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Title: Lelow
Chapter: 6/?
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own Inception.
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James, Cobb
Summary: In which Arthur has not heard from Cobb and Eames eats a banana.
Author’s Note: Uhm, yeah. I've no words to describe this actually. Haha. Besides saying that I'm heavily medicated while writing this so it might come out loopy, not sure at the moment. The Cobbs will return in the next part I think.
Previous Series: Yellow One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven
Previous Parts: 1 2 3 4 5
--
Arthur wakes first. His head feels like there’s a whole construction crew renovating the interior of his skull. His mouth is dry and he groans, rolls onto his back and glares at the ceiling. Eames’ arm is heavy over his stomach, his breath hot against his neck.
He smiles as Eames grumbles incoherently, face turning into the pillow as Arthur slides out. His phone is still on the bedside table; he ignores it and stumbles into the bathroom, keeps the lights off and tries to study his reflection in the mirror. His eyes are a little red, a little puffy, but otherwise he looks all right. Not as though he spent half the afternoon and most of the evening trying to drown in vodka.
Now if only his head will stop pounding.
After brushing his teeth to get rid of the aftertaste he decides to chance breakfast, or maybe coffee. Eames blinks owlishly at him from beneath the comforter. Arthur smiles. “Morning,” he murmurs.
Eames yawns. “Morning,” he replies, “if eight can be considered morning.”
Arthur chuckles. “It can.” He sits on the side of the bed, runs his fingers through Eames’ hair. Eames smiles lazily up at him. “What?”
“I didn’t expect you up so early. You drank a bottle of vodka.”
“I can hold my liquor. Now, stop shouting please.” Eames chuckles and pulls Arthur down again. Arthur grunts as he twists to face Eames. “You couldn’t just ask?”
“No,” Eames replies. He tugs Arthur close, kisses him hard. Nips at Arthur’s mouth until he opens it, slides his tongue in. His hands drift to Arthur’s shirt, pushes it up so he can touch his skin. “What?” he asks when Arthur pulls back suddenly.
“Not now,” he murmurs. His face presses against Eames’ shoulder. “Not after…it’s not right, Mal’s dead.”
“You’re thinking of Mal while I’m kissing you?”
Arthur pulls back to stare at him. “Aren’t you? She’s dead. Cobb’s being blamed for her murder,” Arthur exclaims. He pulls away, rolls out of bed.
“Wait…what?” Eames questions. Arthur’s already gone though.
--
When Eames finally drags himself out of bed he finds Arthur out on the balcony on one of the deck chairs. He has a cup of coffee next to him but he’s just staring up at the clouds. Eames grabs a banana off the kitchen counter and joins him.
“I wasn’t trying to be insensitive or callous,” Eames says. He sits down on the other chair, rests his feet on the rail and begins to peel his banana. “I liked Mal, you know? She was fun, even if she did have morals.”
Arthur’s face cracks into a smile. “An amoeba has morals when compared to you,” he mutters. His head falls back against the chair as his eyes close. “Stop smirking,” he adds.
“Do, Cariad,” Eames replies. He doesn’t hide the smugness from his voice though.
Arthur tilts his head and looks at him through narrowed eyes. “I speak many languages, Eames but I’ve no idea what you just said.”
“Yes, Darling,” Eames hums. “Welsh,” he elaborates when he notices Arthur’s stare.
“You’re British, why do you know Welsh?”
Eames scoffs. “Same continent. Why would I know French or German?” Arthur doesn’t point out that French and German are more likely to be taught in school. He’s never been to an English school, maybe they teach Welsh and Gaelic there as well.
“Oh,” he says simply. He seems to notice his coffee for the first time. When he takes a sip his face twists at the coldness and he sets the mug back down. He turns back to Eames just in time to see him practically swallowing the banana. “Must you be obscene with everything?”
“I’m hungry!” Eames protests. He breaks off part of the banana and swallows. Arthur glowers and turns back to cloud watching. “So, what’s this about Cobb being under investigation for Mal’s death? I thought you said she jumped?”
“That’s what Cobb said,” Arthur agrees. He takes a deep breath, eyes focused on the cloud slowly morphing into the head of a dragon, before explaining everything he knew. Which wasn’t much. Which left more questions than answers.
Eames is quiet while he talks. When he finishes Eames swallows the last of his banana without chewing. “Damn. Well, no one ever said the girl wasn’t smart.”
Arthur gives him the evil eye. “You find this funny?”
“No,” Eames responds. “I find this absurd and unbelievable. I just prefer to use humor as a coping mechanism instead of alcohol.” Arthur stiffens and doesn’t relax until the door closes behind Eames.
--
Arthur wonders why Cobb hasn’t called. He wonders if he should call him. He doesn’t though, just checks his phone every fifteen minutes. Eames finds him in the bedroom during one of his checks. Arthur doesn’t look up, just plugs his phone into the charger and tries to decide what to do with himself.
The bed dips as Eames sits next to him. His arm curves around Arthur’s shoulders, his face presses against Arthur’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs against warm skin. “That was a shit thing to say. I know you and Mal were close.”
“We were,” Arthur agrees. “I just can’t believe she’s gone.”
“Do you think he did it?” Eames tilts his head so he can look at the right side of Arthur’s face. Arthur tenses, frown becoming more pronounced. “Stupid question, he loved her.”
“Love can sometimes be stupid,” Arthur murmurs. He deflates and turns into Eames. His chin rests on top of the Brit’s head. Eames sighs.
“I think you’re meaning to tell me something.” Arthur doesn’t deny it but Eames hadn’t expected him to. “Do you know when the funeral is?”
“No, I haven’t heard from Cobb.” His eyes dart to the phone as he says it. Eames feels his chest tighten. Arthur seems to sense it because he shifts until they’re facing each other. “Do you have any intention of unpacking? I’ve almost tripped over your suitcase twice now.” His face twitches and his voice sounds pained. “You left it in the hallway.”
“I had more important things on my mind,” Eames huffs. Arthur smiles and it makes Eames’ stomach churn.
“What’s your excuse now?”
Eames looks at him, looks hard. He notes the faint bruising around the red eyes, notes the pale skin and the drawn face. His own face is the most serious Arthur has seen it in a long while. “I’m still worried about him.” His hand reaches up to brush against Arthur’s face. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Arthur laughs but it’s a choked sound, gravelly and not pleasing. His dimples don’t even show. “Too much,” he sighs.
This time he pulls Eames into a kiss. This time he’s the one pressing for more, more, more. This time it’s Eames slipping just out of reach. “Not now, Arthur,” he sighs. He settles in so that Arthur’s head is on his chest, wrapped up tight in Eames’ arms. “You were right, not now.”
“Shit time to listen to me now,” Arthur grumbles. He nips Eames’ neck for good measure and doesn’t miss the smirk on Eames’ face.