fic: But then a strange fear gripped me (and I just couldn't ask)
Title: But then a strange fear gripped me (and I just couldn't ask)
Pairing: Arthur/Mal, background Cobb/Mal
Rating: PG
Word Count: approx. 3,400
Summary: In which Arthur and Mal are the best of friends, and then limbo changes everything.
A/N: written for this prompt at forgerness's Rarepair fest.
Title borrowed from The Smiths.
When Arthur first meets Mal, it’s in a hurry. It’s a Monday morning and she’s running into the coffee shop in which Arthur works, her hair pulled back into a loose, messy ponytail, tired and in a rush to get to her first class of the day on time. She quite nearly shouts her order at him (one medium café latte, one medium double-shot espresso), and he vaguely recognizes her as the grad student who’d been the TA for the introductory chemistry class he’d taken the year before. There’s something striking about her, about the sharpness in her eyes and how that contrasted with the soft curl of her hair, that he’d noticed about her in that chemistry class the year before that he notices again now, but other than that, he takes her order and passes it off to the barista who’s manning the espresso machine and thinks nothing of it. She flashes a quick smile at him when she pays for the two drinks and then just like that, she’s gone.
The next time he sees her, he’s in the lab, doing some work on a research project he’s working on with one of his professors. She sweeps in, talking rapidly on her phone in a hushed tone. It sounds like she’s a bit irritated, and Arthur, having learned French as a foreign language all throughout his years in middle and high school, is able to pick out a few words of French, but she’s speaking too quickly for him to make any sense of it. He goes on quietly with his work, forcing himself to concentrate, because really whatever it is that this woman is doing, it’s none of his business.
Arthur eventually gets so engrossed in his work that he doesn’t notice Mal (whose name he still doesn’t know at this point) approach him some twenty or thirty minutes later, her hair now pulled up into a sleek bun at the back of her head. She keeps her hair longer now than she will after she gets married and settles down with a family of her own, and she’s oh so slender.
“I’m sorry,” she says, so suddenly, it makes Arthur jump. She smiles apologetically and adds, “For the other morning, I mean - at the coffee shop. I must have seemed so rude.”
Arthur blinks and then shakes himself inwardly to snap himself back to the present. “It’s no big deal,” he says, managing to slide his usual control back into place. “Trust me, I’ve run into much worse.”
She smiles and extends her hand. “I’m Mal, by the way,” she introduces herself.
“Arthur.”
She shakes his hand with a surprisingly firm grasp and then gestures towards Arthur’s laptop, from which soft strains of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata is playing. “Finally,” she says, “Someone who appreciates classical music.”
Arthur doesn’t normally laugh very much, a small smile usually does it for him, but for some reason, he feels uncannily comfortable around this woman who he’s only just met. He hears himself laugh softly and say, “Yeah, twelve years of classical piano training does that to you.”
Mal’s eyes light up. “You play?” she asks, intrigued. “Are you good?”
Arthur shrugs. He’s not one to brag, but he’s pretty ace, if he does say so himself. “I would hope so,” is what he says instead of outright answering her question. “I’m a piano performance minor.”
“Oh!” Mal exclaims, clapping her hands together. “You must play for me sometime,” she insists, cheeks flushed just a touch with excitement, and Arthur finds himself agreeing without even meaning to. He later finds that this happens quite often, the way he lets his guard slip, the way things happen so easily, the way he doesn’t even have to try. It’s nice, in a way, and it’s also a little unnerving.
---
Arthur and Mal quickly become the type of friends that make boyfriends jealous and everyone else quietly envious because of how close they are, how much they share with each other, how much time they spend in each other’s company. If it’s not going to see the new exhibit in their favorite art gallery or attending a production of Othello at the annual Shakespeare festival nearby, then it’s laughing together over cups of steaming coffee and obscure French literature. Mal takes Arthur suit shopping one day on a whim because Arthur’s never owned a nice suit and this, apparently, is a heinous crime in Mal’s book.
“Oh, but you’ll look so lovely,” Mal insists when he tries to protest. “Boys will be throwing themselves at your feet.”
So Arthur lets her drag him along to a tailor her boyfriend, Dom, had recommended to her, and she claps her hands over her mouth and lets out a delighted “oh!” when he steps out in the suit, pins holding the appropriate places for the tailor to fix up permanently later.
“You were made to wear suits,” Mal declares as she looks him over appraisingly. “Have I ever told you how utterly sinful your legs are?”
And Arthur, though he’ll deny it till the day he dies, blushes a little at the tips of his ears, but he just laughs and says, “Should you really be saying that about me when you have a boyfriend?”
Mal smirks a little and says slyly, “Well, unless you suddenly wake up one morning and decide that you actually like fucking girls, I don’t think that will be a problem.”
Arthur snorts. “You really think it looks good?” he asks, looking down at himself, unsure.
Mal waves her hand dismissively at him. “Trust me; you look delicious,” she says. And then she says a little more impatiently, “Now hurry up. I still have to treat you to lunch for putting up with me today.”
Arthur rolls his eyes at her. Only Mal would rush him when it’s supposed to be him they’re pampering.
---
Somewhere down the road, between trying to finish up his degree as quickly as he can, because he’s the restless, impatient sort of person, and drinking in as much of life as he possibly can, Arthur finds himself entangled in a project of dubious morals. It’s a new research effort that the government is funding, this new idea of dream sharing, of manipulating raw dream space to create worlds and send people down into them. It’s a nifty idea, only Arthur’s seen people go down and come back up completely different people, and he’s a little worried that this project is moving too quickly, it’s boundaries being stretched too far, without anyone having even the slightest clue as to what the potential risks might be. Arthur gets a little skeptical about the project with every person who loses their mind, muttering nonsense about dreams and needing to die, needing to wake up, but Arthur’s a little more naïve than he will be in a couple years’ time and he trusts that those running the program know what they’re doing and keeps his mouth shut.
This is, of course, until Mal calls him one in the morning on a Saturday night, urgent and hushed and every bit like she’s about to do something drastic.
“Arthur,” she says hurriedly. “Arthur, are you there?”
Arthur mumbles something incoherent and rubs his eyes tiredly. He’d only just gotten into bed something like an hour ago. “What?” he asks, voice thick with sleep. “Mal, slow down. What’s going on?”
“I’m taking it, Arthur,” she says conspiratorially. “I’m taking the PASIV. The government doesn’t know what it’s doing with this technology, sending soldiers under just so they can shoot at each other. There’s so much potential they’re not tapping into.”
Arthur blinks slowly and tries to make sense of what Mal’s saying. “So you’re stealing it?” he asks blearily. It’s really too early for this.
Mal pauses for a moment. “Well, liberating, more like,” she amends.
“Now?”
Mal allows herself a soft laugh, but she sounds too tense to be nonchalant like she means. “No, no,” she says. “You wouldn’t have enough warning. But soon, in a few days. Everything’s arranged.”
Arthur takes a deep breath and tries to process everything that’s happening. “They’ll come after you,” is the first thing he thinks to say.
“I know,” she says softly. “We’ve got everything packed up and ready to go. By Thursday this time, Dom and I will be gone. We thought we’d give you the option of coming with us.”
Arthur doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to make of it, this crazy notion of stealing from the government, of running far, far away and possibly never coming back. He doesn’t know if he can do it, but he also knows he won’t be able to sleep at night knowing that Mal is being chased around the globe. Arthur sighs and rubs his eyes.
“I’m in.”
---
In a couple years’ time, Arthur is well on his way to being a legend, he and the Cobbs. They’re something of a wonder in the underground dream sharing community that’s popped up since dreaming went rogue; whenever anyone needs a job done well, it’s always go find the Cobbs and Arthur. They’re thought to be nearly infallible. In reality, though, they’re simply thorough where others are clumsy and careless.
Somehow, even though they’re a transient bunch now, even though they’re often being pursued by various nameless corporations, clients who aren’t satisfied with their work, marks who are just a touch too sharp; somehow, they manage to have some downtime every now and again. Somehow, they find themselves in beautiful cities with a couple days to spare, and sometimes, Mal pulls Arthur aside, eyes bright.
“Have you ever been to the Louvre?” she asks once. They’re working out of Paris, and Dom is off meeting with their client. They have a few hours to kill before he comes back, because their client likes to be very thorough.
“No,” he answers. He’s always wanted to, though, and he’s fairly sure it shows in his voice, because Mal’s eyes have that knowing look that she gets whenever she can read Arthur all too well.
“Let’s go,” she suggests, and then she’s pulling him out of the warehouse.
They end up spending three lovely hours surrounded by soft Renaissance works, paintings Arthur has always loved but never been close enough to that he could touch them if he just reached out. Mal is quiet and contemplative as always, a hand at the crook of his arm, and she indulges him when he insists that he just has to see the Mona Lisa.
“The Mona Lisa is overrated,” Mal scoffs, which earns her a few dirty looks. “I, personally, find da Vinci’s other work much more interesting.”
Arthur chuckles, but they elbow their way through the constant crowd surrounding da Vinci’s most famous work anyways and spend a few good minutes considering the painting before moving on.
“See what I mean?” Mal asks as they continue strolling through the museum. “It’s all hype.”
Arthur cracks a smile at that. “How about some coffee?” he offers.
Mal grins. “That sounds lovely,” she says. “You always know how to win my heart, Arthur.”
“Buying someone unhealthy amounts of caffeine is hardly a good method of wooing,” he says.
Mal raises her eyebrows like she doesn’t agree one bit. “You’d be surprised,” she says. “Would you believe that’s how Dom won me over?”
Arthur laughs. “So I’ve heard,” he says.
They end up arriving back at the warehouse shortly after Dom does, and upon entering, Mal exclaims, “We come bearing drinks from the gods!” and they all share a good laugh.
---
After Mal has Phillipa, things are a little different, but not by much. She’s still the same sharp architect, still comes up with brilliant strategies for pulling off difficult jobs, still vicious and cold and deadly with a gun, only every so often, she grows nostalgic and makes them all take a trip home, to Los Angeles, where she and Dom have finally bought a house, where Mal’s mother happily watches over Phillipa when Mal and Dom are away working. But really, other than that, it’s pretty much life as usual, and Arthur is happy.
Arthur runs all over the world, stealing from corporate executives and politicians with questionable morals, taking a moment or two to breathe and just soak in all the amazing places he’s seeing. He kind of can’t believe this is his life, getting to travel to numerous countries each month, swimming in too much money in a dozen different bank accounts and expensive suits that Mal fawns over. It’s a good life, Arthur thinks, something he could definitely get used to, if only Mal would stop bugging him about his lack of a social life.
And then James is born and everything changes. Mal gets all domestic, spending more time at home with the kids, and Dom goes soft, less demanding, less ambitious. Arthur, as a result, has far more free time on his hands. He buys an apartment in Los Angeles and then another in Paris, just because he can. He takes an impromptu trip to Florence because he’s never been and he has three weeks to spare, and then he goes to Rochester to visit his parents for a couple days because they’ve been calling incessantly, begging him to go see them.
He goes over to Mal and Cobb’s one day to pick up the kids for an afternoon at the zoo, because Mal and Dom are running some tests. Arthur is, childishly, a little upset that he’s not allowed to come along, but he likes spoiling James and Phillipa, so he takes them to the zoo and buys them ice cream. When he gets back, it’s late in the afternoon and the sun streaming through the windows is a lovely golden color, and he leaves the kids to play in the yard before going to check on Mal and Dom, who, by the looks of it, are just waking up from their tests.
“Hey,” he greets both of them. “How’d it go?”
Mal turns slowly to look at him, and her eyes are like nothing he’s ever seen before. Her eyes are dark and haunted and somewhere else entirely, almost like she’s looking right through him, like she’s not even present at all. Arthur furrows his eyebrows and looks at Dom.
“Did something happen?” Arthur asks, doing his best not to sound worried.
Dom blinks like he hadn’t even realized Arthur’s been standing there all along. “What?” he asks, and then corrects quickly, “No, no everything’s fine.”
Mal continues to stare at Arthur like she thinks he’s going to disappear from right before her eyes before she turns to look out at James and Phillipa playing in the yard. Arthur watches in confusion as Mal’s eyebrows knit together and a look like panic overcomes her delicate features. Mal stands abruptly and sweeps out of the room.
“What happened?” Arthur demands.
Dom hesitates just a moment too long before saying, “It’s nothing.”
Arthur makes a mental note to ask again later.
---
Except for again doesn’t get a chance to happen, because every time Arthur means to ask either of them, something happens, and he feels like he’s intruding into uncharted territory where he doesn’t belong. Twice this is when he and Dom are talking strategy over take out and Dom is reviewing the architectural schemes Mal has drawn up, and four times this is when he and Mal go out on their usual outings and Mal gets that look like she’s expecting the floor to fall out from under her.
Eventually, though, Arthur doesn’t have to ask. Eventually, Mal starts bringing it up on her own, and it would be a lie to say Arthur isn’t shocked by what comes out of her mouth.
“This isn’t right,” she says after they go to see the Los Angeles Philharmonic. Her arm his hooked tightly through his like she’s afraid he’s going to run away.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
Mal frowns. “The notes just don’t sound right,” she says. “Or- no, the notes are right, but it doesn’t feel right. They aren’t getting it. There’s no emotion.”
“It sounded fine to me,” Arthur says, because it did. It sounded fantastic, even. He enjoyed tonight’s concert thoroughly, and if Mal were still the Mal he met in college, she would have agreed with him; Arthur’s sure of it. “Is something-?”
“You don’t think it’s strange?” Mal asks suddenly, cutting Arthur off as if she hadn’t even heard him speak. “You don’t think it’s strange that they suddenly play without feeling?”
Mal glares at Arthur with such intensity that Arthur can’t object, no matter how much he wants to. He can’t tell her that it’s not the music that’s off, it’s her, but he somehow knows that she’ll never believe him. He chooses, instead, to not say anything and asks Mal if she remembers where they parked. Mal gestures vaguely with her hand and they spend the next twenty minutes trying to locate Arthur’s car. By the time they’re in the car and on their way back to the Cobb’s so Arthur can drop Mal off, Arthur feels too guilty to ask her what’s gotten into her recently, because she looks like it pains her to even think about.
Next time, he tells himself, next time he’ll ask for real.
---
Next time it’s a special exhibit at the Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art, and the time after that it’s a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Each time, Mal leaves with that troubled look in her eye, that expression like she’s living in an entirely different world altogether.
“What’s wrong?” Arthur asks her when he suggests they go take a day to stroll around the Los Angeles Fine Art Gallery sometime and maybe get some coffee afterwards and Mal’s expression turns haunted.
Mal’s quiet for a long time, staring not quite at Arthur, but at some middle distance Arthur can’t see.
“It’s just not right,” she finally says, but then she doesn’t say anything more, and Arthur is too worried to just let that statement hang there like that.
“What about it isn’t right?” Arthur prods gently, gentler than he’s ever been with anyone.
Mal’s eyebrows furrow and suddenly, she looks sharp. “All of it,” she says, almost violently. “Don’t you see it?” She gestures wildly with her hands. “The paintings, the colors are all wrong. The music has no feeling. Nothing’s right anymore, Arthur.”
Arthur doesn’t know what she means by “anymore,” doesn’t know what to say in response to that, except for maybe that Mal’s completely lost her mind, but even he doesn’t quite believe that, because Mal is too focused and sharp and brilliant for that.
“I’m sorry,” is all Arthur can bear to say.
And then, without any warning at all, Mal’s expression completely falls apart. “Arthur,” she murmurs, and bursts into tears, lovely droplets rolling violently down pale cheeks. She throws her arms around Arthur’s neck and sobs into his shoulder, chest heaving, shaking, and Arthur can’t do anything but watch her break.
“Mal,” he says softly, and if were anyone else, it’d probably sound like he was pleading with her.
Mal pulls away and looks at Arthur with eyes that are so far away. She traces the lines of Arthur’s face with her fingertips and shakes her head. “Arthur,” she says. “Arthur, no, darling, no don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t understand. You have no idea. Forgive me.”
She places a light kiss atop his head and dries her tears absently, murmuring something about going to take a shower before she gets up and wanders out of the room. Arthur sighs and looks out at James and Phillipa playing in the yard for a moment before calling them in, because it’s getting nippy and he’s supposed to be watching them tonight. Arthur doesn’t think to ask Mal what this is all about, because he likes to think that she’d tell him if something were really that wrong, but later, later he’ll wish with all his might that he had asked and maybe it would’ve made a difference (or maybe it wouldn’t have), because that night, everything finally, finally falls to pieces.
That night, Mal jumps.
END.
comments/concrit is always very welcome and appreciated! (anon feedback too!)
thanks for reading :D
Pairing: Arthur/Mal, background Cobb/Mal
Rating: PG
Word Count: approx. 3,400
Summary: In which Arthur and Mal are the best of friends, and then limbo changes everything.
A/N: written for this prompt at forgerness's Rarepair fest.
Title borrowed from The Smiths.
When Arthur first meets Mal, it’s in a hurry. It’s a Monday morning and she’s running into the coffee shop in which Arthur works, her hair pulled back into a loose, messy ponytail, tired and in a rush to get to her first class of the day on time. She quite nearly shouts her order at him (one medium café latte, one medium double-shot espresso), and he vaguely recognizes her as the grad student who’d been the TA for the introductory chemistry class he’d taken the year before. There’s something striking about her, about the sharpness in her eyes and how that contrasted with the soft curl of her hair, that he’d noticed about her in that chemistry class the year before that he notices again now, but other than that, he takes her order and passes it off to the barista who’s manning the espresso machine and thinks nothing of it. She flashes a quick smile at him when she pays for the two drinks and then just like that, she’s gone.
The next time he sees her, he’s in the lab, doing some work on a research project he’s working on with one of his professors. She sweeps in, talking rapidly on her phone in a hushed tone. It sounds like she’s a bit irritated, and Arthur, having learned French as a foreign language all throughout his years in middle and high school, is able to pick out a few words of French, but she’s speaking too quickly for him to make any sense of it. He goes on quietly with his work, forcing himself to concentrate, because really whatever it is that this woman is doing, it’s none of his business.
Arthur eventually gets so engrossed in his work that he doesn’t notice Mal (whose name he still doesn’t know at this point) approach him some twenty or thirty minutes later, her hair now pulled up into a sleek bun at the back of her head. She keeps her hair longer now than she will after she gets married and settles down with a family of her own, and she’s oh so slender.
“I’m sorry,” she says, so suddenly, it makes Arthur jump. She smiles apologetically and adds, “For the other morning, I mean - at the coffee shop. I must have seemed so rude.”
Arthur blinks and then shakes himself inwardly to snap himself back to the present. “It’s no big deal,” he says, managing to slide his usual control back into place. “Trust me, I’ve run into much worse.”
She smiles and extends her hand. “I’m Mal, by the way,” she introduces herself.
“Arthur.”
She shakes his hand with a surprisingly firm grasp and then gestures towards Arthur’s laptop, from which soft strains of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata is playing. “Finally,” she says, “Someone who appreciates classical music.”
Arthur doesn’t normally laugh very much, a small smile usually does it for him, but for some reason, he feels uncannily comfortable around this woman who he’s only just met. He hears himself laugh softly and say, “Yeah, twelve years of classical piano training does that to you.”
Mal’s eyes light up. “You play?” she asks, intrigued. “Are you good?”
Arthur shrugs. He’s not one to brag, but he’s pretty ace, if he does say so himself. “I would hope so,” is what he says instead of outright answering her question. “I’m a piano performance minor.”
“Oh!” Mal exclaims, clapping her hands together. “You must play for me sometime,” she insists, cheeks flushed just a touch with excitement, and Arthur finds himself agreeing without even meaning to. He later finds that this happens quite often, the way he lets his guard slip, the way things happen so easily, the way he doesn’t even have to try. It’s nice, in a way, and it’s also a little unnerving.
---
Arthur and Mal quickly become the type of friends that make boyfriends jealous and everyone else quietly envious because of how close they are, how much they share with each other, how much time they spend in each other’s company. If it’s not going to see the new exhibit in their favorite art gallery or attending a production of Othello at the annual Shakespeare festival nearby, then it’s laughing together over cups of steaming coffee and obscure French literature. Mal takes Arthur suit shopping one day on a whim because Arthur’s never owned a nice suit and this, apparently, is a heinous crime in Mal’s book.
“Oh, but you’ll look so lovely,” Mal insists when he tries to protest. “Boys will be throwing themselves at your feet.”
So Arthur lets her drag him along to a tailor her boyfriend, Dom, had recommended to her, and she claps her hands over her mouth and lets out a delighted “oh!” when he steps out in the suit, pins holding the appropriate places for the tailor to fix up permanently later.
“You were made to wear suits,” Mal declares as she looks him over appraisingly. “Have I ever told you how utterly sinful your legs are?”
And Arthur, though he’ll deny it till the day he dies, blushes a little at the tips of his ears, but he just laughs and says, “Should you really be saying that about me when you have a boyfriend?”
Mal smirks a little and says slyly, “Well, unless you suddenly wake up one morning and decide that you actually like fucking girls, I don’t think that will be a problem.”
Arthur snorts. “You really think it looks good?” he asks, looking down at himself, unsure.
Mal waves her hand dismissively at him. “Trust me; you look delicious,” she says. And then she says a little more impatiently, “Now hurry up. I still have to treat you to lunch for putting up with me today.”
Arthur rolls his eyes at her. Only Mal would rush him when it’s supposed to be him they’re pampering.
---
Somewhere down the road, between trying to finish up his degree as quickly as he can, because he’s the restless, impatient sort of person, and drinking in as much of life as he possibly can, Arthur finds himself entangled in a project of dubious morals. It’s a new research effort that the government is funding, this new idea of dream sharing, of manipulating raw dream space to create worlds and send people down into them. It’s a nifty idea, only Arthur’s seen people go down and come back up completely different people, and he’s a little worried that this project is moving too quickly, it’s boundaries being stretched too far, without anyone having even the slightest clue as to what the potential risks might be. Arthur gets a little skeptical about the project with every person who loses their mind, muttering nonsense about dreams and needing to die, needing to wake up, but Arthur’s a little more naïve than he will be in a couple years’ time and he trusts that those running the program know what they’re doing and keeps his mouth shut.
This is, of course, until Mal calls him one in the morning on a Saturday night, urgent and hushed and every bit like she’s about to do something drastic.
“Arthur,” she says hurriedly. “Arthur, are you there?”
Arthur mumbles something incoherent and rubs his eyes tiredly. He’d only just gotten into bed something like an hour ago. “What?” he asks, voice thick with sleep. “Mal, slow down. What’s going on?”
“I’m taking it, Arthur,” she says conspiratorially. “I’m taking the PASIV. The government doesn’t know what it’s doing with this technology, sending soldiers under just so they can shoot at each other. There’s so much potential they’re not tapping into.”
Arthur blinks slowly and tries to make sense of what Mal’s saying. “So you’re stealing it?” he asks blearily. It’s really too early for this.
Mal pauses for a moment. “Well, liberating, more like,” she amends.
“Now?”
Mal allows herself a soft laugh, but she sounds too tense to be nonchalant like she means. “No, no,” she says. “You wouldn’t have enough warning. But soon, in a few days. Everything’s arranged.”
Arthur takes a deep breath and tries to process everything that’s happening. “They’ll come after you,” is the first thing he thinks to say.
“I know,” she says softly. “We’ve got everything packed up and ready to go. By Thursday this time, Dom and I will be gone. We thought we’d give you the option of coming with us.”
Arthur doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to make of it, this crazy notion of stealing from the government, of running far, far away and possibly never coming back. He doesn’t know if he can do it, but he also knows he won’t be able to sleep at night knowing that Mal is being chased around the globe. Arthur sighs and rubs his eyes.
“I’m in.”
---
In a couple years’ time, Arthur is well on his way to being a legend, he and the Cobbs. They’re something of a wonder in the underground dream sharing community that’s popped up since dreaming went rogue; whenever anyone needs a job done well, it’s always go find the Cobbs and Arthur. They’re thought to be nearly infallible. In reality, though, they’re simply thorough where others are clumsy and careless.
Somehow, even though they’re a transient bunch now, even though they’re often being pursued by various nameless corporations, clients who aren’t satisfied with their work, marks who are just a touch too sharp; somehow, they manage to have some downtime every now and again. Somehow, they find themselves in beautiful cities with a couple days to spare, and sometimes, Mal pulls Arthur aside, eyes bright.
“Have you ever been to the Louvre?” she asks once. They’re working out of Paris, and Dom is off meeting with their client. They have a few hours to kill before he comes back, because their client likes to be very thorough.
“No,” he answers. He’s always wanted to, though, and he’s fairly sure it shows in his voice, because Mal’s eyes have that knowing look that she gets whenever she can read Arthur all too well.
“Let’s go,” she suggests, and then she’s pulling him out of the warehouse.
They end up spending three lovely hours surrounded by soft Renaissance works, paintings Arthur has always loved but never been close enough to that he could touch them if he just reached out. Mal is quiet and contemplative as always, a hand at the crook of his arm, and she indulges him when he insists that he just has to see the Mona Lisa.
“The Mona Lisa is overrated,” Mal scoffs, which earns her a few dirty looks. “I, personally, find da Vinci’s other work much more interesting.”
Arthur chuckles, but they elbow their way through the constant crowd surrounding da Vinci’s most famous work anyways and spend a few good minutes considering the painting before moving on.
“See what I mean?” Mal asks as they continue strolling through the museum. “It’s all hype.”
Arthur cracks a smile at that. “How about some coffee?” he offers.
Mal grins. “That sounds lovely,” she says. “You always know how to win my heart, Arthur.”
“Buying someone unhealthy amounts of caffeine is hardly a good method of wooing,” he says.
Mal raises her eyebrows like she doesn’t agree one bit. “You’d be surprised,” she says. “Would you believe that’s how Dom won me over?”
Arthur laughs. “So I’ve heard,” he says.
They end up arriving back at the warehouse shortly after Dom does, and upon entering, Mal exclaims, “We come bearing drinks from the gods!” and they all share a good laugh.
---
After Mal has Phillipa, things are a little different, but not by much. She’s still the same sharp architect, still comes up with brilliant strategies for pulling off difficult jobs, still vicious and cold and deadly with a gun, only every so often, she grows nostalgic and makes them all take a trip home, to Los Angeles, where she and Dom have finally bought a house, where Mal’s mother happily watches over Phillipa when Mal and Dom are away working. But really, other than that, it’s pretty much life as usual, and Arthur is happy.
Arthur runs all over the world, stealing from corporate executives and politicians with questionable morals, taking a moment or two to breathe and just soak in all the amazing places he’s seeing. He kind of can’t believe this is his life, getting to travel to numerous countries each month, swimming in too much money in a dozen different bank accounts and expensive suits that Mal fawns over. It’s a good life, Arthur thinks, something he could definitely get used to, if only Mal would stop bugging him about his lack of a social life.
And then James is born and everything changes. Mal gets all domestic, spending more time at home with the kids, and Dom goes soft, less demanding, less ambitious. Arthur, as a result, has far more free time on his hands. He buys an apartment in Los Angeles and then another in Paris, just because he can. He takes an impromptu trip to Florence because he’s never been and he has three weeks to spare, and then he goes to Rochester to visit his parents for a couple days because they’ve been calling incessantly, begging him to go see them.
He goes over to Mal and Cobb’s one day to pick up the kids for an afternoon at the zoo, because Mal and Dom are running some tests. Arthur is, childishly, a little upset that he’s not allowed to come along, but he likes spoiling James and Phillipa, so he takes them to the zoo and buys them ice cream. When he gets back, it’s late in the afternoon and the sun streaming through the windows is a lovely golden color, and he leaves the kids to play in the yard before going to check on Mal and Dom, who, by the looks of it, are just waking up from their tests.
“Hey,” he greets both of them. “How’d it go?”
Mal turns slowly to look at him, and her eyes are like nothing he’s ever seen before. Her eyes are dark and haunted and somewhere else entirely, almost like she’s looking right through him, like she’s not even present at all. Arthur furrows his eyebrows and looks at Dom.
“Did something happen?” Arthur asks, doing his best not to sound worried.
Dom blinks like he hadn’t even realized Arthur’s been standing there all along. “What?” he asks, and then corrects quickly, “No, no everything’s fine.”
Mal continues to stare at Arthur like she thinks he’s going to disappear from right before her eyes before she turns to look out at James and Phillipa playing in the yard. Arthur watches in confusion as Mal’s eyebrows knit together and a look like panic overcomes her delicate features. Mal stands abruptly and sweeps out of the room.
“What happened?” Arthur demands.
Dom hesitates just a moment too long before saying, “It’s nothing.”
Arthur makes a mental note to ask again later.
---
Except for again doesn’t get a chance to happen, because every time Arthur means to ask either of them, something happens, and he feels like he’s intruding into uncharted territory where he doesn’t belong. Twice this is when he and Dom are talking strategy over take out and Dom is reviewing the architectural schemes Mal has drawn up, and four times this is when he and Mal go out on their usual outings and Mal gets that look like she’s expecting the floor to fall out from under her.
Eventually, though, Arthur doesn’t have to ask. Eventually, Mal starts bringing it up on her own, and it would be a lie to say Arthur isn’t shocked by what comes out of her mouth.
“This isn’t right,” she says after they go to see the Los Angeles Philharmonic. Her arm his hooked tightly through his like she’s afraid he’s going to run away.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
Mal frowns. “The notes just don’t sound right,” she says. “Or- no, the notes are right, but it doesn’t feel right. They aren’t getting it. There’s no emotion.”
“It sounded fine to me,” Arthur says, because it did. It sounded fantastic, even. He enjoyed tonight’s concert thoroughly, and if Mal were still the Mal he met in college, she would have agreed with him; Arthur’s sure of it. “Is something-?”
“You don’t think it’s strange?” Mal asks suddenly, cutting Arthur off as if she hadn’t even heard him speak. “You don’t think it’s strange that they suddenly play without feeling?”
Mal glares at Arthur with such intensity that Arthur can’t object, no matter how much he wants to. He can’t tell her that it’s not the music that’s off, it’s her, but he somehow knows that she’ll never believe him. He chooses, instead, to not say anything and asks Mal if she remembers where they parked. Mal gestures vaguely with her hand and they spend the next twenty minutes trying to locate Arthur’s car. By the time they’re in the car and on their way back to the Cobb’s so Arthur can drop Mal off, Arthur feels too guilty to ask her what’s gotten into her recently, because she looks like it pains her to even think about.
Next time, he tells himself, next time he’ll ask for real.
---
Next time it’s a special exhibit at the Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art, and the time after that it’s a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Each time, Mal leaves with that troubled look in her eye, that expression like she’s living in an entirely different world altogether.
“What’s wrong?” Arthur asks her when he suggests they go take a day to stroll around the Los Angeles Fine Art Gallery sometime and maybe get some coffee afterwards and Mal’s expression turns haunted.
Mal’s quiet for a long time, staring not quite at Arthur, but at some middle distance Arthur can’t see.
“It’s just not right,” she finally says, but then she doesn’t say anything more, and Arthur is too worried to just let that statement hang there like that.
“What about it isn’t right?” Arthur prods gently, gentler than he’s ever been with anyone.
Mal’s eyebrows furrow and suddenly, she looks sharp. “All of it,” she says, almost violently. “Don’t you see it?” She gestures wildly with her hands. “The paintings, the colors are all wrong. The music has no feeling. Nothing’s right anymore, Arthur.”
Arthur doesn’t know what she means by “anymore,” doesn’t know what to say in response to that, except for maybe that Mal’s completely lost her mind, but even he doesn’t quite believe that, because Mal is too focused and sharp and brilliant for that.
“I’m sorry,” is all Arthur can bear to say.
And then, without any warning at all, Mal’s expression completely falls apart. “Arthur,” she murmurs, and bursts into tears, lovely droplets rolling violently down pale cheeks. She throws her arms around Arthur’s neck and sobs into his shoulder, chest heaving, shaking, and Arthur can’t do anything but watch her break.
“Mal,” he says softly, and if were anyone else, it’d probably sound like he was pleading with her.
Mal pulls away and looks at Arthur with eyes that are so far away. She traces the lines of Arthur’s face with her fingertips and shakes her head. “Arthur,” she says. “Arthur, no, darling, no don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t understand. You have no idea. Forgive me.”
She places a light kiss atop his head and dries her tears absently, murmuring something about going to take a shower before she gets up and wanders out of the room. Arthur sighs and looks out at James and Phillipa playing in the yard for a moment before calling them in, because it’s getting nippy and he’s supposed to be watching them tonight. Arthur doesn’t think to ask Mal what this is all about, because he likes to think that she’d tell him if something were really that wrong, but later, later he’ll wish with all his might that he had asked and maybe it would’ve made a difference (or maybe it wouldn’t have), because that night, everything finally, finally falls to pieces.
That night, Mal jumps.
END.
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thanks for reading :D