for no reason at all. Just because writing it was so much easier than saying it out loud.
They had never said they loved each other. Not out loud. It was weird, it was awkward, but it was mainly very difficult. Talking about traveling, about the children, about school or about work was easy. They did it all the time without a problem. But those three small words that meant nothing and yet everything were just too hard to say. It put them out of their comfort zone and they had silently agreed to never say it. (Or they simply had never had the courage to do it.)
Dom sighed, slipping the note in his back pocket as he went back to the door and grabbed his luggage.
Hanging from his right shoulder was a small bag with his clothes. In his right hand, a slightly bigger (but still quite small) bag with all the things he had thought he might need for this “mission” (including things he had not used in over a year, not since the inception). In his left hand, a plane ticket that he had just taken out of his front pocket. It was yellow and green, not too big nor too small. When folded, it fitted perfectly in his pocket.
He looked at it one more time, as if to convince himself that this was the right decision. That this was the right thing to do.
“I'd love to visit China someday.”
The words echoed in his mind, reminiscence of times that seemed so far away now.
China would not give him Arthur. Just like Australia, France, Sweden, Germany, Japan and Brazil had not. Going to China did not really make sense.
But at the moment, it just felt right. And that was all that mattered.
He slipped the ticket back in his pocket and, after one last look at the room, opened the door and slipped through it, closing it slowly and silently behind him.
Recipient: coldthermistor
Author: misschatelle
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Arthur/Cobb
Word count: 6199
Author’s notes: ATTEMPT at action plot. Please let me emphasize the word ATTEMPT. (This is as close to an action plot as I could get. I really hope you will enjoy it, even though it's probably not what you had in mind.)
Daily Routine
The secret of your future is hidden in your daily routine.
-Mile Murdock
The night before it happened, they went to bed early. As usual.
They had supper at six thirty, all four of them, the children and them two, like they always did. Arthur and Dom then watched the news on CBS, while the children were playing in James' room. They sent the kids to bed at eight thirty, changing them into their pajamas and reading James a bedtime story (because Philipa claimed she was too old for these childish stories now). Then, they watched the first half of a documentary on BBC and, at nine thirty, they decided to call it a night and went to bed. They read in bed for about half an hour (Dom read a novel while Arthur read the National Geographic) and they turned off the lights at ten. As usual.
That night had been so normal. Like all the other nights. Dom had a thought, before falling asleep, for the routine they had developed in such a short amount of time. He never would have imagined. And it made him smile. His life had taken such a turn... and it was so refreshing. He would not have believed it only a year ago, but a routine was comforting. And quiet. But mainly reassuring.
Dom felt Arthur's arm snaking around his waist, felt his breath on the back of his neck, and Dom fell asleep not long after that, dreaming of nothingness. (His sleep, while dreamless, was refreshing. And that was... different. To wake up and feel rested instead of empty and tired.)
When he woke up the following morning, Arthur was gone.
o0O0o
A month after the inception, Arthur started visiting Cobb. At first, it was once a week. He helped with the children and the household chores (though he was terrible at cooking, and Cobb had learned the hard way not to let him in charge of the kitchen). Cobb had not thought he could need that kind of help, but he was soon grateful for his friend's visits. It was harder than he had thought it would be to go back to a normal life, with children who scream, cry and have their moods. Being with them was the best gift he could have ever received, but it hurt to hear them asking for their mother, even after all this time. (It seemed that their father's return had given them hope for their mother to come back too.) Arthur was surprisingly good with children (not that Cobb did not know already, but it was always a shock to see him work his magic on the kids). He could distract them from their difficult questions and avoid terrible tantrums that always left Cobb with a shooting headache. Having Arthur over was relaxing.
In fact, he did not notice the increasing frequency of Arthur's visits right away. It simply reached a point where it just felt natural to see him at his door. As if he belonged in this house.
(And maybe he did.)
o0O0o
Dom waited. A few hours. And he waited. A few more hours. And he waited. A long time. Staring at the door, hoping to see Arthur opening it and stepping in, plastic bags in his hands and a smile on his face, just coming back from the store with food for breakfast.
Except it was way past breakfast now. The children were in school and the afternoon was on its way towards the evening. Dom had not eaten, he was too worried. The children would be back soon, but he could not even think about that because Arthur was not home and Dom could not even remember how he made it without him the house before. Arthur was an integral part of the family and his help was necessary.
But that was not the point. Arthur had been gone for a while now; he had left without leaving a note, without calling, without giving any sort of warning. That was not like him. Dom was worried.
So he waited. Waited. And waited. Welcomed the children back home, lied when they asked where Arthur was, cooked, served their dinner and sent them to watch TV when they were done eating. And waited. Waited. Until the children were in bed and the house was dark and quiet. And then Dom knew Arthur was not coming back.
And all Dom could think of was... why?
Maybe Arthur had gotten tired of it all.
But that did not make sense. Arthur did not run away from his problems. He faced them. When something bothered him, he said it. If something did not suit him, he changed it. Arthur was not a coward.
But was it really about cowardice?
Nothing made sense. Arthur always answered his phone. Always. But even after the fifty voice messages Dom had left him, he had not called back. Dom did not understand. How could it be? How could this even be happening?
Why?
He covered his face with his hands, feeling powerless and useless, overwhelmed and ignorant, and when he lowered his hands and raised his eyes again, it was only then that he saw the note on the desk.
o0O0o
One day, Arthur forced him to go to for a walk in the park. It was strange because Arthur did not strike him as the going-for-a-walk type, but Cobb had learned a long time ago to stop questioning Arthur's ideas and behaviour.
“You're always at home. It's unhealthy. You'll turn into a dry crouton soon if you don't move,” Arthur had said, and while it was probably meant to offend Cobb, it had instead left a smile on his lips.
And that was how they ended up in the park, walking in the snow and enjoying the fresh air. Cobb hated winter. He hated the cold, hated the snow, hated everything that came with it. But a walk with Arthur was surprisingly nice.
Maybe it was just the act of going out after all this time that felt nice. He had indeed spent too much time inside for it to be healthy. He had wanted to devote as much of his time as possible to his children, and he had. But when they were at school, he tended to pace the rooms and watch television absentmindedly, waiting for their return. He tended to forget what it felt like to have a life of his own.
Not that going for a walk really constituted a life in itself, but it was a change. And it felt nice.
They stopped at a Chinese cake shop and bought things Cobb had not even thought possible until he saw and tasted them, like pork buns, egg tarts and unidentified pastries with sausages in them. They ate them while walking and had fun trying to pronounce to Chinese names of the pastries (Arthur was a lot better than Cobb, which was not as annoying as it sounded).
“I'd like to visit China someday,” Arthur said at some point, and Cobb was surprised that he had not gone yet. Not that Cobb had been to China in the past, but Arthur was so... free. Cobb could not imagine what could have kept the younger man from just going.
He did not ask, though. He simply smiled, and Arthur smiled back. And they kept on walking while eating the remains of the Chinese pastries, which tasted a lot better than they sounded.
o0O0o
Next thing Dom knew, he was on a plane heading to Canada. That was where he was to meet Ariadne. Eames was to join them there. Calling them for such a reason after all this time had been weird. He had not given many details, but he knew he had worried them by mentioning Arthur.
He had left the children at their grandmother's house, telling them it was a little vacation for them, and they had liked the idea. The look on his mother-in-law, however, had told him she was scared. She was scared of him leaving again, for a long time. Or even for good. The children did not deserve this, not after all they had gone through, and Dom knew it. And he felt terrible for leaving again. But he had to. He could not just stay at home, taking care of his children while not knowing where Arthur was, not knowing if he was safe... or alive. Maybe he was exaggerating. But he just could not pretend everything was fine when it definitely was not.
He had reassured his mother-in-law with a smile, silently telling her that he would be back soon, that this was not for good, that this was not another prolonged absence. He was not doing this again. She had weakly smiled back, looking only slightly reassured, but that was certainly the best reaction he could get from her. He had kissed the children goodbye and had waved as he was pulling back from the driveway.
The truth was, he was scared too.
o0O0o
One night, Cobb met with Miles for a drink, for old times' sake (they used to have such a great relationship before Mal's death), and he came back home way past the children's curfew. He had somehow expected to find the house loud and chaotic, but he instead found it quiet and as neat as when he had left it, maybe even more. Not that he had ever doubted Arthur's skills with children (or maybe a little at the beginning, when Philipa was still a baby, because Arthur looked like a lot of things, but certainly not like a babysitter; Cobb had soon learned to accept the fact that life was full of oddities like that). But even after all these years, it was weird to imagine that a not-even-30-year-old man with no wife, no girlfriend, no children and practically no family could be better with children than he, Dominic Cobb, 36-year-old widower and actual father of the two children concerned. It was quite upsetting, in a way.
But when Cobb reached the door of Philipa's room and saw her half-asleep, all tucked in her sheets while Arthur was reading her a bedtime story (that was before she decided she was too old for these things), he remembered why he could not find it in himself to blame Arthur, or feel anything near anger or bitterness towards him. The at-work Arthur and at-home Arthur were two completely different people and Cobb always felt privileged to get a glimpse of the latter, even though these felt less and less like furtive glimpses as time passed and these occurrences became more and more frequent. Cobb crossed his arms, leaned on the door frame and watched Arthur smiling and gesturing along with the story he was telling, as Philipa's blinking was slowing down, until her eyes simply remained closed.
Seeing Philipa was not asleep, Arthur closed the book and slowly got up as he put it down on the bedside table without making a sound. Then, he turned around and stopped moving when he saw Cobb standing in the doorway, watching him. There was a moment of hesitation, as if Arthur was wondering if he should go back to the neutral side of his personality (the one he used at work) and it took him a few seconds before he started walking towards the door, closing it silently behind him. The moment that followed was a little awkward; Cobb knew Arthur had been caught with his guards down (which had been happening quite often lately, and it seemed to shock Arthur just as much as it did for Cobb). But Cobb smiled, and laid a hand on Arthur's shoulder, squeezing a little as he led him towards the living room, where they were to watch television together, like they did every night.
Arthur's smile was faint, but Cobb still saw it.
o0O0o
Seeing Eames and Ariadne again, nearly a year after the inception, was weird. They had talked on the phone, sharing news, keeping each other up to date, but they had not been in each other's presence for months. Dom had expected their future reunion to be happier, filled with jokes, with Eames' sarcasm and with Ariadne's constantly rolling eyes (usually attached to a smile that betrayed her amusement). But the circumstances instead made it gloomy and awkward. (It was probably related with the fact that he had expected Arthur to be a part of it.)
Greetings were brief. The circumstances did not call for chatting and catching up on lost time. (It was not like they really felt like it anyway.)
“Without knowing who the enemy is, we can hardly plan anything,” Ariadne said, and her use of the word 'enemy' almost made Dom smile. She was still so young, with clear ideas of the world being black and white, even though she was aware of all the gray that was in it.
“In fact, without knowing if there even is an 'enemy', it's hard to do anything,” Eames added, and Dom wanted to hate him for it, even though he was obviously right. They did not know anything about what happened. Arthur could have been kidnapped (though the option seemed very unlikely, with someone as skilled as Arthur) or he could have just left (which also seemed highly unlikely to Dom, but that was harder to defend).
His two friends (or colleagues, he never knew how to call them) seemed to wait for Dom to speak up, but it did not happen. From the corner of his eyes, the older of the three could see Eames raise his eyebrows swiftly in an unimpressed way. Dom did not know when Eames had become so unhelpful. But then, again, Dom had called for an urgent meeting, worrying them about Arthur and all he had to say was that he woke up one morning and Arthur was gone. It was not commonplace nor was it entirely “normal”, but it did not exactly fit into their definition of worrying or dangerous. They had seen so much through the different jobs they had taken, they knew that unexplainable things happened and sometimes had to remain unexplained. (After all, this kind of job could get out of hands and become too much for someone to take... leaving sometimes seemed like the best option. Even though Arthur had not participated in many missions since the inception...)
Dom was not ready to file Arthur's disappearance into this category of events.
o0O0o
Arthur had been spending a lot of time with them. In fact, he was in their home pretty much all the time. But Cobb really noticed that fact only when Philipa came to him one day and asked him where Arthur was. He replied that he did not know, maybe at work, maybe at home. His use of the word “home” left Philipa puzzled.
“But he's not home. I've looked everywhere, he's not here. When will he be back home again?”
Cobb did not know what to answer. It seemed impossible to tell exactly when their home had also become Arthur's. It had just happened. Almost naturally. And when Cobb thought of it, of “home” and “Arthur” in a same sentence, it somehow made sense.
It just did. And that did not shock him as much as it should have.
o0O0o
“I think we should go to Australia,” Eames had said. He apparently had contacts over there that could possibly help.
And so to Australia they were heading. Dom did not even know if this really made sense, if this track was really logical, but he had no idea what else to do, where to start, where to look. Australia was a start. At least, they were doing something. And it reassured him that Ariadne and Eames were actually trying to help and did not dismiss him for his lack of evidence. (It certainly had to do with the fact that it was Arthur. Had it been anybody else, Dom would have been left all alone on this quest. But everyone had a soft spot for Arthur and no one could bear the idea of him being in danger.)
At least, they were trying. If not for Dom himself, they were doing it for Arthur.
But for how long? How long would it take before they got tired of it? Dom was realistic. They would not find Arthur in Australia. With a little bit of luck, they would find clues. But the chances of this trip being very helpful were slim. How many plane rides would it take before Ariadne and Eames decided that this was a lost cause, one that is not worth the effort. They cared for Arthur, but their past experiences had also taught them about difficult decisions in order to keep going forward.
He did not know how long it would take before reason took over feelings. And that scared him. Very much.
o0O0o
Their first kiss was not romantic.
It happened in the kitchen. Cobb's kitchen, though with time it seemed to have become Arthur's too. They had been washing the dishes for the past half hour (children ate so much, and why they did not have a dishwasher yet was a mystery), talking of different and unrelated subjects (sports, tv, children, cats...), when it happened. In fact, Cobb would not be able to tell exactly how it happened, how it started. It just did. As if it was natural. But it was not. And yet, it was. In a way.
They kissed, bright yellow rubber gloves in Cobb's hands and wet plates in Arthur's, the sink full of dirty water right next to them. There was a dirty plate on the counter; it had contained a lasagna not so long ago, but now it only had stains of sauce and small bits of meat in it. It had been lying on the counter for a few days and it was already starting to smell. Not just a little, in fact. (It was the reason they were washing the dishes now; the entire kitchen was starting to smell of old lasagna.) Also, in the living room, not so far away, the television was turned on, and they could hear the cheers from the football game that was on.
It was anything but romantic.
Cobb would not have wanted it to be anyway.
When they parted, they smiled slightly awkwardly and went back to washing the dishes, in silence this time. But the silence was not uncomfortable. They were sharing it, just like they had been sharing words a little earlier, and it felt just as natural, and Cobb thought that, maybe, this was what really made this moment perfect.
o0O0o
As expected, Australia did not offer anything that could be considered actually helpful. Eames' contacts had not been able to give any kind of information that could eventually lead them to answers. And God knew Eames' contacts were powerful and knowledgeable. That they did not know anything was destabilizing, but not really surprising. They had expected it.
On the other end of the room, Eames and Ariadne were discussing other options, making a new plan of action. They seemed to be working very hard on this case. But from the way they were (intentionally) talking loud enough for him to hear what they were saying, and also from the way they were not talking together the same way they usually did (as if they were playing a role, not being themselves), Dom knew they were doing this for him, and not so much for Arthur anymore. (Or had it ever been for Arthur? How could he be sure of it? Of anything?)
They did not believe in this. Dom would never doubt the sincerity of their friendship with Arthur, but he would also never doubt their cynicism, the one they got from their job when it was not simply a natural characteristic. They did not seem to believe Arthur was in danger (the guy was wise, after all, wiser than most of their possible enemies). But, mostly, they did not believe they had a chance to find him. Whether he was intentionally or unintentionally hiding, the guy knew how to hide. Even his closest friends could never know where he was if he decided to keep it a secret.
Dom could feel it: his two friends would stop trying. Probably very soon.
Too soon.
o0O0o
Arthur had pretty much moved in at this point. It was not exactly official, no one had actually asked for it to happen, no one had really talked about it. It was just the way it was. Arthur was there almost everyday, and when he was not, it felt like something (obviously someone) was missing.
One night, Cobb asked Arthur to sleep in his bed with him instead of on the couch, like he usually did. He said it would be more comfortable this way and, considering that Arthur was spending the night over so often, he would end up having back pains if he slept on the old worn couch every night. Arthur hesitated, but eventually said yes. (It was not very hard to convince him, in fact.) When Cobb thought of it, it was probably when it became “official”.
It was also when Cobb started to become Dom. Not that Arthur had never called him Dom in the past, but “Cobb” had just seemed to suit them best so far. That, of course, was in the past. By seeing each other every day, by slipping into a routine including the children and their television sessions and many other things, they reached a point where “Cobb” seemed out of place, and “Dominic” just felt... too formal (probably more than his last name, in fact). So it became “Dom”.
The day Arthur told them over dinner that he was selling his apartment, it did not come as a surprise. It just seemed like the logical thing to do. They all nodded and kept eating. (Even though Dom could not help the smile that crept on his lips as he chewed the overcooked spaghetti Arthur had made just for them.)
o0O0o
After Australia, France, Sweden, Germany, Japan and Brazil, along with approximately thirty unhelpful contacts, Eames and Ariadne had “the talk” with him. (Or in fact, Ariadne did, Eames just sat in the corner, apparently torn between annoyance and pity.) They were going back home. This thing was not going anywhere. It was not worth the effort anymore. But they were there for him if he needed them (Dom was not sure what that meant) and, if they learned anything, they would let him know right away (which was not as reassuring as it was meant to be, Dom thought).
Dom could not say this was not expected. He was actually surprised they had stuck with him this long. He should be grateful, he guessed.
He shook Eames' hand, hugged Ariadne. Assured them he was fine, it was not a problem, he understood (though he did not, he did not understand anything that was happening to him).
“Go back to your kids,” Eames said before stepping out of the hotel room they had been sharing for the past two days. Dom nodded. This was not a sign of agreement, both of them knew it, but Eames simply offered a smile (not a very convinced one, Dom noted) and left.
Once they were gone, Dom sat in a chair, the nearest one, and stayed there for a long time. Maybe he used this time to think, or maybe he did not. He was not sure if whatever went through his mind during this undetermined amount of time could be considered thinking.
A question came out of it, stronger than all the other ones that haunted his mind.
Is it worth it?
o0O0o
One night, they were watching a movie, just the two of them, like they did almost every night (except sometimes it was the football game, other times a documentary, other times whatever was on television). That night, it was a movie. Edward Scissorhands. (Dom had been shocked to hear Arthur had never seen it. Dom was not a big fan of cinema, but there were classics he believed everyone should see. Arthur was no exception to that “everyone” rule.)
Arthur, on the other hand, had been shocked to hear Dom had not eaten popcorn in at least two years, and had made a point of making some before the movie started.
They sat on the couch, next to one another, Dom's arm around Arthur's shoulders as they watched the movie and ate popcorn, and Dom was struck with the domesticity of the scene. It was probably at this exact moment that he realized how... normal his life had become.
Normal. No danger, no stress. It was absolutely destabilizing to think about it, and yet, it was incredibly reassuring. He never would have thought it could be this agreeable to have a boring life, with a routine and nothing really extraordinary. In fact, the lack of extraordinary events was the most extraordinary thing he had experienced in a very long time.
At some point, he turned his head to look a Arthur, the undeniable source of this routine, which seemed unbelievable and even a little ironic, considering how intense and bold Arthur used to be. (He probably still was, Dom thought, though he could not be sure.)
The weirdest thing in all this probably was that, even after all these years, Dom still felt like he did not know much about Arthur. They were spending all of their time together, and it seemed like they were sharing everything and that they understood each other better than anyone else. But there always was this feeling that there was more to Arthur than he let be known.
Arthur was a living mystery and, when Dom thought about it, it was probably what was so fascinating (and attractive) about him. He made Dom curious and, he had to admit it, Dom found it exciting.
He never thought it could be worrying.
o0O0o
Cobb sat in his hotel room all night. (He only realized for how long he had stayed there when the sun rose again, and he vaguely wondered where the time had gone. Not that he really cared for the answer, though.)
All night long, he thought of Arthur, of how he did not know much about him in the end, though he felt otherwise. He thought of what Ariadne and Eames had told him (but mostly what they had implied), and he wondered if they were right. If he was being unreasonable, if he was making assumptions based on feelings rather than facts. After all, Arthur was so secretive, how could Dom pretend to know him enough to suppose he could not have left on his own, just like that, without a warning? Who was he to claim this? Who was he to pretend he knew Arthur better than anyone else? Arthur was wise, and if there were things he did not want to be known, then they would remain unknown. No matter what.
Dom thought of the children, and he felt terrible for what he was doing to them. Again, he was leaving them. Not permanently, but this did not excuse much. In fact, it excused nothing. By walking in and out of their lives like this, he was only making things worse. He had not seen this sudden “journey” (or whatever this was) as walking out of their lives, not at first. It was just temporary. And he needed to go look for Arthur, because Arthur was in danger and needed him. Or at least, that was what Dom had convinced himself of. Now, he was not sure. He was not sure of anything. All he knew was that he was being a miserable father, and if he kept on doing things like that to them... well, he did not want to imagine the hurt he would cause them every single time. He could not live with this.
Or could he?
He had no idea of what he had to do, of what he should do. He had no idea what he should think or believe. He was lost. He did not believe he could sort things out on himself. But he had to. He was alone, now. He had to make a decision. Do something.
But he did not know what. So he sat there, in the armchair next to the window, and he saw the sun rise from the corner of his eye. (He did not pay it much attention.)
He had no idea where Arthur was, why he was there, what he was doing there, when he would be back, if he ever would. He wanted to find him, but he knew he most likely never would. Not on his own. Not without a track. Not without a clue.
His chances were almost nonexistent. This was ridiculous. This was not worth it, not worth the effort nor the energy. Ariadne and Eames were right, he should go home. It did not feel like that was the right thing to do, but it was. It had to be. He did not have Arthur, but he still had his children. That was what mattered, right? That was what was really important, what he should focus on.
He had to go home. As soon as possible.
And as he had these thoughts, he saw something on the table. A folded piece of paper, one he remembered having left there without really thinking about it.
The note Arthur had left him on the desk before leaving. Nothing near an explanation or a clue, but it was the reason why Dom was here in the first place, in a hotel room in Brazil, blindly looking for a man that had left no trace. Or almost no trace.
Dom got up and walked over to the table and picked up the piece of paper delicately, as if scared of breaking it, and read it one more time.
o0O0o
That night, the night before everything changed, they went to bed early. As usual.
They had supper at six thirty, all four of them, the children and them two, like they always did. Arthur and Dom then watched the news on CBS, while the children were playing in James' room. They sent the kids to bed at eight thirty, changing them into their pajamas and reading James a bedtime story (because Philipa claimed she was too old for these childish stories now). Then, they watched the first half of a documentary on BBC and, at nine thirty, they decided to call it a night and went to bed. They read in bed for about half an hour (Dom read a novel while Arthur read the National Geographic) and they turned the lights off at ten. As usual.
It was their routine, it was how almost every night happened. And Dom, as he lay in bed next to Arthur (whose breathing was even and slow, though Dom knew he was not sleeping yet), contemplated the regular and predictable life they had, the reassurance it brought them, the security it surrounded them with. The more he thought about it, the less he cared about all those people saying routine was the end of excitement and fun, the end of life. Dom felt like his life was just starting. Or at least, he did not think he would ever want to go back to the dangerous lifestyle he used to have. He had had enough of that. (Or so he thought.)
He felt Arthur's arm snaking around his waist and he smiled lightly as he rested his palm on Arthur's forearm. He could feel the other man's breath on the back of his neck and could almost feel the tired smile forming on those lips he could not see. It was comfortable. In fact, Dom felt like he could stay like this forever. (He did not know when he had become so boring and almost romantic, but it made Arthur smile and, as corny as that sounded, he liked Arthur's smile, so he did not care if that meant being a sap.)
“Dom?” he heard Arthur's voice say in a whisper, his name floating above his ear, almost inaudible, but still there.
“Yes?” Dom asked in a tired voice. He was starting to feel his limbs go numb, he could sense sleep approaching.
But the silence that followed kept him awake. He frowned at Arthur's lack of response and partly turned his head to look in Arthur's direction. Because of their position, he could not twist his neck enough to see the other man's face, but he felt he could at least hear him better this way. That was, if he was to speak again.
“Arthur?”
“Just... good night, Dom.”
Dom frowned again. These obviously were not the words Arthur had meant to say.
But when he felt Arthur's nose settling itself between his shoulder blades and Arthur's breath becoming even again (though that still did not mean he was asleep), Dom decided to let it go and simply turned his head back into its original position.
“Good night, Arthur.”
Sleep took over only seconds later.
o0O0o
Cobb stood in the middle of the hotel room, looking around for anything that he might have forgotten. The bed was perfectly made, the carpet perfectly clean and the walls, still as cold as when he had first stepped into this place. His luggage was next to the door, neatly piled up, just waiting for him.
He had made up his mind. He did not know if this was the right decision, but he could be sure of nothing anyway. It felt right, and that was all that mattered.
He walked over to the door, ready to leave, and he was starting to grab his bags when one last look at the room made him notice he had left the note on the table again. The bag in his hand found its way back on the floor and Dom made his way to the table, taking the note between his fingers, just as delicately as before. He carefully straightened it with his thumbs, as it was now all crumpled and even a little dirty from all the time spent in Dom's pocket. The latter man sighed as he read for the millionth time the words that were written on it.
I love you.
In itself, it did not make much sense, but it meant everything to Dom. He could imagine Arthur waking up in the middle of the night (like he did sometimes, but not very often, as far as Dom knew), sitting at his desk and burying his face in his hands, willing sleep to come back. And then, just like that, Dom could imagine him grabbing a piece of paper and writing those words. Maybe for no reason at all. Just because writing it was so much easier than saying it out loud.
They had never said they loved each other. Not out loud. It was weird, it was awkward, but it was mainly very difficult. Talking about traveling, about the children, about school or about work was easy. They did it all the time without a problem. But those three small words that meant nothing and yet everything were just too hard to say. It put them out of their comfort zone and they had silently agreed to never say it. (Or they simply had never had the courage to do it.)
Dom sighed, slipping the note in his back pocket as he went back to the door and grabbed his luggage.
Hanging from his right shoulder was a small bag with his clothes. In his right hand, a slightly bigger (but still quite small) bag with all the things he had thought he might need for this “mission” (including things he had not used in over a year, not since the inception). In his left hand, a plane ticket that he had just taken out of his front pocket. It was yellow and green, not too big nor too small. When folded, it fitted perfectly in his pocket.
He looked at it one more time, as if to convince himself that this was the right decision. That this was the right thing to do.
“I'd love to visit China someday.”
The words echoed in his mind, reminiscence of times that seemed so far away now.
China would not give him Arthur. Just like Australia, France, Sweden, Germany, Japan and Brazil had not. Going to China did not really make sense.
But at the moment, it just felt right. And that was all that mattered.
He slipped the ticket back in his pocket and, after one last look at the room, opened the door and slipped through it, closing it slowly and silently behind him.