Inception Fic: Sleep Tonight
This is another story inspired by one of the Arthur/Cobb/Eames prompts provided for me by the wonderful tailoredshirt , which I have had ridiculous amounts of fun writing.
I'm not going to ramble much here because I'd just start complaining about school and deadlines and a general lack of time and such, so here's the fic! The title was borrowed from a wonderful song by Stars.
Title: Sleep Tonight
Pairing/Rating: gen Arthur/Cobb/Eames; PG
Prompt: 5 times Arthur got woken up in the middle of the night.
NOTE: These are not linear. I don't know why, they just didn't work that way.
- - -
I.
The phone wakes Arthur from a dreamless sleep, and even the ring sounds worried. Arthur knows it’s Cobb.
“What’s wrong?” he mumbles into the phone, still groggy with sleep.
“Are you in the Los Angeles area?”
“Yes.”
“Can you come over?”
Arthur sits up in bed and squints at the red numbers on the alarm clock. It’s a little after one.
“Is anyone dying?” he asks.
“No, but Phillipa and James are both throwing up and I only have one set of hands, so -”
Arthur is already pulling a shirt on. “I’ll be over in ten minutes.”
II.
Four thumps on the door and Arthur jerks awake, fumbling for the gun under his pillow. He’s in a hotel tonight, under a false name to fool the authorities. No one knows where he is - not even Cobb.
Arthur checks the gun as he moves toward the door, staying close to the wall, bare feet noiseless against the floor. He peers through the peephole, then rolls his eyes and clicks the gun’s safety back on before swinging the door open.
“Eames,” he says, his voice dark with displeasure.
Eames either does not notice or simply chooses to ignore the warning in Arthur’s tone. Instead he flashes a lopsided grin, slumps drunkenly against the doorframe and slurs, “Ev’ning, Arthur. Why’re you half-naked? Did I miss a memo or something?”
“I was sleeping,” Arthur says flatly. “How did you know I was here?”
“Lucky guess.” Eames straightens to get a better view of the hotel room. “You got a couch in here I can crash on?”
“No,” Arthur says, but it’s a lie and Eames can see that. His grin falters and something like hurt shines in his red-rimmed eyes and Arthur sighs. “Fine.” He tugs Eames into the room by his lapels and slams the door closed, then pushes him toward the black leather couch in the living area.
Eames staggers to the couch and collapses gracelessly onto it, his eyes already sliding closed.
“Check out is at eleven,” Arthur says, tossing a blanket onto Eames’ stomach. “Be ready to go before then.”
“Thanks,” Eames says just before he drifts off, and Arthur flashes him the barest hint of a smile before heading back to the bedroom.
III.
It has been a year since Mal’s death, and Arthur is woken up in the middle of the night by a wasted and hysterical Dominic Cobb.
He smells of tequila and cigarettes and Mal’s totem is hanging limply in his fingers when Arthur opens the door, and he can barely support himself anymore.
“It’s not a dream,” he says as Arthur takes him by the arm and helps him over to a chair. “It’s never a dream. Why isn’t it ever a dream?”
“I don’t know, Cobb,” Arthur says, calmly, because that is what he has to be when his friend is like this: calm. The very image of serenity. An immovable presence.
“She’s still dead,” Cobb says, and Arthur realizes there are tears in his eyes. He looks away, but then Cobb is gripping the front of his shirt and forcing him into eye contact. “I hate it,” he says emphatically. “I hate that she is dead. I hate that anyone can die. You’re not going to die, are you?” This last question is panicked and Cobb’s hands tighten and shake and Arthur is vaguely relieved that he is not wearing a nice shirt because this one is surely going to be ruined.
“No,” Arthur says, kneeling in front of Cobb and gently patting his hands, which have now quite thoroughly knotted themselves into the fabric of his shirt. “No, I’m not going to die.”
Cobb nods slowly, obviously desperate to believe this, and he almost whimpers, “You’ll be here?”
Something clenches painfully in Arthur’s stomach, and he closes his eyes for a moment before replying, “Yes, Cobb. I’ll be here.”
IV.
Eames knows that none of them can dream anymore, so he is slightly terrified when Arthur thrashes awake with a strangled cry in the middle of the night.
Eames, who has been reading by lamplight on the other side of the small hotel room, jumps to his feet and runs to the bed, sitting beside Arthur and placing steady hands on his pale, trembling shoulders.
“You’re all right,” Eames says, trying to meet Arthur’s panicked gaze. The amount of terror in those dark eyes is unnerving, and Eames tightens his grip. “Arthur,” he says, “Arthur, you’re all right. You’re awake. It was just a dream.”
“A dream?” Arthur says, and Eames can see some reason claw its way back onto Arthur’s ashen face.
“Yes, a dream. Check your totem.”
Arthur does, and Eames looks away as the die clatters over the cheap wood of the bedside table. Four, five times, and then Arthur sighs.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and his masks are back in place by the time Eames turns back to the bed, even if he does look a tad paler than usual.
“No need to apologize,” Eames says with a forced smile, but as Arthur lies back down and Eames returns to his book, he realizes his hands are shaking and that maybe the apology wasn’t as unwarranted as he had first thought.
V.
Arthur is used to being woken up in the middle of the night. He gets emergency calls, drunken calls, drunken visits, last-minute jobs… everything. He likes to think he is prepared for anything, always ready with a gun under his pillow and a suit on hand.
So to say he is stunned when Cobb and Eames storm into his apartment at midnight on August 12 and announce they are kidnapping him and getting him utterly shitfaced for his birthday is quite an achievement.
And despite the fact that they barely let him get dressed and never tell him exactly where they’re going and force him to wear a party hat and keep giving him presents and free shots and hugs, Arthur goes along with it and - secretly - enjoys every moment.
- - -
That's all for now, folks! :D
PS: White Collar finale tonight. Anybody else super excited and also very sad that this season was so short? *raises hand*
EDIT: OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD. MOZZIIIIIIE. D: D: D:
AND YOU GUYS. THE BAD GUY IS PAUL BLACKTHORNE. As in, HARRY DRESDEN, PAUL BLACKTHORNE. THAT MAKES ME OH SO HAPPY EVEN THOUGH HE JUST SHOT MOZZIE. *FLAILS*
I'm not going to ramble much here because I'd just start complaining about school and deadlines and a general lack of time and such, so here's the fic! The title was borrowed from a wonderful song by Stars.
Title: Sleep Tonight
Pairing/Rating: gen Arthur/Cobb/Eames; PG
Prompt: 5 times Arthur got woken up in the middle of the night.
NOTE: These are not linear. I don't know why, they just didn't work that way.
- - -
I.
The phone wakes Arthur from a dreamless sleep, and even the ring sounds worried. Arthur knows it’s Cobb.
“What’s wrong?” he mumbles into the phone, still groggy with sleep.
“Are you in the Los Angeles area?”
“Yes.”
“Can you come over?”
Arthur sits up in bed and squints at the red numbers on the alarm clock. It’s a little after one.
“Is anyone dying?” he asks.
“No, but Phillipa and James are both throwing up and I only have one set of hands, so -”
Arthur is already pulling a shirt on. “I’ll be over in ten minutes.”
II.
Four thumps on the door and Arthur jerks awake, fumbling for the gun under his pillow. He’s in a hotel tonight, under a false name to fool the authorities. No one knows where he is - not even Cobb.
Arthur checks the gun as he moves toward the door, staying close to the wall, bare feet noiseless against the floor. He peers through the peephole, then rolls his eyes and clicks the gun’s safety back on before swinging the door open.
“Eames,” he says, his voice dark with displeasure.
Eames either does not notice or simply chooses to ignore the warning in Arthur’s tone. Instead he flashes a lopsided grin, slumps drunkenly against the doorframe and slurs, “Ev’ning, Arthur. Why’re you half-naked? Did I miss a memo or something?”
“I was sleeping,” Arthur says flatly. “How did you know I was here?”
“Lucky guess.” Eames straightens to get a better view of the hotel room. “You got a couch in here I can crash on?”
“No,” Arthur says, but it’s a lie and Eames can see that. His grin falters and something like hurt shines in his red-rimmed eyes and Arthur sighs. “Fine.” He tugs Eames into the room by his lapels and slams the door closed, then pushes him toward the black leather couch in the living area.
Eames staggers to the couch and collapses gracelessly onto it, his eyes already sliding closed.
“Check out is at eleven,” Arthur says, tossing a blanket onto Eames’ stomach. “Be ready to go before then.”
“Thanks,” Eames says just before he drifts off, and Arthur flashes him the barest hint of a smile before heading back to the bedroom.
III.
It has been a year since Mal’s death, and Arthur is woken up in the middle of the night by a wasted and hysterical Dominic Cobb.
He smells of tequila and cigarettes and Mal’s totem is hanging limply in his fingers when Arthur opens the door, and he can barely support himself anymore.
“It’s not a dream,” he says as Arthur takes him by the arm and helps him over to a chair. “It’s never a dream. Why isn’t it ever a dream?”
“I don’t know, Cobb,” Arthur says, calmly, because that is what he has to be when his friend is like this: calm. The very image of serenity. An immovable presence.
“She’s still dead,” Cobb says, and Arthur realizes there are tears in his eyes. He looks away, but then Cobb is gripping the front of his shirt and forcing him into eye contact. “I hate it,” he says emphatically. “I hate that she is dead. I hate that anyone can die. You’re not going to die, are you?” This last question is panicked and Cobb’s hands tighten and shake and Arthur is vaguely relieved that he is not wearing a nice shirt because this one is surely going to be ruined.
“No,” Arthur says, kneeling in front of Cobb and gently patting his hands, which have now quite thoroughly knotted themselves into the fabric of his shirt. “No, I’m not going to die.”
Cobb nods slowly, obviously desperate to believe this, and he almost whimpers, “You’ll be here?”
Something clenches painfully in Arthur’s stomach, and he closes his eyes for a moment before replying, “Yes, Cobb. I’ll be here.”
IV.
Eames knows that none of them can dream anymore, so he is slightly terrified when Arthur thrashes awake with a strangled cry in the middle of the night.
Eames, who has been reading by lamplight on the other side of the small hotel room, jumps to his feet and runs to the bed, sitting beside Arthur and placing steady hands on his pale, trembling shoulders.
“You’re all right,” Eames says, trying to meet Arthur’s panicked gaze. The amount of terror in those dark eyes is unnerving, and Eames tightens his grip. “Arthur,” he says, “Arthur, you’re all right. You’re awake. It was just a dream.”
“A dream?” Arthur says, and Eames can see some reason claw its way back onto Arthur’s ashen face.
“Yes, a dream. Check your totem.”
Arthur does, and Eames looks away as the die clatters over the cheap wood of the bedside table. Four, five times, and then Arthur sighs.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and his masks are back in place by the time Eames turns back to the bed, even if he does look a tad paler than usual.
“No need to apologize,” Eames says with a forced smile, but as Arthur lies back down and Eames returns to his book, he realizes his hands are shaking and that maybe the apology wasn’t as unwarranted as he had first thought.
V.
Arthur is used to being woken up in the middle of the night. He gets emergency calls, drunken calls, drunken visits, last-minute jobs… everything. He likes to think he is prepared for anything, always ready with a gun under his pillow and a suit on hand.
So to say he is stunned when Cobb and Eames storm into his apartment at midnight on August 12 and announce they are kidnapping him and getting him utterly shitfaced for his birthday is quite an achievement.
And despite the fact that they barely let him get dressed and never tell him exactly where they’re going and force him to wear a party hat and keep giving him presents and free shots and hugs, Arthur goes along with it and - secretly - enjoys every moment.
- - -
That's all for now, folks! :D
PS: White Collar finale tonight. Anybody else super excited and also very sad that this season was so short? *raises hand*
EDIT: OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD. MOZZIIIIIIE. D: D: D:
AND YOU GUYS. THE BAD GUY IS PAUL BLACKTHORNE. As in, HARRY DRESDEN, PAUL BLACKTHORNE. THAT MAKES ME OH SO HAPPY EVEN THOUGH HE JUST SHOT MOZZIE. *FLAILS*