[undefined verse] 001: This love affair is cruel

[littlspecificty]

[ Note: Continued from this thread and the corresponding textsArthur left the bar and went back to his apartment, having decided to rent one instead of living out of a hotel room for this job. He ended up getting out his own bottle of vodka and took a few swigs of that over the next hour, glaring at and avoiding Eames' newest text that he had

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[artfulforger]

When Arthur didn't answer the text, Eames started with calling. And calling. And calling again. He called when he walked out to hail a cab, and he called in the ride back to his hotel. What he should have been doing was sleeping, was catching enough sleep to be sane and calm and ready to handle this. Instead he called before he took a shower, and then standing there, dripping and cursing before stalking to the closet.

He'd rung Arthur maybe a couple dozen times when he finally set down the phone to dress. Clean jeans, a shirt that hurt the eyes between the pattern and jangle of colors. Sitting down to pull on loafers, he glanced once more at the phone. This time when he started dialing, it wasn't Arthur's number he dialed but others. Dominic. Contacts who might know Arthur better than Eames.

Apparently he'd never known Arthur. He thought he had but he'd known an image, an ideal, maybe a dream that he'd allowed himself while he was awake. Whatever it had been, he knew the truth now. Or thought he did. Arthur was looking for a relationship, for something meaningful with someone worthy of him. And in Arthur's estimation Eames was nothing but a whore. He'd be damned if he left for Mombasa without hearing that from the man himself though.

It was well after dawn and into the day by the time he'd gotten an address. Maybe he would be wrong but he didn't stop, catching a cab to the address and banging on the door.

[littlspecificty]

Arthur's ringtone, luckily for him, had been a song he liked so, through all those calls he thought he had just fallen asleep with his iPod on again (and on repeat apparently).

While Arthur did want a relationship... it wasn't something he wanted to admit to. Especially when he knew he shouldn't be wanting one. They were too much work and too much could be put on the line if he got too close. There was also the fact that what relationships he had ever had, they hadn't lasted and the way they had ended had left Arthur feeling even more bitter and hollow than his life in general had already made him feel. To get involved with anyone - especially someone like Eames - was something he needed to avoid.

He needed to because if he ever had another one and it ended like all the others - suddenly and not allowing Arthur any sense of closure - the point man wasn't sure how much he would have left. He didn't think he'd have enough to build himself back up again, should something in him collapse and the rest follow.

And the banging noise he heard at far too early an hour made him groan miserably and try to bury his head between the cushions. Anything to try and stop that horrid sound.

[artfulforger]

Deep down Eames knew he was handling this wrong. He should take time, give them both a couple of days and then start easy. A text answered. Maybe an email. Hell, he could go with flowers and a bottle of that vodka he knew Arthur drank and try it that way. That would have been the logical answer, one that might do some good.

Instead he was banging on the door with the side of his fist.

"Open the door," he called, not caring if neighbors were watching. He had to do this. Face to face. If Arthur threw him out, told him goodbye - mostly sober and to his face - then fuck it, he'd go. He wouldn't let him tell him off in text though. Not when he made it perfectly clear that he thought so little of Eames that he didn't even consider that all the years of flirting and fighting and snarking had just been what? A long and drawn out seduction?

Thinking about it just made him pound harder on the door.

[littlspecificty]

Arthur made another miserable sound and pressed a pillow he had reached for blindly to one side of his head, trying to block out that sound.

If Arthur hadn't been so hungover or still half asleep, he would have moved to get his gun. But he was hungover and still half asleep. So he didn't do anything but groan into the cushions and try to will his head to stop pounding so hard it felt like it would burst his.

[artfulforger]

Pain lanced through Eames' hand, not caring if he broke something. You get one chance for some things and you took it.

"Dammit, Arthur..." Muttering the words as the next thunk to the door was his brow. Leaning against the door, eyes closed as he got out his phone and pushed send for Arthur's number.

Least if he kept dialing him, maybe the neighbors wouldn't call the cops. Maybe. After the display, he was half waiting for them to show up and mildly curious if he could remember the name on the identification he carried.

[littlspecificty]

When the banging stopped Arthur let out a vocal sound of relief, his whole body slowly easing itself back into sleep. Or at least it had started to.

His phone went off on the floor right next to the couch and made Arthur curse into the cushions. He loved Sia but any fucking sound right now was just murder on his head.

He flailed and blindly reached for the phone and when he finally got it he answered with a rough, half-slurred, half-growled, "Who the fuck is this?"

[artfulforger]

This was the dumbest thing Eames had ever done and if he came out of it with his nose intact, he'd be surprised. Especially when he heard Arthur's voice. Everything in his chest tightened and he thought to hang up and just leave. He could be to the airport, maybe out of the country, before Arthur caught up. Instead he took a deep breath and sighed.

"Open your goddamn door before your neighbors have me arrested." He paused a long breath. "Please."

[littlspecificty]

With Arthur swaying slightly where he was, temples throbbing, and mind churning so slowly he ran a hand down his face, " 'ames?" A beat, trying to process this, "Whatthefuckareyou going on about?"

And the nausea was not helping this situation.

[artfulforger]

"Jesus Christ, Arthur... Let me in before you die." He had thought he'd been wasted but listening to Arthur's voice, the words as they slurred.

"I'm outside your door, probably still drunk, haven't slept... Let me in." He knew he wasn't making his case well but he wasn't stopping to think, just acting.

[littlspecificty]

Rubbing at his eyelids, even managing to sound petulant, "Ima notgonna die!" And then a pause, "Wait. That was you? You fucker!" And then grabbed at his head as his own raised voice made his ears ring.

He made a miserable noise and slurred out something that sounded like "go away" but with the nausea getting stronger, he struggled to move his body and get it to the bathroom. Even as that caused him to hit one wall and then hug another for support as he dropped the phone onto the carpeted floor of the hallway, right as he practically dove into the bathroom, instantly going to his knees and heaving into the toilet (thank god the lid was left up, he made it just in time).

[artfulforger]

He had talked himself out of knocking down the door. Right until he heard a thump after that small tirade. Later he could pay for the knocking. For now.

"I'll pay for it," he said, slamming his weight into the door. It barely budged. "Bugger." And with that he did it again. The door creaked and held. A third time and it popped open and he stumbled in.

Shutting the broken door behind him, he moved to find Arthur, kicking over the bottle of vodka in his wake. His vision swan from the lack of sleep and alcohol, moving to the bathroom door.

"Oh." He rubbed the back of his neck with a wince.

[littlspecificty]

Arthur had been too busy heaving into the toilet to really hear his door being slammed in. He didn't even hear Eames approach, his head halfway in the bowl and eyes closed as he was on his knees and using the toilet for support as the rest of his body felt too heavy. The pulsing in his ears caused most of his hearing to be drowned out.

But even as he felt like was about to pass out again with his head nearly in the bowl, a part of him knew he should be ashamed of himself for getting so smashed, slow, and weak. If that had been Cobol or a hit on him, he would have been dead. His reflexes really had gone to shit. He made a small groan at realizing how Sylvia would have kicked his ass if she had still been alive.

He still had his damn shoes on from last night. Not his finest moment - even if he had had worse before.

[artfulforger]

He shouldn't have done this. He should have just let Arthur be. Not just coming to his house but in the texting. If anything between them had a hand in this, he felt like hell. Stifling a sigh, he went to find the kitchen.

Getting a dish towel, he wet it down with cold water, ringing out the excess water. Filling a clean glass with water, he came back to the bathroom.

"Wait until later to hit me," Eames muttered, setting the glass on the counter before dropping down to one knee beside Arthur. He moves to lightly pressed the cloth to the back of the point man's neck.

[littlspecificty]

Arthur was half-asleep when he felt the cool of the cloth pressed to the back of his neck so he flenches and makes a very weak, pained sound.

Slowly, he opens an eye enough to where he can see who is beside him and, voice hoarse, "What are you --" He thought he was going to vomit again but then he didn't. He tried again, "Why are you here?"

'How did you get in here?' was next on the list.

[artfulforger]

Eames stayed close, tensed, nearly coiled as he expected to be hit at any moment. The only thing saving him was that Arthur was obviously in no position to actually take that swing. Thank God for small favors.

"Don't worry about that right now. Just try and relax and when you're ready I'll get you laid down somewhere," he murmured, considering Arthur's condition. "I should've left well enough alone before you ended like this," he murmured.

[littlspecificty]

Weak but still managing a bite to his words, "Shut up, Eames. I don't need your help. I've had mornings like this before... Worse than this."

He tried to move away from Eames' touch but only managed to rest his forehead against the toilet seat, grateful for that coolness, too. Closing his eyes, everything from his knees down going numb, "I chose to drink."