Inception fic: Justement, Je Regrette Les Zombies (6/14)
Title: Justement, Je Regrette Les Zombies (6/14)
Fandom/Pairing: Inception, Arthur/Eames
Overall Rating: PG-13
Overall Warnings: Language, violence, character un-death
Wordcount: 4,444
Notes: Not many zombies in this chapter, I'm afraid. But some nice traveling. :) I love you, towel_master, you're awesome.
Chapter One
Summary: After college, all Arthur wanted to do was live a normal life hacking into government databases. But if the flesh-hungry zombies are any indication, the universe has different plans.
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Previous Chapter
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November 8, 2013: 8:00 am, 760 miles from destination
“I said stop, you two! Honestly, are you or aren’t you grown men?” Ariadne practically screamed in frustration, and sighed, and ran a hand through her hair, her other hand on the wheel. “You should be very glad that I’m too busy driving to pound you or believe you me-”
“Ariadne, stop,” Arthur said.
“-and don’t think that I wouldn’t do it, because honest to God-”
“Ariadne, stop,” Arthur insisted.
“-until you’re bleeding out of your ears or tearing out your hair, like I am, because I never signed up to be a baby-sitter, and-”
“Ariadne, pet, I think Arthur is trying to-” Eames attempted to cut in, eyes closed and fingers rubbing a circle into his temple.
“-sick and tired of you two fighting all the goddamn time-”
“Ariadne!”
Finally, the young woman paused in her rant to send Arthur a tired glare in the mirror. Her lips were pressed together angrily, and Arthur took a moment to feel bad about pushing her this far. But he really had no idea what it was about Eames and being stuck in a car that brought out the worst in him. In both of them.
“What, Arthur.”
“Pull over. There’s a man flagging us down a few yards ahead, and he doesn’t look infected. The least we can do is talk to him.” Arthur leans forward from the back, pointing out the windshield to indicate the disheveled person down the road.
If his shoulder brushed Eames’s, no one noticed.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Eames said with a shrug. “We can always shoot him later.”
Ariadne nodded and pulled over, and the three of them got out of the car.
The man waited anxiously a few paces away, regarding them with a kind of spasmodic fear, like a startled rabbit waiting for something bad to happen. He had dark, curling hair and a tan face, and eyes that flicked nervously to the right every few seconds.
He was familiar to Arthur.
“Nash,” the hacker greeted almost pleasantly. The effect was ruined by the gun in his hand.
“Arthur? Arthur! Oh thank God,” Nash whispered. “Thank God. You-you’re not infected, right? You’re clean?”
“We should be asking you,” Eames interrupted. “You’re the only standing out on the side of the road like a bloody loony.”
“I’m not sick. Arthur, tell them I’m not sick!” Nash’s eyes jumped from Eames to Arthur and back again, before settling pleadingly on Ariadne. “Please. I just want to get out of this hellhole. Wherever you’re going has to be better than this.”
The three companions exchanged looks. As much as the man seemed…unstable, he actually was healthy. And besides, all three of them were loathe to leave a man stranded in the middle of the freakin’ apocalypse.
After a long discussion, and a few minutes of Arthur rummaging around for something-a manila folder?-in the glove compartment that he briefly thumbed through, they decided Nash could come with them.
“Welcome to the Great Trans-American Road Trip, where the fun never stops,” Eames said, completely seriously, as they all got back into the car; Eames driving, Arthur shotgun, and Ariadne and Nash in the back.
Ariadne rolled her eyes, and Nash blinked crazily at him, but Eames decided Arthur’s small breath of laughter was worth all of the weird looks in the world.
-ooo-
6:00 pm, 550 miles from destination
“Oh my God, do they ever stop? They’ve been going on for hours.”
Ariadne glanced into the rearview mirror at the two men in the back, checking to make sure that the strained silence they’d fallen into wasn’t because one of them had killed the other. Satisfied that they were both breathing, she slid her eyes to Nash in the passenger’s seat.
“Sometimes,” she said, trying to sound comforting. “When one or both of them is asleep.”
Nash groaned and slid farther down in his seat, putting his hands over his ears as he caught sight of Eames’s arm slipping fractionally into Arthur’s personal space and waiting for the inevitable.
“And when does that happen?” he asked Ariadne. “Rough estimate?”
She laughed wryly, shaking her head, and didn’t answer.
-ooo-
7:20 pm, 525 miles from destination
Arthur glanced away from the road when Eames’s phone began to ring. “Who has your number?” he asked, trying not to sound too accusing, because really, he had never really wanted Eames’s new number in the first place.
“Beats me,” Eames said, and pressed ‘accept’.
After a few seconds of listening to whoever was on the other end of the line, Eames’s eyes gained a hard glint, and Arthur leaned forward to put on a CD, to give him some privacy. He was curious as hell, but now was not the time to start eavesdropping on Eames’s personal calls; not if he wanted to make it to Bonanza in one piece.
But, of course, he did anyway.
He couldn’t make out much, since Eames had lowered his voice when he started speaking. Something about left and my mother and dead and go to hell. But it was low and dark and furious, and ended with never call me again.
And then Eames hung up.
He wasn’t forthcoming with information, and Arthur didn’t ask. The man never called back.
-ooo-
10:45 pm, 500 miles from destination
The house they’d chosen to spend the night in was made of brick, strong and sturdy. They blocked the windows after clearing the house, and soon settled down to sleep, with Arthur taking the first watch because he’d squabbled over it with Eames and won.
The night was quiet, and Arthur didn’t know whether or not to be pleased by that. For one, it set his mind to rest about there being bands of the undead marauding around outside the house. But it also made every small sound an explosion in the dark.
He didn’t flinch a little at the creak of the floor board behind him.
However, he did turn and level his Glock at the offending noise maker, but lowered it immediately when he saw it was Eames.
“You should be sleeping,” he said, turning his back on Eames and leaning against the couch cushions again. “It’s been a rough day.”
The conman sighed and came around to the front of the couch, slightly sleep ruffled, but far too awake for Arthur tastes.
“Can I sit with you?” Eames offered by way of reply.
Arthur moved over a little.
“Darling, we need to talk,” the Brit said when he was settled; close enough to Arthur so that their thighs were touching, even though there was enough room for both of them to sit without contact.
“Do we?” Arthur asked, but he was already turning to look at Eames again, expression unreadable.
“You know that we do.” Eames chuckled humorlessly and scrubbed a hand across his face. “Arthur, what are we doing?”
“We’re driving across the country to get to Colorado, to find colleagues and friends that we’re hoping will still be functioning,” Arthur answered simply, closing the door on any other answer, fully understanding that that was not what Eames was talking about. “With Ariadne and Nash. Presently, I’m keeping watch, and you should be sleeping.”
Eames’s shoulders sagged tiredly.
“Can’t sleep, Arthur. Haven’t been able to for a while.” He shook his head. “Not since we…but enough about that. Sorry to bother you.”
He stood, stood from the couch like he was wearing the weight of the world instead of the horrible paisley shirt that Arthur was so fond of, and began to walk.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps-
And Arthur told himself that when Eames had gone five steps, he would let him go. Let him walk away from this and never feel anything for him again.
Four steps.
Five steps.
Arthur had always been a liar.
“James,” he said softly, but Eames heard it. “James, come sit with me for a while.”
It wasn’t an apology. He wasn’t begging. Eames came to sit with him on the couch, thighs barely brushing, and they didn’t talk. They didn’t fix anything, didn’t right past wrongs or pour their hearts out to each other. They were not that kind of men.
Instead, Eames laid his head against Arthur’s shoulder and dropped into sleep, and Arthur placed his free hand on Eames’s knee, but didn’t lean back against him, didn’t press one, soft kiss to the top of his head, didn’t breathe three words that he wished he could be brave enough to say to Eames when the conman could hear them.
He told himself that he didn’t do any of these things, but he didn’t wake Eames, either.
He stayed awake for Eames’s shift, instead.
-oooxooo-
November 9, 2013: 6:30 am, 490 miles from destination
“So, where are we going?” Nash asked, after Eames finished telling him which turn to take. The younger man seemed more relaxed than the day before, but that just may have been the effect of a night of sleep not worrying if something was going to sneak up on him and tear his throat out.
“Colorado,” Eames answered shortly, glancing at Arthur in the back. He and Ariadne were dozing, leaning against each other in a way that looked ridiculously uncomfortable, but Eames supposed it was better than bashing your head against the window after every bump in the road.
He sighed.
Arthur had been too tired to talk when they’d woken up, since he had kept watch for both four-hour periods instead of waking Eames to take his. The conman frowned a little to himself, wondering if things would continue to be awkward between him and Arthur, or if they’d actually managed to fix something and things would get better. In all truth, they couldn’t get worse, short of homicide.
“What’s in Colorado?” Nash prompted, shaking Eames from his thoughts.
Behind them, Ariadne cracked an eye open.
“A friend of mine. He used to work with the government, but he just freelances now,” Eames replied, glancing back to the map so he wouldn’t be tempted to watch Arthur’s mouth curl into a concentrated frown while he slept.
“Oh. I see.”
Ariadne bit her lip, trying not to give herself away with all of the questions she was dying to ask. How did Eames know this man? Had Eames worked with the government, too? What kind of criminal was Eames, exactly? Ponzi schemes, a government chemist…the man was a mystery.
But she couldn’t say anything. She was supposed to be asleep, and she figured Eames wouldn’t take kindly to eavesdropping, even if they were in a car. God, she was frustrated.
She closed her eyes again, just in time for Eames to flick his gaze back to the rearview mirror.
Time went on.
Eames liked Nash, he decided after a while. The man was quiet, and didn’t really pry or ask questions that weren’t necessary. So what if he looked shifty or seemed a little twitchy? The silence between them was a bit strained, but at least it wasn’t oppressive.
It was going to be a long drive.
-ooo-
10:30 am, 410 miles from destination
Finished stretching her legs, Ariadne grinned cheerfully and replaced Nash in the driver’s seat, wondering if she’d ever get her chance to question Eames. “I can’t say it enough, Arthur. I love driving your car,” she sighed as she slid it into drive.
Arthur just hummed from the back where he had his feet braced against Eames’s seat, laptop balanced on his knees. His BlackBerry was in the cup holder, creating his very own wireless hotspot via the Atheros chip he’d carefully fused into the control board, and he was searching for anything related to the vaccine.
Mostly, though, he was looking for news of LA.
“You know,” Ariadne said after a few long minutes, when it seemed she wouldn’t get the chance to talk to Eames on her own, “this awkward silence thing is really starting to bother me. Arthur, do you have any CDs or anything?”
“Check the glove compartment,” the hacker replied distractedly, and Ariadne motioned for Eames to do just that. After a few minutes of digging through the documents and printouts Arthur had left to multiply in the space, he found a few thin plastic CD cases.
Pulling them out, Eames glanced over the selection.
“Bach, Mozart, Chopin, Edith Piaf…darling, none of this is good music to drive to,” he said, sounding disappointed, like he’d expected to find something else.
Ariadne flicked her eyes over to the compartment. “What about that one?”
“Which one?” Eames asked, bending forward again to sift through what must have been the remains of a small forest. Hidden under only three or four sheets was a clear plastic case, unmarked, with a white burned CD inside. Eames pulled it out and showed it to Ariadne.
Taking her eyes off the road again, she squinted at it. “What does it say? Arthur, either you labeled this with broken hands, or you did it drunk in the dark. There’s no other excuse for that.”
That was the chicken-scratch that marred the white of the CD with thick black sharpie lines, spelling something out in a rough approximation of the English language.
Arthur peered up from his screen momentarily to glimpse the disc in Eames’s hand before dropping his head further down behind his computer. “I didn’t write it,” he said, as if that explained everything. And, it did, at least to an extent. “Eyes on the road.”
“Well, what does it say?” Ariadne asked again. “If you’d tell me, I wouldn’t have to risk all of our lives in a horrendous, bloody, and painful accident.”
“Dramatic,” Eames chuckled, and turned to study the front of the CD. When he realized what it was, his smile changed from amused to wondering, with a hint of something Ariadne couldn’t describe as she watched him in the mirror.
“…Eames?” she prodded after a minute. Arthur still hadn’t looked up from his screen. She couldn’t see more than the very top of his head behind the sleek black of the computer’s finish.
“It’s Bon Jovi and Meat Loaf,” the conman said. “It’s just a mix of some of the better songs. I-I didn’t think you’d kept it, Arthur.”
The hacker rolled one shoulder in the most uncomfortable shrug Nash had ever seen.
“I like it,” was Arthur’s only reply. “And, since you were wondering, Ariadne: it was dark, we were drunk, but the only reason it’s illegible is because Eames was writing with his right hand.”
No one spoke again, and finally Eames opened the case and inserted the CD into the player. For the next hour or so, they listened to the two singers belt out heartfelt lyrics to wild nights and love and loves lost.
The silence was gone, but the tension just grew to fill the space it left behind.
-ooo-
4:00 pm, 300 miles from destination
Eames laughed at him as he reached into the glove compartment to pull out another handful of papers.
“Would you be quiet?” Arthur gritted out, but Ariadne was glad to hear there wasn’t any real anger in it. Now if Eames didn’t start anything they would avoid a fight that day.
“Sorry, sorry, Arthur. I’m just surprised you let it get so messy in there. And why the urge to clean it now?” Eames looked over from the driver’s seat to briefly study the hacker, who was leaning forward to sort out the papers in his glove compartment.
“I need something to do,” Arthur said, paperclipping a stack and setting it aside before moving onto the next one. “I…I don’t really like to look in here.” He turned his face away and laid the second stack on top of the first, followed by a small library of neatly labeled manila folders.
Eames was about to ask why when Arthur pulled out a pouch made from a napkin, curling letters on the side declaring it to be from Le Casino de Monte Carlo in faded blue ink. If he were to open it, Eames knew he’d find a single red die, loaded to land on a four. Following the pouch, Arthur drew out a spool of lime green thread, a postcard from Greece, and a crumpled pack of cigarettes, and a gun with an engraving on the grip.
The dim light from the window glinted off the words, “Truly great madness cannot be overcome without significant intelligence.” Eames had though it fit Arthur quite well-he still did.
“Don’t say anything,” Arthur warned quietly under his breath, cleaning each item of crumbs and dirt and small grains of sand that had gathered over the years and returning them to the compartment.
And Eames thought of the shirt in his bag with its row of neat, lime green stitches (third date, a knife fight, but he hadn’t gotten hurt. Arthur had seen to that), the pen clipped to his wallet from that hotel in Ioannina, and the silver lighter with a green dragon curled around the case that Arthur had so recently returned to him. There was an identical pistol in his own possession-it said, “Fight till the last gasp.”
Arthur had engraved Shakespeare on his second anniversary gift.
“Oh, Arthur. I would never say anything.”
-ooo-
9:00 pm, 220 miles from destination
Arthur rechecked all of the boards over the windows and all of the locks on the doors for the third time before finally sighing and stepping back. He really wasn’t too worried about the fortifications Eames had made to the cottage, but he needed something to do with his hands.
“Arthur, would you sit down?” the conman groaned from the couch where he was finishing up cleaning his guns-again-before taking his watch. “You’re making me doubt myself.”
Arthur laughed and finally came away from the locks. “I don’t believe there’s anything in the world that could make you doubt yourself.”
Eames grabbed Arthur’s elbow and gently tugged him down onto the couch next to him. The hacker didn’t resist, instead leaning against Eames with a contented sigh. It was so easy to forget that things hadn’t worked out…
Eames shifted and tucked Arthur’s head under his chin.
“Tomorrow…” he began, and then faltered slightly.
Arthur closed his eyes and turned his face slightly into Eames’s chest. “Tomorrow,” he agreed. He was proud that there wasn’t any waver in his voice, nothing to betray how much he wished tomorrow would never come.
“You-you don’t have to leave when we get to Colorado, Arthur,” Eames said softly. “You could-”
“I can’t,” Arthur broke in, gently. He wondered if it was possible to want something too much-to finally reach the cliché of dying of heartbreak. If he hadn’t been so sad, he might have laughed at how pathetic he was being right then. “James-God, I want to. You know what? I really want to.” He felt Eames’s arms wrap around his waist. “But I can’t. I have to find out if Cobb’s okay. If the kids are. I have to know.”
“I understand, darling, I do.” Eames kissed the top of Arthur’s head, before pulling away. “It still will never work between us, will it? No matter how much I want it to.”
Arthur stood, smoothing out the creases in his pants. “You’ve seen how it is with us, James. It’s always been like that. We fight too much to ever be together.” He tried to keep the regret and the pain out of his voice, but Eames had always been too good at reading him.
“Darling-”
“I’m going to grab some sleep. Wake me for my shift.” He couldn’t let Eames say anything to change his mind. It wouldn’t work-they both knew it. They’d had this conversation in their heads, in their dreams, too many times to count. And Arthur didn’t think he could handle breaking up with Eames again.
“I will, Arthur. Goodnight.”
-oooxooo-
November 10, 2013: 10:00 am, 140 miles from destination
“So, is today the day we get to Colorado?” Nash asked, not really helping to fix the tension that was doing its best to smother them all.
“Yeah,” Arthur said shortly. He seemed reluctant to continue, but did after a moment, turning slightly to look at Nash and Ariadne in the back. “We actually have to talk about that.”
Eames studiously kept his eyes on the road.
“When we reach Colorado, I’m not staying there,” Arthur said. Nash cocked his head confusedly, but Ariadne just regarded him neutrally.
“What? Where are you going?” Nash demanded. “I thought we were all going to Colorado.”
“You are,” Arthur replied. “I have to get to LA. It’s important.”
“LA? Don’t waste your time,” Nash said. “It’s gone. Wiped off the map, on Monday morning.”
Eames watched Arthur’s hands go white-knuckled on the armrest.
“Is that so?” Arthur asked, quietly. “Then I’m going to the closest refugee camp near the remains of the city.”
“It’s a lost cause, I’m telling you. They destroyed the entire city, and everyone inside. Anyone you were looking for is dead.” Nash flinched away from Ariadne’s smack in surprise. “What? I thought he’d want to know.”
“No.”
“No?” Nash blinked. “Well, sorry, then. Next time I’ll just keep it to myself!”
“No.” Arthur shook his head. “I don’t believe it. Cobb wouldn’t die like that. He’s too proud to get taken down by anything but a face to face duel.” He shook his head again, staring off out the window.
Ariadne met Eames’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Arthur,” the conman began softly, but Arthur just shook his head minutely, and to Eames it was a clear sign to back off. So instead of saying anything else, he just reached over and took Arthur’s hand.
-ooo-
1:00 pm, 80 miles from destination
Eames let Arthur drive.
At the rest stop, they parked in the silent lot and let Nash and Ariadne head into the building to get snacks or whatever it was that they wanted. Eames stayed by the car with his ex, silently supporting him in the way only he could.
Arthur would talk when he was ready, and Eames would listen.
Finally the hacker sighed, bracing his hands behind him and hopping up onto the hood of the car. He leaned over and pulled the gun out of Eames’s waistband, straightening up and lazily shooting the zombie across the lot in the head before it could notice them.
“Nice shot,” the conman whistled, shading his eyes from the weak autumn sunlight with his hand as he watched the zombie stagger and fall.
“He’s not dead,” Arthur said as he handed the gun back to Eames. He relaxed, as much as he ever did, and laid against the windshield, tipping his face to stare up at the clouds that were starting to roll in.
“How do you know?”
Arthur lifted a shoulder in an unconcerned shrug, closing his eyes. It hit Eames then how much Arthur trusted him. To be this relaxed when a man-eating monster could appear out of nowhere…but at least Eames believed the trust to be well deserved.
He would never let anything happen to Arthur.
“Instinct,” Arthur replied, shifting a little before letting the warmth of the metal sink into his stiff muscles.
“You know, the first time I met you I never would have pegged you for one who ran on instinct.” Eames tipped his head to favor Arthur with a teasing smile, only to find it lost on his companion’s still-closed eyes. Nevertheless, Arthur’s lips responded to the tone, curling up a little at the corners.
“But darling, I don’t want you to get your hopes up simply over instinct,” Eames continued. “It’s possible that Cobb never-”
“Of course it’s possible. Hell, it’s even likely. He hasn’t called, I haven’t found anything online, Nash says the city’s gone…In all likelihood, Cobb is dust. Mal and the kids and Miles and Marie, too. But I can hope, right? I know that they’re okay. Because they have to be. Because if they’re gone, what have I got left? My family’s across the ocean, and it’s unlikely that I’ll get to see them again until I learn to fly a plane. I’m leaving Ariadne in Colorado with you-”
“What? First of all, Arthur, this doesn’t sound anything like you. Where has your famous drive gone? Your backbone? Really now-”
Arthur laughed, right then. He threw his head back and laughed, long and loud, dimples flashing in the sunlight.
“I’m sorry, James. I’m sorry.” He breathed deeply to calm himself, angling his head towards Eames with a small regretful smile. “It’s been crazy. The world’s overrun with zombies, my best friend and his family-not to mention the entire population of Los Angeles and probably several cities like it-are dead, and I’ve done nothing but fight with you since I found out you were okay.”
“You can hardly be blamed for your reactions, Arthur. It’s been a stressful time for you.” Eames decided to risk it and laid his hand on Arthur’s arm. “Had you ever killed anyone?”
“Before all this?” Arthur sighed and shook his head. “No, I’d never killed anyone before that. I’d only ever shot people in the shoulder, or the leg. Or the chest, that one time in Rio.”
“I remember,” Eames said. “You nearly died yourself, while we were there. You should have let me look at that graze sooner, before it got infected.”
Arthur shrugged and slid off the car as he caught sight of Ariadne and Nash returning from their ‘shopping’ trip. Ariadne had made Nash carry the bags.
“Hey guys! …How are you feeling, Arthur?” Ariadne pulled the car door open and Nash shoved the bags into the seat.
“I’m fine, Ariadne.” Under her skeptical look, Arthur only thinned his mouth. “Really. I’ll be all right. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“So, will you be staying in Colorado with us?” Nash piped up from where he was standing on the other side of the car. “There’s nothing left for you to look for.”
“Thank you for that lovely reminder,” Eames hissed at him, casting a worried look at Arthur, but the hacker seemed not to be listening.
“I might. I’m not sure what I’m doing anymore.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the car keys, tossing them to Eames. “You drive. We have four hours left to go before we hit Bonanza.”
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Next Chapter
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So, there is the next installment! Sorry about not having a chapter of Quotes up this week, I was really busy. Hopefully next week. ;)
I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! :)
Fandom/Pairing: Inception, Arthur/Eames
Overall Rating: PG-13
Overall Warnings: Language, violence, character un-death
Wordcount: 4,444
Notes: Not many zombies in this chapter, I'm afraid. But some nice traveling. :) I love you, towel_master, you're awesome.
Chapter One
Summary: After college, all Arthur wanted to do was live a normal life hacking into government databases. But if the flesh-hungry zombies are any indication, the universe has different plans.
-----------------
Previous Chapter
---------------
November 8, 2013: 8:00 am, 760 miles from destination
“I said stop, you two! Honestly, are you or aren’t you grown men?” Ariadne practically screamed in frustration, and sighed, and ran a hand through her hair, her other hand on the wheel. “You should be very glad that I’m too busy driving to pound you or believe you me-”
“Ariadne, stop,” Arthur said.
“-and don’t think that I wouldn’t do it, because honest to God-”
“Ariadne, stop,” Arthur insisted.
“-until you’re bleeding out of your ears or tearing out your hair, like I am, because I never signed up to be a baby-sitter, and-”
“Ariadne, pet, I think Arthur is trying to-” Eames attempted to cut in, eyes closed and fingers rubbing a circle into his temple.
“-sick and tired of you two fighting all the goddamn time-”
“Ariadne!”
Finally, the young woman paused in her rant to send Arthur a tired glare in the mirror. Her lips were pressed together angrily, and Arthur took a moment to feel bad about pushing her this far. But he really had no idea what it was about Eames and being stuck in a car that brought out the worst in him. In both of them.
“What, Arthur.”
“Pull over. There’s a man flagging us down a few yards ahead, and he doesn’t look infected. The least we can do is talk to him.” Arthur leans forward from the back, pointing out the windshield to indicate the disheveled person down the road.
If his shoulder brushed Eames’s, no one noticed.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Eames said with a shrug. “We can always shoot him later.”
Ariadne nodded and pulled over, and the three of them got out of the car.
The man waited anxiously a few paces away, regarding them with a kind of spasmodic fear, like a startled rabbit waiting for something bad to happen. He had dark, curling hair and a tan face, and eyes that flicked nervously to the right every few seconds.
He was familiar to Arthur.
“Nash,” the hacker greeted almost pleasantly. The effect was ruined by the gun in his hand.
“Arthur? Arthur! Oh thank God,” Nash whispered. “Thank God. You-you’re not infected, right? You’re clean?”
“We should be asking you,” Eames interrupted. “You’re the only standing out on the side of the road like a bloody loony.”
“I’m not sick. Arthur, tell them I’m not sick!” Nash’s eyes jumped from Eames to Arthur and back again, before settling pleadingly on Ariadne. “Please. I just want to get out of this hellhole. Wherever you’re going has to be better than this.”
The three companions exchanged looks. As much as the man seemed…unstable, he actually was healthy. And besides, all three of them were loathe to leave a man stranded in the middle of the freakin’ apocalypse.
After a long discussion, and a few minutes of Arthur rummaging around for something-a manila folder?-in the glove compartment that he briefly thumbed through, they decided Nash could come with them.
“Welcome to the Great Trans-American Road Trip, where the fun never stops,” Eames said, completely seriously, as they all got back into the car; Eames driving, Arthur shotgun, and Ariadne and Nash in the back.
Ariadne rolled her eyes, and Nash blinked crazily at him, but Eames decided Arthur’s small breath of laughter was worth all of the weird looks in the world.
-ooo-
6:00 pm, 550 miles from destination
“Oh my God, do they ever stop? They’ve been going on for hours.”
Ariadne glanced into the rearview mirror at the two men in the back, checking to make sure that the strained silence they’d fallen into wasn’t because one of them had killed the other. Satisfied that they were both breathing, she slid her eyes to Nash in the passenger’s seat.
“Sometimes,” she said, trying to sound comforting. “When one or both of them is asleep.”
Nash groaned and slid farther down in his seat, putting his hands over his ears as he caught sight of Eames’s arm slipping fractionally into Arthur’s personal space and waiting for the inevitable.
“And when does that happen?” he asked Ariadne. “Rough estimate?”
She laughed wryly, shaking her head, and didn’t answer.
-ooo-
7:20 pm, 525 miles from destination
Arthur glanced away from the road when Eames’s phone began to ring. “Who has your number?” he asked, trying not to sound too accusing, because really, he had never really wanted Eames’s new number in the first place.
“Beats me,” Eames said, and pressed ‘accept’.
After a few seconds of listening to whoever was on the other end of the line, Eames’s eyes gained a hard glint, and Arthur leaned forward to put on a CD, to give him some privacy. He was curious as hell, but now was not the time to start eavesdropping on Eames’s personal calls; not if he wanted to make it to Bonanza in one piece.
But, of course, he did anyway.
He couldn’t make out much, since Eames had lowered his voice when he started speaking. Something about left and my mother and dead and go to hell. But it was low and dark and furious, and ended with never call me again.
And then Eames hung up.
He wasn’t forthcoming with information, and Arthur didn’t ask. The man never called back.
-ooo-
10:45 pm, 500 miles from destination
The house they’d chosen to spend the night in was made of brick, strong and sturdy. They blocked the windows after clearing the house, and soon settled down to sleep, with Arthur taking the first watch because he’d squabbled over it with Eames and won.
The night was quiet, and Arthur didn’t know whether or not to be pleased by that. For one, it set his mind to rest about there being bands of the undead marauding around outside the house. But it also made every small sound an explosion in the dark.
He didn’t flinch a little at the creak of the floor board behind him.
However, he did turn and level his Glock at the offending noise maker, but lowered it immediately when he saw it was Eames.
“You should be sleeping,” he said, turning his back on Eames and leaning against the couch cushions again. “It’s been a rough day.”
The conman sighed and came around to the front of the couch, slightly sleep ruffled, but far too awake for Arthur tastes.
“Can I sit with you?” Eames offered by way of reply.
Arthur moved over a little.
“Darling, we need to talk,” the Brit said when he was settled; close enough to Arthur so that their thighs were touching, even though there was enough room for both of them to sit without contact.
“Do we?” Arthur asked, but he was already turning to look at Eames again, expression unreadable.
“You know that we do.” Eames chuckled humorlessly and scrubbed a hand across his face. “Arthur, what are we doing?”
“We’re driving across the country to get to Colorado, to find colleagues and friends that we’re hoping will still be functioning,” Arthur answered simply, closing the door on any other answer, fully understanding that that was not what Eames was talking about. “With Ariadne and Nash. Presently, I’m keeping watch, and you should be sleeping.”
Eames’s shoulders sagged tiredly.
“Can’t sleep, Arthur. Haven’t been able to for a while.” He shook his head. “Not since we…but enough about that. Sorry to bother you.”
He stood, stood from the couch like he was wearing the weight of the world instead of the horrible paisley shirt that Arthur was so fond of, and began to walk.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps-
And Arthur told himself that when Eames had gone five steps, he would let him go. Let him walk away from this and never feel anything for him again.
Four steps.
Five steps.
Arthur had always been a liar.
“James,” he said softly, but Eames heard it. “James, come sit with me for a while.”
It wasn’t an apology. He wasn’t begging. Eames came to sit with him on the couch, thighs barely brushing, and they didn’t talk. They didn’t fix anything, didn’t right past wrongs or pour their hearts out to each other. They were not that kind of men.
Instead, Eames laid his head against Arthur’s shoulder and dropped into sleep, and Arthur placed his free hand on Eames’s knee, but didn’t lean back against him, didn’t press one, soft kiss to the top of his head, didn’t breathe three words that he wished he could be brave enough to say to Eames when the conman could hear them.
He told himself that he didn’t do any of these things, but he didn’t wake Eames, either.
He stayed awake for Eames’s shift, instead.
-oooxooo-
November 9, 2013: 6:30 am, 490 miles from destination
“So, where are we going?” Nash asked, after Eames finished telling him which turn to take. The younger man seemed more relaxed than the day before, but that just may have been the effect of a night of sleep not worrying if something was going to sneak up on him and tear his throat out.
“Colorado,” Eames answered shortly, glancing at Arthur in the back. He and Ariadne were dozing, leaning against each other in a way that looked ridiculously uncomfortable, but Eames supposed it was better than bashing your head against the window after every bump in the road.
He sighed.
Arthur had been too tired to talk when they’d woken up, since he had kept watch for both four-hour periods instead of waking Eames to take his. The conman frowned a little to himself, wondering if things would continue to be awkward between him and Arthur, or if they’d actually managed to fix something and things would get better. In all truth, they couldn’t get worse, short of homicide.
“What’s in Colorado?” Nash prompted, shaking Eames from his thoughts.
Behind them, Ariadne cracked an eye open.
“A friend of mine. He used to work with the government, but he just freelances now,” Eames replied, glancing back to the map so he wouldn’t be tempted to watch Arthur’s mouth curl into a concentrated frown while he slept.
“Oh. I see.”
Ariadne bit her lip, trying not to give herself away with all of the questions she was dying to ask. How did Eames know this man? Had Eames worked with the government, too? What kind of criminal was Eames, exactly? Ponzi schemes, a government chemist…the man was a mystery.
But she couldn’t say anything. She was supposed to be asleep, and she figured Eames wouldn’t take kindly to eavesdropping, even if they were in a car. God, she was frustrated.
She closed her eyes again, just in time for Eames to flick his gaze back to the rearview mirror.
Time went on.
Eames liked Nash, he decided after a while. The man was quiet, and didn’t really pry or ask questions that weren’t necessary. So what if he looked shifty or seemed a little twitchy? The silence between them was a bit strained, but at least it wasn’t oppressive.
It was going to be a long drive.
-ooo-
10:30 am, 410 miles from destination
Finished stretching her legs, Ariadne grinned cheerfully and replaced Nash in the driver’s seat, wondering if she’d ever get her chance to question Eames. “I can’t say it enough, Arthur. I love driving your car,” she sighed as she slid it into drive.
Arthur just hummed from the back where he had his feet braced against Eames’s seat, laptop balanced on his knees. His BlackBerry was in the cup holder, creating his very own wireless hotspot via the Atheros chip he’d carefully fused into the control board, and he was searching for anything related to the vaccine.
Mostly, though, he was looking for news of LA.
“You know,” Ariadne said after a few long minutes, when it seemed she wouldn’t get the chance to talk to Eames on her own, “this awkward silence thing is really starting to bother me. Arthur, do you have any CDs or anything?”
“Check the glove compartment,” the hacker replied distractedly, and Ariadne motioned for Eames to do just that. After a few minutes of digging through the documents and printouts Arthur had left to multiply in the space, he found a few thin plastic CD cases.
Pulling them out, Eames glanced over the selection.
“Bach, Mozart, Chopin, Edith Piaf…darling, none of this is good music to drive to,” he said, sounding disappointed, like he’d expected to find something else.
Ariadne flicked her eyes over to the compartment. “What about that one?”
“Which one?” Eames asked, bending forward again to sift through what must have been the remains of a small forest. Hidden under only three or four sheets was a clear plastic case, unmarked, with a white burned CD inside. Eames pulled it out and showed it to Ariadne.
Taking her eyes off the road again, she squinted at it. “What does it say? Arthur, either you labeled this with broken hands, or you did it drunk in the dark. There’s no other excuse for that.”
That was the chicken-scratch that marred the white of the CD with thick black sharpie lines, spelling something out in a rough approximation of the English language.
Arthur peered up from his screen momentarily to glimpse the disc in Eames’s hand before dropping his head further down behind his computer. “I didn’t write it,” he said, as if that explained everything. And, it did, at least to an extent. “Eyes on the road.”
“Well, what does it say?” Ariadne asked again. “If you’d tell me, I wouldn’t have to risk all of our lives in a horrendous, bloody, and painful accident.”
“Dramatic,” Eames chuckled, and turned to study the front of the CD. When he realized what it was, his smile changed from amused to wondering, with a hint of something Ariadne couldn’t describe as she watched him in the mirror.
“…Eames?” she prodded after a minute. Arthur still hadn’t looked up from his screen. She couldn’t see more than the very top of his head behind the sleek black of the computer’s finish.
“It’s Bon Jovi and Meat Loaf,” the conman said. “It’s just a mix of some of the better songs. I-I didn’t think you’d kept it, Arthur.”
The hacker rolled one shoulder in the most uncomfortable shrug Nash had ever seen.
“I like it,” was Arthur’s only reply. “And, since you were wondering, Ariadne: it was dark, we were drunk, but the only reason it’s illegible is because Eames was writing with his right hand.”
No one spoke again, and finally Eames opened the case and inserted the CD into the player. For the next hour or so, they listened to the two singers belt out heartfelt lyrics to wild nights and love and loves lost.
The silence was gone, but the tension just grew to fill the space it left behind.
-ooo-
4:00 pm, 300 miles from destination
Eames laughed at him as he reached into the glove compartment to pull out another handful of papers.
“Would you be quiet?” Arthur gritted out, but Ariadne was glad to hear there wasn’t any real anger in it. Now if Eames didn’t start anything they would avoid a fight that day.
“Sorry, sorry, Arthur. I’m just surprised you let it get so messy in there. And why the urge to clean it now?” Eames looked over from the driver’s seat to briefly study the hacker, who was leaning forward to sort out the papers in his glove compartment.
“I need something to do,” Arthur said, paperclipping a stack and setting it aside before moving onto the next one. “I…I don’t really like to look in here.” He turned his face away and laid the second stack on top of the first, followed by a small library of neatly labeled manila folders.
Eames was about to ask why when Arthur pulled out a pouch made from a napkin, curling letters on the side declaring it to be from Le Casino de Monte Carlo in faded blue ink. If he were to open it, Eames knew he’d find a single red die, loaded to land on a four. Following the pouch, Arthur drew out a spool of lime green thread, a postcard from Greece, and a crumpled pack of cigarettes, and a gun with an engraving on the grip.
The dim light from the window glinted off the words, “Truly great madness cannot be overcome without significant intelligence.” Eames had though it fit Arthur quite well-he still did.
“Don’t say anything,” Arthur warned quietly under his breath, cleaning each item of crumbs and dirt and small grains of sand that had gathered over the years and returning them to the compartment.
And Eames thought of the shirt in his bag with its row of neat, lime green stitches (third date, a knife fight, but he hadn’t gotten hurt. Arthur had seen to that), the pen clipped to his wallet from that hotel in Ioannina, and the silver lighter with a green dragon curled around the case that Arthur had so recently returned to him. There was an identical pistol in his own possession-it said, “Fight till the last gasp.”
Arthur had engraved Shakespeare on his second anniversary gift.
“Oh, Arthur. I would never say anything.”
-ooo-
9:00 pm, 220 miles from destination
Arthur rechecked all of the boards over the windows and all of the locks on the doors for the third time before finally sighing and stepping back. He really wasn’t too worried about the fortifications Eames had made to the cottage, but he needed something to do with his hands.
“Arthur, would you sit down?” the conman groaned from the couch where he was finishing up cleaning his guns-again-before taking his watch. “You’re making me doubt myself.”
Arthur laughed and finally came away from the locks. “I don’t believe there’s anything in the world that could make you doubt yourself.”
Eames grabbed Arthur’s elbow and gently tugged him down onto the couch next to him. The hacker didn’t resist, instead leaning against Eames with a contented sigh. It was so easy to forget that things hadn’t worked out…
Eames shifted and tucked Arthur’s head under his chin.
“Tomorrow…” he began, and then faltered slightly.
Arthur closed his eyes and turned his face slightly into Eames’s chest. “Tomorrow,” he agreed. He was proud that there wasn’t any waver in his voice, nothing to betray how much he wished tomorrow would never come.
“You-you don’t have to leave when we get to Colorado, Arthur,” Eames said softly. “You could-”
“I can’t,” Arthur broke in, gently. He wondered if it was possible to want something too much-to finally reach the cliché of dying of heartbreak. If he hadn’t been so sad, he might have laughed at how pathetic he was being right then. “James-God, I want to. You know what? I really want to.” He felt Eames’s arms wrap around his waist. “But I can’t. I have to find out if Cobb’s okay. If the kids are. I have to know.”
“I understand, darling, I do.” Eames kissed the top of Arthur’s head, before pulling away. “It still will never work between us, will it? No matter how much I want it to.”
Arthur stood, smoothing out the creases in his pants. “You’ve seen how it is with us, James. It’s always been like that. We fight too much to ever be together.” He tried to keep the regret and the pain out of his voice, but Eames had always been too good at reading him.
“Darling-”
“I’m going to grab some sleep. Wake me for my shift.” He couldn’t let Eames say anything to change his mind. It wouldn’t work-they both knew it. They’d had this conversation in their heads, in their dreams, too many times to count. And Arthur didn’t think he could handle breaking up with Eames again.
“I will, Arthur. Goodnight.”
-oooxooo-
November 10, 2013: 10:00 am, 140 miles from destination
“So, is today the day we get to Colorado?” Nash asked, not really helping to fix the tension that was doing its best to smother them all.
“Yeah,” Arthur said shortly. He seemed reluctant to continue, but did after a moment, turning slightly to look at Nash and Ariadne in the back. “We actually have to talk about that.”
Eames studiously kept his eyes on the road.
“When we reach Colorado, I’m not staying there,” Arthur said. Nash cocked his head confusedly, but Ariadne just regarded him neutrally.
“What? Where are you going?” Nash demanded. “I thought we were all going to Colorado.”
“You are,” Arthur replied. “I have to get to LA. It’s important.”
“LA? Don’t waste your time,” Nash said. “It’s gone. Wiped off the map, on Monday morning.”
Eames watched Arthur’s hands go white-knuckled on the armrest.
“Is that so?” Arthur asked, quietly. “Then I’m going to the closest refugee camp near the remains of the city.”
“It’s a lost cause, I’m telling you. They destroyed the entire city, and everyone inside. Anyone you were looking for is dead.” Nash flinched away from Ariadne’s smack in surprise. “What? I thought he’d want to know.”
“No.”
“No?” Nash blinked. “Well, sorry, then. Next time I’ll just keep it to myself!”
“No.” Arthur shook his head. “I don’t believe it. Cobb wouldn’t die like that. He’s too proud to get taken down by anything but a face to face duel.” He shook his head again, staring off out the window.
Ariadne met Eames’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Arthur,” the conman began softly, but Arthur just shook his head minutely, and to Eames it was a clear sign to back off. So instead of saying anything else, he just reached over and took Arthur’s hand.
-ooo-
1:00 pm, 80 miles from destination
Eames let Arthur drive.
At the rest stop, they parked in the silent lot and let Nash and Ariadne head into the building to get snacks or whatever it was that they wanted. Eames stayed by the car with his ex, silently supporting him in the way only he could.
Arthur would talk when he was ready, and Eames would listen.
Finally the hacker sighed, bracing his hands behind him and hopping up onto the hood of the car. He leaned over and pulled the gun out of Eames’s waistband, straightening up and lazily shooting the zombie across the lot in the head before it could notice them.
“Nice shot,” the conman whistled, shading his eyes from the weak autumn sunlight with his hand as he watched the zombie stagger and fall.
“He’s not dead,” Arthur said as he handed the gun back to Eames. He relaxed, as much as he ever did, and laid against the windshield, tipping his face to stare up at the clouds that were starting to roll in.
“How do you know?”
Arthur lifted a shoulder in an unconcerned shrug, closing his eyes. It hit Eames then how much Arthur trusted him. To be this relaxed when a man-eating monster could appear out of nowhere…but at least Eames believed the trust to be well deserved.
He would never let anything happen to Arthur.
“Instinct,” Arthur replied, shifting a little before letting the warmth of the metal sink into his stiff muscles.
“You know, the first time I met you I never would have pegged you for one who ran on instinct.” Eames tipped his head to favor Arthur with a teasing smile, only to find it lost on his companion’s still-closed eyes. Nevertheless, Arthur’s lips responded to the tone, curling up a little at the corners.
“But darling, I don’t want you to get your hopes up simply over instinct,” Eames continued. “It’s possible that Cobb never-”
“Of course it’s possible. Hell, it’s even likely. He hasn’t called, I haven’t found anything online, Nash says the city’s gone…In all likelihood, Cobb is dust. Mal and the kids and Miles and Marie, too. But I can hope, right? I know that they’re okay. Because they have to be. Because if they’re gone, what have I got left? My family’s across the ocean, and it’s unlikely that I’ll get to see them again until I learn to fly a plane. I’m leaving Ariadne in Colorado with you-”
“What? First of all, Arthur, this doesn’t sound anything like you. Where has your famous drive gone? Your backbone? Really now-”
Arthur laughed, right then. He threw his head back and laughed, long and loud, dimples flashing in the sunlight.
“I’m sorry, James. I’m sorry.” He breathed deeply to calm himself, angling his head towards Eames with a small regretful smile. “It’s been crazy. The world’s overrun with zombies, my best friend and his family-not to mention the entire population of Los Angeles and probably several cities like it-are dead, and I’ve done nothing but fight with you since I found out you were okay.”
“You can hardly be blamed for your reactions, Arthur. It’s been a stressful time for you.” Eames decided to risk it and laid his hand on Arthur’s arm. “Had you ever killed anyone?”
“Before all this?” Arthur sighed and shook his head. “No, I’d never killed anyone before that. I’d only ever shot people in the shoulder, or the leg. Or the chest, that one time in Rio.”
“I remember,” Eames said. “You nearly died yourself, while we were there. You should have let me look at that graze sooner, before it got infected.”
Arthur shrugged and slid off the car as he caught sight of Ariadne and Nash returning from their ‘shopping’ trip. Ariadne had made Nash carry the bags.
“Hey guys! …How are you feeling, Arthur?” Ariadne pulled the car door open and Nash shoved the bags into the seat.
“I’m fine, Ariadne.” Under her skeptical look, Arthur only thinned his mouth. “Really. I’ll be all right. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“So, will you be staying in Colorado with us?” Nash piped up from where he was standing on the other side of the car. “There’s nothing left for you to look for.”
“Thank you for that lovely reminder,” Eames hissed at him, casting a worried look at Arthur, but the hacker seemed not to be listening.
“I might. I’m not sure what I’m doing anymore.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the car keys, tossing them to Eames. “You drive. We have four hours left to go before we hit Bonanza.”
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Next Chapter
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So, there is the next installment! Sorry about not having a chapter of Quotes up this week, I was really busy. Hopefully next week. ;)
I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! :)