Inception fic: Everybody has one chance to fuck up their lives
Inception has eaten my brain, which is too bad, I kind of need it.
title: everybody has one chance to fuck up their lives
author: vicious_seagull
rating: pg-13 (for language and violence)
word count: 3200
pairing: arthur/eames (only a little though)
warnings: highlight for spoilers : character death :
summary: his pants were wrinkled from the long flight and he could still smell the stale air of the plane on himself. machines whirred and beeped in the room behind him. ariadne started to cry.
disclaimer: i don't own any of this. not even the title, which comes from the first song in this video. unbeta-ed so all mistakes are my fault (like ridiculous comma use? yeah, that's all me).
note: I haven't seen anybody go with this possible ending and I'm not sure why because it's the one I feel is most likely. (or maybe people write about it all the time and I've been living in a cave, idk) Also, I'm not really sure how the PASIV works, so I'm assuming that, unless you'll be under for a prolonged period or you've never shared dreams, that you can put yourself under once you plug in or whatever.
Ariadne was clutching the balcony railing, staring down. Arthur stood behind her, stiff-backed, one hand on her shoulder. They looked good together, Eames thought, like a couple from an old photograph, dark and sensual and stoic. He turned the poker chip over, felt the ridges carved into its edge. His pants were wrinkled from the long flight and he could still smell the stale air of the plane on himself. Machines whirred and beeped in the room behind him. Ariadne started to cry.
The factory is long-abandoned. Eames rather likes Russia, on the whole. There's something gratifyingly dirty about it. Like the bureaucrat who didn't even look at Eames as they exchanged money for secrecy and no questions asked. Arthur, uptight, fastidious Arthur, didn't even bat an eye. Didn't say good job either, but then, this is Arthur. He'd set up shop in this desolate little factory on the outskirts of Moscow and had barely spoken to anybody, not even Eames when he ruffled Arthur's hair and laughed at his serious face.
The client is a new-money oil tycoon, paranoid about his young wife cheating on him. Arthur met him the week before and Eames follows his wife, a beautiful, dark-haired woman with a sad face, for days as she traveled around the city in her husband's hired car. Ariadne takes the train out to her home village, to work on designing the dream. Arthur spends hours staring at his computer, poring over her files. It's an easy job, she wasn't trained, getting to her will be easy with her husbands cooperation. And yet Arthur spends most nights in the factory, one light on, hunched over his computer. Eames watches from the couch until the hard line of Arthur's spine blurs and he drifts to sleep without dreams.
Ariadne comes back after a couple days, backpack full of sketches, takes one look at Arthur, and leaves to buy pirozhki at the stand up the street. She makes Arthur eat one and when he finishes she turns to Eames where he's sprawled on a chair playing with his poker chip.
"When I'm not here you have to take better care of him, Eames. Has he slept at all?" she says, scowling and a bit lost. Arthur's head snaps up then and he says,
"I'm not a child Ariadne. And Eames can hardly take care of himself, let alone anybody else." He stands and puts his jacket on sharply. "I'm going out. We're meeting with the client at 10:00 tomorrow night to do the extraction. Meet here at 9:00 for a run-through." He doesn't look at either of them as he shuffles his folders and printouts into a suitcase and stalks out, heavy metal door clanging behind him. Ariadne sighs.
"Come on, I need to get this right." Eames watches her as she pulls out her sketches. She's lost weight in the last few months and has taken to wearing dark greys and purples that made her look pale and bruised. The skinny jut of her wrist makes Eames feel guilty and irresponsible.
"Leave it. Arthur doesn't even want to use the countryside."
"What? Did he say that?" She looks up and how did he not notice the bags under her eyes?
"No, but you know him. He like hotels, bars. Places where he gets to wear suits." Eames cracks a smile there. It's weak but she smiles back. She doesn't ask why Arthur sent her on a pointless trip and Eames doesn't tell her that Arthur hasn't spoken to him for two days.
"Alright." She looks down at her hands. He forgets how small she is, how young. He tries not to think about Arthur, alone somewhere in Moscow.
"Tell me, have you ever had Russian vodka?"
"Vodka? A couple times, I think, in school." She's looking at him, maybe interested.
"Ah but my dear, you haven't had vodka til you've had Russian vodka." He waggles his eyebrows at her. "And that is something we must remedy."
"Eames, are you suggesting we get drunk, the night before a job?" She's smirking and he grins at her.
"A gentleman is never drunk. However," he says, getting up to fish around in a cupboard, "I'm not much of a gentleman, and this is really very good vodka." Ariadne smiles when he brandishes a bottle and Eames thinks that maybe everything will be okay.
They stood on the curb at the airport, waiting for taxis to take them to seperate hotels. The ambulance wailed as it swung between cars, leaving the airport. Only Eames watched it go. Arthur stood further down the curb, fiercely calm, pretending to read emails on his phone. Ariadne stared straight ahead, eyes glassy, knuckles white where she clutched her luggage. Yusuf was already gone. He'd booked a flight to Mombasa as soon as they'd gotten off the plane and hadn't said goodbye to any of them as he hurried away guilty.
Arthur is in the factory when Eames arrives. He's slumped over the table, pen still tangled in his fingers. His jacket and trousers are as neatly pressed as always but he's wearing the same shirt as yesterday. Eames sits next to him and watches him sleep until Ariadne arrives. He leans over and shakes Arthur's shoulder.
"Wake up, darling." Arthur looks blearily at him, tired and vulnerable for a moment, before he stiffens and jerks away. He's scowling at the table. Eames pulls his hand back and stifles a sigh.
"Eames and I could do it by ourselves, " Ariadne says, looking between Arthur and Eames.
"No." Arthur's jaw is clenched. "We do this as a team. Ariadne, you'll be the dreamer. Eames, you're posing as the potential lover. You should know by now what she likes. We'll meet in the bar." Eames looks at Ariadne and she half-smiles. Arthur is already stalking over to the chairs grouped around the PASIV.
"Wait," says Ariadne, hurrying to catch up with Arthur, "why am I the dreamer? Shouldn't you be the dreamer, since I designed the dream?"
"You haven't taught me the layout." Arthur's voice is tight and he squats down to pull cords out of the suitcase.
"I can do that now. It's not that complicated, just--"
"No. You're the dreamer." Arthur sits down and shoves the IV into his arm. His breathing slows and he sags against the chair. Ariadne and Eames follow and when they wake up in the dream, Arthur is gone.
"The bar is just around the corner, we'll meet him there." Ariadne looks nice in a short black dress. Eames pushes himself into a slim, blond man and offers Ariadne his arm. She smiles coyly and takes it but says,
"For the job we'll have to go in separately. Otherwise you'll have a hard time seducing the mark."
"I shall be desolate without you," Eames says in a heavy Russian accent. She laughs and drags him down the street to the bar.
Arthur isn't in the bar so Eames orders a drink and leans back on a bar stool. He maps out the floorplan, takes note of a discrete corner booth, finds the exits, smirks at the way one exit is actually a shortcut to a bedroom upstairs. He sips his drink and watches Ariadne pull in her projections to crowd the room.
When Arthur does walk in, Eames barely notices that it's him. He's wearing a hat pulled down low over his face and a long dark trench coat. Only his shoes are recognizably Arthur. He strides past Eames and slumps into the corner booth. Eames thinks that's a bit odd but shrugs it off. He has just decided to seduce one of Ariadne's projections to finish the run-through before they run out of time when the door swings open again and it's Cobb. The bar is totally silent and Ariadne's eyes are wide. Eames looks to where Arthur is still hunched in the corner, not looking at anybody.
Cobb walks in slowly, staring into each face carefully before moving on. Ariadne's projections are starting to get anxious and Arthur is almost shivering. Cobb's head snaps up, like a bloodhound catching a scent. Eames has a dreadful feeling that he knows what is about to happen and he wants to get between Arthur and Cobb and say that this has to stop. Cobb all but runs toward Arthur. Arthur, who is shaking hard and finally looking up with terror in his eyes, pulls out a pistol and shoots himself in the head.
Cobb disappears. Eames and Ariadne both run for the pistol.
When they wake up Arthur is on his feet, already speaking.
"We're still doing the job. That was just a, a lapse ." His face is twisted in a grimace and he spits out, "I can fucking handle it, damn it." He turns and stalks over to the other side of the factory. Eames can feel Ariadne looking at him, hoping for answers, but he doesn't have any that would make her feel better so they wait in silence until the client's car comes to pick them up.
He could read Arthur's pain, in the rigid line of his neck and the jerky way he pulled his luggage off the carousel. A woman bumped into Eames and he forgot to smile charmingly and wink. The whole airport felt frozen.
The client's house is massive and somehow claustrophobicly ornate. They don't talk as a butler leads them to the target's room. She's already in a drugged sleep and slipping into her consciousness and building her a new dream is so easy.
They're at the bar again, the mark is twisting a little on a bar stool. Ariadne and Arthur are somewhere in the background, Eames is peripherally aware of them looking suitably uninterested in him. He's the blond man again and he straightens his cuffs before sliding in next to the mark.
"You look lonely, my dear. Perhaps you would like some company?" Eames smiles, slow and confident. She doesn't look him up and down and if he were really trying to pull he'd probably pout a little. But she isn't interested and she isn't sorry about it.
"No, I am waiting for someone. Please leave, he is a jealous man." Eames is startled by her bluntness but he doesn't show it, just shrugs and walks away. He'll have to try another body but they might be better off seeing who shows up. He looks to Arthur who shakes his head. So he pulls back into the shadows to see who she's waiting for.
And they don't wait very long. The next time the door opens it's the mark's husband, the client that Eames has only met once. She lights up when she sees him and watches as he crosses the bar. He holds both her hands and leans in to kiss her cheek. She smiles and he smiles back, happy and fond. He pulls her off the bar stool and leads her to the same discrete booth that Eames had planned to use.
Eames tries to repress a grin. Very rarely is the mark innocent, and he's never seen one so obviously in love with her husband. He almost feels bad that he obviously trusts her so little. Ariadne is smiling soppily into her wine glass and Arthur looks almost happy. The mark and her husband get to the booth and a man slides out, letting them have it. The man looks up and it's Cobb. Arthur hasn't noticed yet but Cobb is walking in the door and the man behind the bar has somehow become Cobb and Eames is sure more will come. They're all looking at Arthur, who has completely frozen. It looks like Cobb, but Eames never saw his face so twisted and vicious. Then one of them speaks.
"I trusted you Arthur. You were supposed to be the best." Eames feels ill. Another Cobb steps closer.
"You said you knew everything, Arthur. You were the point man, damn it." Arthur is pale and breathing heavily, staring blankly ahead, as if Cobb isn't all around him. Ariadne looks terrified and Eames tries to inch closer.
"You were as good as a son. I taught you everything and you betrayed me." There are more Cobbs and their eyes are steely. Eames keeps walking carefully towards Arthur, trying not to set them off.
"You failed me, Arthur. I trusted you with my life. I trusted you with my children and you failed me." The Cobb that is suddenly right behind Arthur says this and Arthur lets out a sob and then all the Cobbs are lunging forward and grabbing Arthur. Eames shouts something and reaches for his gun but it's too late and Arthur is screaming and crying and Eames hears too many sickening pops and tears and wet thuds. Then it's over and they're gone. Eames can't look at Arthur's body on the floor so he shoots himself instead.
When the plane stopped at the terminal, the pilot came up to first class to meet Fischer. Ariadne was staring across the aisle at Cobb, still slumped against the seat. Saito was drooling into his headrest but his eyes are open and the flight attendant bent over him to check his pulse. Eames watched as Arthur stood and pulled his suit straight. He picked up his briefcase and turned, looking straight at Eames, and smiled, still giddy with adrenaline. Eames stood up also and walked over to him, saying loudly that he admires the cut of his jacket, where was it tailored? Arthur's smile broadened and he answered with some name in New York. Eames brushed his fingers against the inside of Arthur's wrist and he blushed, just a little.
Around them the others stood up. The flight attendant supported Saito off the plane. Fischer finished his conversation with the pilot and left without looking at the rest of them. Eames wanted to shout and tell everybody how brilliant they were but the pilot was still there and he can't know. He turned to grin at Cobb but Ariadne was kneeling beside him, breaking their cover, shaking him and saying his name louder and louder. And his head still lolled against the headrest. Arthur stepped forward to pull her away before the pilot turned around. Arthur looked at Eames and his face was abruptly empty, like he'd been hollowed out with something sharp and dangerous. He tugged Ariadne off the plane and Yusuf followed, then Eames.
He didn't look back at Cobbs, didn't want to remember him like that, lifeless and lost in his own mind. He didn't make eye contact with the medics rushing down the concourse. He didn't look at the television that night to see the breaking news about a felon who returned to the US in a coma. He waited for a call from Miles, to tell him which hospital to go to.
Eames wakes up and jerks off the chair, disoriented when he looks around to see the mark's bedroom. Arthur is clutching the arms of his chair and is obviously trying not to completely break down. The tense line of his elbows makes Eames ache. He hears Ariadne wake up behind him.
"Ariadne, dear, take care of the client please. I need to take Arthur back." Eames doesn't look back at Ariadne, knows she can manage. Arthur can't. Eames pulls the IV out of his arm, then Arthur's. Arthur doesn't respond so Eames tugs him out of his chair.
"Come on darling, come with me. We'll take care of this back at the factory." They make it down the stairs and out the door. The driver takes them back to the factory and doesn't comment on the fact that Eames all but carries Arthur to and from the car.
And finally Arthur is sitting next to Eames on the couch, the only one they bothered to buy, because Arthur had made a habit of sleeping on site. But mostly Eames has been sleeping on it, watching Arthur work late and fall asleep in his chair and Eames is so tired. Tired of holding everybody together, making sure they are all still breathing. Tired of everybody avoiding what they're too afraid to say. Tired of watching Arthur break himself apart.
"Arthur, sweetheart, talk to me." Eames touches his shoulder and Arthur jolts.
"He knows it was my fault." His voice is dead.
"What was your fault."
"Everything, the whole job. I should have known. I mean, he was militarized. He had training. I should have found it and I missed it. I messed up. Jesus, I fucking screwed up." Arthur's shoulders were shaking and his voice was shaking and the words kept pouring out.
"God, god, if I'd just, if I'd just--Saito wouldn't have gotten shot and they, and Cobb never would have gone down there. And if we'd gotten the kick right, god everything was so fucked up."
"It wasn't your fault." Eames wants to cry so he pulls Arthur closer to him but he's stiff and they don't fit well together.
"Yeah? Then why is he still down there?" Arthur's voice is bitter and hateful. "Why didn't he come back? Fuck, it's my fault he was ever down there in the first place."
"Even if we'd known Fischer was militarized, we still would have had to do the job. Saito still might have gotten shot."
"But we would have been prepared. We were completely blind--"
"Shh, darling, listen to me. Cobb spent so much time down there, you know, with Mal. Maybe he couldn't find his way back at all." Eames pauses and rubs Arthur's shoulder. "Maybe he didn't want to. It's not your fault."
"But Saito came back."
"Saito is a stubborn bastard."
"So is Cobb."
"Not if his kids were down there." Arthur doesn't respond to this so Eames lets him be and keeps his arm wrapped around his shoulders, hoping Arthur will let go. They sit together for a long time. Ariadne comes back, looks at them, smiles sadly, and cleans up the papers before leaving for the hotel. Arthur is slumped against him, breathing slowly, and Eames doesn't know if he's asleep or faking it and doesn't really care. He smooths down Arthur’s hair, which, for once, isn't gelled back.
"It'll be alright, darling. I promise." Eames presses a kiss to his forehead and he's sure that Arthur leans into it, just a little.
fin
endnotes: seriously, eames is impossible to write because i am not witty and clever and british. so he's sort of blah, sorry. i'm awe of those who write him well. also, i was really conflicted about whether to do the flashbacks from eames' or arthur's perspective. i wrote them first as eames and i'm lazy so I left them that way but i think it might have been more interesting from arthur's pov. also, also, writing has exhausted me so i'm too lazy to reach for the shift key.
title: everybody has one chance to fuck up their lives
author: vicious_seagull
rating: pg-13 (for language and violence)
word count: 3200
pairing: arthur/eames (only a little though)
warnings: highlight for spoilers : character death :
summary: his pants were wrinkled from the long flight and he could still smell the stale air of the plane on himself. machines whirred and beeped in the room behind him. ariadne started to cry.
disclaimer: i don't own any of this. not even the title, which comes from the first song in this video. unbeta-ed so all mistakes are my fault (like ridiculous comma use? yeah, that's all me).
note: I haven't seen anybody go with this possible ending and I'm not sure why because it's the one I feel is most likely. (or maybe people write about it all the time and I've been living in a cave, idk) Also, I'm not really sure how the PASIV works, so I'm assuming that, unless you'll be under for a prolonged period or you've never shared dreams, that you can put yourself under once you plug in or whatever.
Ariadne was clutching the balcony railing, staring down. Arthur stood behind her, stiff-backed, one hand on her shoulder. They looked good together, Eames thought, like a couple from an old photograph, dark and sensual and stoic. He turned the poker chip over, felt the ridges carved into its edge. His pants were wrinkled from the long flight and he could still smell the stale air of the plane on himself. Machines whirred and beeped in the room behind him. Ariadne started to cry.
The factory is long-abandoned. Eames rather likes Russia, on the whole. There's something gratifyingly dirty about it. Like the bureaucrat who didn't even look at Eames as they exchanged money for secrecy and no questions asked. Arthur, uptight, fastidious Arthur, didn't even bat an eye. Didn't say good job either, but then, this is Arthur. He'd set up shop in this desolate little factory on the outskirts of Moscow and had barely spoken to anybody, not even Eames when he ruffled Arthur's hair and laughed at his serious face.
The client is a new-money oil tycoon, paranoid about his young wife cheating on him. Arthur met him the week before and Eames follows his wife, a beautiful, dark-haired woman with a sad face, for days as she traveled around the city in her husband's hired car. Ariadne takes the train out to her home village, to work on designing the dream. Arthur spends hours staring at his computer, poring over her files. It's an easy job, she wasn't trained, getting to her will be easy with her husbands cooperation. And yet Arthur spends most nights in the factory, one light on, hunched over his computer. Eames watches from the couch until the hard line of Arthur's spine blurs and he drifts to sleep without dreams.
Ariadne comes back after a couple days, backpack full of sketches, takes one look at Arthur, and leaves to buy pirozhki at the stand up the street. She makes Arthur eat one and when he finishes she turns to Eames where he's sprawled on a chair playing with his poker chip.
"When I'm not here you have to take better care of him, Eames. Has he slept at all?" she says, scowling and a bit lost. Arthur's head snaps up then and he says,
"I'm not a child Ariadne. And Eames can hardly take care of himself, let alone anybody else." He stands and puts his jacket on sharply. "I'm going out. We're meeting with the client at 10:00 tomorrow night to do the extraction. Meet here at 9:00 for a run-through." He doesn't look at either of them as he shuffles his folders and printouts into a suitcase and stalks out, heavy metal door clanging behind him. Ariadne sighs.
"Come on, I need to get this right." Eames watches her as she pulls out her sketches. She's lost weight in the last few months and has taken to wearing dark greys and purples that made her look pale and bruised. The skinny jut of her wrist makes Eames feel guilty and irresponsible.
"Leave it. Arthur doesn't even want to use the countryside."
"What? Did he say that?" She looks up and how did he not notice the bags under her eyes?
"No, but you know him. He like hotels, bars. Places where he gets to wear suits." Eames cracks a smile there. It's weak but she smiles back. She doesn't ask why Arthur sent her on a pointless trip and Eames doesn't tell her that Arthur hasn't spoken to him for two days.
"Alright." She looks down at her hands. He forgets how small she is, how young. He tries not to think about Arthur, alone somewhere in Moscow.
"Tell me, have you ever had Russian vodka?"
"Vodka? A couple times, I think, in school." She's looking at him, maybe interested.
"Ah but my dear, you haven't had vodka til you've had Russian vodka." He waggles his eyebrows at her. "And that is something we must remedy."
"Eames, are you suggesting we get drunk, the night before a job?" She's smirking and he grins at her.
"A gentleman is never drunk. However," he says, getting up to fish around in a cupboard, "I'm not much of a gentleman, and this is really very good vodka." Ariadne smiles when he brandishes a bottle and Eames thinks that maybe everything will be okay.
They stood on the curb at the airport, waiting for taxis to take them to seperate hotels. The ambulance wailed as it swung between cars, leaving the airport. Only Eames watched it go. Arthur stood further down the curb, fiercely calm, pretending to read emails on his phone. Ariadne stared straight ahead, eyes glassy, knuckles white where she clutched her luggage. Yusuf was already gone. He'd booked a flight to Mombasa as soon as they'd gotten off the plane and hadn't said goodbye to any of them as he hurried away guilty.
Arthur is in the factory when Eames arrives. He's slumped over the table, pen still tangled in his fingers. His jacket and trousers are as neatly pressed as always but he's wearing the same shirt as yesterday. Eames sits next to him and watches him sleep until Ariadne arrives. He leans over and shakes Arthur's shoulder.
"Wake up, darling." Arthur looks blearily at him, tired and vulnerable for a moment, before he stiffens and jerks away. He's scowling at the table. Eames pulls his hand back and stifles a sigh.
"Eames and I could do it by ourselves, " Ariadne says, looking between Arthur and Eames.
"No." Arthur's jaw is clenched. "We do this as a team. Ariadne, you'll be the dreamer. Eames, you're posing as the potential lover. You should know by now what she likes. We'll meet in the bar." Eames looks at Ariadne and she half-smiles. Arthur is already stalking over to the chairs grouped around the PASIV.
"Wait," says Ariadne, hurrying to catch up with Arthur, "why am I the dreamer? Shouldn't you be the dreamer, since I designed the dream?"
"You haven't taught me the layout." Arthur's voice is tight and he squats down to pull cords out of the suitcase.
"I can do that now. It's not that complicated, just--"
"No. You're the dreamer." Arthur sits down and shoves the IV into his arm. His breathing slows and he sags against the chair. Ariadne and Eames follow and when they wake up in the dream, Arthur is gone.
"The bar is just around the corner, we'll meet him there." Ariadne looks nice in a short black dress. Eames pushes himself into a slim, blond man and offers Ariadne his arm. She smiles coyly and takes it but says,
"For the job we'll have to go in separately. Otherwise you'll have a hard time seducing the mark."
"I shall be desolate without you," Eames says in a heavy Russian accent. She laughs and drags him down the street to the bar.
Arthur isn't in the bar so Eames orders a drink and leans back on a bar stool. He maps out the floorplan, takes note of a discrete corner booth, finds the exits, smirks at the way one exit is actually a shortcut to a bedroom upstairs. He sips his drink and watches Ariadne pull in her projections to crowd the room.
When Arthur does walk in, Eames barely notices that it's him. He's wearing a hat pulled down low over his face and a long dark trench coat. Only his shoes are recognizably Arthur. He strides past Eames and slumps into the corner booth. Eames thinks that's a bit odd but shrugs it off. He has just decided to seduce one of Ariadne's projections to finish the run-through before they run out of time when the door swings open again and it's Cobb. The bar is totally silent and Ariadne's eyes are wide. Eames looks to where Arthur is still hunched in the corner, not looking at anybody.
Cobb walks in slowly, staring into each face carefully before moving on. Ariadne's projections are starting to get anxious and Arthur is almost shivering. Cobb's head snaps up, like a bloodhound catching a scent. Eames has a dreadful feeling that he knows what is about to happen and he wants to get between Arthur and Cobb and say that this has to stop. Cobb all but runs toward Arthur. Arthur, who is shaking hard and finally looking up with terror in his eyes, pulls out a pistol and shoots himself in the head.
Cobb disappears. Eames and Ariadne both run for the pistol.
When they wake up Arthur is on his feet, already speaking.
"We're still doing the job. That was just a, a lapse ." His face is twisted in a grimace and he spits out, "I can fucking handle it, damn it." He turns and stalks over to the other side of the factory. Eames can feel Ariadne looking at him, hoping for answers, but he doesn't have any that would make her feel better so they wait in silence until the client's car comes to pick them up.
He could read Arthur's pain, in the rigid line of his neck and the jerky way he pulled his luggage off the carousel. A woman bumped into Eames and he forgot to smile charmingly and wink. The whole airport felt frozen.
The client's house is massive and somehow claustrophobicly ornate. They don't talk as a butler leads them to the target's room. She's already in a drugged sleep and slipping into her consciousness and building her a new dream is so easy.
They're at the bar again, the mark is twisting a little on a bar stool. Ariadne and Arthur are somewhere in the background, Eames is peripherally aware of them looking suitably uninterested in him. He's the blond man again and he straightens his cuffs before sliding in next to the mark.
"You look lonely, my dear. Perhaps you would like some company?" Eames smiles, slow and confident. She doesn't look him up and down and if he were really trying to pull he'd probably pout a little. But she isn't interested and she isn't sorry about it.
"No, I am waiting for someone. Please leave, he is a jealous man." Eames is startled by her bluntness but he doesn't show it, just shrugs and walks away. He'll have to try another body but they might be better off seeing who shows up. He looks to Arthur who shakes his head. So he pulls back into the shadows to see who she's waiting for.
And they don't wait very long. The next time the door opens it's the mark's husband, the client that Eames has only met once. She lights up when she sees him and watches as he crosses the bar. He holds both her hands and leans in to kiss her cheek. She smiles and he smiles back, happy and fond. He pulls her off the bar stool and leads her to the same discrete booth that Eames had planned to use.
Eames tries to repress a grin. Very rarely is the mark innocent, and he's never seen one so obviously in love with her husband. He almost feels bad that he obviously trusts her so little. Ariadne is smiling soppily into her wine glass and Arthur looks almost happy. The mark and her husband get to the booth and a man slides out, letting them have it. The man looks up and it's Cobb. Arthur hasn't noticed yet but Cobb is walking in the door and the man behind the bar has somehow become Cobb and Eames is sure more will come. They're all looking at Arthur, who has completely frozen. It looks like Cobb, but Eames never saw his face so twisted and vicious. Then one of them speaks.
"I trusted you Arthur. You were supposed to be the best." Eames feels ill. Another Cobb steps closer.
"You said you knew everything, Arthur. You were the point man, damn it." Arthur is pale and breathing heavily, staring blankly ahead, as if Cobb isn't all around him. Ariadne looks terrified and Eames tries to inch closer.
"You were as good as a son. I taught you everything and you betrayed me." There are more Cobbs and their eyes are steely. Eames keeps walking carefully towards Arthur, trying not to set them off.
"You failed me, Arthur. I trusted you with my life. I trusted you with my children and you failed me." The Cobb that is suddenly right behind Arthur says this and Arthur lets out a sob and then all the Cobbs are lunging forward and grabbing Arthur. Eames shouts something and reaches for his gun but it's too late and Arthur is screaming and crying and Eames hears too many sickening pops and tears and wet thuds. Then it's over and they're gone. Eames can't look at Arthur's body on the floor so he shoots himself instead.
When the plane stopped at the terminal, the pilot came up to first class to meet Fischer. Ariadne was staring across the aisle at Cobb, still slumped against the seat. Saito was drooling into his headrest but his eyes are open and the flight attendant bent over him to check his pulse. Eames watched as Arthur stood and pulled his suit straight. He picked up his briefcase and turned, looking straight at Eames, and smiled, still giddy with adrenaline. Eames stood up also and walked over to him, saying loudly that he admires the cut of his jacket, where was it tailored? Arthur's smile broadened and he answered with some name in New York. Eames brushed his fingers against the inside of Arthur's wrist and he blushed, just a little.
Around them the others stood up. The flight attendant supported Saito off the plane. Fischer finished his conversation with the pilot and left without looking at the rest of them. Eames wanted to shout and tell everybody how brilliant they were but the pilot was still there and he can't know. He turned to grin at Cobb but Ariadne was kneeling beside him, breaking their cover, shaking him and saying his name louder and louder. And his head still lolled against the headrest. Arthur stepped forward to pull her away before the pilot turned around. Arthur looked at Eames and his face was abruptly empty, like he'd been hollowed out with something sharp and dangerous. He tugged Ariadne off the plane and Yusuf followed, then Eames.
He didn't look back at Cobbs, didn't want to remember him like that, lifeless and lost in his own mind. He didn't make eye contact with the medics rushing down the concourse. He didn't look at the television that night to see the breaking news about a felon who returned to the US in a coma. He waited for a call from Miles, to tell him which hospital to go to.
Eames wakes up and jerks off the chair, disoriented when he looks around to see the mark's bedroom. Arthur is clutching the arms of his chair and is obviously trying not to completely break down. The tense line of his elbows makes Eames ache. He hears Ariadne wake up behind him.
"Ariadne, dear, take care of the client please. I need to take Arthur back." Eames doesn't look back at Ariadne, knows she can manage. Arthur can't. Eames pulls the IV out of his arm, then Arthur's. Arthur doesn't respond so Eames tugs him out of his chair.
"Come on darling, come with me. We'll take care of this back at the factory." They make it down the stairs and out the door. The driver takes them back to the factory and doesn't comment on the fact that Eames all but carries Arthur to and from the car.
And finally Arthur is sitting next to Eames on the couch, the only one they bothered to buy, because Arthur had made a habit of sleeping on site. But mostly Eames has been sleeping on it, watching Arthur work late and fall asleep in his chair and Eames is so tired. Tired of holding everybody together, making sure they are all still breathing. Tired of everybody avoiding what they're too afraid to say. Tired of watching Arthur break himself apart.
"Arthur, sweetheart, talk to me." Eames touches his shoulder and Arthur jolts.
"He knows it was my fault." His voice is dead.
"What was your fault."
"Everything, the whole job. I should have known. I mean, he was militarized. He had training. I should have found it and I missed it. I messed up. Jesus, I fucking screwed up." Arthur's shoulders were shaking and his voice was shaking and the words kept pouring out.
"God, god, if I'd just, if I'd just--Saito wouldn't have gotten shot and they, and Cobb never would have gone down there. And if we'd gotten the kick right, god everything was so fucked up."
"It wasn't your fault." Eames wants to cry so he pulls Arthur closer to him but he's stiff and they don't fit well together.
"Yeah? Then why is he still down there?" Arthur's voice is bitter and hateful. "Why didn't he come back? Fuck, it's my fault he was ever down there in the first place."
"Even if we'd known Fischer was militarized, we still would have had to do the job. Saito still might have gotten shot."
"But we would have been prepared. We were completely blind--"
"Shh, darling, listen to me. Cobb spent so much time down there, you know, with Mal. Maybe he couldn't find his way back at all." Eames pauses and rubs Arthur's shoulder. "Maybe he didn't want to. It's not your fault."
"But Saito came back."
"Saito is a stubborn bastard."
"So is Cobb."
"Not if his kids were down there." Arthur doesn't respond to this so Eames lets him be and keeps his arm wrapped around his shoulders, hoping Arthur will let go. They sit together for a long time. Ariadne comes back, looks at them, smiles sadly, and cleans up the papers before leaving for the hotel. Arthur is slumped against him, breathing slowly, and Eames doesn't know if he's asleep or faking it and doesn't really care. He smooths down Arthur’s hair, which, for once, isn't gelled back.
"It'll be alright, darling. I promise." Eames presses a kiss to his forehead and he's sure that Arthur leans into it, just a little.
fin
endnotes: seriously, eames is impossible to write because i am not witty and clever and british. so he's sort of blah, sorry. i'm awe of those who write him well. also, i was really conflicted about whether to do the flashbacks from eames' or arthur's perspective. i wrote them first as eames and i'm lazy so I left them that way but i think it might have been more interesting from arthur's pov. also, also, writing has exhausted me so i'm too lazy to reach for the shift key.