[fic] these are just a couple of my cravings
Fic Title: these are just a couple of my cravings
Author: duckgirlie
Pairing(s): Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~4500
Warnings: underage smoking?
Summary: Arthur has smoked Dunhills for as long as he could buy his own cigarettes. Eames smokes Marlboros when he's in America and Bensons when he's in England and bidis when he's been to India or he wants to see Arthur's nose wrinkle in distaste.
This is five years in five minute intervals.
Notes: This is for the second round of i-reversebang and it's based on in1712's art, which you can check out here. I need to thank lezzerlee for hand-holding and idea-bouncing and cheerleading, and both her and meadowlion for betaing. Title from "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk" by Rufus Wainwright.
also available at the AO3
The first time Arthur smoked, he was fourteen years old.
His oldest sister was babysitting. She’d told him to put a video on and leave her alone, and fifteen minutes later he’d heard a car pull up and a couple of people going straight into the back yard. He didn’t bother looking out the window to see who they were - his sister’s friends were all largely interchangeable, as far as he was concerned.
When the tape was over, he rewound it, put it back in it’s box on the shelf. Then he went outside to tell his sister that he was going to bed. As soon as the door opened, he saw his sister freeze and try to hide her hands behind her back.
“What the hell, Arthur? Go to bed.”
“Are you smoking?”
Helen rolled her eyes and brought her hand out from behind her back. “So? Don’t tell Mom.”
He took a step closer to the group of older teenagers on the deck. “Can I have one?”
Helen and another girl exchanged a look, and he could tell Helen was about to say no when her boyfriend interrupted her.
“Let the little man have a smoke if he wants one.”
Jack leaned over to ruffle Arthur’s hair, and Arthur barely managed to restrain himself from flinching. He still tried his best to finger-comb his hair back into submission while Jack pulled a cigarette out of his battered pack and handed it over.
“You need me to light it for you?” Jack asked.
Arthur rolled his eyes and took the proffered box of matches, his fingers only fumbling a little as he struck one and held it to the end of the cigarette before handing the matches back.
They all watched as he took a drag. He could tell they were expecting him to fail. To choke and go green and run back into the house humiliated.
He was careful though. He’d seen other people smoking before, seen what tripped them up, so instead of inhaling properly he just held the smoke in his mouth and bent his head as he exhaled. When he looked up, they were still watching him, so he finished the cigarette, never once properly breathing in, and dropped the end in the empty can they were using to collect the butts.
Helen looked at him with one raised eyebrow, the corner of her mouth fighting with the world’s tiniest smile, before she shooed him into the house.
Before he went to bed, he pulled out the chocolate milk his mother bought because his little sister still refused to drink regular milk, and poured himself a big glass to wash the taste out of his mouth.
The second time was a week later. He was trying to hide out for the remainder of his lunch period when he stumbled upon Steven Delahunt smoking behind the bike shed. Steven was in Arthur’s grade, but six months older, and he acknowledged Arthur’s arrival with a tiny bob of his head before going back to staring straight ahead.
Arthur looked at him for a second before he coughed. “Um, could I buy one off you?”
Steven looked at the pack of cigarettes in his hand, then up at Arthur, and shrugged. He passed Arthur one with his lighter and pulled his hand back, clearly not waiting for anything in return.
Arthur slid down the shed wall to sit on his heels and lit the cigarette. He was paying less attention this time, and coughed loudly when the smoke hit his lungs.
Steven glanced over at him, and Arthur blushed and tucked his hair behind his ear, but Steven just smiled and lit himself another cigarette.
“Takes a little getting used to.”
A little while later, Arthur bought an entire pack off Steven and carefully worked his way through them until he didn’t have to worry about coughing anymore.
- - - - -
The first time Eames smoked, he was nineteen years old.
One of the third-years in the Union had dragged him and another fresher to an “open meeting” for one of the college’s dining clubs.
Someone offered him a cigar. He knew how to cut the end off, how to light the end so it didn’t tunnel as it burned, because all the men in his family smoked cigars, even if he didn’t, yet. He took his time doing it though, fumbling a little with the blade, with the lighter (a blowtorch, not a flickering flame he noted, a little impressed despite himself), and inhaled knowing he wasn’t supposed to.
He was playing up his naivete, trying to look unassuming, so he could fish for information. He didn’t much care why he was there - rather, he knew exactly why he was there, why he’d be a tempting prospect - but he wanted to know why the other fresher, a quiet unassuming boy named Roger Mapfre, was there.
Eames kept his ears open and his eyes down, and left the party with three bits of information he hadn’t had when he arrived.
He didn’t smoke again for five months.
- - - - -
Arthur met Eames for the first time when Mal was pregnant. They needed an extra body for a job - one of those jobs from the early days that still tried to walk that narrow line between research and the shady side of the profession. Eames came recommended from the shadier side, but at that point, they were somewhat desperate.
Three hours into the first planning session, Arthur’s fingers were digging into the palms of his hands because Mal quit once she’d found out she was pregnant. She was angry enough about all the things she was giving up without him dragging the scent of smoke through the house. It took less then fifteen minutes of him snapping back his answers before Mal hurled a lighter at him and told him he was making her teeth itch.
Outside, Arthur had barely lit up when Eames appeared beside him, an unlit cigarette in his mouth.
“Got a light?”
Arthur handed over his lighter. They both stood in silence for a second.
“I’m glad she threw us out,” said Eames. “I was trying hard for stoic, but I don’t think I would have lasted much longer.”
“Well, I’m glad my lack of control gave you an out,” Arthur snapped back.
Eames twisted his head to look at him. “I was more commenting on Mal’s, but by all means misinterpret me if you want to.”
Arthur dragged down the rest of his cigarette too quickly and stubbed it out on the bottom of his shoe.
“Hurry up.”
- - - - -
Arthur spent the entire reception after Mal’s funeral on the porch. He fielded texts from Dom about the kids, about her parents, about when he’d be meeting Dom in Brazil, and and he drank whiskey and watched the rain.
Inside, the crowd had just started to quieten when a shadow fell across the railing in front of him.
Eames glanced down at the empty cigarette pack twisted in Arthur’s hands and held out his own cigarettes. Arthur barely looked at him before taking one, his hands slightly unsteady as he lit up and just breathed.
He finally turned his face towards Eames, his head still heavy on his shoulders. Unspoken words on his face. What are you doing here?
Eames looked back at him, equally silent.
- - - - -
Arthur was pretty sure their architect was never going to set foot in a room with any of them again. Cobb was spending all his time on the phone and barely making it to meetings, only to look at her plans, point out that’s not what he would have done, and leave again. If Eames hadn’t been there to roll his eyes and reassure her she was doing fine, she might even have left already.
Eames exhaled and handed over the empty soda can they were using as an ashtray. Arthur dropped in his butt and lit another.
“D’you ever try to quit?” Eames asked.
Arthur sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Once, when I was eighteen. It didn’t go well, so I haven’t tried since.”
“I hadn’t even started by then.”
“You didn’t start smoking until you were over eighteen?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.” Arthur grinned. “You’re an idiot.”
Eames shrugged and flicked his extinguished cigarette at him. “We all give in to crazy experimental influences at college. Some of them stick.”
Before Arthur could reply, the architect stuck her head out onto the fire escape.
“Arthur?” She sounded nervous, “Um, there’s something you should probably look at...”
Arthur sighed and pulled himself to his feet.
- - - - -
Even if Arthur hadn’t known where Eames had come from, he’d have known it the second he stepped close. The smell of bidis rolled off him in waves when he sat next to Arthur on the fire escape. He offered one to Arthur, who wrinkled his nose in distaste and stuck to his Dunhills.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Those things are disgusting.”
“They are a bit, true. But don’t you ever have a craving for something that’s otherwise repellant?”
Arthur didn’t reply, letting the silence hang for a moment before Eames spoke.
“What can you tell me?”
“Cobb didn’t fill you in?”
“You know Cobb. Everything’s vitally important and not as dangerous as it seems.”
Arthur laughed. “Well, it’s less important than that, and probably less dangerous as well.”
“I guessed that when I saw it was only the three of us. Isn’t that a little...?”
“Ideally, we’ll be in and out quickly. Another person would just slow us down.”
“Won’t take too long then?”
“Why?” Arthur asked, “do you have somewhere to be?”
“Might be heading to Atlanta for a bit.”
Arthur scanned his mental rolodex for anyone working out of Atlanta, or any jobs in the area. “You’re working with Hanrahan?”
Eames laughed. “No. I’ve got a... non-professional prospect.”
“Well, we’ll try not to keep you. Just so long as Cobb keeps his side under control.”
Eames shrugged, but said nothing. He stubbed out his cigarette and offered a hand to pull Arthur to his feet.
“Well, let’s get ‘er done then.”
- - - - -
The wind outside was so cold that the windows had frozen shut. Arthur was methodically working his way through testing all of them while Eames and their architect tried to coax the ancient electric bar heater into life.
None of the windows would open. Arthur glared at one for a moment, flicking his lighter a couple of times.
The architect noticed. “No smoking indoors; I’ve got asthma. Also, it’s illegal.”
“But I can’t go outdoors.”
“No smoking indoors.”
Arthur yanked his overcoat off the chair and stalked outside. The wind hit him like fibreglass embedding under his skin and it took him a good three minutes to maneuver somewhere out of its direct path.
He’d forgotten his gloves. By the time he ducked around the corner out of direct wind his fingers were frozen stiff and completely unable to flick his lighter
Arthur pressed his forehead against the wall and groaned. He barely had a chance to mentally berate himself before Eames poked him in the ribs.
“I’m flattered and all, but you didn’t have to wait.”
Arthur glared at Eames and tried to blow some feeling back into his fingers. Eames was wearing gloves. Eames was even wearing those gloves where the thumb flipped down so you could operate your phone without getting cold, which normally would horrify Arthur, but it meant Eames could light both their cigarettes. He said nothing, and instead dragged heavily on his cigarette and leaned against the wall.
Eames stood beside him and Arthur leaned in to hear him over the howling wind.
“So, what do you think of the new kid?” Eames raised his voice slightly, but not enough that Arthur didn’t have to lean in even closer.
Arthur glanced back at the door, “Tanya? Seems... fine. A little eager.”
“You don’t approve of eager?”
“She’s the wrong kind of eager. Too nervous.”
Eames grinned. “Sometimes, I think they only take these jobs so they can stick ‘I worked with Dom Cobb and survived’ down on their CVs.”
Arthur would’ve objected on Dom’s behalf, but it was probably true. He glanced down at his watch and lit another cigarette off the end of his still-burning one.
“Five minutes,” he said.
“You’re the boss.”
- - - - -
Arthur heard the door behind him clatter open and knew it was Eames without looking. At four am, the city was calm beneath the hotel balcony and the noise from inside the building was sealed in once Eames shut the door.
The smell of Gitanes hit him as soon as Eames took a drag, and even though Arthur should have been prepared for this - they’re in Paris, and Eames always smoked whatever caught his eye - it caught in the back of his throat and made him cough. He dropped his own cigarette and fumbled unsuccessfully with the packet for a new one. He turned his head away from Eames and took in a few shaky breaths. He hadn’t smelled Gitanes this close since before Phillipa was born.
Arthur didn’t say anything, but he could feel Eames look over at him, his eyes lingering on the tightness in Arthur’s shoulders and the shake in his hands as he fiddled with his lighter. He shifted to stand downwind, angling his head with every exhale. Then he shoved the packet into his back pocket and leaned across to steal one of Arthur’s.
Arthur took another deep breath. By the time they went back inside the smell of Gitanes had dissipated completely, and some of the tension had drained from his shoulders.
- - - - -
It was the first time since Arthur could remember, Eames was out smoking before him He was sitting on the steps to the next floor, an unlit cigarette in his mouth, and was doing that thing with his Zippo where he flicked it open and on in one movement. Arthur watched him for a second before saying anything.
“Playing Batman?”
Eames smiled slightly. “I don’t think Batman smokes.”
“How else did he get that gravelly voice?”
Eames didn’t reply for a couple of minutes, so Arthur leaned against the railing and lit his cigarette. A moment later, Eames snapped out of whatever reverie he’d been in and lit his own.
“Should be out of here in a couple of days, pending lack of disasters,” said Arthur.
Eames didn’t reply.
“You’re going back to Atlanta? Michael, was it?”
Eames laughed humorlessly. “Mitchell. And no.”
Arthur wanted to ask, but stayed silent and lit another cigarette. Finally, Eames laughed again, waving his cigarette loosely.
“You know what they say about non-smokers.”
Arthur cocked an eyebrow, “Avoid them like the plague?”
“See, where were you nine months ago?”
Arthur thought for a second. “Martinique.”
“Very selfish of you.”
“Like you would have listened.”
“You have a point.” Eames sighed and tucked his lighter into his pack.
“The way to solve this,” Arthur offered, “is to only date other smokers.”
“No more complaining about the smell.”
“Or the taste.”
“If you can’t bring yourself to pop in a mint before kissing someone, there’s no hope for you, smoker or no.”
“That’s not quite what I was talking about.”
Arthur blushed for a second before meeting Eames’ gaze head on. Eames grinned, finally looking like himself again. Arthur coughed and stubbed out his cigarette.
“We should make sure they haven’t killed each other yet.”
- - - - -
Arthur was rolling his cigarette between two fingers when the window to the fire escape clattered open and the architect stuck his head out.
“Um, can I come out?”
Arthur glanced around the empty fire escape and raised an eyebrow. The boy scrambled out of the window and sat down, carefully pulling a bunch of supplies out of his pocket. Arthur watched as he assembled a cigarette, clearly not very used to rolling his own. Arthur closed his eyes and tried to tune out the chatter.
“So, I was thinking instead of a meadow for the initial part of the dream, we go with a forest? I mean, we just know she likes nature, but I think that maybe a meadow might be too neutral, seeing as we’re trying to have her at least slightly uneasy before she makes it into the main section? And then, a maze would be much easier to install if we’re working with trees instead of like, long grass, unless we use like, really long grass and then it’s not really a meadow anymore, it’s more...”
Arthur stopped listening. He returned his cigarette to his mouth and pulled out his phone.
to: e
Why does nobody bother to learn what my ‘not paying attention to anything you’re saying right now’ face looks like?
He knew Eames was in Cambodia right now, and might not have access to his phone, so he was only half-expecting a sarcastic reply.
He didn’t get one.
- - - - -
The planning session ended with them all glaring at each other, and Arthur grabbed his cigarettes from his desk drawer, storming out of the room. He couldn’t hear everything that was going on inside, just Eames’ voice, pitched perfectly to travel so Arthur could hear him.
“No, I’ve quit.”
He could guess what Ariadne had asked.
The first cigarette Arthur pulled out wound up in tiny shreds scattered at his feet. The second one made it to his lips, and he shuddered as he pulled in a lung full of smoke.
Inside, Ariadne and Eames were still talking, even if Arthur could only hear Eames.
“Not that hard, not really. Only takes a little willpower.”
- - - - -
They were in Wyoming, and Arthur hadn’t had a cigarette in thirty-two hours. Because the kinds of places that sold cigarettes were also the kinds of places that had security cameras.
His fingernails were bitten to the quick, and he’d been snapping at the rest of the team all day. Finally, Cho snapped back.
“Just take one of Eames’. He’d say yes, and if he’s angry, just blame me.”
Arthur was not the kind of person who went through the possessions of people he trusts. Even if it’s Eames, even if he was just looking for a cigarette. Eames had been out cold for twenty-seven hours, and Arthur was not going to dig through his bag. They only had another fourteen hours before their getaway driver could get here, and Arthur could hold himself together that long.
Eames finally woke up with three hours to go, and before he could ask what had happened, before anyone could fill him in on the plan, Cho shut everyone’s questions down and demanded he give Arthur a cigarette.
Arthur would have been pissed, but all he heard was Eames’ confused “of course” before Cho dug into Eames’ duffle and threw the packet at Arthur’s head.
Arthur locked himself in the bathroom, because the ventilation was better, and pressed his forehead against the cool tile as he pulled out a cigarette and forced his unsteady fingers to light it. The smoke hit his lungs like a splash of cold water to the face, and he smoked straight through three without noticing.
- - - - -
Arthur flicked his cigarette packet open and counted how many he’d smoked already. Seven left, so, if he added on the three from the pack this morning, that was fourteen cigarettes before lunch, and he still had the dull hum of irritation behind his eyes.
He shoved the pack into his pocket, because there were still at least ten hours of work left and he refused to go through more than one pack a day.
He didn’t normally lose count, but there was something about this job that was throwing him off centre. He glanced in the window to make sure he still looked put together before turning back towards the building.
Arthur hung in the doorway for a moment, surveying the team. Pavez was busy at her drafting board, Hayden was chewing on a pen as he scanned rapidly through a lengthy PDF on the laptop, and Yusuf... Yusuf seemed to be napping.
Arthur pressed his thumb against the arch of his eye socket, trying to physically push a headache back. Arthur had only agreed to work with Yusuf again because Eames had pointed out that, even though Yusuf had fucked them over on the Fischer job, he’d been at the exact same risk for Limbo as the rest of them, and, most importantly, Eames had sworn blind he’d be the one to deal with him and Arthur wouldn’t have to do anything more than supervise.
That had all gone to hell when the job had taken a sharp left turn after two days, and Eames had taken off for Perpignan to tail some potential people to forge.
And on a closer look Yusuf wasn’t even napping, just leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling.
“Are we not giving you enough work?” Arthur asked.
Yusuf brought all four legs of his chair back to the ground and rolled his eyes. “You can’t rush chemical reactions, Arthur. Not if you want things to do what you want them to.”
“Well, find something else to do while you’re waiting. It’s not like we’re short of tasks.”
Yusuf looked at him. “Yes. I can see everyone is quite snowed under.”
Arthur glared back. “I’ve been here since seven am, so if I take ten minutes for a cigarette...”
“Twenty-three minutes, but that’s not really important.” Yusuf shuffled some papers and folders around his desk. “I understand that you’re distressed about missing your Eames breaks, but there is probably something more productive for you to funnel that energy towards.”
Arthur stalked back to his desk and set his phone alarm to go off in two hours. He’d just have to deal with the headache until then.
- - - - -
Eames finally returned to the office a week before the job. He set a bag from the airport duty-free shop on his desk before pulling a pack of cigarettes out and walking outside immediately.
Arthur followed him out.
“Traditionally, you’re supposed to actually do some work before you take a smoke break.”
Eames took a deep drag of his cigarette before answering. “You come straight to the office after coming from Perpignan to Seattle in one stretch, then we’ll reassess that statement, yeah?”
Arthur didn’t answer, just leaned over to steal a cigarette.
“Oi.”
“You’ve a full carton on your desk; you’ll survive without this one.”
There was silence for a second. Eames pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. “Seattle in November. Good work.”
“We don’t always have the luxury of working somewhere geographically desirable.”
“Still, keep it in mind for next time? Florida might be nice.”
Arthur cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll see what I can do.”
They stubbed out their cigarettes, and Eames clapped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder as they went back inside. “Did you miss me?”
Arthur smiled. “Barely noticed you were gone.”
- - - - -
They had a thirty-two-minute gap before their flight left for Miami. Arthur ignored Ariadne’s disapproving looks as he gestured subtly towards the door and left without checking if Eames followed him or not.
Outside, he leaned against the wall and wiggled his fingers at Eames for his lighter.
“I left mine at home.”
Eames grinned. “What would your troop leader say?”
“I was never a Boy Scout.”
Eames stepped in closer, still smiling. “You know, I don’t think I should be enabling this kind of forgetful behaviour.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. Eames took another step closer, lit his own cigarette, and pocketed his lighter.
“I think you’ll learn better if you-”
Arthur cupped Eames’ jaw in his hands and leaned in, tilting his face to press the end of his cigarette against the end of Eames’. He pulled back and leaned against the wall.
It seemed as if it took Eames a second to recover. “Or that.”
Arthur grinned back and took another drag. “I thought you’d approve.”
- - - - -
Eames yawned and stretched his arms above his head as he relaxed back into the pillows. One of his hands came to rest on the back of Arthur’s head, his fingers gently carding through the hair near his neck. Eames couldn’t hear the irritated grumble in response so much as feel Arthur’s exhaled breath against his stomach, but it only made him grin and stroke his fingers through Arthur’s hair again.
“Do you want a smoke?”
Arthur didn’t say anything,instead shifted minutely from where he was sprawled across Eames’ lap so that his face was visible. Eames took that as a yes and bit a cigarette out of his pack before handing the rest over to Arthur. Eames looked around for a second, trying to find something that would serve as an ashtray but wouldn’t require moving more than his upper body, and spotted a dusty saucer on his bedside table.
He offered it to Arthur first, but Arthur’s eyes were still shut as he lazily dragged at the cigarette and let his arm dangle off the edge of the bed.
Eames settled his makeshift ashtray between Arthur’s shoulder blades. Arthur’s back tensed for a second before he relaxed again, and flicked his cigarette, sending a trail of ash downwards.
“You’re going to ruin my carpet,” said Eames.
Arthur’s face barely moved. “If you’re going to claim more than a purely technical ownership for this carpet, I’m going to start regretting the last hour.”
Eames didn’t say anything, just ran his free hand through Arthur’s hair again and watched him squirm slightly, careful not to upset the saucer of ash on his back.
A minute later, Arthur tipped his cigarette for the last time and waved it at Eames until he took it and stubbed it out. Eames shifted the saucer back to the bedside table so Arthur could move properly, and watched him stretch himself out before flopping over on his back, still pressed against Eames’ side.
Arthur ran his thumb over his bottom lip for a second before looking up at Eames accusingly. “Since when do you smoke Dunhills?”
Eames shrugged lightly. “I’ve been having a craving lately.”
Arthur rolled his eyes and turned back onto his stomach, burrowing under the blankets. “You’re ridiculous.”
Eames grinned and slid down properly into the bed. “I am, yeah. What does that say about you?”
Arthur poked him in the ribs. “Sleeping now.”
Eames slid his arm across Arthur’s shoulders and closed his eyes. “Whatever you say.”
Author: duckgirlie
Pairing(s): Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~4500
Warnings: underage smoking?
Summary: Arthur has smoked Dunhills for as long as he could buy his own cigarettes. Eames smokes Marlboros when he's in America and Bensons when he's in England and bidis when he's been to India or he wants to see Arthur's nose wrinkle in distaste.
This is five years in five minute intervals.
Notes: This is for the second round of i-reversebang and it's based on in1712's art, which you can check out here. I need to thank lezzerlee for hand-holding and idea-bouncing and cheerleading, and both her and meadowlion for betaing. Title from "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk" by Rufus Wainwright.
also available at the AO3
The first time Arthur smoked, he was fourteen years old.
His oldest sister was babysitting. She’d told him to put a video on and leave her alone, and fifteen minutes later he’d heard a car pull up and a couple of people going straight into the back yard. He didn’t bother looking out the window to see who they were - his sister’s friends were all largely interchangeable, as far as he was concerned.
When the tape was over, he rewound it, put it back in it’s box on the shelf. Then he went outside to tell his sister that he was going to bed. As soon as the door opened, he saw his sister freeze and try to hide her hands behind her back.
“What the hell, Arthur? Go to bed.”
“Are you smoking?”
Helen rolled her eyes and brought her hand out from behind her back. “So? Don’t tell Mom.”
He took a step closer to the group of older teenagers on the deck. “Can I have one?”
Helen and another girl exchanged a look, and he could tell Helen was about to say no when her boyfriend interrupted her.
“Let the little man have a smoke if he wants one.”
Jack leaned over to ruffle Arthur’s hair, and Arthur barely managed to restrain himself from flinching. He still tried his best to finger-comb his hair back into submission while Jack pulled a cigarette out of his battered pack and handed it over.
“You need me to light it for you?” Jack asked.
Arthur rolled his eyes and took the proffered box of matches, his fingers only fumbling a little as he struck one and held it to the end of the cigarette before handing the matches back.
They all watched as he took a drag. He could tell they were expecting him to fail. To choke and go green and run back into the house humiliated.
He was careful though. He’d seen other people smoking before, seen what tripped them up, so instead of inhaling properly he just held the smoke in his mouth and bent his head as he exhaled. When he looked up, they were still watching him, so he finished the cigarette, never once properly breathing in, and dropped the end in the empty can they were using to collect the butts.
Helen looked at him with one raised eyebrow, the corner of her mouth fighting with the world’s tiniest smile, before she shooed him into the house.
Before he went to bed, he pulled out the chocolate milk his mother bought because his little sister still refused to drink regular milk, and poured himself a big glass to wash the taste out of his mouth.
The second time was a week later. He was trying to hide out for the remainder of his lunch period when he stumbled upon Steven Delahunt smoking behind the bike shed. Steven was in Arthur’s grade, but six months older, and he acknowledged Arthur’s arrival with a tiny bob of his head before going back to staring straight ahead.
Arthur looked at him for a second before he coughed. “Um, could I buy one off you?”
Steven looked at the pack of cigarettes in his hand, then up at Arthur, and shrugged. He passed Arthur one with his lighter and pulled his hand back, clearly not waiting for anything in return.
Arthur slid down the shed wall to sit on his heels and lit the cigarette. He was paying less attention this time, and coughed loudly when the smoke hit his lungs.
Steven glanced over at him, and Arthur blushed and tucked his hair behind his ear, but Steven just smiled and lit himself another cigarette.
“Takes a little getting used to.”
A little while later, Arthur bought an entire pack off Steven and carefully worked his way through them until he didn’t have to worry about coughing anymore.
- - - - -
The first time Eames smoked, he was nineteen years old.
One of the third-years in the Union had dragged him and another fresher to an “open meeting” for one of the college’s dining clubs.
Someone offered him a cigar. He knew how to cut the end off, how to light the end so it didn’t tunnel as it burned, because all the men in his family smoked cigars, even if he didn’t, yet. He took his time doing it though, fumbling a little with the blade, with the lighter (a blowtorch, not a flickering flame he noted, a little impressed despite himself), and inhaled knowing he wasn’t supposed to.
He was playing up his naivete, trying to look unassuming, so he could fish for information. He didn’t much care why he was there - rather, he knew exactly why he was there, why he’d be a tempting prospect - but he wanted to know why the other fresher, a quiet unassuming boy named Roger Mapfre, was there.
Eames kept his ears open and his eyes down, and left the party with three bits of information he hadn’t had when he arrived.
He didn’t smoke again for five months.
- - - - -
Arthur met Eames for the first time when Mal was pregnant. They needed an extra body for a job - one of those jobs from the early days that still tried to walk that narrow line between research and the shady side of the profession. Eames came recommended from the shadier side, but at that point, they were somewhat desperate.
Three hours into the first planning session, Arthur’s fingers were digging into the palms of his hands because Mal quit once she’d found out she was pregnant. She was angry enough about all the things she was giving up without him dragging the scent of smoke through the house. It took less then fifteen minutes of him snapping back his answers before Mal hurled a lighter at him and told him he was making her teeth itch.
Outside, Arthur had barely lit up when Eames appeared beside him, an unlit cigarette in his mouth.
“Got a light?”
Arthur handed over his lighter. They both stood in silence for a second.
“I’m glad she threw us out,” said Eames. “I was trying hard for stoic, but I don’t think I would have lasted much longer.”
“Well, I’m glad my lack of control gave you an out,” Arthur snapped back.
Eames twisted his head to look at him. “I was more commenting on Mal’s, but by all means misinterpret me if you want to.”
Arthur dragged down the rest of his cigarette too quickly and stubbed it out on the bottom of his shoe.
“Hurry up.”
- - - - -
Arthur spent the entire reception after Mal’s funeral on the porch. He fielded texts from Dom about the kids, about her parents, about when he’d be meeting Dom in Brazil, and and he drank whiskey and watched the rain.
Inside, the crowd had just started to quieten when a shadow fell across the railing in front of him.
Eames glanced down at the empty cigarette pack twisted in Arthur’s hands and held out his own cigarettes. Arthur barely looked at him before taking one, his hands slightly unsteady as he lit up and just breathed.
He finally turned his face towards Eames, his head still heavy on his shoulders. Unspoken words on his face. What are you doing here?
Eames looked back at him, equally silent.
- - - - -
Arthur was pretty sure their architect was never going to set foot in a room with any of them again. Cobb was spending all his time on the phone and barely making it to meetings, only to look at her plans, point out that’s not what he would have done, and leave again. If Eames hadn’t been there to roll his eyes and reassure her she was doing fine, she might even have left already.
Eames exhaled and handed over the empty soda can they were using as an ashtray. Arthur dropped in his butt and lit another.
“D’you ever try to quit?” Eames asked.
Arthur sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Once, when I was eighteen. It didn’t go well, so I haven’t tried since.”
“I hadn’t even started by then.”
“You didn’t start smoking until you were over eighteen?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.” Arthur grinned. “You’re an idiot.”
Eames shrugged and flicked his extinguished cigarette at him. “We all give in to crazy experimental influences at college. Some of them stick.”
Before Arthur could reply, the architect stuck her head out onto the fire escape.
“Arthur?” She sounded nervous, “Um, there’s something you should probably look at...”
Arthur sighed and pulled himself to his feet.
- - - - -
Even if Arthur hadn’t known where Eames had come from, he’d have known it the second he stepped close. The smell of bidis rolled off him in waves when he sat next to Arthur on the fire escape. He offered one to Arthur, who wrinkled his nose in distaste and stuck to his Dunhills.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Those things are disgusting.”
“They are a bit, true. But don’t you ever have a craving for something that’s otherwise repellant?”
Arthur didn’t reply, letting the silence hang for a moment before Eames spoke.
“What can you tell me?”
“Cobb didn’t fill you in?”
“You know Cobb. Everything’s vitally important and not as dangerous as it seems.”
Arthur laughed. “Well, it’s less important than that, and probably less dangerous as well.”
“I guessed that when I saw it was only the three of us. Isn’t that a little...?”
“Ideally, we’ll be in and out quickly. Another person would just slow us down.”
“Won’t take too long then?”
“Why?” Arthur asked, “do you have somewhere to be?”
“Might be heading to Atlanta for a bit.”
Arthur scanned his mental rolodex for anyone working out of Atlanta, or any jobs in the area. “You’re working with Hanrahan?”
Eames laughed. “No. I’ve got a... non-professional prospect.”
“Well, we’ll try not to keep you. Just so long as Cobb keeps his side under control.”
Eames shrugged, but said nothing. He stubbed out his cigarette and offered a hand to pull Arthur to his feet.
“Well, let’s get ‘er done then.”
- - - - -
The wind outside was so cold that the windows had frozen shut. Arthur was methodically working his way through testing all of them while Eames and their architect tried to coax the ancient electric bar heater into life.
None of the windows would open. Arthur glared at one for a moment, flicking his lighter a couple of times.
The architect noticed. “No smoking indoors; I’ve got asthma. Also, it’s illegal.”
“But I can’t go outdoors.”
“No smoking indoors.”
Arthur yanked his overcoat off the chair and stalked outside. The wind hit him like fibreglass embedding under his skin and it took him a good three minutes to maneuver somewhere out of its direct path.
He’d forgotten his gloves. By the time he ducked around the corner out of direct wind his fingers were frozen stiff and completely unable to flick his lighter
Arthur pressed his forehead against the wall and groaned. He barely had a chance to mentally berate himself before Eames poked him in the ribs.
“I’m flattered and all, but you didn’t have to wait.”
Arthur glared at Eames and tried to blow some feeling back into his fingers. Eames was wearing gloves. Eames was even wearing those gloves where the thumb flipped down so you could operate your phone without getting cold, which normally would horrify Arthur, but it meant Eames could light both their cigarettes. He said nothing, and instead dragged heavily on his cigarette and leaned against the wall.
Eames stood beside him and Arthur leaned in to hear him over the howling wind.
“So, what do you think of the new kid?” Eames raised his voice slightly, but not enough that Arthur didn’t have to lean in even closer.
Arthur glanced back at the door, “Tanya? Seems... fine. A little eager.”
“You don’t approve of eager?”
“She’s the wrong kind of eager. Too nervous.”
Eames grinned. “Sometimes, I think they only take these jobs so they can stick ‘I worked with Dom Cobb and survived’ down on their CVs.”
Arthur would’ve objected on Dom’s behalf, but it was probably true. He glanced down at his watch and lit another cigarette off the end of his still-burning one.
“Five minutes,” he said.
“You’re the boss.”
- - - - -
Arthur heard the door behind him clatter open and knew it was Eames without looking. At four am, the city was calm beneath the hotel balcony and the noise from inside the building was sealed in once Eames shut the door.
The smell of Gitanes hit him as soon as Eames took a drag, and even though Arthur should have been prepared for this - they’re in Paris, and Eames always smoked whatever caught his eye - it caught in the back of his throat and made him cough. He dropped his own cigarette and fumbled unsuccessfully with the packet for a new one. He turned his head away from Eames and took in a few shaky breaths. He hadn’t smelled Gitanes this close since before Phillipa was born.
Arthur didn’t say anything, but he could feel Eames look over at him, his eyes lingering on the tightness in Arthur’s shoulders and the shake in his hands as he fiddled with his lighter. He shifted to stand downwind, angling his head with every exhale. Then he shoved the packet into his back pocket and leaned across to steal one of Arthur’s.
Arthur took another deep breath. By the time they went back inside the smell of Gitanes had dissipated completely, and some of the tension had drained from his shoulders.
- - - - -
It was the first time since Arthur could remember, Eames was out smoking before him He was sitting on the steps to the next floor, an unlit cigarette in his mouth, and was doing that thing with his Zippo where he flicked it open and on in one movement. Arthur watched him for a second before saying anything.
“Playing Batman?”
Eames smiled slightly. “I don’t think Batman smokes.”
“How else did he get that gravelly voice?”
Eames didn’t reply for a couple of minutes, so Arthur leaned against the railing and lit his cigarette. A moment later, Eames snapped out of whatever reverie he’d been in and lit his own.
“Should be out of here in a couple of days, pending lack of disasters,” said Arthur.
Eames didn’t reply.
“You’re going back to Atlanta? Michael, was it?”
Eames laughed humorlessly. “Mitchell. And no.”
Arthur wanted to ask, but stayed silent and lit another cigarette. Finally, Eames laughed again, waving his cigarette loosely.
“You know what they say about non-smokers.”
Arthur cocked an eyebrow, “Avoid them like the plague?”
“See, where were you nine months ago?”
Arthur thought for a second. “Martinique.”
“Very selfish of you.”
“Like you would have listened.”
“You have a point.” Eames sighed and tucked his lighter into his pack.
“The way to solve this,” Arthur offered, “is to only date other smokers.”
“No more complaining about the smell.”
“Or the taste.”
“If you can’t bring yourself to pop in a mint before kissing someone, there’s no hope for you, smoker or no.”
“That’s not quite what I was talking about.”
Arthur blushed for a second before meeting Eames’ gaze head on. Eames grinned, finally looking like himself again. Arthur coughed and stubbed out his cigarette.
“We should make sure they haven’t killed each other yet.”
- - - - -
Arthur was rolling his cigarette between two fingers when the window to the fire escape clattered open and the architect stuck his head out.
“Um, can I come out?”
Arthur glanced around the empty fire escape and raised an eyebrow. The boy scrambled out of the window and sat down, carefully pulling a bunch of supplies out of his pocket. Arthur watched as he assembled a cigarette, clearly not very used to rolling his own. Arthur closed his eyes and tried to tune out the chatter.
“So, I was thinking instead of a meadow for the initial part of the dream, we go with a forest? I mean, we just know she likes nature, but I think that maybe a meadow might be too neutral, seeing as we’re trying to have her at least slightly uneasy before she makes it into the main section? And then, a maze would be much easier to install if we’re working with trees instead of like, long grass, unless we use like, really long grass and then it’s not really a meadow anymore, it’s more...”
Arthur stopped listening. He returned his cigarette to his mouth and pulled out his phone.
to: e
Why does nobody bother to learn what my ‘not paying attention to anything you’re saying right now’ face looks like?
He knew Eames was in Cambodia right now, and might not have access to his phone, so he was only half-expecting a sarcastic reply.
He didn’t get one.
- - - - -
The planning session ended with them all glaring at each other, and Arthur grabbed his cigarettes from his desk drawer, storming out of the room. He couldn’t hear everything that was going on inside, just Eames’ voice, pitched perfectly to travel so Arthur could hear him.
“No, I’ve quit.”
He could guess what Ariadne had asked.
The first cigarette Arthur pulled out wound up in tiny shreds scattered at his feet. The second one made it to his lips, and he shuddered as he pulled in a lung full of smoke.
Inside, Ariadne and Eames were still talking, even if Arthur could only hear Eames.
“Not that hard, not really. Only takes a little willpower.”
- - - - -
They were in Wyoming, and Arthur hadn’t had a cigarette in thirty-two hours. Because the kinds of places that sold cigarettes were also the kinds of places that had security cameras.
His fingernails were bitten to the quick, and he’d been snapping at the rest of the team all day. Finally, Cho snapped back.
“Just take one of Eames’. He’d say yes, and if he’s angry, just blame me.”
Arthur was not the kind of person who went through the possessions of people he trusts. Even if it’s Eames, even if he was just looking for a cigarette. Eames had been out cold for twenty-seven hours, and Arthur was not going to dig through his bag. They only had another fourteen hours before their getaway driver could get here, and Arthur could hold himself together that long.
Eames finally woke up with three hours to go, and before he could ask what had happened, before anyone could fill him in on the plan, Cho shut everyone’s questions down and demanded he give Arthur a cigarette.
Arthur would have been pissed, but all he heard was Eames’ confused “of course” before Cho dug into Eames’ duffle and threw the packet at Arthur’s head.
Arthur locked himself in the bathroom, because the ventilation was better, and pressed his forehead against the cool tile as he pulled out a cigarette and forced his unsteady fingers to light it. The smoke hit his lungs like a splash of cold water to the face, and he smoked straight through three without noticing.
- - - - -
Arthur flicked his cigarette packet open and counted how many he’d smoked already. Seven left, so, if he added on the three from the pack this morning, that was fourteen cigarettes before lunch, and he still had the dull hum of irritation behind his eyes.
He shoved the pack into his pocket, because there were still at least ten hours of work left and he refused to go through more than one pack a day.
He didn’t normally lose count, but there was something about this job that was throwing him off centre. He glanced in the window to make sure he still looked put together before turning back towards the building.
Arthur hung in the doorway for a moment, surveying the team. Pavez was busy at her drafting board, Hayden was chewing on a pen as he scanned rapidly through a lengthy PDF on the laptop, and Yusuf... Yusuf seemed to be napping.
Arthur pressed his thumb against the arch of his eye socket, trying to physically push a headache back. Arthur had only agreed to work with Yusuf again because Eames had pointed out that, even though Yusuf had fucked them over on the Fischer job, he’d been at the exact same risk for Limbo as the rest of them, and, most importantly, Eames had sworn blind he’d be the one to deal with him and Arthur wouldn’t have to do anything more than supervise.
That had all gone to hell when the job had taken a sharp left turn after two days, and Eames had taken off for Perpignan to tail some potential people to forge.
And on a closer look Yusuf wasn’t even napping, just leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling.
“Are we not giving you enough work?” Arthur asked.
Yusuf brought all four legs of his chair back to the ground and rolled his eyes. “You can’t rush chemical reactions, Arthur. Not if you want things to do what you want them to.”
“Well, find something else to do while you’re waiting. It’s not like we’re short of tasks.”
Yusuf looked at him. “Yes. I can see everyone is quite snowed under.”
Arthur glared back. “I’ve been here since seven am, so if I take ten minutes for a cigarette...”
“Twenty-three minutes, but that’s not really important.” Yusuf shuffled some papers and folders around his desk. “I understand that you’re distressed about missing your Eames breaks, but there is probably something more productive for you to funnel that energy towards.”
Arthur stalked back to his desk and set his phone alarm to go off in two hours. He’d just have to deal with the headache until then.
- - - - -
Eames finally returned to the office a week before the job. He set a bag from the airport duty-free shop on his desk before pulling a pack of cigarettes out and walking outside immediately.
Arthur followed him out.
“Traditionally, you’re supposed to actually do some work before you take a smoke break.”
Eames took a deep drag of his cigarette before answering. “You come straight to the office after coming from Perpignan to Seattle in one stretch, then we’ll reassess that statement, yeah?”
Arthur didn’t answer, just leaned over to steal a cigarette.
“Oi.”
“You’ve a full carton on your desk; you’ll survive without this one.”
There was silence for a second. Eames pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. “Seattle in November. Good work.”
“We don’t always have the luxury of working somewhere geographically desirable.”
“Still, keep it in mind for next time? Florida might be nice.”
Arthur cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll see what I can do.”
They stubbed out their cigarettes, and Eames clapped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder as they went back inside. “Did you miss me?”
Arthur smiled. “Barely noticed you were gone.”
- - - - -
They had a thirty-two-minute gap before their flight left for Miami. Arthur ignored Ariadne’s disapproving looks as he gestured subtly towards the door and left without checking if Eames followed him or not.
Outside, he leaned against the wall and wiggled his fingers at Eames for his lighter.
“I left mine at home.”
Eames grinned. “What would your troop leader say?”
“I was never a Boy Scout.”
Eames stepped in closer, still smiling. “You know, I don’t think I should be enabling this kind of forgetful behaviour.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. Eames took another step closer, lit his own cigarette, and pocketed his lighter.
“I think you’ll learn better if you-”
Arthur cupped Eames’ jaw in his hands and leaned in, tilting his face to press the end of his cigarette against the end of Eames’. He pulled back and leaned against the wall.
It seemed as if it took Eames a second to recover. “Or that.”
Arthur grinned back and took another drag. “I thought you’d approve.”
- - - - -
Eames yawned and stretched his arms above his head as he relaxed back into the pillows. One of his hands came to rest on the back of Arthur’s head, his fingers gently carding through the hair near his neck. Eames couldn’t hear the irritated grumble in response so much as feel Arthur’s exhaled breath against his stomach, but it only made him grin and stroke his fingers through Arthur’s hair again.
“Do you want a smoke?”
Arthur didn’t say anything,instead shifted minutely from where he was sprawled across Eames’ lap so that his face was visible. Eames took that as a yes and bit a cigarette out of his pack before handing the rest over to Arthur. Eames looked around for a second, trying to find something that would serve as an ashtray but wouldn’t require moving more than his upper body, and spotted a dusty saucer on his bedside table.
He offered it to Arthur first, but Arthur’s eyes were still shut as he lazily dragged at the cigarette and let his arm dangle off the edge of the bed.
Eames settled his makeshift ashtray between Arthur’s shoulder blades. Arthur’s back tensed for a second before he relaxed again, and flicked his cigarette, sending a trail of ash downwards.
“You’re going to ruin my carpet,” said Eames.
Arthur’s face barely moved. “If you’re going to claim more than a purely technical ownership for this carpet, I’m going to start regretting the last hour.”
Eames didn’t say anything, just ran his free hand through Arthur’s hair again and watched him squirm slightly, careful not to upset the saucer of ash on his back.
A minute later, Arthur tipped his cigarette for the last time and waved it at Eames until he took it and stubbed it out. Eames shifted the saucer back to the bedside table so Arthur could move properly, and watched him stretch himself out before flopping over on his back, still pressed against Eames’ side.
Arthur ran his thumb over his bottom lip for a second before looking up at Eames accusingly. “Since when do you smoke Dunhills?”
Eames shrugged lightly. “I’ve been having a craving lately.”
Arthur rolled his eyes and turned back onto his stomach, burrowing under the blankets. “You’re ridiculous.”
Eames grinned and slid down properly into the bed. “I am, yeah. What does that say about you?”
Arthur poked him in the ribs. “Sleeping now.”
Eames slid his arm across Arthur’s shoulders and closed his eyes. “Whatever you say.”