Inception - Grace Under Pressure (9/10)

[osaki_nana_707]

Title: Grace Under Pressure (9/10)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: ~4,100
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Robert, Yusuf
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: mentions of underage, language, mentions of past drug abuse, currently un-betaed
Summary: AU. Sequel to Bite Hard. Arthur reunites with Eames. By the next day, they're living together. Still, with the two of them, there's always the opportunity for things to get complicated.



Part Nine

Eames had never felt so terrible and dissatisfied after shooting up as he did at that very moment.

There was relief of pain but absolutely no joy in the rush. He just felt…

Sick.

Disgusting.

There wasn't a word in the English language to explain how horrible he felt.

He'd gone too far this time.

It hadn't even been two fucking days, and he'd already fucked up. He'd gone too far, and Arthur was going to find out, and he was going to lose him forever.

He was going to continue to spiral downwards into his addiction and keep sucking cock for more drugs until he lost Arthur and ended up dying on the streets and-

The idea made him so sick with terror that he vomited into an empty alleyway and had to sit down for a few minutes.

He'd sucked Vince's prick.

For drugs.

He had been unable to stop himself, but he knew what that meant.

He'd chosen the drugs over Arthur. He hadn't wanted to, but he had. He was ruining the one good thing in his life because of the drugs, and he was absolutely revolted by himself.

He decided he would have been better off dead.

…and the thoughts of death started following him all the way back to the apartment, terrible and fascinating in their power and imagery. He thought first of his own death, of an infected wound in his arm with the needle still jabbed inside, sprawled on the floor with white eyes staring blankly at the wall and lines of drool and snot crusted to his face. He thought of the chill settling over his bones, the breath leaking out of his lips as his heart slowed to a stop, of the blueness that would tint his skin and the heaviness he would feel just before he stopped feeling altogether.

He had it shakily sketched out on a canvas within minutes after he'd gotten inside, curled up in the corner rather than at his easel so that he could watch the door. It was only after he'd gotten paint onto the canvas that he realized the perspective was disturbingly skewed and so painted over it with black acrylic until that was all the canvas was and then started messily refilling it with white. The perspective continued to distort until he just gave up and threw it across the room, sending it clattering to the floor and surely leaving a mark on the wood of Arthur's floor. He pulled his knees up to his chest, buried his face in them, and cried.

Arthur didn't want Robert to think that he had any doubts, but by the time the doctor had left to go test his results, he was shaking so badly that he was afraid he might just fall off of the table.

For a long moment Robert seemed to not know what to do, but then he awkwardly placed his hand on Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur looked at him as if he'd sprouted a second head.

"Just because I don't believe in love doesn't mean I'm completely heartless," he replied, seeming to attempt to lighten the mood a little. "It's going to be all right."

Arthur sniffed, setting his jaw and said, "Thanks."

Robert shrugged, letting his hand drop when Arthur stopped trembling so violently. "I didn't have anything better to do."

The doctor returned with her demure smile, and Arthur straightened his back and tried to look presentable. He didn't want her getting the idea that he was sleeping around just because he asked for a test.

"Your results should be back in about 48 hours," she explained. "We can call you, or you can come up here yourself."

Arthur felt his heart sink. "That long?"

"I'm afraid so."

"You can call him," Robert said, helping Arthur off of the table with a light shove. "Do you need any more information?"

She shook her head. "No, sir, everything we need is on the papers you filled out."

"Thanks," Robert said for Arthur and led him back out to the car.

Arthur sat down in the passenger seat, staring at his lap, unable to feel the chill in the air. He felt like he was numb to the core.

He had to play the waiting game and hope for the best. He didn't like the idea of sitting and hoping… Forty-eight hours gave him just enough time to come up with the worst possible result in his mind…

"Oh, God…" he whispered, pressing his hand over his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. "What the fuck am I doing here?"

"Don't worry about it. Forty-eight hours isn't that long of a time, and it's precautionary."

Arthur would have been a bit more confused by how Robert was being so pleasant, but he just couldn't get away from the swirling, horrible thoughts in his brain, whispering words like HIV or Hepatitis in his ear, mumbling don't come crying to me when he fucks you over.

What if I'm sick?

What if Eames is shooting up with other people and he made me sick?

What if we're both sick?

What if we die?

A headache blossomed brutally inside of his skull with no warning, and he felt himself start to shake again. He tried to breathe and calm down, but he felt like he was choking.

No, no, no… he thought, and he looked at Robert who hadn't started the car yet and realized that he was staring at him.

"Arthur," Robert said, but he sounded like he was underwater.

He couldn't breathe.

He was going to die.

Even if he started breathing again, he was going to get sick and die and it was all Eames's fault.

-and Eames was going to die too. Arthur didn't want Eames to die. He didn't want him to die. He needed to hold onto him so that he wouldn't die-he'd left Eames alone and now Eames was going to die-

"Arthur, Arthur," Robert said again, and Arthur realized that he was screaming, tears rolling hot down his cheeks, and he couldn't breathe, and he was going to die.

"Arthur, just breathe," Robert said, calmly but sternly. "Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth slowly."

Arthur shook his head, looking desperately for some kind of escape. The car was too small but the doors were locked and he couldn't remember how to unlock them because he couldn't breathe and he was scared.

"Breathe, Arthur," Robert repeated, his voice distant.

Arthur took in a deep breath and let it out shakily, and it relieved him a little to know he could breathe again, so he did it again and again until, ten minutes later, he'd finally calmed down.

"Are you all right?" Robert asked hesitantly when Arthur silenced.

Arthur sniffed, dropping his chin to his chest and wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "I don't know what came over me," he sobbed. He didn't know why he couldn't stop crying.

"Have you had a panic attack before?" Robert asked.

"Once… like… five years ago… after my principal tried to sexually assault me."

Robert didn't respond to that, instead starting the car. "You need to just lie down for a while. I'm taking you back to my place. You can go home later, okay?"

"-but Eames is there by himself-"

"He'll be fine. You just need to keep breathing and stay calm. Don't let your thoughts scare you like that. Everything's going to be okay, all right? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?"

"No… No, I'm okay… I'll be okay… I just… I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm okay right now," Arthur corrected, resting his head against the cold window. "Let's just get away from the place…"

Robert nodded and pulled out of the parking lot.

Arthur counted his breaths in his head while Robert drove, focusing intently on the numbers even through the blinding pain of his headache. It seemed to take an eternity to get back to Robert's apartment, and when they finally did make it back, he barely made it through the door before collapsing onto his couch.

"Do you need some aspirin or something?" Robert asked, and his voice still sounded like an echo that made the blood pulse more heavily behind his eyes. Arthur could only nod in response, swallow them dry, and fall asleep.

He dreamed of gunfire and of flames and Eames. He dreamed of the disappointed faces of his friends and family and of Robert's impending 'I told you so', and he dreamed of dying in a hospital bed and of Eames dying in the bathroom of Arthur's apartment.

When he woke up, Robert was making dinner for himself while reading, and Arthur felt like he'd been asleep for weeks, and yet he was still exhausted.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Robert asked lightly, never turning to see Arthur but somehow knowing he was awake. Maybe his hearing was just that good (or Arthur wasn't as quiet as he thought). "It's stir fry."

"You've never offered to let me stay for dinner before."

"You've never been hear until the evening. Seriously, why do you sound so accusatory? Do you really think I'm that much of an asshole?"

"I don't think it," Arthur replied flatly.

Robert smirked a little, setting down his book, probably something pretentious. "I imagine if I tell you that I pity your predicament, you'll get pissed off, correct?"

"Maybe after the shock wears off."

"Save your sass for someone who's affected by it, Arthur," Robert replied, moving the wok away to pour the stir fry onto a large plate. "We're friends, Arthur. You're probably the only one I've got because most people aren't worth wasting my time on for too long. Believe it or not, I value you as a person and want good things to happen to you."

Arthur didn't know what to say to that, so he sat down at the table and stared at his hands. There was a part of him that didn't want to go back to his apartment and face Eames, a part of him that wanted to just stay with the unusually nice Robert and try to forget about all the shit that was coming his way. When he'd been a teenager he'd had the tendency to just let things happen and not say anything in order to pretend it wasn't happening, and it seemed he still hadn't outgrown the habit even when he knew it never brought forth the desired effect.

"Here," Robert said, dropping a plate down in front of Arthur. "Eat."

It was only then that Arthur realized he'd resumed another bad habit he'd had in his teenage years-not eating. He hadn't had a meal that day because he'd simply been preoccupied.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair and dug the pair of chopsticks Robert handed to him into the food. "I'm such a fucking mess."

"You really are," Robert agreed, eating with his chopsticks like he'd been doing it his whole life. Arthur wondered if he had some kind of Asian lover somewhere who taught him how to use them, but really Robert was just a perfectionist at everything. "Considering you're actually pretty smart, you sure do make some really dumb decisions."

"Being with Eames isn't a dumb decision," Arthur grumbled. He didn't really have much fight in him at the moment. "You can't understand because you think love is stupid."

"You're not really proving me wrong here," Robert mentioned, and Arthur would have been angrier if he hadn't felt a little relief that Robert was acting normally again.

"Eames saved me all those years ago, Robert… I know that sounds dumb, but he did… I was just… spiraling out of control, about to collapse under all the pressure I was living with. My mom was an alcoholic, my dad was abusive, I didn't have anyone to talk to, and I didn't know how to feel things or talk about myself, I didn't-have any hopes or dreams or anything. I just… existed. It was miserable… but he changed that."

Robert moved the food around on his plate. "So, just because he saved your life, you're going to let him ruin it now?"

"That's not true."

"Are you sure?"

Arthur clenched his jaw and found himself saying completely honestly, "I am."

"You're a stubborn little bitch, aren't you?"

"Have you met yourself?"

"You ever think that I perhaps hold an opinion of myself that's far more superior than necessary, therefore rendering any idea of me being bitchy invalid?"

"Well, at least you're aware of it," Arthur said and managed to at least crack a small smile, and Robert chuckled in response.

Arthur was somewhat grateful that he didn't drive to Robert's apartment since it was only a couple of blocks from his. He didn't think he'd be much of a driver since he was so on edge. Still, it was cold, light flurries still dusting the parked cars on the street, and he thought for a moment about stepping into the Starbucks to get something to warm himself up.

Just as he was about to step inside, he swore he spotted…

…no, it couldn't be…

"Hey… Hey, Yusuf!" Arthur shouted at the familiar looking man across the street. He looked up, looking around for the source of the voice, and Arthur jogged across the street when he was sure traffic was clear. "Hey," he said again as he approached, "it really is you, isn't it? You look exactly the same, wow."

"Do I know you?" Yusuf asked, wearing an expression like was trying to figure out just where he knew him from.

"Oh," Arthur said. "Oh, you don't recognize me, duh." He grabbed the long strands of his hair and pulled it back behind the nape of his neck with one hand and lifted his glasses off of his face, flashing a quick smile. "It's me. Arthur. Eames's friend."

Realization dawned on Yusuf after a moment, and he said, "Oh… Oh! Wow, you're-wow! Look at you."

Arthur smiled sheepishly, slipping his glasses back on and releasing his hair to put his hands in his pockets. "Yeah… It's been a long time."

"Yeah like… what… four…"

"Five years."

"Five years! Bloody Hell, wow. I'm so old."

Arthur laughed lightly, and the two of them walked to the Starbucks to talk. "So what are you up to these days?" Arthur asked, buying both of their drinks for them.

"I work at a laboratory, experimenting with new chemicals to help cure diseases and enjoying all of my free time with my wife."

"Oh, so you're married now," Arthur said and caught himself before saying Eames said something about you having a girlfriend

"Yes indeed," Yusuf said proudly as they sat down, and Arthur realized it was the same table he and Eames had reunited at. He glanced over at the wall where Eames's painting of sunflowers hung, warm and summery despite the weather outside. "Married a year next month."

"Congrats," Arthur said, toasting Yusuf before sipping at the drink.

"So, what have you been doing? You're not getting into any trouble now, are you?"

"School," Arthur shrugged, not answering the question because he couldn't necessarily say he was staying out of trouble at this point. "I really am an art student now. I'm studying to become a photojournalist."

"Very nice," Yusuf said. "Eames always said you had a knack for it."

Arthur nodded and stared down into his drink somewhat solemnly.

"I ah-haven't seen him in a long time," Yusuf said quietly. "We sort of had a falling out."

"Oh, really?" Arthur asked hesitantly, and he felt himself grip more tightly to his cup. "What happened?"

Yusuf looked at Arthur as if he was contemplating whether it was a good idea to tell him or not and then shook his head, "I don't know… he was living with me because he couldn't afford to keep his own place, and when you live with someone it gets really obvious that something is wrong really quickly."

"What was wrong?" Arthur asked, swallowing heavily.

"He seemed to fall off the wagon again. I caught him shooting up when I came home early one night. We had words, and I ended up kicking him out, and I haven't seen him since… I feel terrible for doing that… I should have tried to help him." He sighed and dropped his head into his hands. "Some friend I am… but I was just so angry. He had promised me, promised me that he would never use that junk again."

Arthur couldn't stop himself.

He started to cry.

"Hey… what? No, don't cry," Yusuf said awkwardly. "It's not like you could have done anything. Really, I'm the one who should be crying."

Arthur shook his head, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeves. "It's not that… It's not… I just… I knew it. I knew…"

"What do you mean?" Yusuf asked, not accusatory but definitely confused.

Arthur swallowed down his grief in order to talk, but he was still shaking. "I… I reunited with him recently, but… I didn't want to believe that anything was wrong. I knew, I knew something was wrong."

"You two are together again?" Yusuf asked gently.

Arthur nodded weakly. "He's back at my apartment right now… I… I just thought he looked bad because he was living on the streets, not because he was back on the drugs. God, I was so stupid."

"No, no," Yusuf said getting up to drag Arthur to the bathroom because people were starting to stare. "Calm down." He sat Arthur down on the toilet and handed him a wad of toilet paper to wipe his nose on. "What's going on, Arthur? Tell me everything."

"I can't paint anymore," Eames mumbled to no one, lying on the floor of Arthur's apartment. "I can't do anything but stick this shit into my veins."

A snort.

Eames raised his head off of the floor to see where it had come from and spotted Roxanne leaning against the doorway to Arthur's bedroom.

"You're dead," Eames said, "You're not supposed to be here."

"Fuck off, T," she said smirking as she stomped towards him in his old red Doc Martins. "So, this is your new place, huh? You never let me stay in a nice place like this."

"We couldn't afford a place like this," Eames said. He had no fight in him. He didn't care.

She scratched at the infected wound on her arm and looked down at him. "So, Arthur, huh? You think he actually cares about you?"

"He does," Eames said quietly. "I know he does."

She snorted again, smirking her painted red lips at him and crouching down so that he could see her more clearly. She looked so skinny and so tired and so old and ugly. "Bullshit, T. You and I both know that's bullshit. He doesn't care about you. Nobody does. Nobody ever did. This is all just a big game, and you're just a big all-day sucker."

"Don't say that."

"You know it's true," she said, straddling Eames's waist and leaning over so that they were nose to nose. "Your parents abandoned you, Yusuf kicked you out, I had to fucking die to get away from you, and you think that Arthur actually likes you? I mean, look at what you did! You got him so scared that he punched you in the nose! He probably broke it. You're such an asshole, you know?"

"He let me stay… he loves me. He told me he loves me."

"He just wants to see you fall. I mean, Arthur's a super great guy so why the fuck would he want to be with you? Look at you. You're nothing but a pathetic drug head, and you can't even do anything. You can't even paint and that's the only thing you were marginally good at. Arthur's good-looking and smart and has all the best stuff going for him, and you're nothing. You don't deserve him."

"I know that…" Eames whimpered, shutting his eyes because he didn't want to look at her anymore. "I bloody know that. I told him that, and he said he wants to be with me… He makes me happy, Roxanne…"

"I bet he'd be done with you if he found out you were sucking dick for smack. He doesn't love you. He tolerates you because he hasn't realized that he can do better yet, and you hold onto him because he makes you happy? That's so selfish, T. Don't you remember what I told you before I died? Don't you remember?"

"Stop, please…"

"You remember. Tell me that you remember."

"Roxanne…"

"You don't deserve to be happy."

Eames tried to shove her off of him, but she wouldn't budge. "Stop saying that. Please stop saying that!"

"All you've ever been is a thorn in the side of everyone you've encountered. You bring trouble wherever you go. You fucked up Arthur into thinking that his relationship with you was normal when he was a fucking teenager and you were an adult. You can't seem to get through life unless you're doing something illegal, I guess, and you dragged him into your fucked up little world. Do you really, honestly, think you deserve to be happy?"

"No!" Eames shouted, voice cracking. "I don't deserve it, but I still want it, okay? Does that make you happy you bloody harpy? I can't help but want what I want… I could be more, couldn't I? I could change and be something better…"

"Of course not, T. You're a pathetic loser, and you'll never be anything better than that. Stop being such a selfish bastard and let Arthur have something better. He's better off if you're alone. Hell, he's better off if you're dead. Just put yourself out of his misery already."

"Leave me alone!" Eames whimpered, struggling to free himself. "I can't, I can't-I know your right, but I don't bloody… Maybe it's true, but he said he didn't want to be with anyone else. He said-"

"He lied to you, dumbass. You know how that works, right? It's what you do to him every day. He doesn't love you. He doesn't even know who you are."

"Stop it!" Eames shouted, scrambling forward to find that she was gone. The lighting had changed in the room as the sun had gone down, and he was alone.

It was a dream.

It was a message.