They Can't Take That Away From Me, Noir AU
Title: They Can't Take That Away From Me
Fandom/Pairing: inception, EAMES/ARTHUR
Rating: PG13 betaed by oldwillow_brook without her this fic would probably be like a tornado of grammar cacophony.
Summary:“I don’t push you away because I don’t…” Arthur whispers but is unable to finish the sentence… not in public, it’s not fair.
“I know,” Eames says quickly as if noticing the frenzy returning to Arthur’s flow of thoughts. He crushes the butt of his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, repeating once more, “I know, darling.”
NOTE! : for the lovely and talented fanlay and her piece private affairs a beautiful noir AU fanart ^____^ so pretty!!!! give it some love!
thank you for your beautiful art, fanlay i hope i did it the justice!
"Just one drink, Arthur," Eames says as Arthur files his paper work in order. Arthur looks up at Eames and already he knows that he’s going to give into Eames’ demands, but he tries to deny him anyway.
"Aren’t you tired?" Arthur asks, "Cause all I can think about is getting cleaned up, nice drink and going to bed."
Eames smirks even wider, as he takes his own coat from the coat rack, slipping it on, popping up the collar, "And isn’t that what I’m offering? A nice drink and taking you to bed?"
Arthur shakes his head but smiles knowing that he set himself up for that one. He finishes shuffling papers and places them neatly into his desk, locking the cabinet, he stands.
He runs his hand down the front of his suit then buttoning his jacket feeling Eames’ gray eyes trailing after them, Arthur ignores it. He looks up at the coat rack but surprisingly finds Eames has already taken his dark blue coat, holding it out for Arthur to wear.
‘Of course. Why am I so surprised by anything he does?’ Arthur muses inwardly. He silently walks around the desk and lets Eames help Arthur slip his arms in one after the other.
“Though I can’t promise about the getting clean part, Darling,” Eames drawls out in his thick British accent as Arthur turns around and starts to button his coat, “because what we will do after the said drink is something of an art of getting quiet messy.”
Eames winks at Arthur when Arthur rolls his eyes at him and digs into inner breast pocket for his cigarette case and lighter.
“Why are we going to a bar? Why not just back to your apartment? Or mine?”
“Because I like it where the gin is cold and piano is hot,” Eames replies back cheekily with a cigarette between his lips. He flings open his Zippo and lights the end, takes a deep drag and releases it while putting back his case and lighter in his breast pocket. Arthur gives Eames an unamused look and walks back over to the coat rack and grabs Eames’ hat and throws it at him.
“You don’t even drink Gin.”
“You know me too well, dear.” Eames says taking the hat and placing it on his head. He tilts it forward, grinning.
Arthur looks at the hat on Eames head. Its something Arthur envies about Eames- When Arthur wears his hat he always feels self-conscious, fearing that his ears are too big or that it makes him look as if his head is jutting out.
He trails his eyes down Eames’ solid body wrapped in his dark beige coat- where he hadn’t even bothered with the buttons and just tied it around his waist. Eames’ waist… which leads Arthur into a whole new set of thoughts- where it involves Arthur’s thighs wrapping around the thick muscled waist four nights ago.
Or when Arthur had sprawled his hand over Eames’ hip and the other in Eames’ hand two nights ago where Eames had turned his turn table on, playing Louis Miller and begged Arthur for a dance in his kitchen.
He understands why Eames always wants a drink outside and not at the safety and comfort of one of their flats. He gets it and Arthur wants the same, more than Eames can ever know, but Eames is too loose- sometimes Eames forgets and Arthur worries… for the both of them but Arthur always gives in to Eames’ demands when he looks at Arthur with his dark gray eyes, batting his long lashes, smiling before licking his lips, “Please Arthur,” before whatever he was about to request.
Arthur looks back up to Eames and meets his eyes.
‘Fuck…’ Arthur thinks after Eames does exactly that, asking Arthur to accompany him for a drink again. He gives another tired sigh but smiles, “Fine, but you’re buying.”
Eames smiles widely after another drag and release, “Of course, Arthur dear.”
They walk silently to the bar. It’s late and it’s been raining all day making New York damp and cold. Eames and Arthur walk briskly and time-to-time their shoulders bump into each other. Arthur has a feeling that Eames isn’t accidentally grazing against his body.
“Eames…” Arthur says quietly and warningly.
“Its cold, Arthur, and we’re two good friends walking quickly- no one will think anything of it,” Eames says. His words do not stop Arthur from looking around at the late night pedestrians.
“Don’t worry to much Arthur,” Eames says with a smile and reserved gentleness in his eyes; the kind he only gave to Arthur when he was worried for the other man.
“Come on,” he says, speeding up his pace. Arthur says nothing and quickly follows his partner around the corner onto 4th street. Live music seeps through the smoke as step inside. They make their way through the tables to the bar. Arthur sits on a stool as Eames leans on the bar still standing watching the stage dimly lit, a stage spotlight on a petite brunette. The bartender notices them and walks over to them.
“Gents, back again?” the bartender asks.
“Can’t get enough of it,” Eames says with a smile.
The Bartender smiles politely and asks what he can start for him.
‘Whiskey on the rocks’ Arthur thinks a sly grin on his face.
“Whiskey on the rocks,” Eames echoes with a smile.
“And what for you, sir?” the bartender asks Arthur.
“The same,” The blonde bartender smiles with a nod and goes off to the shelf for their drinks. In Arthur’s peripheral he sees Eames digging into his breast pocket again for a cigarette.
“Fancy one, Arthur dear?” Eames offers, Arthur gives Eames a warning look but reaches for a cigarette from Eames. Eames continues smiling as he takes his own and places the case back. He lights his and takes the lighter for Arthur to breathe in.
“Thanks,” Arthur says as he takes a drag. He exhales slowly, as he watches the smoke rise; he can feel his shoulders begin to relax.
The bartender comes back with both drinks and setting it down. He walks away as Eames grabs his from the top and clinking it with Arthur’s tumbler, raising an imaginary toast.
“Ta, Darling” he says with a smirk and takes a sip. Arthur takes his own tumbler but holds it silently. He watches Eames look to the singer and her jazz group across the smoky room. They’re playing a song that Arthur’s heard before but can’t quiet place the title in his head.
“That bird’s your type,” Eames comments in a low voice as he takes another sip of his whiskey. Arthur takes a puff of his cigarette and looks at Eames with a questioning look.
“What?”
“That bird on the stage, singing. She’s your type.”
Arthur turns around and looks at the singer on stage. She was petite with loose waves of brunette, had a fair faced but not overly beautiful, dressed with class. She was pretty in a way that Eames was not. Arthur looks over to Eames who has his eyes fixed on stage, eyes studying the dame on stage.
“She’s pretty,” Arthur says smiling a little as he turns around back away from the stage and takes a sip of his own drink. He flicks his cigarette a chunk of ash falls onto the bar. Arthur can feel Eames look over to him, slightly more tense than before, but Arthur says nothing to sooth whatever worry is going through Eames’ head.
‘Take that you teasing, bastard,’ Arthur mutters in his head.
A moment later, Eames looks away and takes another sip of his whiskey, placing his tumbler near Arthur’s elbow. He takes his hat he’s still wearing and tips it further over his eyes, a tell tale sign of Eames trying to hide the fact he’s sulking.
Arthur takes his tumbler to try to hide his smile, takes a sip and places it back down. Arthur doesn’t have much liking for whiskey, but its something Eames loves- and tastes like when he spends the night with him, so Arthur’s grown to love it, but not for the drink in itself. Maybe just whiskey tasting Eames.
The piano plays its last broken chord, and the song comes to an end.
Eames downs his drink and turns to the bar and motions the bartender for another. The bartender nods and quickly makes his way towards Eames and pours a couple fingers more into his tumbler. Arthur glances at Eames who has a hard expression in his eyes- and decides that he’s had his fun.
“She’s pretty if I had that kind of type,” Arthur says once the bartender is out of earshot, Eames freezes in mid motion- his tumbler half way from making contact with his ridiculously plump lips.
Arthur looks over to Eames by the corner of his eyes, and clarifies, “She’d be my type if I was interested in that kind of type,” then Arthur takes his own tumble, taking a sip.
Eames pauses, letting Arthur’s words sink in; the hard tension in Eames’ shoulder relaxes. He finishes taking a sip of his whiskey and places back down near Arthur’s elbow, this time closer than the place before.
“And what is you’re type, Arthur dear?” Eames asks edging closer, one elbow on the bar- he leans his weight on it; his voice a little lighter and back to its teasing self. Arthur gives him a knowing look that clearly says, ‘you know, so don’t ask’ which makes Eames laugh out a little.
A new song starts, it starts a chord slightly timid, but playful and almost teasingly slow.
“I won’t let it end on a sorrowful note…” the singer starts “though by tomorrow you’re gone. The song has ended but as the song writer wrote- the melody lingers on…”
The lyrics shoot some kind of awareness in Arthur. Some kind of sudden bitter realization that Eames and Arthur are not safe where they are. As if everyone in the room knew about them. Arthur was no dreamer, he knew that they would never openly be the way they are, no one would know about the way they feel for each other… It could kill them if they were not careful- Eames could be taken away, both of them could be robbed of each other…
‘Sorrowful note indeed…’ Arthur thinks as he takes a sip from his tumbler.
The saxophone starts its intro when Arthur tilts his head towards Eames but keeps his eyes on the tumbler in his hand and whispers,
“We need to be careful,” Arthur pauses to make a point and continue, “We make enemies in our line of work, Eames- and people don’t really care if a couple of fags die.”
He’s still staring the ice in his tumbler, but Arthur just knows that Eames’ eyes are growing soft as he asks, “Is that why you keep pushing me away?”
Arthur looks at Eames with intent then looks away and takes a long drag of his cigarette he’s been neglecting. Chunks of ashes have already broken off, matching the pile of ash already on the counter from before.
“I’m not… pushing you away, Eames” Arthur says looking at Eames and as Arthur knows it would be Eames’ eyes are soft in its blue gray, like the heavy clouds right before it rains.
“Its why I’m careful. You should be careful as well,” Arthur says looking away again feeling suddenly ashamed. He busies himself by taking another sip of his whiskey; the ice has melted diluting the drink, so Arthur swirls the glass in his hand.
He feels Eames’ eyes on him and even after 12 counts of measure; his gaze is still warm on his face. Arthur glances back to meet his partner’s eyes. They are kind, weary yet full of …love? There is a mix of emotions Arthur can’t tell apart.
“You think it’ll always be like this? The way it is now?” Eames asks.
“It could kill us is what I’m saying,” Arthur replies curtly. Eames gives a twisted look before smiling again.
“We could always leave this yank infested country.”
“I am the yank in this yank infested country… and where would we even go?”
“France? England? Does it matter?” Eames asks and Arthur gives him an exasperated look.
“It doesn’t matter where we are, this society, this world will tear us apart- it’ll take one of us away from each other,” Arthur says and as if on cue the singer starts to sing again.
“They may take you from me, I’ll miss your fond caress, but though they take you from me I’ll still possess…” Arthur stares at the singer, his brow raising higher with each and every word she sings, he couldn’t help but feel how appropriate the lyrics were.
“The way you wear your hat, the way you sip your tea…”
Arthur’s eyes automatically shoots up to Eames’ hat, Eames smiles widely.
“…The way your smile just pings,” the singer sings, Eames smiles brighter and starts to mouth the lyrics, “the way you sing off key…”
“The way you haunt my dreams- no, no they can’t take that away from me.”
Arthur quickly breaks eye contact with Eames and looks straight ahead. He feels as if the whole bar was staring at them, even if they weren’t. The constant thud, of ‘they know! They know!’ rang throughout Arthur’s head. Arthur knew he was being paranoid, but he couldn’t help but to feel uneasy with each word Eames sang along to- no matter how out of tune he was singing in- Arthur knows Eames believes in every word he and the young woman were singing.
Arthur takes another sip of his whiskey to calm himself.
“We may never, never meet again on the bumpy road to love,” Eames sings along down in a low voice only enough for Arthur to hear as he eyes the bartender where he’s helping out another patron on the other side of the bar. He comes closer to Arthur’s ear he whispering, “Still I’ll always, always keep the memory of…”
Arthur quickly turns his head to warn Eames about their closeness but he loses his train of thought after locking eyes with him. Eames’ dark gray orbs serious, so open it makes Arthur ache for reasons he doesn’t understand. It makes Arthur ache out of anger for the situation, for himself, for Eames for being so damn… just being so damned- then aching because he does, and he wants to so damn much and it just wasn’t fair…
“The way you hold your knife the way we dance till 3,”
Arthur wants to very much tell people this is the person, the man I know more than I know myself- from the way he takes his teas, and the way he tilts his hat- which day of the week is his favorite- to dance with Eames the way the other lovers at the bar are dancing to the jazz opening, and not just in Arthur’s kitchen. He wants Eames to beg Arthur for a dance at a club and to hold his waist out in the open while walking the streets late and at night and…
“The way you changed my life no, no they can’t take that away from me. No, they can’t take away from me,” the singer continues, and it’s after a full minute Arthur realizes that Eames has stopped singing.
“What are you thinking so frantically about, darling?” Eames asks as he searches Arthur’s eyes. Arthur wonders if he looks as frantic and scared as he feels. He thinks he must be by the way Eames eyes glazes over with something sad and says,
“I would hold you if I could, Arthur dear…” Arthur opens his mouth to say something but just closes it and simply nods. The piano takes his solo and after a couple of bars Eames takes a step back letting Arthur breathe a bit easier. Arthur swallows hard and looks straight ahead again.
The song continues as more instruments join in without the singer, the bass thumps out happily with the piano skipping notes. The trumpet gives something of a molten bittersweet sound, the note resounding in the club, sending chills down Arthur’s back.
“I don’t push you away because I don’t…” Arthur whispers but is unable to finish the sentence… not in public, it’s not fair.
“I know,” Eames says quickly as if noticing the frenzy returning to Arthur’s flow of thoughts. He crushes the butt of his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, repeating once more, “I know, darling.”
Arthur looks over at Eames who has an easy smile on his face. Arthur slowly returns a relaxed smile.
“The people, they can beat me, love. They can kill me if they want, and they can hate me all they want, but they can’t do anything about the way I feel…” and Arthur finishes Eames’ sentence in his head.
‘They can’t do anything about the way I feel for you…’ Arthur wishes he could hear Eames say those words out loud in the dim light and smoky air.
“You…You do understand that, don’t you, Arthur?” Eames says in a low voice as his hand reaches for his tumbler by Arthur’s elbow; his fingers brushing Arthur’s elbow softly.
Arthur looks down at his fingers and then back at the man’s dark gray eyes.
“Yea… yea I do, Dan,” Arthur whispers back and smiles, “Me too. You know that too right?”
Eames smiles at Arthur’s reply taking his tumbler in his usual cocky manner falling back into the comfortable arrogant persona.
“Of course, Arthur dear,” Eames says as they both share a smile.
Arthur stubs his own cigarette out as Eames digs in for a new one, once again offering Arthur another. He takes it, holding it in his hand waiting for the lighter. Eames drags in the smoke, opening his mouth and lets the smoke snake out on its own. Arthur is reminded of his French neighbor who often smokes as she sits with her husband on the window sill of their apartment.
Eames leans away, giving Arthur a bit more room now. He leans on the bar with his back, both elbows resting on the bar, a new cigarette in one and his tumbler in the other.
They both listen to the words of the pretty petite singer, who would have been Arthur’s type if he were interested in anyone else other than Eames. They watch her silently as she sings,
“We may never meet again on the bumpy road to love, still I’ll always, always keep the memory of… they way you hold your knife, the way we danced till three, the way you changed my life. No, they can’t take that away from me… No, they can’t take that away from me.”
feedback and comments are much loved. thank you for reading!
Fandom/Pairing: inception, EAMES/ARTHUR
Rating: PG13 betaed by oldwillow_brook without her this fic would probably be like a tornado of grammar cacophony.
Summary:“I don’t push you away because I don’t…” Arthur whispers but is unable to finish the sentence… not in public, it’s not fair.
“I know,” Eames says quickly as if noticing the frenzy returning to Arthur’s flow of thoughts. He crushes the butt of his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, repeating once more, “I know, darling.”
NOTE! : for the lovely and talented fanlay and her piece private affairs a beautiful noir AU fanart ^____^ so pretty!!!! give it some love!
thank you for your beautiful art, fanlay i hope i did it the justice!
"Just one drink, Arthur," Eames says as Arthur files his paper work in order. Arthur looks up at Eames and already he knows that he’s going to give into Eames’ demands, but he tries to deny him anyway.
"Aren’t you tired?" Arthur asks, "Cause all I can think about is getting cleaned up, nice drink and going to bed."
Eames smirks even wider, as he takes his own coat from the coat rack, slipping it on, popping up the collar, "And isn’t that what I’m offering? A nice drink and taking you to bed?"
Arthur shakes his head but smiles knowing that he set himself up for that one. He finishes shuffling papers and places them neatly into his desk, locking the cabinet, he stands.
He runs his hand down the front of his suit then buttoning his jacket feeling Eames’ gray eyes trailing after them, Arthur ignores it. He looks up at the coat rack but surprisingly finds Eames has already taken his dark blue coat, holding it out for Arthur to wear.
‘Of course. Why am I so surprised by anything he does?’ Arthur muses inwardly. He silently walks around the desk and lets Eames help Arthur slip his arms in one after the other.
“Though I can’t promise about the getting clean part, Darling,” Eames drawls out in his thick British accent as Arthur turns around and starts to button his coat, “because what we will do after the said drink is something of an art of getting quiet messy.”
Eames winks at Arthur when Arthur rolls his eyes at him and digs into inner breast pocket for his cigarette case and lighter.
“Why are we going to a bar? Why not just back to your apartment? Or mine?”
“Because I like it where the gin is cold and piano is hot,” Eames replies back cheekily with a cigarette between his lips. He flings open his Zippo and lights the end, takes a deep drag and releases it while putting back his case and lighter in his breast pocket. Arthur gives Eames an unamused look and walks back over to the coat rack and grabs Eames’ hat and throws it at him.
“You don’t even drink Gin.”
“You know me too well, dear.” Eames says taking the hat and placing it on his head. He tilts it forward, grinning.
Arthur looks at the hat on Eames head. Its something Arthur envies about Eames- When Arthur wears his hat he always feels self-conscious, fearing that his ears are too big or that it makes him look as if his head is jutting out.
He trails his eyes down Eames’ solid body wrapped in his dark beige coat- where he hadn’t even bothered with the buttons and just tied it around his waist. Eames’ waist… which leads Arthur into a whole new set of thoughts- where it involves Arthur’s thighs wrapping around the thick muscled waist four nights ago.
Or when Arthur had sprawled his hand over Eames’ hip and the other in Eames’ hand two nights ago where Eames had turned his turn table on, playing Louis Miller and begged Arthur for a dance in his kitchen.
He understands why Eames always wants a drink outside and not at the safety and comfort of one of their flats. He gets it and Arthur wants the same, more than Eames can ever know, but Eames is too loose- sometimes Eames forgets and Arthur worries… for the both of them but Arthur always gives in to Eames’ demands when he looks at Arthur with his dark gray eyes, batting his long lashes, smiling before licking his lips, “Please Arthur,” before whatever he was about to request.
Arthur looks back up to Eames and meets his eyes.
‘Fuck…’ Arthur thinks after Eames does exactly that, asking Arthur to accompany him for a drink again. He gives another tired sigh but smiles, “Fine, but you’re buying.”
Eames smiles widely after another drag and release, “Of course, Arthur dear.”
They walk silently to the bar. It’s late and it’s been raining all day making New York damp and cold. Eames and Arthur walk briskly and time-to-time their shoulders bump into each other. Arthur has a feeling that Eames isn’t accidentally grazing against his body.
“Eames…” Arthur says quietly and warningly.
“Its cold, Arthur, and we’re two good friends walking quickly- no one will think anything of it,” Eames says. His words do not stop Arthur from looking around at the late night pedestrians.
“Don’t worry to much Arthur,” Eames says with a smile and reserved gentleness in his eyes; the kind he only gave to Arthur when he was worried for the other man.
“Come on,” he says, speeding up his pace. Arthur says nothing and quickly follows his partner around the corner onto 4th street. Live music seeps through the smoke as step inside. They make their way through the tables to the bar. Arthur sits on a stool as Eames leans on the bar still standing watching the stage dimly lit, a stage spotlight on a petite brunette. The bartender notices them and walks over to them.
“Gents, back again?” the bartender asks.
“Can’t get enough of it,” Eames says with a smile.
The Bartender smiles politely and asks what he can start for him.
‘Whiskey on the rocks’ Arthur thinks a sly grin on his face.
“Whiskey on the rocks,” Eames echoes with a smile.
“And what for you, sir?” the bartender asks Arthur.
“The same,” The blonde bartender smiles with a nod and goes off to the shelf for their drinks. In Arthur’s peripheral he sees Eames digging into his breast pocket again for a cigarette.
“Fancy one, Arthur dear?” Eames offers, Arthur gives Eames a warning look but reaches for a cigarette from Eames. Eames continues smiling as he takes his own and places the case back. He lights his and takes the lighter for Arthur to breathe in.
“Thanks,” Arthur says as he takes a drag. He exhales slowly, as he watches the smoke rise; he can feel his shoulders begin to relax.
The bartender comes back with both drinks and setting it down. He walks away as Eames grabs his from the top and clinking it with Arthur’s tumbler, raising an imaginary toast.
“Ta, Darling” he says with a smirk and takes a sip. Arthur takes his own tumbler but holds it silently. He watches Eames look to the singer and her jazz group across the smoky room. They’re playing a song that Arthur’s heard before but can’t quiet place the title in his head.
“That bird’s your type,” Eames comments in a low voice as he takes another sip of his whiskey. Arthur takes a puff of his cigarette and looks at Eames with a questioning look.
“What?”
“That bird on the stage, singing. She’s your type.”
Arthur turns around and looks at the singer on stage. She was petite with loose waves of brunette, had a fair faced but not overly beautiful, dressed with class. She was pretty in a way that Eames was not. Arthur looks over to Eames who has his eyes fixed on stage, eyes studying the dame on stage.
“She’s pretty,” Arthur says smiling a little as he turns around back away from the stage and takes a sip of his own drink. He flicks his cigarette a chunk of ash falls onto the bar. Arthur can feel Eames look over to him, slightly more tense than before, but Arthur says nothing to sooth whatever worry is going through Eames’ head.
‘Take that you teasing, bastard,’ Arthur mutters in his head.
A moment later, Eames looks away and takes another sip of his whiskey, placing his tumbler near Arthur’s elbow. He takes his hat he’s still wearing and tips it further over his eyes, a tell tale sign of Eames trying to hide the fact he’s sulking.
Arthur takes his tumbler to try to hide his smile, takes a sip and places it back down. Arthur doesn’t have much liking for whiskey, but its something Eames loves- and tastes like when he spends the night with him, so Arthur’s grown to love it, but not for the drink in itself. Maybe just whiskey tasting Eames.
The piano plays its last broken chord, and the song comes to an end.
Eames downs his drink and turns to the bar and motions the bartender for another. The bartender nods and quickly makes his way towards Eames and pours a couple fingers more into his tumbler. Arthur glances at Eames who has a hard expression in his eyes- and decides that he’s had his fun.
“She’s pretty if I had that kind of type,” Arthur says once the bartender is out of earshot, Eames freezes in mid motion- his tumbler half way from making contact with his ridiculously plump lips.
Arthur looks over to Eames by the corner of his eyes, and clarifies, “She’d be my type if I was interested in that kind of type,” then Arthur takes his own tumble, taking a sip.
Eames pauses, letting Arthur’s words sink in; the hard tension in Eames’ shoulder relaxes. He finishes taking a sip of his whiskey and places back down near Arthur’s elbow, this time closer than the place before.
“And what is you’re type, Arthur dear?” Eames asks edging closer, one elbow on the bar- he leans his weight on it; his voice a little lighter and back to its teasing self. Arthur gives him a knowing look that clearly says, ‘you know, so don’t ask’ which makes Eames laugh out a little.
A new song starts, it starts a chord slightly timid, but playful and almost teasingly slow.
“I won’t let it end on a sorrowful note…” the singer starts “though by tomorrow you’re gone. The song has ended but as the song writer wrote- the melody lingers on…”
The lyrics shoot some kind of awareness in Arthur. Some kind of sudden bitter realization that Eames and Arthur are not safe where they are. As if everyone in the room knew about them. Arthur was no dreamer, he knew that they would never openly be the way they are, no one would know about the way they feel for each other… It could kill them if they were not careful- Eames could be taken away, both of them could be robbed of each other…
‘Sorrowful note indeed…’ Arthur thinks as he takes a sip from his tumbler.
The saxophone starts its intro when Arthur tilts his head towards Eames but keeps his eyes on the tumbler in his hand and whispers,
“We need to be careful,” Arthur pauses to make a point and continue, “We make enemies in our line of work, Eames- and people don’t really care if a couple of fags die.”
He’s still staring the ice in his tumbler, but Arthur just knows that Eames’ eyes are growing soft as he asks, “Is that why you keep pushing me away?”
Arthur looks at Eames with intent then looks away and takes a long drag of his cigarette he’s been neglecting. Chunks of ashes have already broken off, matching the pile of ash already on the counter from before.
“I’m not… pushing you away, Eames” Arthur says looking at Eames and as Arthur knows it would be Eames’ eyes are soft in its blue gray, like the heavy clouds right before it rains.
“Its why I’m careful. You should be careful as well,” Arthur says looking away again feeling suddenly ashamed. He busies himself by taking another sip of his whiskey; the ice has melted diluting the drink, so Arthur swirls the glass in his hand.
He feels Eames’ eyes on him and even after 12 counts of measure; his gaze is still warm on his face. Arthur glances back to meet his partner’s eyes. They are kind, weary yet full of …love? There is a mix of emotions Arthur can’t tell apart.
“You think it’ll always be like this? The way it is now?” Eames asks.
“It could kill us is what I’m saying,” Arthur replies curtly. Eames gives a twisted look before smiling again.
“We could always leave this yank infested country.”
“I am the yank in this yank infested country… and where would we even go?”
“France? England? Does it matter?” Eames asks and Arthur gives him an exasperated look.
“It doesn’t matter where we are, this society, this world will tear us apart- it’ll take one of us away from each other,” Arthur says and as if on cue the singer starts to sing again.
“They may take you from me, I’ll miss your fond caress, but though they take you from me I’ll still possess…” Arthur stares at the singer, his brow raising higher with each and every word she sings, he couldn’t help but feel how appropriate the lyrics were.
“The way you wear your hat, the way you sip your tea…”
Arthur’s eyes automatically shoots up to Eames’ hat, Eames smiles widely.
“…The way your smile just pings,” the singer sings, Eames smiles brighter and starts to mouth the lyrics, “the way you sing off key…”
“The way you haunt my dreams- no, no they can’t take that away from me.”
Arthur quickly breaks eye contact with Eames and looks straight ahead. He feels as if the whole bar was staring at them, even if they weren’t. The constant thud, of ‘they know! They know!’ rang throughout Arthur’s head. Arthur knew he was being paranoid, but he couldn’t help but to feel uneasy with each word Eames sang along to- no matter how out of tune he was singing in- Arthur knows Eames believes in every word he and the young woman were singing.
Arthur takes another sip of his whiskey to calm himself.
“We may never, never meet again on the bumpy road to love,” Eames sings along down in a low voice only enough for Arthur to hear as he eyes the bartender where he’s helping out another patron on the other side of the bar. He comes closer to Arthur’s ear he whispering, “Still I’ll always, always keep the memory of…”
Arthur quickly turns his head to warn Eames about their closeness but he loses his train of thought after locking eyes with him. Eames’ dark gray orbs serious, so open it makes Arthur ache for reasons he doesn’t understand. It makes Arthur ache out of anger for the situation, for himself, for Eames for being so damn… just being so damned- then aching because he does, and he wants to so damn much and it just wasn’t fair…
“The way you hold your knife the way we dance till 3,”
Arthur wants to very much tell people this is the person, the man I know more than I know myself- from the way he takes his teas, and the way he tilts his hat- which day of the week is his favorite- to dance with Eames the way the other lovers at the bar are dancing to the jazz opening, and not just in Arthur’s kitchen. He wants Eames to beg Arthur for a dance at a club and to hold his waist out in the open while walking the streets late and at night and…
“The way you changed my life no, no they can’t take that away from me. No, they can’t take away from me,” the singer continues, and it’s after a full minute Arthur realizes that Eames has stopped singing.
“What are you thinking so frantically about, darling?” Eames asks as he searches Arthur’s eyes. Arthur wonders if he looks as frantic and scared as he feels. He thinks he must be by the way Eames eyes glazes over with something sad and says,
“I would hold you if I could, Arthur dear…” Arthur opens his mouth to say something but just closes it and simply nods. The piano takes his solo and after a couple of bars Eames takes a step back letting Arthur breathe a bit easier. Arthur swallows hard and looks straight ahead again.
The song continues as more instruments join in without the singer, the bass thumps out happily with the piano skipping notes. The trumpet gives something of a molten bittersweet sound, the note resounding in the club, sending chills down Arthur’s back.
“I don’t push you away because I don’t…” Arthur whispers but is unable to finish the sentence… not in public, it’s not fair.
“I know,” Eames says quickly as if noticing the frenzy returning to Arthur’s flow of thoughts. He crushes the butt of his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, repeating once more, “I know, darling.”
Arthur looks over at Eames who has an easy smile on his face. Arthur slowly returns a relaxed smile.
“The people, they can beat me, love. They can kill me if they want, and they can hate me all they want, but they can’t do anything about the way I feel…” and Arthur finishes Eames’ sentence in his head.
‘They can’t do anything about the way I feel for you…’ Arthur wishes he could hear Eames say those words out loud in the dim light and smoky air.
“You…You do understand that, don’t you, Arthur?” Eames says in a low voice as his hand reaches for his tumbler by Arthur’s elbow; his fingers brushing Arthur’s elbow softly.
Arthur looks down at his fingers and then back at the man’s dark gray eyes.
“Yea… yea I do, Dan,” Arthur whispers back and smiles, “Me too. You know that too right?”
Eames smiles at Arthur’s reply taking his tumbler in his usual cocky manner falling back into the comfortable arrogant persona.
“Of course, Arthur dear,” Eames says as they both share a smile.
Arthur stubs his own cigarette out as Eames digs in for a new one, once again offering Arthur another. He takes it, holding it in his hand waiting for the lighter. Eames drags in the smoke, opening his mouth and lets the smoke snake out on its own. Arthur is reminded of his French neighbor who often smokes as she sits with her husband on the window sill of their apartment.
Eames leans away, giving Arthur a bit more room now. He leans on the bar with his back, both elbows resting on the bar, a new cigarette in one and his tumbler in the other.
They both listen to the words of the pretty petite singer, who would have been Arthur’s type if he were interested in anyone else other than Eames. They watch her silently as she sings,
“We may never meet again on the bumpy road to love, still I’ll always, always keep the memory of… they way you hold your knife, the way we danced till three, the way you changed my life. No, they can’t take that away from me… No, they can’t take that away from me.”
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