beautiful sight, we're happy tonight [inception]

[weatheredlaw]

Title: beautiful sight, we're happy tonight
Fandom: Inception
Summary: Arthur feels like an idiot, but then again, it's been a good night for that.
Pairing(s): Arthur/Eames, future Ariadne/Yusuf, future Cobb/Mal
Rating: R (for language)
Notes: I could not get this out of my head. So much crack. And my first Arthur/Eames. I call this the Macy's-Verse, because I created like a Santa's Workshop scenario in a Macy's and because who the fuck doesn't love Macy's/associate it with Christmas? I know I do. Anyway. Enjoy this, for what it's worth.



It's Black Friday and Arthur is frustrated.

Really, It's one in the morning on Black Friday, and Arthur is so fucking pissed that he's gripping his clip board so tightly his knuckles are turning white and he has this crazed look in his eyes of a man who hasn't slept and is slowly but surely losing his boundaries. It's probably why he hugged Ariadne so tightly when she arrived five minutes after he called and would definitely explain why he rested his head on Yusuf's shoulder when he came in not long after.

"Okay guys."

"And girls."

"Right. This is it. It's Black Friday-"

"It's one in the bleeding morning, Arthur," Eames says from his corpse-like position in one of the metal folding chairs. "I'm exhausted." Arthur sighs and rubs his face. He'd come straight here at ten o'clock the night before, right after his grandmother had thrown a punch at his sister-in-law and his brother had decided that the turkey wouldn't make suitable leftovers for a fucking homeless man and promptly threw the bones and leftover meet into the street. Only Arthur's mother had maintained any semblance of sobriety and threw Arthur an envious grimace when he announced that he had to go to work to prepare for the following shopping day. His aunt had begun sobbing and locked herself in the downstairs bathroom (just like she had done all the years before) and his uncle began cooing niceties through the door just as Arthur was putting on his coat.

In short, he had traded one shit-show for another and, if anyone really wanted to know, he was better prepared and more willing to deal with this one. Family issues were not Arthur's strong point.

What was his strong point was dealing with people he didn't know or give a shit about. People who stampeded through a department store at four in the morning to buy crap for their kids or relatives they hated that he'd have to exchange for something else come the New Year. Arthur could do this. Arthur could excel at this.

Santa’s Workshop at Macy’s was set up every year during the week before Thanksgiving and officially opened on Black Friday. Arthur, who normally managed the children’s toy section during the year, spent the remainder of the Holiday seasons monitoring disgruntled "elves" and making sure he Santa didn’t show up to work drunk every other day. It was a full-time job, really. And he was damn good at it, too. Not many people were given the sole responsibility of taking care of the entire Workshop, but Arthur had proven himself more than capable. Often, he was unsure of whether or not this was something to be proud of. Of course, he took one look at his Christmas Bonus each year and decided that, yes, indeed, it was. Every fucking second of it. Arthur looks around now, aware that not even half his elf crew is here, but decides to start lecturing anyway, mostly because he can’t fucking take it anymore.

"Elves?" Eames and Ariadne look up, their eyes glazed over with exhaustion. "Check your uniforms, please. No wardrobe malfunctions like last year. I don't...I can't have another Nash incident."

"What happened?" Eames asks.

"Nash showed up on Black Friday wasted out of his mind and did a strip tease by the LEGO display," Yusuf says matter-of-factually. "It was rather hilarious, I thought."

"Oh my God it was," Ariadne says, her entire body lurching forward with glee. She grins madly. "Arthur and I had to tackle him to the ground and Cobb distracted the entire store by singing 'Jingle Bells' at the top of his lungs and doing a fucking dance and then Yusuf picked up one of the toy trumpets and actually started playing it and in like ten seconds, no one even remembered what happened."

"I remembered," Arthur mutters darkly. "And I won't have a repeat."

"Ah, but I was practicing my trombone skills," Yusuf whispers in mock sadness. Ariadne gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder and he went beet red before turning back to Arthur and stammering, "So, uh, why are we here at one in the morning?"

"Because in three hours we are going to have a fucking stampede of psychotic women and their psychotic friends and psychotic daughter. There will small men beating one another up over electronics and there will be smaller women fighting over perfume bottles and Barbie dolls. You need to be ready. You need to be at your stations and you need to be prepared to deal with any and every stupid, asinine, and insane question they throw at you."

"Asi-"

"Asinine, Eames."

"It means stupid and pointless," Yusuf mutters quickly under his breath. Eames nods and leans back in his chair, yawning loudly again.

"Right. Asinine. Anyway." Arthur is trying very hard not to look at Eames's mouth while he yawns because Arthur has a thing about lips and Eames happens to have an pair that are almost God-like in their beauty and, suddenly, in his tired and boundaries-less state, he's having a hard time tearing his eyes from them. But he looks down at his clipboard before Eames recovers from the yawn and starts delegating duties to the rest of the workers stumbling in. "Late," he snaps as they wander into the room and take their seats. "Coffee's in the back. Grab a bagel and park it. Now."

Arthur slips into his manager skin better than he'll ever fit into his "son" skin or his "nephew" skin or even the "i actually give a shit" skin. It forces a little part of his soul to die, each time he does it.

It would be an understatement to say that Arthur appreciates Robert Fischer.

It would be more accurate to say Arthur worships the ground Robert Fischer walks on.

Fischer is organized, to the point, and more adept at handling stress and psychotic forty year old women than Arthur believe he himself will ever be. Fischer knows how to handle missing sales receipts like Arthur knows how to put on his turn signal. He navigates the store like a sailor on a worn sea, like a conductor on his oldest cabin car. Arthur has entire list of adept analogies he could use, but he's too busy listening to Fischer direct the group of elves who are going to be working until 10 PM.

"I'm going to die," Ariadne groans, straightening a teddy bear display.

"Coffee," Arthur advises. "Just like Mr. Fischer said. And you did this last year, I don't see what the problem is."

"Just because you've got a fucking boner for Robert Fischer doesn't mean his advice is-"

"Arthur has a boner?" Eames asks, sticking his head between them. Arthur nearly loses it right then because if Eames gets any closer he will, in fact, have a boner. Arthur excuses himself and goes to check on Cobb. He's not on until ten in the morning, but Santas have a habit of getting...bored, really, between four and ten in the morning. But when Arthur goes to his dressing room, Cobb is nowhere to be found.

"Yusuf." Arthur pulls out his walkie-talkie and begins barking into it. "Yusuf!"

"What?" Yusuf mutters, sighing on the other end.

"Where in the fuck is Cobb?"

"I'm not his bloody baby sitter. What do you want from me?"

"Find. Him." Arthur hooks the walkie back onto his belt and makes his way to the breakroom for a cup of coffee. Ariadne and Eames are back together again, even though he's separated them six dozen times, with strict orders for Eames to remain on the boys' toys end of the room and Ariadne to remain on the girls' toys end of the room.

"All this gender bullshit. Don't you believe in equality, Arthur?" Eames asks, shooting him a shit-eating grin and sipping on his coffee. It might be a trick of the eye, but Arthur swears he sees a tongue flick into that cup and he nearly loses it all right there.

"Just...get in there. It's three fifty. If you're not ready in ten minutes, then we all have hell to pay, I promise you."

"You're new," Ariadne says, patting Eames' arm. "You need to be careful - they can smell your fear." She grimaces and shakes her head, throwing back the rest of her coffee and tossing the cup into the garbage. "I'm going to go make sure the Astronaut Barbie display is still in working order. There's a talking dog that goes into space with her I think."

"It doesn't talk. It wears a helmet," Arthur corrects.

"Whatever. Fucking Astronaut Barbie," she mutters, leaving the room. Arthur really, really doesn't want to be alone in the room with Eames, but he's standing next to the coffee pot and between his desire to get fucked and his need for caffeine, Arthur's willing to risk the proximity. He doesn't make eye contact for fear that his most base and depraved thoughts will come spilling out of his mouth - or worse, Eames will just be able to tell what he's thinking. Fortunately, Ariadne's comment about fresh meat seems to have set him on edge and he's staring worriedly off into space.

"You'll be fine," Arthur says, trusting himself to speak.

"Think so?"

"I know so."

"You fucking better be right. If I get eaten I'm going to murder you Arthur Epstein. You Jewish bastard." Arthur grins. "It's perfect for you, I'll bet. Watching all these sodding idiots come in here and buy gifts for a holiday you don't give two cents about."

"I'll have you know I put up a tree every year."

"Hah! A tree! Well, you are something, aren't you? I'd like to see that tree, I would." Arthur chokes on his coffee. "Alright?"

"Hot. Very hot."

"Mmm. It is." Eames nods once and heads out, leaving Arthur to deal with a burning tongue, an increasingly dirty mind, and an AWOL Santa.

It's a relief a few minutes later when Yusuf radios in with Cobb's location.

For some reason, he's at the perfume counter, completely decked out in his Santa costume. It's almost four AM. Arthur can hear the people clamoring to get in and it's two minutes until those doors unlock. Cobb is chatting up some dark haired woman at the counter, talking animatedly and sending her into a fit of giggles. They both look really happy.

Which is why it simply kills Arthur to interrupt the little something they have going on.

"Dom. I'm giving you ten seconds to haul your ass up that escalator and back into your dressing room."

"Arthur, this is-"

"Nine....Eight....Seven-"

"Fine. I'll see tomorrow then, right?"

"Of course," the woman says, smiling. "Good luck." Cobb nods and sprints toward the escalator. "Same to you," she says to Arthur. He sighs and runs after Cobb watching the custodial staff stick the keys in the door.

"Faster, Dom." He sprints past him and into the Workshop. "Dressing room, now. I'll get you when it's time."

"Right." Cobb vanishes and Arthur looks at his elves.

"Okay people. They're coming. Are we ready?" Ariadne is standing by that stupid Barbie display and Eames has a NERF gun in his hand for some strange reason. Yusuf and his group of stockers are scattered throughout the room. All the other elves that Arthur has never really bothered to get to know are still looking exhausted and bored as the first group of shoppers storms the area.

Arthur moves out of the way and watches the biggest shit show of the year begin to unfold.

Merry Christmas, he thinks, as the first hour goes by without too much conflict. It seems almost too good to be true, really. Ariadne is legitimately smiling, which is strange for her at any time before two in the afternoon, and he hasn’t witnessed a single argument escalate into a fist fight. Things might, if it could ever be possible, go according to plan. They might even go perfectly.

Naturally, just as Arthur is thinking this, something large, metal, and heavy collides with the side of his head and everything goes black.

When Arthur comes to, he thinks maybe he's died. Or he's dreaming. Because Eames's face is hovering inches above his own and he can hear Ariadne's voice in the background yelling, "You do not have to give him mouth-to-mouth, Eames, you fucking pervert! Now get your hand off his crotch." Arthur feels someone lifting him up and pressing a glass of water to his mouth. He drinks quickly.

"Mr. Epstein?" Robert Fischer's face swims into view. "Mr. Epstein, are you alright?"

"S'fine," he hears himself mutter. His head is killing him. "Wha' happened?"

"You got hit with a toy truck," Yusuf says, trying to keep from smiling.

"It's not funny, Yusuf." Ariadne glares at him and Yusuf immediately goes very serious, nodding and crossing his arms. "There were some mothers fighting over some kind of Hooked On Phonics toy behind you."

"And I told them I was bringing more," Yusuf snaps.

"But they wouldn't listen to him. And then they started, like, actually fighting over it."

"Where was I?"

"In front of them. But it was really loud and you were by that robotic dog display and you know how it sings a song every five minutes? Well it was playing and you probably couldn't hear them. I mean, I don't blame you. I can't hear shit when that thing is playing. Anyway, they started fighting. And one of them grabbed one of those metal fire trucks and chucked it and it hit you in the head." Ariadne takes a breath. "You just dropped. It was really scary."

"What was scarier was how nobody noticed," Eames snaps. Arthur realizes that he's been having his back rubbed by Eames for the entire duration of Ariadne's story. And he likes it. The pain in his head is starting to ebb away when Fischer reappears with a bottle of Advil.

"Take some of these and go home."

"No!" Arthur says, jerking away from Eames and pushing the bottle out of the way. "Absolutely not. I've been preparing for this day for three weeks now. There are schedules in place, transitions that need to be made and Cobb, dear God in heaven, Cobb. What time is it?"

"It's almost ten," Ariadne says carefully. "You've been out for a while. We were about to take you to the hospital."

"I need to get Dom and we need to set up. I can hear the kids, there's a line isn't there?" Yusuf nods. "Look. I can handle this. I just need-"

"Arthur." Fischer stands up straight. "If you want to stay, I'm not going to stop you. But I want you to hand your clipboard over."

"What?"

"Give it to Ariadne. She'll run the floor for the rest of the day."

"You're fucking with me," Ariadne says, her voice shrill. "I can't - Arthur is - I mean absolutely not, there's no possible way that I could - I mean Arthur is the one - and I-"

"Ariadne's been here the longest. This is her fifth Christmas with us-" ("Eighth," Ariadne groans.) "-and I think she can handle it. Don't you Arthur?"

"I think she can," Yusuf offers quickly. Arthur raises his eyebrow and rubs his face.

No one's taken his clipboard from him. Ever. Arthur doesn't even know where it is right now and it's scaring the shit out of him. This job is what he has. This job is what he does to escape his psychotic family and his neighbors who have way too much sex and the fact that he's the one who isn't having sex and the fact that he couldn't do shit with his degree in computer science because he just doesn't give a shit about computer science. No one who studies it gives a flying fuck about it. But Arthur gives a shit about this job. And here's the man he admires most, telling him to hand it over to a fucking elf for the rest of the day.

And it's not like Ariadne couldn't do the job well enough. It's just that it's Arthur's job and, well, there are things he does that no one will ever understand and there are ways he does things that no one would ever think to do and this job is his fucking therapy for Christ's sake. His meditation, his yoga, his hobby.

It's sick and it's sad, but Arthur's never feigned wellness or sanity. Or happiness.

But Robert Fischer has his hand extended and so Arthur concedes, looking around for the board. Eames finds it and presses it into his palm and he reluctantly hands it over.

"Ariadne. You are temporarily in charge for the day. I trust you'll do a fantastic job." Ariadne takes the board with shaky hands and looks at the to-do list, quickly turning pale and leaving the room to get Cobb ready. Arthur knows she'll be fine, but he still feels...naked without the board. "Arthur. I'd like for you to go home. But if you'd like to work with Yusuf-"

"Yes," he says quickly.

"Right. Well, if you're going to be working the floor, I'm going to have to insist you dress the part. I know it's been a while, but if you could, you know..." Arthur swallows.

The elf costume.

Isn't today his fucking day?

Arthur had come to work at Macy's when he was seventeen. He'd worked in the Workshop every year. For nine years, Arthur wore that costume. From Black Friday to Christmas Day, Arthur wore that fucking costume. The bells, the shoes, the tights - everything. He can fucking hear Eames grinning like a mad man behind him and Yusuf is seriously fighting to urge to keel over. Neither of them have ever seen Arthur in the costume, but Ariadne has. She'd started working there three years after Arthur had and they'd suffered through it all together. She'd been the one to push him to apply for the managerial spot. "The costume, Arthur. You won't have to be a fucking elf anymore."

Now that he's looking at those belled shoes again, Arthur can't help but feel a bit nostalgic for the old days. And remember how much he hated wearing tights. The costume still makes him look like a fucking moron, but it feels good to feel like a fucking moron with all the other fucking morons again. A few of the old elves grin and pat him on the back as he comes out. The newer ones look on with suppressed fear, unsure if they can laugh or if they should still treat Arthur like he's in charge.

To be fair, he can be fucking terrifying when he wants to be.

Ariadne is doing a fantastic job, from what Arthur can see, and she's busy scolding one of the elves for telling a woman to go to Wal-Mart. Arthur thinks she's been watching him and, really, he's a little proud.

"You know, darling," Eames says suddenly. "I think you look lovely in the tights." He winks and heads off to try and help a woman looking back and forth, confused, at two different dolls. Arthur feels his face flush and smiles down at his legs.

He might look like a fucking moron, but at least he looks good.

At noon, things die down, but barely. Arthur's forgotten what all the floor work entailed. Fischer is watching him carefully and has officially taken over any complaints and conflicts that arise. Arthur relishes in sending things his and Ariadne's way, feeling fantastic just rearranging computer games and chatting with Yusuf. Eventually, he ends ups reorganizing an Optimus Prime display with Eames for forty-five minutes. Only six or seven thoughts of "please just fucking fuck me already" go through his head. It's rather pleasant.

He learns that Eames only got this job because of his accent because apparently people love British accents at Christmas time. Eames loves Harry Potter more than life itself and hits anyone in the face who tells him more than once that Daniel Radcliffe is a terrible Harry. He learns that Eames enjoys Christmas very much, but liked it better when his mother was alive because she made a big deal out of it and made him come home and now he just doesn't feel like getting on that plane back to London. He learns that Eames has a sister and a brother and he rarely sees them because they just don't get along. He learns that Eames lost his job last year and this was the first place that had hired him since that August.

Arthur learns a lot. And all they did was reorganize the Optimus Prime figurines for less than an hour. He checks in on Ariadne and starts feeling his headache coming back around two. The sound of children screaming isn't doing much for the dull, throbbing pain on the side of his head. He sees Yusuf being handed a small child as a woman reaches all the way to the back of a shelf to triumphantly pull out something she doesn't need in a box. The girl is still screaming bloody murder when her mother takes her back and sprints for the registers. Cobb looks suicidal and Eames is starting to clench his jaw (not that Arthur's watching what Eames's mouth is doing) and Ariadne is looking like she's about to vomit. Arthur feels like he's going to be sick himself. Eight hours, he tells himself. Just eight more hours.

It's the slowest eight hours of his life.

When they finally shut the doors at ten, Arthur collapses onto the couch in the back, nursing his aching head and wondering if it would be considered legal to commit murder on Black Friday.

Ariadne is cussing and raving as she comes in, covered in vomit.

"Some little shit threw up on me on the way out! At ten fucking PM! All fucking day I get by without a single fucking kid throwing up on me and when does he do it? At closing! This is fucking bullshit! Bull. Fucking. Shit." Yusuf is trying to offer his help but she swats his hand away and promptly pulls her shirt off, reveal her bra to everyone. "Look all you want, I'm not wearing fucking vomit on me for another five seconds." She storms off into the locker rooms, tugging at her tights and still cursing.

"Your mouth, Yusuf." Eames points and yawns.

"Huh?"

"Close it."

"Oh."

"If you want to fuck her, you should just say something." Yusuf blushes and shakes his head, muttering something about propriety and don't know what you're talking about and out of my league and other Yusuf-type things before going back with a few others to the locker rooms to get his things and go. Arthur moans and rolls off the couch. "Tired, love?"

"My fucking head."

"Ah. That. Need a ride home?"

"It'd be nice," Arthur mutters. The very idea of driving gives him the unstoppable urge to throw up and never stop. Eames nods and hoists him off of the couch, laughing at his costume. "What?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Bet you can't wait to get back into managerial mode, eh?" Arthur shrugs, yawning and trying to blink sleep out of his eyes. "Come on, I'll get you home. I'll pick you up, too, how does that sound?"

"Spectacular, actually." Eames laughs richly and helps Arthur down the escalator.

And as he thinks about all the Black Fridays he's endured, given what's happened, Arthur has to say - this has been the best yet.

"We talked about me all afternoon. What about you? Why the Workshop?"

"I usually just do the toy department. But it becomes this fucking mess every year. The Workshop was actually the first place that hired me in high school. I was seventeen and the last thing I wanted to be wearing was a fucking elf costume - but I had to pay for gas. I got a car for Christmas and everyone fucking knew I was getting a car for Christmas, so I just started saving. Every fucking penny."

"And then you never left."

"Nope. I know, dreaming big, aren't I?"

"Well, you're a lot better off than some people."

"Guess so, yeah. This is me."

"Fabulous." Eames parks in front of Arthur's building, looking around and nodding. "I'll remember for tomorrow."

Arthur wants to just tell him he can come up and then no one will have to remember where he lives or anything like that. They'll just be able to do away with all the niceties and fuck and keep fucking and be done with it. Arthur swallows thickly and nods, looking from the apartment to his hands resting in his lap.

"Well. Goodnight." He tries to open the door, but it's locked.

"Oops," Eames says, grinning. He doesn't move to unlock anything. Arthur gives a nervous laugh. He feels stupid and pathetic and annoying right now. Eames leans a little closer and Arthur knows what's coming next and suddenly that urge to just have Eames fuck him isn't as great now. He thinks he might want something slow and something sort of beautiful in its own right. He might want something that ends in gifts being exchanged and people being invited over for Christmas dinner this year and next year and maybe even the year after that. He thinks of nieces that will hang onto Eames's legs and nephews that will listen to his stories and hang onto his every word. As they kiss, he thinks about kissing somewhere else, under the mistletoe his sister insists on putting up every year, or on Arthur's couch or in his mother's kitchen, helping her set the table. He lets Eames's hand curl around the back of his neck and he imagines something warm and lovely growing out of all this, like some kind of bulb after the snow has thawed. He imagines the green rising up out of the soil like an old science experiment gone wonderfully right -

and he break away.

"I...uh."

"Ah. You didn't-"

"No! No, I do. I just...I have this...this image in my mind. Of..."

"What it should be like?"

"I mean, yes and no. We...technically I'm your boss." At this, Eames laughs. "I know, after today, you're not impressed. I mean, I don't know how anyone will be able to respect me again, let alone you."

"I have a tremendous amount of respect for you, Mr. Epstein." Arthur sighs. "But, of course, I understand."

"Thank you, for the ride home. After...after the holidays, I'd like, very much so, to try this again."

"I can think of no better belated gift. I'll be here at eight AM sharp, Mr. Epstein."

"I look forward to it, Mr. Eames." Eames nods and unlocks the car door, finally letting Arthur out. Arthur smiles as he shuts the door and waves at the departing Eames, finally making his way upstairs and into his apartment. He feels, of course, like a colossal idiot.

But, then again, it's been a good day for that. It really has.