[Inception fic] Killing Kittens for the Greater Good [1/6]
For this prompt on the kink meme: community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/4946.html
Title: Killing Kittens for the Greater Good
Fandom: Inception
Author: saintdogstreet
Pairings/Warnings: Arthur/Eames. Language, violence, and sexual situations.
Summary: Arthur is the receptionist at a sperm bank, Eames is a regular donor.
"Hello, sweetheart."
There was an elbow on Arthur's desk. He sniffed and ignored it.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Eames," he said crisply, shuffling through his papers. Dr. Yusef had said he'd left the A7-12 form on Arthur's desk that morning. . .
The elbow belonged to a British man in a paisley shirt, a pattern-choice Arthur also chose to ignore, who was leaning in an artistic effort onto Arthur's desk, giving him a familiar grin.
"Yeah, it is, isn't it? Gets better every time I walk past this desk," Eames said.
"Indeed," Arthur acknowledged. "Here for a donation?"
"Yep. And the doc tells me I need some blood drawn. Wanna hold my hand?"
"For the sperm donation or the blood test, Mr. Eames?" Arthur asked easily.
"Oh, Arthur, you little minx, I didn't think you had it in you," Eames' grin turned lecherous. Well, more lecherous.
"Luckily for us, Mr. Eames, your services do not require much thinking," Arthur said. "We're all but up-to-date on your paperwork, but if you could just fill out this form you'll be ready to go. A nurse will be ready to see you shortly."
He handed Eames his paperwork, who took it with a sigh and shake of his head. "It's always forms forms forms with you, Arthur dear. Why don't we ever just talk anymore?"
"Gladly, Mr. Eames, kindly let me know when you find something to say. In the meantime, feel free to take a seat and complete your forms," he gestured to the cushy chairs across from his desk.
Eames shrugged. "All right. At least the view's nice."
Eames was humming something under his breath as he scrawled out responses. Arthur mentally winced. It could be a challenge puzzling out Eames' atrociously misspelled answers. Ah, well. Arthur dealt with worse.
Arthur found that Eames' humming didn't make him want to stick his ears into the paper-shredder, at least, and fifteen minutes passed quickly. He let the nurses know Eames was here, finally found Yusef's form (stuck in Arthur's outbox, for god's sake, he'd have to have another discussion with the man) and answered two calls -- heavy breathing he'd hung up on with barely an eye-roll and a single woman looking for alternatives whom he'd happily helped. All in a days work.
"Mr. Eames?" A nurse stuck her head out the door. "We're ready for you."
"Fantastic," Eames said, sweeping out of his chair. He strode to Arthur's desk and presented the paperwork with a flourish.
"For you, darling," he bowed.
"Thank you," Arthur nodded. "Just head right back."
"Oh, I know the drill," Eames said. "I'll keep you in my thoughts, Arthur love."
"You know Mr. Eames, there is a fine line between "flirting" and "a restraining order," Arthur said archly.
"Oh, yes," Eames nodded. "And like so many other things, I like to straddle that line."
He winked and headed for the door, patting Arthur's desk affectionately as he went.
Arthur shook his head, rapping the papers against his desk until they were even, and repressed a smile.
**
"Mr. and Mrs. Cobb, it's a pleasure to see you again," Arthur said with a smile. "What can I do for you?"
"Hello, Arthur," Mrs. Cobb said in her lilting accent. "How many times must I tell you, call me Mal, please."
"And deprive myself of the opportunity of hearing you correct me, oh, I don't know, Mrs. Cobb," Arthur said.
Mrs. Cobb laughed and her husband shook his head. "If I didn't know you better, Arthur, you'd be in trouble for flirting with my wife."
"Who says he's the one flirting?" Mrs. Cobb asked, rubbing a thumb against the back of Mr. Cobb's hand.
"We're here to see Dr. Yusuf, Arthur," Mr. Cobb said. "We've found a new surrogate."
"Oh, that's fantastic," Arthur said. "Congratulations."
"Thank you," Mal gave a subdued smile. She exchanged a quiet, private look with her husband. "It is, isn't it?"
"She seems like a nice girl," Mr. Cobb said, with a strange hopeful, wary look. "Mal's father knows her. She's an architecture student."
"I'm sure she'll be perfect, Mr. Cobb," Arthur said sincerely.
"Yeah," Cobb said, and his grip tightened just a little in Mal's hand. "I hope so."
"Here," Arthur said, handing over the necessary forms. "You'll need these. Go ahead and fill them out in the waiting area and I'll let the doctor know you're here. I'm so happy for you."
The last bit was perhaps a little too personal but Arthur let it slip. He'd known the Cobbs for a while now, since they'd first decided to conceive, since Mal had found out she could never be pregnant again, since their first surrogate had changed her mind at the last minute. It had been a long, hard time, and the Frenchwoman had a sad look in her eyes that Arthur hated. The Cobbs were good people.
His job as a receptionist was a little bit like bartending. Or psychology. People tended to talk about their problems, and Arthur tended to listen.
"You're a dear, Arthur," Mal said softly. She squeezed his hand as she took the paperwork from him and Dom, hand resting on his wife's shoulder, smiled.
After a short while the Cobbs headed back to the doctor's office, waving as they went by. Arthur nodded at them and mentally wished them luck.
Time passed quickly. Arthur sent a quick email to Dr. Yusuf implying that there would be painful consequences if he disturbed Arthur's system again, he hung up on two heavy-breathers and informed one stoned teenager that no, this was not the number for the pizza parlour, and he probably wouldn't enjoy the ingredients they had to offer very much.
"Well, hello there, gorgeous, come here often?" a very familiar voice asked.
Arthur held up one finger for silence, tapping his headset pointedly.
"No, Mr. Saito. Yes. . . No. Well, I'm sure that can be arranged. . .You'd like to come by for a visit? Of course, I'm sure that will be fine. . . DreamShare Cryobank is always happy to help our largest benefactor. . . Certainly. .The thirteenth? . . . I'll pencil you in. Yes, Mr. Saito, it's been a pleasure. . . Thank you. . . . You too. . . Have a nice day."
He hung up the phone with a press of a button and looked up at Eames pointedly.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Eames. It must be Tuesday again."
"My favourite day," Eames agreed. "I have you marked on my calendar."
He leaned in closely over Arthur's desk, and whispered conspiratorially, "You're circled in red."
Arthur wasn't entirely sure how he managed to make that phrase sound so dirty.
"I must say Tuesday's come far too quickly for my liking," Arthur said, and immediately regretted it.
Eames' grin was so wide it looked potentially unhealthy. "Oh, don't worry, darling, that's never a problem with me."
"Really? Then I can't imagine why you always leave our offices so soon," Arthur shot back primly.
"Oh, Arthur, that hurts," Eames pouted and pointed to his heart. "Right here. And a bit lower and to the right from that."
"My apologies, Mr. Eames, I suppose I forgot your delicate ego for a moment there."
"Kiss it and make it better?"
"Not today, Mr. Eames. Not today. Why don't you have a seat and I can ignore you from farther away?"
"You know, Arthur," Eames tilted his head and studied him. "Don't you ever tire of flirting with me in the same old sperm bank?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Eames, I'm glad you asked."
Eames shook his head quickly. "That's not what I meant. I was trying to say, wouldn't you like to flirt with me somewhere else?"
". . . Pardon?" Arthur asked, frowning.
"I know of a great restaurant on Harper St.," Eames said.
"Or maybe just drinks. . .?" he suggested as Arthur said nothing. ". . . Arthur?"
"Are you asking me out on a date?" Arthur demanded, puzzling it out.
"Well, yes," Eames admitted, shifting uncomfortably. "Though to be honest I was hoping for a more positive response."
"Why?" Arthur asked. "I mean, why now? Mr. Eames, you've been coming to this sperm bank--"
"And at this sperm bank, for that matter," Eames interjected.
"Coming to this sperm bank for over a year now."
"And I've found I can resist you no longer, Arthur love. It's your charming wit and the way you abuse me so with it. It's your impeccable suits and your wondrous efficiency. The way your hands move when you're shuffling through your paperwork. You've seduced me, Arthur, with your class and your intellect and your sarcasm. And your arse. Okay, a lot of it has to do with your arse."
"Arthur?" a new voice cut in. "Is this man bothering you?"
Arthur snapped his head around from where he was gaping at Eames. Cobb was standing behind the Brit, one hand settled firmly on his shoulder. His eyes were hard.
Arthur swallowed and gathered his thoughts. "No, Mr. Cobb, not at all. Not at the moment. Everything's quite all right. We were just having a discussion."
Cobb studied him carefully, glancing between Eames (who was looking a little nervous, shifting under the unyielding grip on his shoulder) and Arthur. He nodded carefully.
"All right then. If you're sure." He let go of Eames, who breathed out a sigh of relief and scooted a few feet away.
Arthur nodded, adjusting his tie. "Perfectly sure, Mr. Cobb. Thank you. How'd everything go?"
"Just fine, Arthur, thanks. Mal's just finishing talking to Dr. Yusuf. It looks like everything's on track."
"That's wonderful," Arthur said sincerely, but he couldn't help from darting a look over at Eames, fidgeting and staring at him.
"Here, I know you've seen most of them before but there's a few new ones you and Mrs. Cobb might find helpful," he gave Cobb a handful of brochures with names like Your Surrogate and You and What to Expect When Somebody Else is Expecting For You and Artificial Insemination -- There's Nothing Artificial About the Love!
"Thanks, Arthur," Cobb nodded. The door opened then and Mal walked out, a blissful smile on her face.
Arthur politely wished the two of them a good day and they left, Cobb shooting Eames one last glare as he passed him by. Eames gave a half-hearted wave and tried to make himself as small as possible.
As soon as the door shut behind them he pounced back over to the front of Arthur's desk.
"Okay," he said. "Where were we?"
"You were talking about my ass," Arthur supplied.
"Oh. Right. Well, it is a lovely thing, isn't it? Pity you don't stand up from your desk more."
"Eames." Arthur said pointedly. "Do you have a point?"
"Yes, I do," he didn't even make a double entendre, Arthur noticed uneasily. "I'm asking you out, Arthur."
"To drinks?" Arthur clarified.
"Sure," Eames said, gesturing wildly. "Drinks, dinner, movies, hayrides. We can go to the bloody circus if you'd like. Or the moon. Anywhere you want."
"I'm not sure I have enough vacation days saved up to go to the moon," Arthur mused.
"Arthur. Darling. Love. You're killing me here."
"All right," Arthur said. "Sure. We can go on a date."
"Arthur, if you go, it'll be the best date of your life. I promise you, you'll never forget it and never regret it. I'll--"
"Mr. Eames. I said yes."
"You. . .?"
"Said yes, correct. I'll go out on a date with you."
Eames paused, hands curled around the edge of Arthur's desk. "Oh, fan-bloody-tastic. I knew you would!"
Arthur killed a smile before it graced his lips. "Of course you did. Now, I believe that Nurse King has been trying to call you back for several minutes now."
He gestured towards the door where Nurse King was waiting with her arms crossed.
"Oh. Right. You know, I'd kiss you right now if I didn't know you keep pepper spray in the top drawer."
"Run along, Mr. Eames, before I change my mind."
"Cheers, Arthur. Don't think I'm going to need any skin-mags today."
"I do what I can," Arthur said modestly.
**
"Hello," Arthur smiled at the man that walked in. He wasn't a regular. Just young, handsome, and looking terribly confused. "How can I help you?"
"Hi," the man said, shifting uncomfortably. That wasn't out of the ordinary, a lot of the first-timers were nervous. "I'm here, for, um. . ."
"Are you here to make a sperm donation?" Arthur suggested helpfully.
"No!" the man said quickly. "No, god, no. I'm not. . . I don't. . ."
"Okay," Arthur said. Quietly, he pulled the pepper spray out of his desk and held it in his lap. "Take a deep breath and calm down, first off."
"Right," the stranger said. "Right. Okay."
He followed Arthur's advice, sucking in air like he was drowning.
"Breathe out, too," Arthur advised mildly.
The man shot him a glare and Arthur just raised a steady eyebrow at him. The stranger looked away, abashed.
"Why don't you tell me your name and we'll figure out what to do with you, okay?" Arthur said.
"My name is Robert Fischer, Jr." Robert Fischer, Jr. said. "And, well. . . my dad's dying."
"I'm terribly sorry," Arthur said. He set a box of kleenex discreetly on the desktop. "Tissue?"
"No, thank you. Before he. . . before he goes. . . he wants. . . well. . ."
"Yes?" Arthur prompted. He pulled out a bottle of water. "Water?"
"No, thank you. He wants to have his. . ." Robert's voice got very small. "His. . . sperm. . . frozen."
The last words came out in a secretive hiss.
"Yes," Arthur agreed. "We do that here."
He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder at the large sign proclaiming CRYOGENIC SPERM BANK behind him.
"Here," he said instead. "Have some brochures. And a cookie."
He gestured towards the complimentary table set up under the east window. There was a bright spray of daffodils and a small stack of pornography cheerfully welcoming customers.
"Oh, all right," Robert said, resigned. He went over and got himself a cookie, silently offering one to Arthur. Arthur politely declined.
"Dr. Yusuf will be able to speak with you shortly," Arthur said. "Until then, eat your cookie."
Robert did as he was told.
Idly, Arthur flipped through his day calendar. In a week was Mr. Saito's visit. Two days before that, was his date with Eames.
Arthur had circled it in red.
Title: Killing Kittens for the Greater Good
Fandom: Inception
Author: saintdogstreet
Pairings/Warnings: Arthur/Eames. Language, violence, and sexual situations.
Summary: Arthur is the receptionist at a sperm bank, Eames is a regular donor.
"Hello, sweetheart."
There was an elbow on Arthur's desk. He sniffed and ignored it.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Eames," he said crisply, shuffling through his papers. Dr. Yusef had said he'd left the A7-12 form on Arthur's desk that morning. . .
The elbow belonged to a British man in a paisley shirt, a pattern-choice Arthur also chose to ignore, who was leaning in an artistic effort onto Arthur's desk, giving him a familiar grin.
"Yeah, it is, isn't it? Gets better every time I walk past this desk," Eames said.
"Indeed," Arthur acknowledged. "Here for a donation?"
"Yep. And the doc tells me I need some blood drawn. Wanna hold my hand?"
"For the sperm donation or the blood test, Mr. Eames?" Arthur asked easily.
"Oh, Arthur, you little minx, I didn't think you had it in you," Eames' grin turned lecherous. Well, more lecherous.
"Luckily for us, Mr. Eames, your services do not require much thinking," Arthur said. "We're all but up-to-date on your paperwork, but if you could just fill out this form you'll be ready to go. A nurse will be ready to see you shortly."
He handed Eames his paperwork, who took it with a sigh and shake of his head. "It's always forms forms forms with you, Arthur dear. Why don't we ever just talk anymore?"
"Gladly, Mr. Eames, kindly let me know when you find something to say. In the meantime, feel free to take a seat and complete your forms," he gestured to the cushy chairs across from his desk.
Eames shrugged. "All right. At least the view's nice."
Eames was humming something under his breath as he scrawled out responses. Arthur mentally winced. It could be a challenge puzzling out Eames' atrociously misspelled answers. Ah, well. Arthur dealt with worse.
Arthur found that Eames' humming didn't make him want to stick his ears into the paper-shredder, at least, and fifteen minutes passed quickly. He let the nurses know Eames was here, finally found Yusef's form (stuck in Arthur's outbox, for god's sake, he'd have to have another discussion with the man) and answered two calls -- heavy breathing he'd hung up on with barely an eye-roll and a single woman looking for alternatives whom he'd happily helped. All in a days work.
"Mr. Eames?" A nurse stuck her head out the door. "We're ready for you."
"Fantastic," Eames said, sweeping out of his chair. He strode to Arthur's desk and presented the paperwork with a flourish.
"For you, darling," he bowed.
"Thank you," Arthur nodded. "Just head right back."
"Oh, I know the drill," Eames said. "I'll keep you in my thoughts, Arthur love."
"You know Mr. Eames, there is a fine line between "flirting" and "a restraining order," Arthur said archly.
"Oh, yes," Eames nodded. "And like so many other things, I like to straddle that line."
He winked and headed for the door, patting Arthur's desk affectionately as he went.
Arthur shook his head, rapping the papers against his desk until they were even, and repressed a smile.
**
"Mr. and Mrs. Cobb, it's a pleasure to see you again," Arthur said with a smile. "What can I do for you?"
"Hello, Arthur," Mrs. Cobb said in her lilting accent. "How many times must I tell you, call me Mal, please."
"And deprive myself of the opportunity of hearing you correct me, oh, I don't know, Mrs. Cobb," Arthur said.
Mrs. Cobb laughed and her husband shook his head. "If I didn't know you better, Arthur, you'd be in trouble for flirting with my wife."
"Who says he's the one flirting?" Mrs. Cobb asked, rubbing a thumb against the back of Mr. Cobb's hand.
"We're here to see Dr. Yusuf, Arthur," Mr. Cobb said. "We've found a new surrogate."
"Oh, that's fantastic," Arthur said. "Congratulations."
"Thank you," Mal gave a subdued smile. She exchanged a quiet, private look with her husband. "It is, isn't it?"
"She seems like a nice girl," Mr. Cobb said, with a strange hopeful, wary look. "Mal's father knows her. She's an architecture student."
"I'm sure she'll be perfect, Mr. Cobb," Arthur said sincerely.
"Yeah," Cobb said, and his grip tightened just a little in Mal's hand. "I hope so."
"Here," Arthur said, handing over the necessary forms. "You'll need these. Go ahead and fill them out in the waiting area and I'll let the doctor know you're here. I'm so happy for you."
The last bit was perhaps a little too personal but Arthur let it slip. He'd known the Cobbs for a while now, since they'd first decided to conceive, since Mal had found out she could never be pregnant again, since their first surrogate had changed her mind at the last minute. It had been a long, hard time, and the Frenchwoman had a sad look in her eyes that Arthur hated. The Cobbs were good people.
His job as a receptionist was a little bit like bartending. Or psychology. People tended to talk about their problems, and Arthur tended to listen.
"You're a dear, Arthur," Mal said softly. She squeezed his hand as she took the paperwork from him and Dom, hand resting on his wife's shoulder, smiled.
After a short while the Cobbs headed back to the doctor's office, waving as they went by. Arthur nodded at them and mentally wished them luck.
Time passed quickly. Arthur sent a quick email to Dr. Yusuf implying that there would be painful consequences if he disturbed Arthur's system again, he hung up on two heavy-breathers and informed one stoned teenager that no, this was not the number for the pizza parlour, and he probably wouldn't enjoy the ingredients they had to offer very much.
"Well, hello there, gorgeous, come here often?" a very familiar voice asked.
Arthur held up one finger for silence, tapping his headset pointedly.
"No, Mr. Saito. Yes. . . No. Well, I'm sure that can be arranged. . .You'd like to come by for a visit? Of course, I'm sure that will be fine. . . DreamShare Cryobank is always happy to help our largest benefactor. . . Certainly. .The thirteenth? . . . I'll pencil you in. Yes, Mr. Saito, it's been a pleasure. . . Thank you. . . . You too. . . Have a nice day."
He hung up the phone with a press of a button and looked up at Eames pointedly.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Eames. It must be Tuesday again."
"My favourite day," Eames agreed. "I have you marked on my calendar."
He leaned in closely over Arthur's desk, and whispered conspiratorially, "You're circled in red."
Arthur wasn't entirely sure how he managed to make that phrase sound so dirty.
"I must say Tuesday's come far too quickly for my liking," Arthur said, and immediately regretted it.
Eames' grin was so wide it looked potentially unhealthy. "Oh, don't worry, darling, that's never a problem with me."
"Really? Then I can't imagine why you always leave our offices so soon," Arthur shot back primly.
"Oh, Arthur, that hurts," Eames pouted and pointed to his heart. "Right here. And a bit lower and to the right from that."
"My apologies, Mr. Eames, I suppose I forgot your delicate ego for a moment there."
"Kiss it and make it better?"
"Not today, Mr. Eames. Not today. Why don't you have a seat and I can ignore you from farther away?"
"You know, Arthur," Eames tilted his head and studied him. "Don't you ever tire of flirting with me in the same old sperm bank?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Eames, I'm glad you asked."
Eames shook his head quickly. "That's not what I meant. I was trying to say, wouldn't you like to flirt with me somewhere else?"
". . . Pardon?" Arthur asked, frowning.
"I know of a great restaurant on Harper St.," Eames said.
"Or maybe just drinks. . .?" he suggested as Arthur said nothing. ". . . Arthur?"
"Are you asking me out on a date?" Arthur demanded, puzzling it out.
"Well, yes," Eames admitted, shifting uncomfortably. "Though to be honest I was hoping for a more positive response."
"Why?" Arthur asked. "I mean, why now? Mr. Eames, you've been coming to this sperm bank--"
"And at this sperm bank, for that matter," Eames interjected.
"Coming to this sperm bank for over a year now."
"And I've found I can resist you no longer, Arthur love. It's your charming wit and the way you abuse me so with it. It's your impeccable suits and your wondrous efficiency. The way your hands move when you're shuffling through your paperwork. You've seduced me, Arthur, with your class and your intellect and your sarcasm. And your arse. Okay, a lot of it has to do with your arse."
"Arthur?" a new voice cut in. "Is this man bothering you?"
Arthur snapped his head around from where he was gaping at Eames. Cobb was standing behind the Brit, one hand settled firmly on his shoulder. His eyes were hard.
Arthur swallowed and gathered his thoughts. "No, Mr. Cobb, not at all. Not at the moment. Everything's quite all right. We were just having a discussion."
Cobb studied him carefully, glancing between Eames (who was looking a little nervous, shifting under the unyielding grip on his shoulder) and Arthur. He nodded carefully.
"All right then. If you're sure." He let go of Eames, who breathed out a sigh of relief and scooted a few feet away.
Arthur nodded, adjusting his tie. "Perfectly sure, Mr. Cobb. Thank you. How'd everything go?"
"Just fine, Arthur, thanks. Mal's just finishing talking to Dr. Yusuf. It looks like everything's on track."
"That's wonderful," Arthur said sincerely, but he couldn't help from darting a look over at Eames, fidgeting and staring at him.
"Here, I know you've seen most of them before but there's a few new ones you and Mrs. Cobb might find helpful," he gave Cobb a handful of brochures with names like Your Surrogate and You and What to Expect When Somebody Else is Expecting For You and Artificial Insemination -- There's Nothing Artificial About the Love!
"Thanks, Arthur," Cobb nodded. The door opened then and Mal walked out, a blissful smile on her face.
Arthur politely wished the two of them a good day and they left, Cobb shooting Eames one last glare as he passed him by. Eames gave a half-hearted wave and tried to make himself as small as possible.
As soon as the door shut behind them he pounced back over to the front of Arthur's desk.
"Okay," he said. "Where were we?"
"You were talking about my ass," Arthur supplied.
"Oh. Right. Well, it is a lovely thing, isn't it? Pity you don't stand up from your desk more."
"Eames." Arthur said pointedly. "Do you have a point?"
"Yes, I do," he didn't even make a double entendre, Arthur noticed uneasily. "I'm asking you out, Arthur."
"To drinks?" Arthur clarified.
"Sure," Eames said, gesturing wildly. "Drinks, dinner, movies, hayrides. We can go to the bloody circus if you'd like. Or the moon. Anywhere you want."
"I'm not sure I have enough vacation days saved up to go to the moon," Arthur mused.
"Arthur. Darling. Love. You're killing me here."
"All right," Arthur said. "Sure. We can go on a date."
"Arthur, if you go, it'll be the best date of your life. I promise you, you'll never forget it and never regret it. I'll--"
"Mr. Eames. I said yes."
"You. . .?"
"Said yes, correct. I'll go out on a date with you."
Eames paused, hands curled around the edge of Arthur's desk. "Oh, fan-bloody-tastic. I knew you would!"
Arthur killed a smile before it graced his lips. "Of course you did. Now, I believe that Nurse King has been trying to call you back for several minutes now."
He gestured towards the door where Nurse King was waiting with her arms crossed.
"Oh. Right. You know, I'd kiss you right now if I didn't know you keep pepper spray in the top drawer."
"Run along, Mr. Eames, before I change my mind."
"Cheers, Arthur. Don't think I'm going to need any skin-mags today."
"I do what I can," Arthur said modestly.
**
"Hello," Arthur smiled at the man that walked in. He wasn't a regular. Just young, handsome, and looking terribly confused. "How can I help you?"
"Hi," the man said, shifting uncomfortably. That wasn't out of the ordinary, a lot of the first-timers were nervous. "I'm here, for, um. . ."
"Are you here to make a sperm donation?" Arthur suggested helpfully.
"No!" the man said quickly. "No, god, no. I'm not. . . I don't. . ."
"Okay," Arthur said. Quietly, he pulled the pepper spray out of his desk and held it in his lap. "Take a deep breath and calm down, first off."
"Right," the stranger said. "Right. Okay."
He followed Arthur's advice, sucking in air like he was drowning.
"Breathe out, too," Arthur advised mildly.
The man shot him a glare and Arthur just raised a steady eyebrow at him. The stranger looked away, abashed.
"Why don't you tell me your name and we'll figure out what to do with you, okay?" Arthur said.
"My name is Robert Fischer, Jr." Robert Fischer, Jr. said. "And, well. . . my dad's dying."
"I'm terribly sorry," Arthur said. He set a box of kleenex discreetly on the desktop. "Tissue?"
"No, thank you. Before he. . . before he goes. . . he wants. . . well. . ."
"Yes?" Arthur prompted. He pulled out a bottle of water. "Water?"
"No, thank you. He wants to have his. . ." Robert's voice got very small. "His. . . sperm. . . frozen."
The last words came out in a secretive hiss.
"Yes," Arthur agreed. "We do that here."
He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder at the large sign proclaiming CRYOGENIC SPERM BANK behind him.
"Here," he said instead. "Have some brochures. And a cookie."
He gestured towards the complimentary table set up under the east window. There was a bright spray of daffodils and a small stack of pornography cheerfully welcoming customers.
"Oh, all right," Robert said, resigned. He went over and got himself a cookie, silently offering one to Arthur. Arthur politely declined.
"Dr. Yusuf will be able to speak with you shortly," Arthur said. "Until then, eat your cookie."
Robert did as he was told.
Idly, Arthur flipped through his day calendar. In a week was Mr. Saito's visit. Two days before that, was his date with Eames.
Arthur had circled it in red.