Inception - Pretend That You're Alone (10/11)
Title: Pretend That You're Alone (10/11)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: 4,021
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Yusuf
Rating: R(this part)
Warnings: language, underage, age difference (16/32), mentions of non-con
Summary: AU. Eames is a burned out university professor who goes to the park for lunch to get away from the chaos of his life. There he meets 16-year-old Arthur and begins to befriend him for his ability to have an intelligent conversation with him. When he discovers the boy is homeless, he decides to take care of him, but things with Arthur get more complicated than he could ever expect.
Part Ten
When Arthur woke up, it was with a ragged breath.
Eames sat in a chair by his bedside, watching over him and holding gently to his shoulder when he started desperately coughing and wheezing into the towel left near his face.
When he was finished, he blinked up at Eames as if questioning why he was there, where he was, breath coming out in shallow, rasping puffs, so Eames indulged him. "You're back at my flat. I found you in the snow. Do you remember?"
Arthur's face went blank momentarily as he backtracked, and then he slowly nodded. "My chest hurts," he croaked.
"A doctor is going to come here and check on you as soon as he can," Eames told him, stroking his hair. "You're sick, darling. You have a fever."
Arthur made a small sound, pulling the blankets more tightly over his frame. "You didn't have to bring me here," he said and fell into another fit of coughs.
"You were freezing to death."
"You said you wouldn't be there to save me… but you were…" he whispered scratchily. "I guess I just don't… understand…"
"It's all right, love. You just rest up. We'll talk more about all of this later, all right?"
"D…did I stain your friend's backseat?" Arthur asked. "If-if I did, can you tell him that I'm sorry? I didn't realize it was that bad-"
"Arthur," Eames said, eyebrows drooping, shock flashing across his face.
"Wh… what?" he asked, sniffing, staring up at Eames, expression identical. "It's… It's not a big deal…"
"Someone forced themselves on you," Eames said, the words tasting unpleasant on his tongue, "and you're concerned about the car's upholstery?"
"It's not a big deal," Arthur said again, rolling onto his other side, away from Eames. "It's happened before."
Even though Eames had assumed as much, it was still devastating to hear. His voice cracked when he explained, "It is a big deal…"
Arthur snorted and coughed. "It really isn't," he said. "I'm a whore. Sex is my job description. It isn't rape if you do it for a living."
"It is if you don't consent."
"Yeah," Arthur barked out a crackling laugh. "Who's going to believe the prostitute? 'Probably just mad that he didn't get paid'... It's really not a problem. I just wish he had…" he coughed again. "I wish he had waited until I wasn't so weak. I could barely stand… I doubt I was a good fuck."
"Are you listening to yourself?" Eames asked, voice more than a little brokenhearted.
Arthur clutched the towel close to him, hawking and hemming until his entire body quaked with it. When he fell limp on the bed, taking fast, thin gulps at the air, the towel was stained red.
"I wasn't…" Arthur mumbled throatily. "I wasn't raped. I'm fine…"
"Arthur, you were sobbing when I found you," Eames said gently.
"I wasn't... I was just…"
"You were, darling. You don't remember. You were hysterical."
"No, I wasn't!" Arthur shrieked and hacked again, curling up into a ball.
Eames took him by one of his arms and pulled him back towards him, turning him back around and making him look at him. "Arthur," he said softly.
"I wasn't raped," he spat, eyes wet and hopeless.
Eames held onto Arthur's wrist, staring sadly into his eyes.
The door opened, and Yusuf peeked in, and Eames immediately turned his gaze away, releasing Arthur. "He's on his way," Yusuf said.
"Thanks," Eames said, getting out of his chair. "Yusuf, you don't have to stay if you don't want to. I'm sure you're tired. It's nearly five in the morning."
"It's all right," Yusuf said, shrugging it off. "I've stayed up longer than this. I'll stay until the doctor gets here and make sure things go all right."
Eames nodded in thanks and Yusuf left them alone to refill his cup of tea.
Arthur coughed and slumped back onto the bed. "I don't know why you're doing this…" Arthur moaned.
"You needed help," Eames told him, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress, pressing his knuckles against the side of Arthur's burning cheek.
"I didn't ask you to help me…" he said softly, coarsely. "This is just like before. You're helping me even though I never asked to be helped… I didn't ask or tell you to-"
"I know," Eames interrupted, cupping his cheek. "I don't care."
Arthur unconsciously leaned towards the coolness of Eames's hand, starting to tremble again. "You said you weren't going to be around to save me… but you were… I just want to know why…"
"It was purely coincidence," Eames told him, moving his fingertips to the side of Arthur's neck, feeling his pulse rushing under his fingertips. "What do you suppose would have happened if I hadn't been there?"
Arthur stared at the wall. "I don't know…" he mumbled. "I guess I… I guess I would have frozen to death since it hurt so much to move…"
"You're oddly calm about that."
"What difference does it make to anyone if I'm alive or dead?"
"It makes a difference to me."
"Yeah, right…"
Arthur rolled over again, away from Eames's hand, shutting his eyes. He was so exhausted that he was asleep within minutes, and all Eames could do was sit there.
"Darling," Eames whispered, tucking a loose curl behind Arthur's ear. "You have no idea."
The doctor, Dr. Neander, was about Yusuf and Eames's age, already starting to gray but had a youthful smile in his eyes. Eames explained what the situation was, and the man nodded, stroking his goatee thoughtfully, mumbling, "I see."
Eames wasn't sure what that 'I see' meant, but he followed him into the room anyway and sat nearby while the man examined Arthur. Arthur seemed hesitant to let the man even hear his cough, and he definitely didn't let him anywhere near his ass, even when Eames told him it would be okay. When Neander attempted it anyway, Arthur bolted out of the bed and into Eames's arms, screaming.
"He's not going to hurt you," Eames told him gently.
"It's none of his business!" Arthur shouted and buried his face into Eames's shirt. "I wasn't raped…"
Eames looked to the doctor, the corners of his mouth twitching a bit. "He's not bleeding anymore," he told him awkwardly. "I checked… I think physically he's okay down there."
"He'll need to be tested," the man said.
"I'll do it later," Arthur mumbled, not releasing his grip on Eames until Eames pushed him back down onto the bed. "Just leave me alone…"
"He's just trying to make you better," Eames told him, rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder with his thumb.
"What's the point?" Arthur shouted and fell into a fit of choking, coughing sobs, curling up in the middle of the bed.
Eames didn't ask why that was, even though he wanted to. He figured it was for the best to just leave Arthur be for the moment. If the boy didn't want to tell, then he wasn't going to. Eames had learned that much.
Once the doctor had finished his exam, he followed Eames out into the hallway and placed a hand on his shoulder. With Yusuf hovering close by, he explained, "He's got pneumonia. Thankfully it's a fairly mild case given the circumstances. He doesn't necessarily need to be hospitalized, unless his fever spikes over 104. Give him fluids and rest and the oral antibiotic I'm prescribing, and he should be better within about three to five days."
Eames nodded, wetting his lips awkwardly.
"However," the man continued softly, as if Arthur was listening in on them (he wasn't. He'd conked out as soon as the doctor had left him alone). "However, I do believe he has some definitive trauma from the previous events. I'd suggest taking him to a mental health facility as soon as he's physically well enough. He needs some serious help, and it's not the kind of help I can provide."
"Ah… yes… thank you," Eames mumbled and shook his hand, accepting the prescription.
"If you have any questions, call me," Neander said, and within a few minutes, he was gone.
"Poor thing," Yusuf supplied, if only to fill the silence.
Eames sighed, scratching a hand through his hair and messing it up. "I'll talk to him when his fever's down."
"What if he refuses to go?" Yusuf asked. Neither of them had to specify what he was speaking of.
"Well, he's not my son, he's not my brother, he's not my boyfriend. I don't even know if he's my friend, really… If he refuses to go, then I'll have to let him leave. It's his life."
"Yes, but he's doing a right terrible job with it. I think as a human being you at least have a right to step in at some point, don't you? When did you become so spineless?"
Eames looked back at Yusuf, a little offended, even though he had a hell of a point. Eames really had been terribly spineless when it came to Arthur. It all boiled down to his insistence on pretending there wasn't anything wrong so that he could just live in his happy fantasy land. He wanted to let Arthur consume and encompass all of his time at home and turn it into something better than what it was, so that when he had to go out into the world and pretend he was alone and all right with it, it was easier.
…but it wasn't all right. It wasn't, and it never had been, and that wasn't going to change just because he wanted it to.
Yes, he loved Arthur… but also, Arthur was a brat, too young for the world he'd grown up in, a user and an abuser. Eames not only deserved better but needed better, and despite his fondness, he knew that this current Arthur was not a person he could be with, no matter how much that selfish and lonely part of him wanted to be.
However.
However, just because Eames knew that, it didn't mean he could just sit back and let Arthur wander out of his front door and out of his life again. No, Eames had made his proverbial bed and needed to lie in it. Arthur wasn't going to like it at all, but Eames had full intent to take some form of responsibility for him since no one else appeared to be showing their hands in the matter. Arthur might have been smart for his age, but in all other considerations, he was still stupid. Eames didn't have to take his shit. He wasn't going to.
"You're right," he told Yusuf, mildly astonished by the revelation. "I have been spineless. I've spent far too long taking his feelings into account that he's gone and gotten hurt worse."
"So, if he refuses?" Yusuf asked again.
"If he refuses, I'll force him to go. He'll hate me for a while, but hopefully one day he'll see it was the best thing I could have done for him."
"And if he doesn't?"
"That's not my problem."
Yusuf smiled tightly, nodding and bouncing on his heels a couple of times before giving Eames an affectionate smack on the shoulder. "I'll call tomorrow afternoon, see how he's doing."
Eames turned to see Yusuf to the door but stopped him with a gentle hand on the shoulder before he opened it. "Ah… Yusuf…"
"What is it, mate?" Yusuf asked, looking back at him.
Eames hesitated, dropping his hand from Yusuf's shoulder. "I… thanks, I guess."
"No worries."
Eames stopped him again and finally found the courage to say what he really intended to say.
"Yusuf-I… I don't want you setting me up on any more dates with your lady friends. I… I'm gay."
Yusuf's eyebrows rose on his forehead, and Eames momentarily stopped breathing, bracing for the impact of rejection.
"I was wondering when you were going to tell me," Yusuf said and gave him a one-armed hug. Eames wasn't even sure how to process that response.
"You… you knew?" he stammered.
"I had my suspicions," Yusuf shrugged. "Don't worry about that, Eames. You're my best mate, always will be, unless you like… kill my family or something, and frankly one or two of them have it coming sometimes."
Eames couldn't help but laugh, tears of relief pricking at his eyes that disguised themselves as tears of mirth. He smacked Yusuf on the back a few times and then embraced him with both arms.
"I'll see you soon," Yusuf said, giving his back a rub and a pat, escaping the hug before he could lose his masculinity. "Ring me up if you need anything, anything, all right? Money, advice, bail money, whatever."
"I'll keep that in mind," Eames said, and shut the door behind Yusuf.
Once he was alone, he let a few tears slip free, but that was all he allowed himself.
There was no point in crying over good things.
Eames slept on the settee that night, curled up under the afghan Arthur generally liked to use when he was there. Sure, it wasn't comfortable or super warm like his bed, but that was for the best anyway since he got up every few hours to check on Arthur. When he'd left to go get his prescription, he'd come back to find Arthur had escaped the bedroom in search for something and had fainted in the doorway of his office.
When Eames had picked him up and he had stirred, Arthur stupidly tried to explain, "I need a cigarette…"
"You really think that's wise?" Eames asked with a smirk. "You have pneumonia, you know."
"So?"
"So, no smoking. It'll be good for you anyways."
"Great, so I'll be going through nicotine withdrawal on top of everything else, thanks a lot," Arthur mumbled grouchily, and frankly Eames was happy just hear him talking like himself rather than the terrified child of a few hours before. He had a feeling it had a lot to do with the fact that Yusuf and the doctor had left, so he didn't feel afraid.
As if to remind Eames that he wasn't back to sorts just yet, Arthur coughed haggardly into the crook of his elbow.
Arthur looked up at him as Eames put him back to bed, his eyes still as dark as he remembered, and he asked, "Do people die from pneumonia?"
"Rarely," Eames said gently, tucking him in. "The ones that do are left untreated, and/or usually very old or very young."
"Oh…" Arthur said, and Eames couldn't tell if it was relief or disappointment behind the word. It didn't seem that Arthur really knew either.
"Go back to sleep," Eames told him. "I'll bring you a cool cloth for your forehead."
"Eames, wait-" Arthur croaked, grabbing him by the sleeve in the strongest grip he'd been able to manage all night.
"What is it, darling?" Eames asked and mentally kicked himself for the endearment. He was not making things easier on himself… but he was sick, so maybe it would help him feel better. That was his excuse, and he was sticking to it.
"D…"
Eames waited, watching as Arthur looked everywhere but at him, then down at his lap, hand slackening in his sleeve. "D… don't leave…" he whispered, as if it was a horrible thing to say.
"I'm not going anywhere," Eames told him. "I'm just outside the door-"
"Stay in here-with me…" Arthur asked, and Eames would have taken it up as another one of his attempts to manipulate if the boy didn't look so angry at himself for having to ask. The tremble in his hands was real, and so was the quiver of his lip.
He was scared.
Arthur was scared to be alone.
That was probably why he'd gone out into the house, looking for Eames.
Eames stayed with him until he fell asleep, sitting on the edge of the bed and carding a hand through his hair, and then he went back out to the couch and laid down, half watching television, half staring into space, and that was what he'd done for most of the night.
It was nearly five a.m., and he was dozing when he heard the door open again. He peeked over the edge of the couch to see Arthur leaning against the doorframe, hair a mess, shirt falling over his shoulder, ashen and shaky just like before.
"Do you need anything?" Eames asked.
"Why are you doing this?" Arthur asked.
"Doing what exactly?" Eames queried, crawling off of the couch to approach, just in case Arthur decided to collapse again.
"Helping me."
"Because you needed help," Eames replied simply.
"…but…" Arthur shook his head as if there was no way the answer could be that simple. "…but, I have been… awful to you. I've used you and manipulated you, I've said horrible things. Why would you help me after all that? Why? I just want to understand!"
As he had spoken, his voice had risen, cracking and squeaking all the way, and by the end of it, he was shouting, tears in his eyes, and then he was coughing into his sleeve, leaving behind a stain Eames wasn't sure he'd ever get out. He slumped forward so far that Eames had to grab his shoulders to keep him from falling over, and then he found himself pulling the boy to his chest.
Arthur crumpled in his arms, very nearly falling to his knees. His coughing slowly descended into gasps for air, and his gasps for air descended into pathetic little whimpers that Eames could tell he was trying to hide.
Eames lifted him into his arms and carried him back to the bed, but when he tried to move, he found that Arthur had taken a death grip to his shirt. "St-stay-p-please-"
"Darling-"
"I-I'll do whatever you want-just-fuck-please- please don't just leave when I fall asleep…" Arthur sputtered.
"Your fever is spiking. You're getting delirious," Eames told him. He could feel the heat emanating off of Arthur's skin.
"She left when I fell asleep! She left while I was sleeping! Don't leave me while I'm asleep!" Arthur shrieked, eyes rolling back in his head.
Eames picked him up again and carried him to the bathroom, Arthur screaming all the way. He climbed into the shower and turned on the tap, and cool water rained down on top of them, and Arthur's screaming quieted.
He looked up at Eames, wet strands of hair sticking to his forehead and the side of his face, and he looked eerily innocent. "Eames," he said as if he had just noticed him for the first time.
"It's me," Eames assured him, sitting down in the basin of the tub and swiping the dripping hair out of Arthur's eyes.
Arthur closed his eyes and leaned into Eames's hand. "You should have just let me die," he mumbled.
Eames cradled him close, the water unceasingly drizzling down upon them.
When Arthur's fever had died down, Eames carried him back to the room and started to undress him from the wet clothes. Arthur stared at a spot on the floor, as if he wasn't present, but Eames decided against snapping his fingers in his face.
When he went to redress him in dry clothes, Arthur placed his hand against his wrist, pushing it down gently. "I'm okay…" he said softly. "Will you just…"
"I need to dress you, love."
"No… I… no, I'll just mess up your clothes… just… please… lay with me…?"
Eames sighed through his nose. "I don't know if that's a good idea."
"I don't mean anything sexual by it," Arthur said, voice trembling on the word 'sexual'. "I just… please…? I won't do anything, I swear… I just…"
"Just what?" Eames asked softly, tugging off his wet shirt and taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
"I…" Arthur looked away as if ashamed to admit it. "I just want someone to hold me… I don't want to be by myself…"
Eames opened his mouth to reply but Arthur buried his face in his knees. "Oh, God, I can't believe I just said that! Fuck, I-I must sound so fucking pathetic-I-"
"Arthur."
Arthur looked up, eyes wide and so dark, clearing his throat to try and prevent a cough.
"Let's just go to sleep then, yeah?" Eames offered, dropping the rest of his clothes.
Arthur slumped, coughing, and let Eames pull him into his arms. Eames pulled the covers over the both of them, and Arthur leaned up against his chest.
"Eames… I… thank you…"
Eames kissed the top of his head. "Don't mention it, darling."
"Eames?"
"Mm?"
Arthur looked up at him as Eames switched off the lamp. "Do you remember when I said that I don't trust anyone?"
"I do remember that, yes," Eames said, rubbing his back when he started to cough again.
Arthur licked the sputum off of his lips and swallowed and said softly, scratchily, "I trust you."
"Do you?" Eames said curiously.
Arthur offered Eames a tight smile, as if he felt that the news wasn't really worth anything, that he just wanted to tell someone and get it off of his chest (God knows he was having enough difficulty with his chest in a physical sense-even metaphorical weight being lifted off of it would probably help at this point).
Still, the physical response Arthur had given to a phrase that should have been so heavy and so important to someone who had never trusted anyone else surprised Eames. He had had an idea about but never realized just how much Arthur felt he was worthless. It was probably only magnified now by the events that had taken place, of course, but it didn't make it any less sad.
It wasn't any question as to why Arthur felt like he wanted to die.
…and he was sure if this admission had happened earlier, Eames would have passed it off as manipulation on Arthur's part, but… well…
Arthur had nothing to gain and nothing to lose from it. He'd said it simply because it was true, and if all he wanted was for someone to hold him, Eames didn't mind. It was the least he could do.
He'd decide what to do in the morning. For now, the both of them could just use a little sleep.
Arthur curled up against him, skinny arms folded up against his chest, and he coughed throughout the entirety of the morning.
His fever shot up around ten a.m., and Eames was forced to get out of bed and retrieve the medication that the doctor had prescribed for Arthur as well as a cool cloth for his forehead. Getting Arthur to take the pills was a struggle, but eventually he gave in, but after the swallowing of the pills it took even longer to get him settled back in since he seemed to be intent on getting a cigarette. Eames gave him ice to chew on instead, and eventually he calmed down, slipping into a hazy half-awake state.
"Don't you have to go to work…?" he asked, staring up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes. "It's morning, isn't it?"
"It is morning, yes, but school is out for the semester," Eames told him. "It's December. It's nearly Christmastime."
"Oh…" Arthur mumbled, eyes fluttering closed. "I didn't… I didn't realize… Sorry… I'm sorry…"
"You said you were sorry twice."
"I'm sorry… for everything…" Arthur breathed and then fell silent, giving Eames no more than the general statement to mull over.
For a long moment, Eames thought he had finally drifted off to sleep, head tilted against his fingertips, but then Arthur sighed as if awakening again.
"Just go back to sleep," Eames whispered, hoping to push him along. "You need the rest."
"I love you…"
Arthur fell asleep before he could explain, leaving Eames sitting frozen at his side, not sure how to feel.
Sorry it took so long to get this out, and I don't even know if this chapter is very good. :/
Anywho, if you haven't noticed, I'm writing fic for people for donations to help out my family. Literally anything will help, so if you have the time, please take a look at the journal:
http://osaki-nana-707.livejournal.com/36496.html
I will not stop posting my own fics, so don't think I'll be holding the hostage by any means. I'm just hoping to use my talents (or lack thereof hurr) to help us out a little bit. My parents are having a really rough time, and I feel like a contribution, however small, will help ease the weight off of them.
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: 4,021
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Yusuf
Rating: R(this part)
Warnings: language, underage, age difference (16/32), mentions of non-con
Summary: AU. Eames is a burned out university professor who goes to the park for lunch to get away from the chaos of his life. There he meets 16-year-old Arthur and begins to befriend him for his ability to have an intelligent conversation with him. When he discovers the boy is homeless, he decides to take care of him, but things with Arthur get more complicated than he could ever expect.
Part Ten
When Arthur woke up, it was with a ragged breath.
Eames sat in a chair by his bedside, watching over him and holding gently to his shoulder when he started desperately coughing and wheezing into the towel left near his face.
When he was finished, he blinked up at Eames as if questioning why he was there, where he was, breath coming out in shallow, rasping puffs, so Eames indulged him. "You're back at my flat. I found you in the snow. Do you remember?"
Arthur's face went blank momentarily as he backtracked, and then he slowly nodded. "My chest hurts," he croaked.
"A doctor is going to come here and check on you as soon as he can," Eames told him, stroking his hair. "You're sick, darling. You have a fever."
Arthur made a small sound, pulling the blankets more tightly over his frame. "You didn't have to bring me here," he said and fell into another fit of coughs.
"You were freezing to death."
"You said you wouldn't be there to save me… but you were…" he whispered scratchily. "I guess I just don't… understand…"
"It's all right, love. You just rest up. We'll talk more about all of this later, all right?"
"D…did I stain your friend's backseat?" Arthur asked. "If-if I did, can you tell him that I'm sorry? I didn't realize it was that bad-"
"Arthur," Eames said, eyebrows drooping, shock flashing across his face.
"Wh… what?" he asked, sniffing, staring up at Eames, expression identical. "It's… It's not a big deal…"
"Someone forced themselves on you," Eames said, the words tasting unpleasant on his tongue, "and you're concerned about the car's upholstery?"
"It's not a big deal," Arthur said again, rolling onto his other side, away from Eames. "It's happened before."
Even though Eames had assumed as much, it was still devastating to hear. His voice cracked when he explained, "It is a big deal…"
Arthur snorted and coughed. "It really isn't," he said. "I'm a whore. Sex is my job description. It isn't rape if you do it for a living."
"It is if you don't consent."
"Yeah," Arthur barked out a crackling laugh. "Who's going to believe the prostitute? 'Probably just mad that he didn't get paid'... It's really not a problem. I just wish he had…" he coughed again. "I wish he had waited until I wasn't so weak. I could barely stand… I doubt I was a good fuck."
"Are you listening to yourself?" Eames asked, voice more than a little brokenhearted.
Arthur clutched the towel close to him, hawking and hemming until his entire body quaked with it. When he fell limp on the bed, taking fast, thin gulps at the air, the towel was stained red.
"I wasn't…" Arthur mumbled throatily. "I wasn't raped. I'm fine…"
"Arthur, you were sobbing when I found you," Eames said gently.
"I wasn't... I was just…"
"You were, darling. You don't remember. You were hysterical."
"No, I wasn't!" Arthur shrieked and hacked again, curling up into a ball.
Eames took him by one of his arms and pulled him back towards him, turning him back around and making him look at him. "Arthur," he said softly.
"I wasn't raped," he spat, eyes wet and hopeless.
Eames held onto Arthur's wrist, staring sadly into his eyes.
The door opened, and Yusuf peeked in, and Eames immediately turned his gaze away, releasing Arthur. "He's on his way," Yusuf said.
"Thanks," Eames said, getting out of his chair. "Yusuf, you don't have to stay if you don't want to. I'm sure you're tired. It's nearly five in the morning."
"It's all right," Yusuf said, shrugging it off. "I've stayed up longer than this. I'll stay until the doctor gets here and make sure things go all right."
Eames nodded in thanks and Yusuf left them alone to refill his cup of tea.
Arthur coughed and slumped back onto the bed. "I don't know why you're doing this…" Arthur moaned.
"You needed help," Eames told him, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress, pressing his knuckles against the side of Arthur's burning cheek.
"I didn't ask you to help me…" he said softly, coarsely. "This is just like before. You're helping me even though I never asked to be helped… I didn't ask or tell you to-"
"I know," Eames interrupted, cupping his cheek. "I don't care."
Arthur unconsciously leaned towards the coolness of Eames's hand, starting to tremble again. "You said you weren't going to be around to save me… but you were… I just want to know why…"
"It was purely coincidence," Eames told him, moving his fingertips to the side of Arthur's neck, feeling his pulse rushing under his fingertips. "What do you suppose would have happened if I hadn't been there?"
Arthur stared at the wall. "I don't know…" he mumbled. "I guess I… I guess I would have frozen to death since it hurt so much to move…"
"You're oddly calm about that."
"What difference does it make to anyone if I'm alive or dead?"
"It makes a difference to me."
"Yeah, right…"
Arthur rolled over again, away from Eames's hand, shutting his eyes. He was so exhausted that he was asleep within minutes, and all Eames could do was sit there.
"Darling," Eames whispered, tucking a loose curl behind Arthur's ear. "You have no idea."
The doctor, Dr. Neander, was about Yusuf and Eames's age, already starting to gray but had a youthful smile in his eyes. Eames explained what the situation was, and the man nodded, stroking his goatee thoughtfully, mumbling, "I see."
Eames wasn't sure what that 'I see' meant, but he followed him into the room anyway and sat nearby while the man examined Arthur. Arthur seemed hesitant to let the man even hear his cough, and he definitely didn't let him anywhere near his ass, even when Eames told him it would be okay. When Neander attempted it anyway, Arthur bolted out of the bed and into Eames's arms, screaming.
"He's not going to hurt you," Eames told him gently.
"It's none of his business!" Arthur shouted and buried his face into Eames's shirt. "I wasn't raped…"
Eames looked to the doctor, the corners of his mouth twitching a bit. "He's not bleeding anymore," he told him awkwardly. "I checked… I think physically he's okay down there."
"He'll need to be tested," the man said.
"I'll do it later," Arthur mumbled, not releasing his grip on Eames until Eames pushed him back down onto the bed. "Just leave me alone…"
"He's just trying to make you better," Eames told him, rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder with his thumb.
"What's the point?" Arthur shouted and fell into a fit of choking, coughing sobs, curling up in the middle of the bed.
Eames didn't ask why that was, even though he wanted to. He figured it was for the best to just leave Arthur be for the moment. If the boy didn't want to tell, then he wasn't going to. Eames had learned that much.
Once the doctor had finished his exam, he followed Eames out into the hallway and placed a hand on his shoulder. With Yusuf hovering close by, he explained, "He's got pneumonia. Thankfully it's a fairly mild case given the circumstances. He doesn't necessarily need to be hospitalized, unless his fever spikes over 104. Give him fluids and rest and the oral antibiotic I'm prescribing, and he should be better within about three to five days."
Eames nodded, wetting his lips awkwardly.
"However," the man continued softly, as if Arthur was listening in on them (he wasn't. He'd conked out as soon as the doctor had left him alone). "However, I do believe he has some definitive trauma from the previous events. I'd suggest taking him to a mental health facility as soon as he's physically well enough. He needs some serious help, and it's not the kind of help I can provide."
"Ah… yes… thank you," Eames mumbled and shook his hand, accepting the prescription.
"If you have any questions, call me," Neander said, and within a few minutes, he was gone.
"Poor thing," Yusuf supplied, if only to fill the silence.
Eames sighed, scratching a hand through his hair and messing it up. "I'll talk to him when his fever's down."
"What if he refuses to go?" Yusuf asked. Neither of them had to specify what he was speaking of.
"Well, he's not my son, he's not my brother, he's not my boyfriend. I don't even know if he's my friend, really… If he refuses to go, then I'll have to let him leave. It's his life."
"Yes, but he's doing a right terrible job with it. I think as a human being you at least have a right to step in at some point, don't you? When did you become so spineless?"
Eames looked back at Yusuf, a little offended, even though he had a hell of a point. Eames really had been terribly spineless when it came to Arthur. It all boiled down to his insistence on pretending there wasn't anything wrong so that he could just live in his happy fantasy land. He wanted to let Arthur consume and encompass all of his time at home and turn it into something better than what it was, so that when he had to go out into the world and pretend he was alone and all right with it, it was easier.
…but it wasn't all right. It wasn't, and it never had been, and that wasn't going to change just because he wanted it to.
Yes, he loved Arthur… but also, Arthur was a brat, too young for the world he'd grown up in, a user and an abuser. Eames not only deserved better but needed better, and despite his fondness, he knew that this current Arthur was not a person he could be with, no matter how much that selfish and lonely part of him wanted to be.
However.
However, just because Eames knew that, it didn't mean he could just sit back and let Arthur wander out of his front door and out of his life again. No, Eames had made his proverbial bed and needed to lie in it. Arthur wasn't going to like it at all, but Eames had full intent to take some form of responsibility for him since no one else appeared to be showing their hands in the matter. Arthur might have been smart for his age, but in all other considerations, he was still stupid. Eames didn't have to take his shit. He wasn't going to.
"You're right," he told Yusuf, mildly astonished by the revelation. "I have been spineless. I've spent far too long taking his feelings into account that he's gone and gotten hurt worse."
"So, if he refuses?" Yusuf asked again.
"If he refuses, I'll force him to go. He'll hate me for a while, but hopefully one day he'll see it was the best thing I could have done for him."
"And if he doesn't?"
"That's not my problem."
Yusuf smiled tightly, nodding and bouncing on his heels a couple of times before giving Eames an affectionate smack on the shoulder. "I'll call tomorrow afternoon, see how he's doing."
Eames turned to see Yusuf to the door but stopped him with a gentle hand on the shoulder before he opened it. "Ah… Yusuf…"
"What is it, mate?" Yusuf asked, looking back at him.
Eames hesitated, dropping his hand from Yusuf's shoulder. "I… thanks, I guess."
"No worries."
Eames stopped him again and finally found the courage to say what he really intended to say.
"Yusuf-I… I don't want you setting me up on any more dates with your lady friends. I… I'm gay."
Yusuf's eyebrows rose on his forehead, and Eames momentarily stopped breathing, bracing for the impact of rejection.
"I was wondering when you were going to tell me," Yusuf said and gave him a one-armed hug. Eames wasn't even sure how to process that response.
"You… you knew?" he stammered.
"I had my suspicions," Yusuf shrugged. "Don't worry about that, Eames. You're my best mate, always will be, unless you like… kill my family or something, and frankly one or two of them have it coming sometimes."
Eames couldn't help but laugh, tears of relief pricking at his eyes that disguised themselves as tears of mirth. He smacked Yusuf on the back a few times and then embraced him with both arms.
"I'll see you soon," Yusuf said, giving his back a rub and a pat, escaping the hug before he could lose his masculinity. "Ring me up if you need anything, anything, all right? Money, advice, bail money, whatever."
"I'll keep that in mind," Eames said, and shut the door behind Yusuf.
Once he was alone, he let a few tears slip free, but that was all he allowed himself.
There was no point in crying over good things.
Eames slept on the settee that night, curled up under the afghan Arthur generally liked to use when he was there. Sure, it wasn't comfortable or super warm like his bed, but that was for the best anyway since he got up every few hours to check on Arthur. When he'd left to go get his prescription, he'd come back to find Arthur had escaped the bedroom in search for something and had fainted in the doorway of his office.
When Eames had picked him up and he had stirred, Arthur stupidly tried to explain, "I need a cigarette…"
"You really think that's wise?" Eames asked with a smirk. "You have pneumonia, you know."
"So?"
"So, no smoking. It'll be good for you anyways."
"Great, so I'll be going through nicotine withdrawal on top of everything else, thanks a lot," Arthur mumbled grouchily, and frankly Eames was happy just hear him talking like himself rather than the terrified child of a few hours before. He had a feeling it had a lot to do with the fact that Yusuf and the doctor had left, so he didn't feel afraid.
As if to remind Eames that he wasn't back to sorts just yet, Arthur coughed haggardly into the crook of his elbow.
Arthur looked up at him as Eames put him back to bed, his eyes still as dark as he remembered, and he asked, "Do people die from pneumonia?"
"Rarely," Eames said gently, tucking him in. "The ones that do are left untreated, and/or usually very old or very young."
"Oh…" Arthur said, and Eames couldn't tell if it was relief or disappointment behind the word. It didn't seem that Arthur really knew either.
"Go back to sleep," Eames told him. "I'll bring you a cool cloth for your forehead."
"Eames, wait-" Arthur croaked, grabbing him by the sleeve in the strongest grip he'd been able to manage all night.
"What is it, darling?" Eames asked and mentally kicked himself for the endearment. He was not making things easier on himself… but he was sick, so maybe it would help him feel better. That was his excuse, and he was sticking to it.
"D…"
Eames waited, watching as Arthur looked everywhere but at him, then down at his lap, hand slackening in his sleeve. "D… don't leave…" he whispered, as if it was a horrible thing to say.
"I'm not going anywhere," Eames told him. "I'm just outside the door-"
"Stay in here-with me…" Arthur asked, and Eames would have taken it up as another one of his attempts to manipulate if the boy didn't look so angry at himself for having to ask. The tremble in his hands was real, and so was the quiver of his lip.
He was scared.
Arthur was scared to be alone.
That was probably why he'd gone out into the house, looking for Eames.
Eames stayed with him until he fell asleep, sitting on the edge of the bed and carding a hand through his hair, and then he went back out to the couch and laid down, half watching television, half staring into space, and that was what he'd done for most of the night.
It was nearly five a.m., and he was dozing when he heard the door open again. He peeked over the edge of the couch to see Arthur leaning against the doorframe, hair a mess, shirt falling over his shoulder, ashen and shaky just like before.
"Do you need anything?" Eames asked.
"Why are you doing this?" Arthur asked.
"Doing what exactly?" Eames queried, crawling off of the couch to approach, just in case Arthur decided to collapse again.
"Helping me."
"Because you needed help," Eames replied simply.
"…but…" Arthur shook his head as if there was no way the answer could be that simple. "…but, I have been… awful to you. I've used you and manipulated you, I've said horrible things. Why would you help me after all that? Why? I just want to understand!"
As he had spoken, his voice had risen, cracking and squeaking all the way, and by the end of it, he was shouting, tears in his eyes, and then he was coughing into his sleeve, leaving behind a stain Eames wasn't sure he'd ever get out. He slumped forward so far that Eames had to grab his shoulders to keep him from falling over, and then he found himself pulling the boy to his chest.
Arthur crumpled in his arms, very nearly falling to his knees. His coughing slowly descended into gasps for air, and his gasps for air descended into pathetic little whimpers that Eames could tell he was trying to hide.
Eames lifted him into his arms and carried him back to the bed, but when he tried to move, he found that Arthur had taken a death grip to his shirt. "St-stay-p-please-"
"Darling-"
"I-I'll do whatever you want-just-fuck-please- please don't just leave when I fall asleep…" Arthur sputtered.
"Your fever is spiking. You're getting delirious," Eames told him. He could feel the heat emanating off of Arthur's skin.
"She left when I fell asleep! She left while I was sleeping! Don't leave me while I'm asleep!" Arthur shrieked, eyes rolling back in his head.
Eames picked him up again and carried him to the bathroom, Arthur screaming all the way. He climbed into the shower and turned on the tap, and cool water rained down on top of them, and Arthur's screaming quieted.
He looked up at Eames, wet strands of hair sticking to his forehead and the side of his face, and he looked eerily innocent. "Eames," he said as if he had just noticed him for the first time.
"It's me," Eames assured him, sitting down in the basin of the tub and swiping the dripping hair out of Arthur's eyes.
Arthur closed his eyes and leaned into Eames's hand. "You should have just let me die," he mumbled.
Eames cradled him close, the water unceasingly drizzling down upon them.
When Arthur's fever had died down, Eames carried him back to the room and started to undress him from the wet clothes. Arthur stared at a spot on the floor, as if he wasn't present, but Eames decided against snapping his fingers in his face.
When he went to redress him in dry clothes, Arthur placed his hand against his wrist, pushing it down gently. "I'm okay…" he said softly. "Will you just…"
"I need to dress you, love."
"No… I… no, I'll just mess up your clothes… just… please… lay with me…?"
Eames sighed through his nose. "I don't know if that's a good idea."
"I don't mean anything sexual by it," Arthur said, voice trembling on the word 'sexual'. "I just… please…? I won't do anything, I swear… I just…"
"Just what?" Eames asked softly, tugging off his wet shirt and taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
"I…" Arthur looked away as if ashamed to admit it. "I just want someone to hold me… I don't want to be by myself…"
Eames opened his mouth to reply but Arthur buried his face in his knees. "Oh, God, I can't believe I just said that! Fuck, I-I must sound so fucking pathetic-I-"
"Arthur."
Arthur looked up, eyes wide and so dark, clearing his throat to try and prevent a cough.
"Let's just go to sleep then, yeah?" Eames offered, dropping the rest of his clothes.
Arthur slumped, coughing, and let Eames pull him into his arms. Eames pulled the covers over the both of them, and Arthur leaned up against his chest.
"Eames… I… thank you…"
Eames kissed the top of his head. "Don't mention it, darling."
"Eames?"
"Mm?"
Arthur looked up at him as Eames switched off the lamp. "Do you remember when I said that I don't trust anyone?"
"I do remember that, yes," Eames said, rubbing his back when he started to cough again.
Arthur licked the sputum off of his lips and swallowed and said softly, scratchily, "I trust you."
"Do you?" Eames said curiously.
Arthur offered Eames a tight smile, as if he felt that the news wasn't really worth anything, that he just wanted to tell someone and get it off of his chest (God knows he was having enough difficulty with his chest in a physical sense-even metaphorical weight being lifted off of it would probably help at this point).
Still, the physical response Arthur had given to a phrase that should have been so heavy and so important to someone who had never trusted anyone else surprised Eames. He had had an idea about but never realized just how much Arthur felt he was worthless. It was probably only magnified now by the events that had taken place, of course, but it didn't make it any less sad.
It wasn't any question as to why Arthur felt like he wanted to die.
…and he was sure if this admission had happened earlier, Eames would have passed it off as manipulation on Arthur's part, but… well…
Arthur had nothing to gain and nothing to lose from it. He'd said it simply because it was true, and if all he wanted was for someone to hold him, Eames didn't mind. It was the least he could do.
He'd decide what to do in the morning. For now, the both of them could just use a little sleep.
Arthur curled up against him, skinny arms folded up against his chest, and he coughed throughout the entirety of the morning.
His fever shot up around ten a.m., and Eames was forced to get out of bed and retrieve the medication that the doctor had prescribed for Arthur as well as a cool cloth for his forehead. Getting Arthur to take the pills was a struggle, but eventually he gave in, but after the swallowing of the pills it took even longer to get him settled back in since he seemed to be intent on getting a cigarette. Eames gave him ice to chew on instead, and eventually he calmed down, slipping into a hazy half-awake state.
"Don't you have to go to work…?" he asked, staring up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes. "It's morning, isn't it?"
"It is morning, yes, but school is out for the semester," Eames told him. "It's December. It's nearly Christmastime."
"Oh…" Arthur mumbled, eyes fluttering closed. "I didn't… I didn't realize… Sorry… I'm sorry…"
"You said you were sorry twice."
"I'm sorry… for everything…" Arthur breathed and then fell silent, giving Eames no more than the general statement to mull over.
For a long moment, Eames thought he had finally drifted off to sleep, head tilted against his fingertips, but then Arthur sighed as if awakening again.
"Just go back to sleep," Eames whispered, hoping to push him along. "You need the rest."
"I love you…"
Arthur fell asleep before he could explain, leaving Eames sitting frozen at his side, not sure how to feel.
Sorry it took so long to get this out, and I don't even know if this chapter is very good. :/
Anywho, if you haven't noticed, I'm writing fic for people for donations to help out my family. Literally anything will help, so if you have the time, please take a look at the journal:
http://osaki-nana-707.livejournal.com/36496.html
I will not stop posting my own fics, so don't think I'll be holding the hostage by any means. I'm just hoping to use my talents (or lack thereof hurr) to help us out a little bit. My parents are having a really rough time, and I feel like a contribution, however small, will help ease the weight off of them.