FIC: High Hopes 2/7 || Arthur/Eames || NC-17
Word Count for this part: ~3,550
Warning for this part: Attempted sexual assault & the immediate aftermath
MASTER POST
*
II: Sidesteps
Once upon a time, Arthur had been a part of the sort of life that might have eventually lead to him becoming a lawyer or perhaps a doctor -- something prestigious and well paid. But that had been then, and real life didn't begin with once upon a time nor did it end in a happily ever after. Arthur had stopped believing in fairy tales when he'd realized that life wasn't one, but some of his child's naivety must have lingered; it was the only reason he could think of why this thing with Eames had blindsided him so completely.
He hadn't been thinking of happily ever afters, hadn't been planning ahead to a future together, but some part of him had expected a morning after, had nurtured the idea of something more. To be left with nothing but cooled sheets and an offhanded note that in no way acknowledged the connection he'd thought they had, or gave any indication that their time together had meant to Eames even a fraction of what it had meant to Arthur, made Arthur realize how stupid he'd been. He couldn't believe how easily he'd given himself to a man he'd foolishly trusted, but who, Dom's acquaintance or not, was really nothing more than a stranger to him.
He'd liked Eames. He'd liked his voice, and his laugh, and the way he talked; his hands, and his body, the outrageous stories he told, the easy familiarity. He'd liked it all.
Arthur didn't trust easily, was the thing. He didn't feel comfortable letting people get close to him. That he'd let Eames in so easily, charmed by his manners and enamored by the perceived glamour of forging, was unacceptable.
Arthur curled his hands into loose fists; he might be slow, but he wasn't stupid. He wasn't the sort of person to repeat his mistakes -- he'd learned his lesson. Nothing like this would ever happen again.
Should he cross paths with Eames in the future, everything would be different.
Everything.
-
Even without Eames around, Arthur felt out of sorts, tired and irritated more often than not. Dom noticed, which shouldn't have surprised Arthur, but somehow did. He felt Dom's eyes on him all week, saw the raised eyebrows and concerned looks when he snapped at nothing, when he lied about being busy with something so he could take an afternoon to find a free clinic and get himself tested -- he would rather have waited until the bruises on his hips had faded away, thus avoiding awkward questions, but figured it was probably better not to wait.
In retrospect, it was only surprising that Dom waited for as long as he did before approaching Arthur with his concerns.
"Arthur," Dom was standing awkwardly next to the desk where Arthur was making notes on the chemical compounds they'd used within the past month. He was wearing an open, serious expression that made Arthur automatically feel wary. "Are you okay?"
"I-- yes," Arthur said. He didn't bother asking why Dom wanted to know. "I'm fine."
Dom looked at him for a minute without saying anything, assessing. Then he sighed.
"Arthur," he started, awkward, and Arthur ducked his head, staring at his notes without seeing them. He could guess where this was going now, but despite not wanting the conversation to happen, he couldn't see a way out of it. Dom cleared his throat. "I know you liked Eames, and I'm glad you two got along so well, but he's not-- I don't want you to get too attached."
"Dom," Arthur attempted, desperate to interrupt, but it did him no good.
"I'm not saying he's not a good man," Dom continued, earnest, "And he's without a doubt good at what he does. I trust him to do his part on a job. But you're young, and he's -- unstable."
"Dom --"
"I just don't want you to pin any hopes on him. I don't want you to get hurt."
Arthur looked away, pushing down a scathing reply along the lines of Too little, too late. He shrugged, schooling his expression before meeting Dom's eyes.
"You don't need to worry," he said, honest; "I won't."
And he wouldn't -- he knew better now.
Dom looked at him, his eyes intense, searching for cracks in Arthur's facade. Arthur maintained eye-contact, letting the truth -- or rather, the part of it that served him best just then -- show on his face until the line of Dom's shoulders relaxed and he smiled, clapping Arthur on the shoulder.
"I'm glad," he said, warmth in his voice. Arthur shook his head, managing a smile of his own.
"Go back to your sketches," he said, pushing at Dom's side playfully. "They're supposed to be finished by tomorrow, and I know you hate it when Miles looks at you disapprovingly."
"Ingrate," Dom said without heat, but he was already moving back to his own table.
"Yeah, yeah," Arthur said breezily, waving a hand in Dom's general direction. "You ask Mal out yet?"
He laughed as he ducked the wad of paper aimed at his head, feeling better than he had all week.
Time to get over it, he told himself. There was more to life than English forgers who shagged and ran.
-
The club was packed; Arthur felt dizzy with heat and too many drinks. He wasn't feeling it tonight. Truth be told, he hadn't been feeling it, not for months now. Maybe not even in the beginning, when he'd thrown himself into it, trying to drown out memories he didn't want but couldn't forget -- worse, didn't want to forget.
He weaved his way through the moving crowd on the dance floor, ignoring the press of bodies, the wandering hands; he wasn't in the mood. It'd been a mistake to come here tonight. Stupid, really, with the new job lined up, with the way Dom, and more recently Mal, were increasingly often looking at him with a mixture of worry and disapproval.
Arthur shook his head as he pushed open the back door that lead into the alley, hating the thought of having disappointed either of them. They were the closest thing to a family he had now, and the thought of losing them, or dream sharing, was unacceptable. The heavy door closed behind him, the sudden absence of sound deafening. He hunched his shoulders a little, his thin jacket not quite enough to keep out the chill of the night. He walked down the alley, unhurried, wanting to take his time and let his head clear a bit before making his way back to the flat he shared with Dom. He had vague hopes of Dom being at Mal's for the night; he wasn't looking forward to the raised eyebrows and unasked questions waiting for him in case Dom was home and awake.
There was a burst of noise from behind him, quickly muffled again -- the club door opening and closing -- but he paid no attention to it, preoccupied by his thoughts. He was just drunk enough to not see it coming: he was grabbed from behind and slammed against the wall of the building. He grunted, the right side of his face throbbing from the impact.
"Stay still," his attacker told him, forearm across Arthur's shoulders pressing him against the wall. "You think you're all that, huh? You think you're too fucking good for me?"
"What --" Arthur began to say, only to be pushed further against the wall. The man's voice was vaguely familiar. Arthur thought maybe it was the guy who'd tried to buy him a drink a couple of times; not bad looking, but also not the type Arthur went for. He had an unfortunate habit of picking up fit, rough looking guys -- not that he'd done it often, but even once was too many when his 'type' resembled the guy he was trying to forget.
"I've watched you, picking your way through guys who're no good for you," the man said, pushing his face against Arthur's neck, inhaling. Arthur shivered, adrenaline spiking in his blood. The man wasn't big, but he was still a good deal heavier than Arthur and was using it to his advantage. Arthur swallowed with some difficulty and squirmed, trying to find leverage, and the man chuckled.
"Yeah," he said, his breath hot and unpleasant against Arthur's ear. "You want it. You want it just like this, you filthy slut."
The guy's erection pressed against Arthur's ass, his free hand was tugging at the zipper of Arthur's jeans, and no, Arthur thought, bile rising in his throat; this isn't happening. He sagged against the wall, the pressure against his back easing for just long enough -- he slammed his head back, hard, and the guy cursed, high pitched, and staggered back; Arthur hoped he'd broken the fucker's nose. Taking the opportunity to move before the man could get his shit together, Arthur turned around and kneed him in the crotch, making him bend over with a strangled cry, then took him out with a well placed elbow. The guy crumbled down, out cold.
Arthur took a few shaky steps back and stood there for a moment, dizzy, wanting to make sure the guy wasn't going to get up the second he turned his back. He took a harsh breath, running a shaking hand over his mouth before turning around and making his way out of the alley. He walked until he found a payphone, holding the receiver against his shoulder while he rooted around his pockets for spare change.
He dialed the apartment first, hanging up after getting no answer. He took a deep breath and picked up the phone again, re-inserting the coins. Mal picked up after the fourth ring.
"'Allo," she said, sounding sleepy.
"Mal," Arthur said, and then fell silent, his throat closing up.
"Arthur?" Mal said, her voice becoming more alert. "What's wrong?"
"Um," Arthur said, and had to pause to swallow. He cleared his throat, trying again. "Is Dom there?"
"Yeah, honey, just a second," Mal told him. Arthur waited while she handed the phone over to Dom, the murmur of their voices indistinct.
"Arthur," Dom said, and Arthur felt an unexpected wave of relief at hearing his voice, even if the edges of it were rounded with worry. "Are you alright? What happened?"
"I'm fine," Arthur said, running his fingers over the torn pages of the phonebook. "I just, I need, could you come and get me?"
"You don't sound fine," Dom said, a frown audible in his voice.
"I just need a ride," Arthur said. "Please, could you --"
"Yes," Dom said immediately, sounding chagrined; "Yes, Arthur, of course. Tell me where you are."
It took Arthur a minute to figure it out, and then Dom was telling him to stay there, don't move. Arthur set the receiver back into it's cradle and, after staring at it for a moment, feeling numb, moved to the closest wall. He slid down and sat on the sidewalk with his back against the bricks, his legs drawn up. He closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees, and tangled his fingers in his hair, waiting.
It was a good twenty minutes before a car slowed down to a stop near the payphone, but it wasn't Dom's car, and Mal's flat was clear across the city. No way could Dom have gotten there that fast. When it became apparent Arthur wasn't getting up, the driver got out of the car and came to him. Arthur blinked at him, wondering if he was actually dreaming, even as he knew he was not; however muddled his thoughts were at the moment, he didn't have to wonder about how he'd gotten there, could still recall the thoughts and actions that had lead him to this place, this moment. He pressed his palms against his eyes, almost wishing he couldn't remember, because the man who'd gotten out of the car -- it was Eames.
"Hey," Eames said, and Arthur told himself he hadn't missed the honeyed edges of Eames' voice. "Arthur. Are you alright, mate?"
Arthur rubbed his hands against his eyes and told himself to get a grip.
"I'm fine," he said, reluctantly dropping his hands and looking at Eames, who'd lowered himself down to a crouch next to him, close enough to touch. The look in his eyes was troubled.
"Forgive me for stating the obvious here," Eames said, "But you don't look fine."
Arthur tilted his head back against the wall and looked away, wishing he was anywhere but here. "It's none of your business. Why are you here, anyway? Where's Dom?"
There was a pause before Eames said, "They didn't want you to have to wait and I was closer, so they called me, said you needed a ride." From the corner of his eye, Arthur could see him shrug.
"I didn't know you were in the city," Arthur said, picking at the fabric of his jeans at the knee.
"Flew in yesterday. For the job," Eames added, and Arthur nodded, biting his lip; of course Dom had called him in. Of course he had. "You feel like getting up yet?" Eames' tone was mild, but Arthur felt stung nonetheless. He pushed himself up without replying and walked to the car, Eames following close behind him.
Arthur got in and did his seatbelt. He expected Eames to start the car after getting in, but instead he just sat there, staring through the windshield, his hands unmoving on the steering wheel.
"What happened, Arthur?" Eames eventually asked, like he had any right to. Arthur stared at his profile, wishing the expression there wasn't so unreadable to him.
"Nothing," he said, pressing his hands flat against his thighs to hide the tremors. "Nothing happened." It was true, technically speaking. Considering what could have happened.
"Really now," Eames said. "I would hardly be here if that were true."
Thanks for reminding me, Arthur thought, the corner of his mouth pulling down.
Eames reached out suddenly, catching Arthur's chin in his hand, and for a second, Arthur forgot how to breathe. Eames turned him toward the light, his grip tightening briefly when he got a good look at Arthur's face where he'd been slammed against the wall. Arthur twisted out of the hold and pushed Eames' hand away, his heart, inexplicably, in his throat. He pressed himself against the door, as far away from Eames as he could get, and refused to meet his eyes.
"Someone hurt you," Eames said, his voice colder than Arthur had ever heard it before.
"It's nothing," Arthur said, hunching down in the seat. "I took care of it."
"Arthur --"
"It was just some guy, okay?" Arthur said, wanting the questioning to come to an end. "I don't want to talk about it."
Especially not with you.
"Some guy," Eames repeated slowly, looking straight through the windshield. "And this happened where, exactly?" His hands were clenched on the steering wheel, his knuckles white.
"Look, could we just go?" Arthur said, starting to feel claustrophobic, which, god, had never happened before.
Eames looked at him for a moment, then faced forward again, his lips pressed together. "Alright," he said. "Alright, but --"
"I took care of it," Arthur snapped, at the end of his rope. "It's fine. So help me, if you don't start this car right now --"
"It's not even remotely fine, Arthur," Eames said, but he did finally do as asked. Arthur crossed his arms and looked resolutely out of the passenger side window, swallowing convulsively. Neither of them said anything until Arthur started paying attention to the buildings flashing by and realized they were going in the wrong direction.
"You missed my turn," he told Eames, having somehow expected to be dropped off at his and Dom's place, where he could have his breakdown in peace, thank you very much.
"I've explicit orders to take you to Mal's," Eames told him, shifting the gears smoothly. "Cobb's one thing, but it'd be right foolish of me to get on Mal's bad side."
"You don't even know her," Arthur said, frowning.
"We met -- that week, a few months ago," Eames said, a muscle in his cheek jumping. Arthur looked away, and Eames cleared his throat. "I went with Cobb to his campus one afternoon, you were -- studying? Researching?"
"I remember," Arthur said.
"Met her there," Eames said, coming to a stop at a red light, his fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel. "We've been corresponding on and off since then. She's got some fascinating ideas, that woman does, but like I said," Eames glanced at Arthur with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes, "I'd rather not get on her bad side, not even for you. Now be a good boy and don't argue about this."
"Fuck off," Arthur bit out as the lights switched to green and they were moving again. It wasn't like he was completely opposed to not being alone right now, but being managed like this, like he couldn't decide for himself -- Arthur cut himself off, pushing his hands further under his arms, breathing through his anger. "Thanks so much for taking the time to let me know, by the way. So thoughtful of you."
"You're quite welcome," Eames said, deliberately missing the point, and Arthur's lips thinned. He refused to say another word for the rest of the drive. Eames didn't even seem to notice the sulky silence, which only made Arthur feel more resentful. At least being mad at Eames distracted him from the rest of it; by the time they reached Mal's apartment complex, Arthur's hands weren't shaking anymore, and he felt less like his chest was about to fall open with some unnamed weight.
-
He ignored Eames to the best of his abilities, not commenting when Eames followed him upstairs. Dom and Mal met them at the door like they'd been waiting right there the whole time, and looked Arthur over, asking questions he didn't know how to answer, or didn't want to. They exchanged a look, which Arthur was too tired to get irritated over, and then Dom guided him into the living room while Mal stayed behind to talk to Eames, which Arthur also decided to ignore. Dom made up the sofa for him, talking quietly about something to do with Mal and studying, maybe; Arthur wasn't really paying attention.
"I --" Arthur said abruptly and then fell silent, rubbing his hands tiredly over his face, wincing as he inadvertently put pressure against the bruised cheek. He felt exhausted all of a sudden, worn down to the core and desperate to shut his mind down. "I'm going to take a shower."
"All right," Dom said quietly, looking at the pillow he was holding like he'd forgotten what it was for. Then he nodded, as if to himself. "I'll get you a towel," he said, putting the pillow down.
Arthur waited until Dom came back with the promised towel and some spare clothes, then locked himself in the bathroom and took off the clothes he was wearing, pushing them into a corner with his foot. He didn't think he wanted them anymore; he almost felt like he didn't want his skin anymore.
He stood in the shower for a long time, his thoughts hollowed out and filled with the sound of falling water. When it cooled down enough to make him feel chilled, he got out and reached for the towel. If he rubbed at his ear and the side of his neck with more vigor than a simple drying off required, he chose not to overthink it. He hung the towel to dry and picked up the clothes Dom had given him. The shirt was Dom's, too big on him by far, but the faded, mint green sweatpants weren't a bad fit; he had a sneaking suspicion they were Mal's. He shuffled into the living room and curled up on the sofa, tugging a blanket over himself and ignoring the sounds from the kitchen.
He could allow himself this one night; if he wasn't feeling better by the morning, he'd lock it all into the mental box where he kept the things he didn't want to think about, things that hurt him or confused him or got in the way.
Eames belonged in the box, Arthur realized, momentarily blinded by the thought. Thinking about Eames hurt. Trying to get over him the way he had, getting wasted and sucking off guys with superficial similarities, like it in any way counted as getting back at Eames or proved how little Arthur really cared -- it wasn't working. Instead, it was getting in the way, clouding his judgment and causing him to make stupid decisions.
Even as he laid there, feeling shaky and unnerved, Arthur had faith in his ability to process and compartmentalize the memory of the assault in the alley that night, and the residual fear over what could have happened. He didn't feel anything beyond impersonal loathing towards the entitled fucker who'd attacked him, and more to the point, he'd kicked that loser's ass.
Eames, though; Eames was far more complicated than that, and all Arthur knew was that if he continued on the path he'd been on these past few months, he might never get over him.
Arthur drifted off to sleep to the soothing murmur of voices from the kitchen, his mind both more turbulent and more at peace than it'd been in a long time.
It was time for a change.
***
III: Purgatory
Warning for this part: Attempted sexual assault & the immediate aftermath
MASTER POST
*
II: Sidesteps
Once upon a time, Arthur had been a part of the sort of life that might have eventually lead to him becoming a lawyer or perhaps a doctor -- something prestigious and well paid. But that had been then, and real life didn't begin with once upon a time nor did it end in a happily ever after. Arthur had stopped believing in fairy tales when he'd realized that life wasn't one, but some of his child's naivety must have lingered; it was the only reason he could think of why this thing with Eames had blindsided him so completely.
He hadn't been thinking of happily ever afters, hadn't been planning ahead to a future together, but some part of him had expected a morning after, had nurtured the idea of something more. To be left with nothing but cooled sheets and an offhanded note that in no way acknowledged the connection he'd thought they had, or gave any indication that their time together had meant to Eames even a fraction of what it had meant to Arthur, made Arthur realize how stupid he'd been. He couldn't believe how easily he'd given himself to a man he'd foolishly trusted, but who, Dom's acquaintance or not, was really nothing more than a stranger to him.
He'd liked Eames. He'd liked his voice, and his laugh, and the way he talked; his hands, and his body, the outrageous stories he told, the easy familiarity. He'd liked it all.
Arthur didn't trust easily, was the thing. He didn't feel comfortable letting people get close to him. That he'd let Eames in so easily, charmed by his manners and enamored by the perceived glamour of forging, was unacceptable.
Arthur curled his hands into loose fists; he might be slow, but he wasn't stupid. He wasn't the sort of person to repeat his mistakes -- he'd learned his lesson. Nothing like this would ever happen again.
Should he cross paths with Eames in the future, everything would be different.
Everything.
-
Even without Eames around, Arthur felt out of sorts, tired and irritated more often than not. Dom noticed, which shouldn't have surprised Arthur, but somehow did. He felt Dom's eyes on him all week, saw the raised eyebrows and concerned looks when he snapped at nothing, when he lied about being busy with something so he could take an afternoon to find a free clinic and get himself tested -- he would rather have waited until the bruises on his hips had faded away, thus avoiding awkward questions, but figured it was probably better not to wait.
In retrospect, it was only surprising that Dom waited for as long as he did before approaching Arthur with his concerns.
"Arthur," Dom was standing awkwardly next to the desk where Arthur was making notes on the chemical compounds they'd used within the past month. He was wearing an open, serious expression that made Arthur automatically feel wary. "Are you okay?"
"I-- yes," Arthur said. He didn't bother asking why Dom wanted to know. "I'm fine."
Dom looked at him for a minute without saying anything, assessing. Then he sighed.
"Arthur," he started, awkward, and Arthur ducked his head, staring at his notes without seeing them. He could guess where this was going now, but despite not wanting the conversation to happen, he couldn't see a way out of it. Dom cleared his throat. "I know you liked Eames, and I'm glad you two got along so well, but he's not-- I don't want you to get too attached."
"Dom," Arthur attempted, desperate to interrupt, but it did him no good.
"I'm not saying he's not a good man," Dom continued, earnest, "And he's without a doubt good at what he does. I trust him to do his part on a job. But you're young, and he's -- unstable."
"Dom --"
"I just don't want you to pin any hopes on him. I don't want you to get hurt."
Arthur looked away, pushing down a scathing reply along the lines of Too little, too late. He shrugged, schooling his expression before meeting Dom's eyes.
"You don't need to worry," he said, honest; "I won't."
And he wouldn't -- he knew better now.
Dom looked at him, his eyes intense, searching for cracks in Arthur's facade. Arthur maintained eye-contact, letting the truth -- or rather, the part of it that served him best just then -- show on his face until the line of Dom's shoulders relaxed and he smiled, clapping Arthur on the shoulder.
"I'm glad," he said, warmth in his voice. Arthur shook his head, managing a smile of his own.
"Go back to your sketches," he said, pushing at Dom's side playfully. "They're supposed to be finished by tomorrow, and I know you hate it when Miles looks at you disapprovingly."
"Ingrate," Dom said without heat, but he was already moving back to his own table.
"Yeah, yeah," Arthur said breezily, waving a hand in Dom's general direction. "You ask Mal out yet?"
He laughed as he ducked the wad of paper aimed at his head, feeling better than he had all week.
Time to get over it, he told himself. There was more to life than English forgers who shagged and ran.
-
The club was packed; Arthur felt dizzy with heat and too many drinks. He wasn't feeling it tonight. Truth be told, he hadn't been feeling it, not for months now. Maybe not even in the beginning, when he'd thrown himself into it, trying to drown out memories he didn't want but couldn't forget -- worse, didn't want to forget.
He weaved his way through the moving crowd on the dance floor, ignoring the press of bodies, the wandering hands; he wasn't in the mood. It'd been a mistake to come here tonight. Stupid, really, with the new job lined up, with the way Dom, and more recently Mal, were increasingly often looking at him with a mixture of worry and disapproval.
Arthur shook his head as he pushed open the back door that lead into the alley, hating the thought of having disappointed either of them. They were the closest thing to a family he had now, and the thought of losing them, or dream sharing, was unacceptable. The heavy door closed behind him, the sudden absence of sound deafening. He hunched his shoulders a little, his thin jacket not quite enough to keep out the chill of the night. He walked down the alley, unhurried, wanting to take his time and let his head clear a bit before making his way back to the flat he shared with Dom. He had vague hopes of Dom being at Mal's for the night; he wasn't looking forward to the raised eyebrows and unasked questions waiting for him in case Dom was home and awake.
There was a burst of noise from behind him, quickly muffled again -- the club door opening and closing -- but he paid no attention to it, preoccupied by his thoughts. He was just drunk enough to not see it coming: he was grabbed from behind and slammed against the wall of the building. He grunted, the right side of his face throbbing from the impact.
"Stay still," his attacker told him, forearm across Arthur's shoulders pressing him against the wall. "You think you're all that, huh? You think you're too fucking good for me?"
"What --" Arthur began to say, only to be pushed further against the wall. The man's voice was vaguely familiar. Arthur thought maybe it was the guy who'd tried to buy him a drink a couple of times; not bad looking, but also not the type Arthur went for. He had an unfortunate habit of picking up fit, rough looking guys -- not that he'd done it often, but even once was too many when his 'type' resembled the guy he was trying to forget.
"I've watched you, picking your way through guys who're no good for you," the man said, pushing his face against Arthur's neck, inhaling. Arthur shivered, adrenaline spiking in his blood. The man wasn't big, but he was still a good deal heavier than Arthur and was using it to his advantage. Arthur swallowed with some difficulty and squirmed, trying to find leverage, and the man chuckled.
"Yeah," he said, his breath hot and unpleasant against Arthur's ear. "You want it. You want it just like this, you filthy slut."
The guy's erection pressed against Arthur's ass, his free hand was tugging at the zipper of Arthur's jeans, and no, Arthur thought, bile rising in his throat; this isn't happening. He sagged against the wall, the pressure against his back easing for just long enough -- he slammed his head back, hard, and the guy cursed, high pitched, and staggered back; Arthur hoped he'd broken the fucker's nose. Taking the opportunity to move before the man could get his shit together, Arthur turned around and kneed him in the crotch, making him bend over with a strangled cry, then took him out with a well placed elbow. The guy crumbled down, out cold.
Arthur took a few shaky steps back and stood there for a moment, dizzy, wanting to make sure the guy wasn't going to get up the second he turned his back. He took a harsh breath, running a shaking hand over his mouth before turning around and making his way out of the alley. He walked until he found a payphone, holding the receiver against his shoulder while he rooted around his pockets for spare change.
He dialed the apartment first, hanging up after getting no answer. He took a deep breath and picked up the phone again, re-inserting the coins. Mal picked up after the fourth ring.
"'Allo," she said, sounding sleepy.
"Mal," Arthur said, and then fell silent, his throat closing up.
"Arthur?" Mal said, her voice becoming more alert. "What's wrong?"
"Um," Arthur said, and had to pause to swallow. He cleared his throat, trying again. "Is Dom there?"
"Yeah, honey, just a second," Mal told him. Arthur waited while she handed the phone over to Dom, the murmur of their voices indistinct.
"Arthur," Dom said, and Arthur felt an unexpected wave of relief at hearing his voice, even if the edges of it were rounded with worry. "Are you alright? What happened?"
"I'm fine," Arthur said, running his fingers over the torn pages of the phonebook. "I just, I need, could you come and get me?"
"You don't sound fine," Dom said, a frown audible in his voice.
"I just need a ride," Arthur said. "Please, could you --"
"Yes," Dom said immediately, sounding chagrined; "Yes, Arthur, of course. Tell me where you are."
It took Arthur a minute to figure it out, and then Dom was telling him to stay there, don't move. Arthur set the receiver back into it's cradle and, after staring at it for a moment, feeling numb, moved to the closest wall. He slid down and sat on the sidewalk with his back against the bricks, his legs drawn up. He closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees, and tangled his fingers in his hair, waiting.
It was a good twenty minutes before a car slowed down to a stop near the payphone, but it wasn't Dom's car, and Mal's flat was clear across the city. No way could Dom have gotten there that fast. When it became apparent Arthur wasn't getting up, the driver got out of the car and came to him. Arthur blinked at him, wondering if he was actually dreaming, even as he knew he was not; however muddled his thoughts were at the moment, he didn't have to wonder about how he'd gotten there, could still recall the thoughts and actions that had lead him to this place, this moment. He pressed his palms against his eyes, almost wishing he couldn't remember, because the man who'd gotten out of the car -- it was Eames.
"Hey," Eames said, and Arthur told himself he hadn't missed the honeyed edges of Eames' voice. "Arthur. Are you alright, mate?"
Arthur rubbed his hands against his eyes and told himself to get a grip.
"I'm fine," he said, reluctantly dropping his hands and looking at Eames, who'd lowered himself down to a crouch next to him, close enough to touch. The look in his eyes was troubled.
"Forgive me for stating the obvious here," Eames said, "But you don't look fine."
Arthur tilted his head back against the wall and looked away, wishing he was anywhere but here. "It's none of your business. Why are you here, anyway? Where's Dom?"
There was a pause before Eames said, "They didn't want you to have to wait and I was closer, so they called me, said you needed a ride." From the corner of his eye, Arthur could see him shrug.
"I didn't know you were in the city," Arthur said, picking at the fabric of his jeans at the knee.
"Flew in yesterday. For the job," Eames added, and Arthur nodded, biting his lip; of course Dom had called him in. Of course he had. "You feel like getting up yet?" Eames' tone was mild, but Arthur felt stung nonetheless. He pushed himself up without replying and walked to the car, Eames following close behind him.
Arthur got in and did his seatbelt. He expected Eames to start the car after getting in, but instead he just sat there, staring through the windshield, his hands unmoving on the steering wheel.
"What happened, Arthur?" Eames eventually asked, like he had any right to. Arthur stared at his profile, wishing the expression there wasn't so unreadable to him.
"Nothing," he said, pressing his hands flat against his thighs to hide the tremors. "Nothing happened." It was true, technically speaking. Considering what could have happened.
"Really now," Eames said. "I would hardly be here if that were true."
Thanks for reminding me, Arthur thought, the corner of his mouth pulling down.
Eames reached out suddenly, catching Arthur's chin in his hand, and for a second, Arthur forgot how to breathe. Eames turned him toward the light, his grip tightening briefly when he got a good look at Arthur's face where he'd been slammed against the wall. Arthur twisted out of the hold and pushed Eames' hand away, his heart, inexplicably, in his throat. He pressed himself against the door, as far away from Eames as he could get, and refused to meet his eyes.
"Someone hurt you," Eames said, his voice colder than Arthur had ever heard it before.
"It's nothing," Arthur said, hunching down in the seat. "I took care of it."
"Arthur --"
"It was just some guy, okay?" Arthur said, wanting the questioning to come to an end. "I don't want to talk about it."
Especially not with you.
"Some guy," Eames repeated slowly, looking straight through the windshield. "And this happened where, exactly?" His hands were clenched on the steering wheel, his knuckles white.
"Look, could we just go?" Arthur said, starting to feel claustrophobic, which, god, had never happened before.
Eames looked at him for a moment, then faced forward again, his lips pressed together. "Alright," he said. "Alright, but --"
"I took care of it," Arthur snapped, at the end of his rope. "It's fine. So help me, if you don't start this car right now --"
"It's not even remotely fine, Arthur," Eames said, but he did finally do as asked. Arthur crossed his arms and looked resolutely out of the passenger side window, swallowing convulsively. Neither of them said anything until Arthur started paying attention to the buildings flashing by and realized they were going in the wrong direction.
"You missed my turn," he told Eames, having somehow expected to be dropped off at his and Dom's place, where he could have his breakdown in peace, thank you very much.
"I've explicit orders to take you to Mal's," Eames told him, shifting the gears smoothly. "Cobb's one thing, but it'd be right foolish of me to get on Mal's bad side."
"You don't even know her," Arthur said, frowning.
"We met -- that week, a few months ago," Eames said, a muscle in his cheek jumping. Arthur looked away, and Eames cleared his throat. "I went with Cobb to his campus one afternoon, you were -- studying? Researching?"
"I remember," Arthur said.
"Met her there," Eames said, coming to a stop at a red light, his fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel. "We've been corresponding on and off since then. She's got some fascinating ideas, that woman does, but like I said," Eames glanced at Arthur with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes, "I'd rather not get on her bad side, not even for you. Now be a good boy and don't argue about this."
"Fuck off," Arthur bit out as the lights switched to green and they were moving again. It wasn't like he was completely opposed to not being alone right now, but being managed like this, like he couldn't decide for himself -- Arthur cut himself off, pushing his hands further under his arms, breathing through his anger. "Thanks so much for taking the time to let me know, by the way. So thoughtful of you."
"You're quite welcome," Eames said, deliberately missing the point, and Arthur's lips thinned. He refused to say another word for the rest of the drive. Eames didn't even seem to notice the sulky silence, which only made Arthur feel more resentful. At least being mad at Eames distracted him from the rest of it; by the time they reached Mal's apartment complex, Arthur's hands weren't shaking anymore, and he felt less like his chest was about to fall open with some unnamed weight.
-
He ignored Eames to the best of his abilities, not commenting when Eames followed him upstairs. Dom and Mal met them at the door like they'd been waiting right there the whole time, and looked Arthur over, asking questions he didn't know how to answer, or didn't want to. They exchanged a look, which Arthur was too tired to get irritated over, and then Dom guided him into the living room while Mal stayed behind to talk to Eames, which Arthur also decided to ignore. Dom made up the sofa for him, talking quietly about something to do with Mal and studying, maybe; Arthur wasn't really paying attention.
"I --" Arthur said abruptly and then fell silent, rubbing his hands tiredly over his face, wincing as he inadvertently put pressure against the bruised cheek. He felt exhausted all of a sudden, worn down to the core and desperate to shut his mind down. "I'm going to take a shower."
"All right," Dom said quietly, looking at the pillow he was holding like he'd forgotten what it was for. Then he nodded, as if to himself. "I'll get you a towel," he said, putting the pillow down.
Arthur waited until Dom came back with the promised towel and some spare clothes, then locked himself in the bathroom and took off the clothes he was wearing, pushing them into a corner with his foot. He didn't think he wanted them anymore; he almost felt like he didn't want his skin anymore.
He stood in the shower for a long time, his thoughts hollowed out and filled with the sound of falling water. When it cooled down enough to make him feel chilled, he got out and reached for the towel. If he rubbed at his ear and the side of his neck with more vigor than a simple drying off required, he chose not to overthink it. He hung the towel to dry and picked up the clothes Dom had given him. The shirt was Dom's, too big on him by far, but the faded, mint green sweatpants weren't a bad fit; he had a sneaking suspicion they were Mal's. He shuffled into the living room and curled up on the sofa, tugging a blanket over himself and ignoring the sounds from the kitchen.
He could allow himself this one night; if he wasn't feeling better by the morning, he'd lock it all into the mental box where he kept the things he didn't want to think about, things that hurt him or confused him or got in the way.
Eames belonged in the box, Arthur realized, momentarily blinded by the thought. Thinking about Eames hurt. Trying to get over him the way he had, getting wasted and sucking off guys with superficial similarities, like it in any way counted as getting back at Eames or proved how little Arthur really cared -- it wasn't working. Instead, it was getting in the way, clouding his judgment and causing him to make stupid decisions.
Even as he laid there, feeling shaky and unnerved, Arthur had faith in his ability to process and compartmentalize the memory of the assault in the alley that night, and the residual fear over what could have happened. He didn't feel anything beyond impersonal loathing towards the entitled fucker who'd attacked him, and more to the point, he'd kicked that loser's ass.
Eames, though; Eames was far more complicated than that, and all Arthur knew was that if he continued on the path he'd been on these past few months, he might never get over him.
Arthur drifted off to sleep to the soothing murmur of voices from the kitchen, his mind both more turbulent and more at peace than it'd been in a long time.
It was time for a change.
***
III: Purgatory