#10 - a shot for you, for chibi_lurrel
Title: A shot for you
Recipient: chibi_lurrel
Author: sketchofsoda
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Arthur/Cobb
Word count: 3,811
Warnings: A lot of shooting, minor fluff.
Arthur has been researching for days, hunting down people and terrifying the information right out of them. He’s used every extraction technique he possesses and though he’s not proud of it, he doesn’t regret it either.
As soon as he finds out Cobb’s exact whereabouts, he books the next fight to Denmark, regardless of cost. He fires a text off to Eames and packs with speed; extra clothes for both him and Cobb, and all the weapons he’ll need.
When he’s done, he knocks on Eames’ door once, and it pulls open to reveal Eames already dressed with cases in hand. He nods at Arthur.
They make their way to the airport, speeding the whole way there in their rent-a-car. When they get on the plane, he sits stone still in his seat for the whole four hours, going over the information in his head, again and again, murmuring to himself as Eames sits beside him, leg constantly bouncing up and down.
After they touch ground, Arthur hails a taxi instantly and directs it straight to the warehouse, telling the driver to go fast, flashing five hundred dollars at him. The driver screeches through the city and stops when Arthur tells him to, a partial distance away so that they don’t get spotted.
It wouldn’t do to get spotted now, no, Arthur has worked too hard on getting this opportunity to take back Cobb. He’s not going to let it get taken away.
Arthur unpacks his weapon, shrugging on shoulder holsters and slides Cobb’s Beretta into the left, packing the suppressor into one of the empty slots beside it. He loads up on ammunition. When he’s done, Arthur then slides on leather gloves and fits his Glock into his hand, hiding the cases under nearby bushes.
He turns to Eames to see if he’s ready and gets a nod in reply.
From then on, they make their way towards the warehouse entrance, sticking close to any walls and crouching low to the ground.
Surprisingly, the front is clear of guards, but Arthur doesn’t take his chances. He scans the area for cameras, gun held close to his chest. He nods for Eames to follow him as he puts his hand on the door, budging it open as quietly as possible.
Once entrance is gained, they make their way carefully through the building, Arthur tracing the route he memorised off by heart.
They sidle along the towering boxes, plastic and metal containers, eyes looking out for cameras and guards. Arthur scoffs at how easy it is to infiltrate Heiner and Straseskie’s base.
Amateurs.
Arthur can’t even comprehend how they’ve managed to steal Cobb from under his nose.
Eames snaps his fingers, gaining Arthur’s attention. He points to the door they’re looking for, with two men flanked on either side, silent and armed. Arthur flattens himself against a sturdy column of boxes and holsters his Glock into the right, pulling the Beretta out of the left. He takes out the suppressor, screwing it onto the threaded tip and watches Eames do the same thing with his USP.
Equipped with their silenced guns, Arthur holds up three fingers, starting a countdown; three, two, one-
They push off from their positions and aim for the head of the guards, hands snapping out to capture the ejected shell cases, sliding forward to catch the falling men, hand pressed over their mouth, feeling them convulse within their arms before going limp. Arthur lowers the body to the ground slowly and pauses; making sure that no one is coming their way.
Then they quickly stand to the sides of the door.
Arthur’s starting to sweat now, feeling flushed and anxious. He’s not sure what he’ll see in there, and dreads the worst case scenario.
Eames snaps his fingers again, scowling, pulling Arthur out of his reverie. It makes him feels sick to his stomach for having to have Eames reprimand him and for not putting his full attention on this mission. Eames tilts his head at the door and Arthur nods, taking a deep breath to compose himself.
He’s ready.
He kicks his foot against the wall; the loud sound causes noises to start up in the room. There are voices, muted behind the plaster and a question crackles through the radio on one of the dead men’s belt.
They don’t answer back.
Instead they stand there, silent and stock still, waiting.
It goes quiet in the room but Arthur can still hear faint murmurs and he tries to calculate how many men are in there, what to expect, and then the door swings open.
Arthur gives Eames the signal and they both drop into a crouch, shooting from the ground, taking the man by surprise with a shot in the leg, another in the jaw. He drops straight down, crying in agony, providing a slight distraction so that Arthur can take a quick calculating look in the room; take in the three conscious men with their guns drawn and three asleep, one of them Cobb.
After he’s done, he glances at Eames and the both of them are rolling across the ground, exchanging positions as they pull shots angled high. There are shouts and sounds of shooting as they move and Arthur slides into the room, shooting as fast and as accurate as he can, gunning for kill shots so that the men don’t get a chance to wake their sleeping employers.
Arthur gets clean shots at one of them, putting bullets into the joints of his shoulder, and watches him fall as he goes into shock. He gets accosted by another and they brawl, dodging fists and bullets.
The man gets a lucky shot though, catching Arthur in the bicep. Arthur grits his teeth against the pain, hand dropping the Beretta and he swings low to dodge another bullet, then right to dodge a fist. His left hand slides beneath his jacket to pull the Glock out of its holster and in one fluid motion, Arthur jerks his arm back and snaps it forward, racking the slide with inertia. He shoves the muzzle as close as he can to the man’s mouth and pulls the trigger.
The man drops like a sack of potatoes as Arthur stumbles backwards from the recoil.
“You okay?” pants Eames, blood smudged along his temple as he kneels by the PASIV. “What do you want to do now?”
“Keep watch of Heiner and Straseskie, don’t let them wake. I’m going under.” Arthur pulls an IV line out of the case and inserts the needle beneath the skin of his wrist.
“What about Cobb?” asks Eames and Arthur looks at Cobb, eyes narrowed at the purpling on his face and throat.
“Take him off five seconds after I go under,” he says, letting Eames fiddle with the PASIV and he lies back.
Arthur blinks into the middle of the scene. They’re in the same room he was just in, except it’s different, more dark and dank.
Cobb, he finds, is chained to a pipeline by the wall, wrists above his head, on his knees while blood runs down his face and leg.
Arthur feels his blood boil at the sight. He pulls both of the guns out of his holsters, ignoring how Heiner and Straseskie are shouting, guns raised at him, and shoots the both of them in the knee, barely feeling the twinge of pain in his right arm.
The two men drop to the floor, guns abandoned as they clutch at their wound, howling in pain.
“You fucker!” Heiner shouts, groping around for his gun and Arthur steps forward, digging the heel of his black leather Grenson’s into the back of his hand. He turns to look at Cobb, and manages to catch his eye briefly before he blinks out sight.
Good.
Arthur turns back to the men; eyes narrowed, lifting the muzzle of the guns to their uninjured leg. “I saw what you did to Cobb,” he growls, baring his teeth, “and I think it’s time you get acquainted with how it feels.” His lips thin out into a tight scowl, fingers on the triggers, about to pull- but he doesn’t manage to shoot before he blinks out of the dream and into reality.
“What the hell, Eames,” says Arthur, pushing the man away from where he’s doing quick work in trying to get a makeshift bandage on Arthur’s arm.
“Why did you pull me out?”
Eames glances at Cobb, who’s glowering at him, through a black eye and greasy bangs, while attempting to sit up gingerly, looking utterly mottled.
“What did you think you were gonna do there,” murmurs Cobb, voice rough and scratchy. He stands slowly but surely, face carefully blank in an attempt to hide how much pain he’s in.
“Cobb,” starts Eames, finishing with Arthur, and he dashes forth to help Cobb, sliding under his shoulder, “you shouldn’t be moving.”
Arthur frowns at that but doesn’t comment on it. Instead he turns to face the still sleeping bodies beside him and furrows his eyebrows together. “How come they’re not awake yet?”
“I’ve sedated them,” says Eames, trying to find a safe place to put his hands on Cobb’s body for support. “They’re not going to be waking up anytime soon.”
“But they’ll be trying to wake.”
Eames looks at Arthur. “I know. But what do you want to do with them? Until you get a plan underway in resolving this problem, they’ll have to remain sedated.”
Arthur frowns at that, fingers coming up to trace the line of his eyebrow in contemplation. “What did they want?” he asks, glancing at Cobb. The pain in his arm is throbbing, and though he’s experienced many shots in dreams, they hardly come close to the real ones. “Why did they take you, Cobb?”
Cobb bites his lip, looking off into a corner before he answers, “They wanted to know about you.” He pushes Eames away to stand on his own, wobbling precariously. “They wanted to buy you off me, and when I refused, they used me as a ransom.”
“I would’ve done it, you know,” says Arthur, watching Cobb keep up his facade. Arthur wants to push him, make him see that it’s okay to ask for help, that he doesn’t need to put up a front, but he doesn’t.
“I know.”
“They’re wanted by Cobol,” says Arthur, closing his eyes and gesturing at Cobb’s captors with his good arm. “If we keep them sedated enough, we can trade them to clear our names with the company.”
“How do we know Cobol won’t turn on us, that Heiner and Straseskie won’t bargain something with them to get to us? They caught me, didn’t they? What stops them from trading that for their freedom? If they do it once, they can do it again,” argues Cobb, and Arthur opens his eyes.
He looks at Cobb standing there, defiant, hand cradling his abdomen. Arthur stands up and makes his way to Cobb, staggering slightly.
“Because I won’t let them, Cobb. Because while Cobol isn’t about honour, I am. And so is Saito.”
“Cobb,” startles Eames, “you’re bleeding through your shirt,” and Arthur looks down. He pulls Cobb’s hand away to see the sickening stain of blood starting to soak the already tarnished material. Eames crouches beside him to inspect the wound and Arthur gestures for Eames to help him pull the shirt off.
Cobb fights them every step of the way, trying to assure them that he’s fine and that they’re fretting too much. They manage to peel the fabric off though, despite his protests, to reveal cuts and welts crisscrossing Cobb’s torso like he’s a madman’s canvas.
Arthur hands curl into fists, pain lancing up his arm when he finds the wounds drive straight beneath the waistband of Cobb’s slacks. He pulls out his Blackberry and speed dials Saito.
Saito picks up after the third ring, and Arthur greets him curtly, “Saito, hello. Yes. I’m good- as can be, thank you. Right. Excuse me for being rude though, and calling on such short notice,” says Arthur, gesturing for Eames to take Cobb out, “but remember that favour you owe me? I’m here to call on it.”
-
Arthur fights with Eames over who is going to stay to watch over Heiner and Straseskie and who will accompany Cobb to the hospital that Saito’s fixed so that they’ll treat him with no questions asked.
Cobb manages to pull Arthur away from the squabble. He coerces Arthur by striking a deal; if Arthur’s not going to go to the hospital to get his arm check, then Cobb, himself, doesn’t need to go to the hospital to get checked.
Eames raises an eyebrow at Arthur and Arthur hesitates before relenting. He strips off his gloves, handing Eames his Glock and mentioning Cobb’s Beretta. Eames nods.
Arthur guides Cobb carefully back out to the side of the road, crouching to grab one of the cases from the bush. He ignores Cobb’s curious look and pulls out a clean shirt for Cobb. As the blond delicately puts it on, Arthur flags down a taxi.
They get delivered to the hospital, Arthur slipping the driver a grand in cash for speed and silence. It’s quiet during the ride, slightly awkward, the tension almost tangible but Arthur finds he doesn’t care much for small talk when his arm keeps throbbing and his focus is faltering just the slightest.
Still, he does his best not to stare, though he does keep a constant look from the corner of his eyes at Cobb. The man leans against the seat, resting but still tense, body held taut. Arthur worries his bottom lip at the sight and is glad when they finally arrive at the hospital.
Arthur doesn’t boom through the emergency doors, though he wants to, but walks calmly instead, hand on the small of Cobb’s back. He gets to the reception desk, and ignores the way the nurse stares pointedly at how he looks.
“Could you please call for a Doctor Skov to attend to us?” he asks, leaning against the tall surface that makes the desk’s front, and the nurse blinks at him. “Please mention that Mr. Saito requires his attention, which should make this all much smoother.”
Cobb makes a sound behind him, it’s one in annoyance and anger, and Arthur reaches back to placate him with a touch. The nurse jumps at the noise though, right into action, picking up the speaker phone and calling into it.
Another nurse comes out, seconds later, ushering the both of them to a nondescript room where Dr. Skov and two other nurses are.
They assess the both of them; the female nurse stepping forward to tend to Arthur’s arm, as the others get Cobb onto a bed.
When they try to wheel Cobb out though, Arthur gets up from his seat, growling, ignoring the nurse by his side’s surprised shout. He pulls one of the nurses away from the bed, and pushes him against the wall.
“What are you doing?” questions Dr. Skov, scowling, and Arthur snarls right back.
“I’m not letting Cobb out of my sight,” he hisses, emphasising his words by pushing the nurse harder against the wall.
Just as the doctor is about to retort, stepping forward, Cobb interrupts. “Arthur,” he says, sitting up with the remaining nurse’s help. “Come here.”
Arthur lets go of the man he apprehended, follows Cobb’s call and, like a moth to the flame, goes to Cobb’s side.
“I’m okay, Arthur,” says Cobb, like Arthur’s a little kid that needs to be spoken softly to, “you have to let these people do their job. I can’t get better without their help.”
“I don’t want you out of my sight,” hisses Arthur, knuckles going white at the grip he has on the steel of the bars of the bed. “It took me two days to find you, Cobb. Two days. I can’t-”
Arthur resolutely tells himself that he’s not going to cry, but he’s so tired. Pain cuts through his arm, the harder his grip is, and Cobb threads a hand through his hair, the expression on his face softening.
“Its okay, Arthur,” he coaxes, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s temple, nails scraping gently across his scalp. “You did good.”
Arthur relaxes under Cobb’s touch, eyes falling shut.
“You going to let these good people take care of us now?”
Arthur nods and Cobb pats him one last time before he’s wheeled off. Arthur doesn’t stray far though, following until he’s stopped in front of the doors, left alone to watch it like a hawk.
He thinks of all the things Heiner and Straseskie could’ve done to Cobb to make him break, to make him tell on Arthur, and he falls into a plastic seat, anguished at the thoughts.
While Cobb may be the most talented extractor there is, no one does a better, more concise job than Arthur. He’s the backbone of the operation. He’s the reason why all the people he has worked with have never been caught, have never had any underlying suspicion.
Because Arthur is honourable and people respect that, and thus respect him.
Shaking, Arthur buries his face into his palm, smelling gun residue, blood and dirt. He’s trying to take calming breaths in and out when a hand lands on his shoulder. He jerks out of his seat, stumbling onto tired feet, ready to defend himself.
It’s Saito.
“That’s quick,” says Arthur and Saito shrugs.
“I was in the neighbourhood.”
“Munich, right?”
Saito furrows his eyebrows at Arthur’s words but doesn’t ask, instead he says, “Why aren’t you being attended to as well?” He turns a full circle, searching for staff and Arthur shakes his head.
“I’m fine, I’m fine. I was looked at.” He doesn’t mention pulling away to stop Cobb from going, doesn’t mention how he threatened one of the nurses.
“That bandage on your arm says otherwise, Arthur.”
“It’s just a cut,” he says but Saito ignores him and walks off down the long hallway.
If Arthur wasn’t so tired, he’d follow after in assurance, but he doesn’t have the energy.
Saito comes back with a female nurse in tow, looking nervous, wheeling a trolley with supplies.
“Saito, honestly,” he starts but Saito glances at the closed doors to Cobb.
“Do you not want to be in a healthy condition when they are finished with Cobb?”
And that’s the end to the argument. Trust Saito to know where to hit him where it hurts the most.
Arthur grits his teeth and leans back in the chair, allowing the nurse to remove Eames’ bandage and get to work. He hisses when she cleans the wound, sterilising it before numbing the surrounding area.
“This’ll just need stitches,” she says, patting his shoulder. “Do you feel light-headed? Or numb in certain places?”
Arthur laughs unexpectedly, because when he thinks about it, he doesn’t know. He’s been on full-alert for days, and he hasn’t even stopped to consider his own needs.
“I don’t know,” he says, relaxing into the chair’s stiff back, still chuckling. It’s starting to sink in that he’s in a hospital, a hospital and he knows where Cobb is, knows that he is safe, and knows that if anything happens; Arthur is right there, in the same building, on the same floor, separated by white doors and a handful of people. “I don’t know.”
“I think he may be suffering from lack of sleep or shock, either one,” says Saito, smiling, almost fondly. “Maybe now is the time you can take him to a bed.”
“Not away from Cobb,” mumbles Arthur, “I wan’ stay here with Cobb.”
“We’ll get you a room right next door for now. And transfer you into the same room when he’s done,” promises Saito. “You know I’ll keep my word.”
Arthur nods, and promptly falls asleep.
-
When he wakes, Eames is there, sitting in between their beds, drinking tea and doing the crossword in the newspaper.
“You know that newspaper is in Danish, right?” grunts Arthur, moving to sit up. There’s a saline drip beside him, a needle in his hand and he glares at it.
“I speak many tongues, Arthur,” responds Eames, putting the paper down and put his elbow on the table, head in hand. “How’re you feeling?”
“Bloated,” says Arthur, patting his stomach, “this stuff is killing me.” He moves to pull out the drip but Eames catches his hand.
“You look healthy,” he says, putting Arthur’s hand to his side, “finally.”
“He’s right, you know.”
“Cobb,” calls Arthur, surprised to hear his voice, convinced that he should still be sleeping, resting, yet it makes his heart swell when he hears Cobb’s answering chuckle. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” sighs Cobb, “everyone’s been asking me that- don’t I look fine?” Cobb’s bed whirs up to a 55 degree angle and Arthur cranes slightly to catch his face. He doesn’t look as terrible as before, but it seems there’s a while yet before he returns back to his normal health.
“Like sunshine and puppy dogs,” teases Eames.
“You look cleaner,” states Arthur, then narrowing his eyes. “Did one of the nurses give you a sponge bath?”
Eames laughs, loud and bright, while Cobb smiles softly at him.
“Next time I’ll tell him to back off and let you do it.”
“Him?” repeats Arthur, moving to get up, tangling himself in the sheets and the irritating IV line.
Cobb just laughs; light, snuffling noises which he’s never made before. Regardless, just the sound warms Arthur and he leans back against his pillow, eyes falling shut. Content.
“I’m heading down for a coffee,” says Eames into the silence that falls upon them, he shuffles across the floor, newspaper crinkling as he picks it up, “I’ll be around.”
The door closes with a snick when he leaves, and Arthur finds he can’t be bothered to open his eyes to look at Cobb again.
“I’m still here,” says Cobb, as if he can read Arthur’s mind, and he probably can. “You can go back to sleep if you want, I’ll still be here when you wake.”
“Can’t be sure,” yawns Arthur and forces his eyes open.
The light makes him squint, but Cobb comes back in focus again, smiling at him.
Arthur grumbles beneath his breath, glad Eames isn’t here to see him do this. He grabs his IV stand, frowning at it in annoyance, and makes his way to Cobb’s bed.
“Shove over,” he mutters, watching Cobb scoot as best he can to one side, an amused expression on his face. Arthur crawls in, lying on his side and wraps his arms and legs around Cobb’s body to fit their forms into the small space.
“That make you feel better?” murmurs Cobb, fingers going through his hair. “Can you sleep now?”
Arthur doesn’t answer because he does falls asleep, under the comforting gesture and knowledge that Cobb is back and safe.
Recipient: chibi_lurrel
Author: sketchofsoda
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Arthur/Cobb
Word count: 3,811
Warnings: A lot of shooting, minor fluff.
Arthur has been researching for days, hunting down people and terrifying the information right out of them. He’s used every extraction technique he possesses and though he’s not proud of it, he doesn’t regret it either.
As soon as he finds out Cobb’s exact whereabouts, he books the next fight to Denmark, regardless of cost. He fires a text off to Eames and packs with speed; extra clothes for both him and Cobb, and all the weapons he’ll need.
When he’s done, he knocks on Eames’ door once, and it pulls open to reveal Eames already dressed with cases in hand. He nods at Arthur.
They make their way to the airport, speeding the whole way there in their rent-a-car. When they get on the plane, he sits stone still in his seat for the whole four hours, going over the information in his head, again and again, murmuring to himself as Eames sits beside him, leg constantly bouncing up and down.
After they touch ground, Arthur hails a taxi instantly and directs it straight to the warehouse, telling the driver to go fast, flashing five hundred dollars at him. The driver screeches through the city and stops when Arthur tells him to, a partial distance away so that they don’t get spotted.
It wouldn’t do to get spotted now, no, Arthur has worked too hard on getting this opportunity to take back Cobb. He’s not going to let it get taken away.
Arthur unpacks his weapon, shrugging on shoulder holsters and slides Cobb’s Beretta into the left, packing the suppressor into one of the empty slots beside it. He loads up on ammunition. When he’s done, Arthur then slides on leather gloves and fits his Glock into his hand, hiding the cases under nearby bushes.
He turns to Eames to see if he’s ready and gets a nod in reply.
From then on, they make their way towards the warehouse entrance, sticking close to any walls and crouching low to the ground.
Surprisingly, the front is clear of guards, but Arthur doesn’t take his chances. He scans the area for cameras, gun held close to his chest. He nods for Eames to follow him as he puts his hand on the door, budging it open as quietly as possible.
Once entrance is gained, they make their way carefully through the building, Arthur tracing the route he memorised off by heart.
They sidle along the towering boxes, plastic and metal containers, eyes looking out for cameras and guards. Arthur scoffs at how easy it is to infiltrate Heiner and Straseskie’s base.
Amateurs.
Arthur can’t even comprehend how they’ve managed to steal Cobb from under his nose.
Eames snaps his fingers, gaining Arthur’s attention. He points to the door they’re looking for, with two men flanked on either side, silent and armed. Arthur flattens himself against a sturdy column of boxes and holsters his Glock into the right, pulling the Beretta out of the left. He takes out the suppressor, screwing it onto the threaded tip and watches Eames do the same thing with his USP.
Equipped with their silenced guns, Arthur holds up three fingers, starting a countdown; three, two, one-
They push off from their positions and aim for the head of the guards, hands snapping out to capture the ejected shell cases, sliding forward to catch the falling men, hand pressed over their mouth, feeling them convulse within their arms before going limp. Arthur lowers the body to the ground slowly and pauses; making sure that no one is coming their way.
Then they quickly stand to the sides of the door.
Arthur’s starting to sweat now, feeling flushed and anxious. He’s not sure what he’ll see in there, and dreads the worst case scenario.
Eames snaps his fingers again, scowling, pulling Arthur out of his reverie. It makes him feels sick to his stomach for having to have Eames reprimand him and for not putting his full attention on this mission. Eames tilts his head at the door and Arthur nods, taking a deep breath to compose himself.
He’s ready.
He kicks his foot against the wall; the loud sound causes noises to start up in the room. There are voices, muted behind the plaster and a question crackles through the radio on one of the dead men’s belt.
They don’t answer back.
Instead they stand there, silent and stock still, waiting.
It goes quiet in the room but Arthur can still hear faint murmurs and he tries to calculate how many men are in there, what to expect, and then the door swings open.
Arthur gives Eames the signal and they both drop into a crouch, shooting from the ground, taking the man by surprise with a shot in the leg, another in the jaw. He drops straight down, crying in agony, providing a slight distraction so that Arthur can take a quick calculating look in the room; take in the three conscious men with their guns drawn and three asleep, one of them Cobb.
After he’s done, he glances at Eames and the both of them are rolling across the ground, exchanging positions as they pull shots angled high. There are shouts and sounds of shooting as they move and Arthur slides into the room, shooting as fast and as accurate as he can, gunning for kill shots so that the men don’t get a chance to wake their sleeping employers.
Arthur gets clean shots at one of them, putting bullets into the joints of his shoulder, and watches him fall as he goes into shock. He gets accosted by another and they brawl, dodging fists and bullets.
The man gets a lucky shot though, catching Arthur in the bicep. Arthur grits his teeth against the pain, hand dropping the Beretta and he swings low to dodge another bullet, then right to dodge a fist. His left hand slides beneath his jacket to pull the Glock out of its holster and in one fluid motion, Arthur jerks his arm back and snaps it forward, racking the slide with inertia. He shoves the muzzle as close as he can to the man’s mouth and pulls the trigger.
The man drops like a sack of potatoes as Arthur stumbles backwards from the recoil.
“You okay?” pants Eames, blood smudged along his temple as he kneels by the PASIV. “What do you want to do now?”
“Keep watch of Heiner and Straseskie, don’t let them wake. I’m going under.” Arthur pulls an IV line out of the case and inserts the needle beneath the skin of his wrist.
“What about Cobb?” asks Eames and Arthur looks at Cobb, eyes narrowed at the purpling on his face and throat.
“Take him off five seconds after I go under,” he says, letting Eames fiddle with the PASIV and he lies back.
Arthur blinks into the middle of the scene. They’re in the same room he was just in, except it’s different, more dark and dank.
Cobb, he finds, is chained to a pipeline by the wall, wrists above his head, on his knees while blood runs down his face and leg.
Arthur feels his blood boil at the sight. He pulls both of the guns out of his holsters, ignoring how Heiner and Straseskie are shouting, guns raised at him, and shoots the both of them in the knee, barely feeling the twinge of pain in his right arm.
The two men drop to the floor, guns abandoned as they clutch at their wound, howling in pain.
“You fucker!” Heiner shouts, groping around for his gun and Arthur steps forward, digging the heel of his black leather Grenson’s into the back of his hand. He turns to look at Cobb, and manages to catch his eye briefly before he blinks out sight.
Good.
Arthur turns back to the men; eyes narrowed, lifting the muzzle of the guns to their uninjured leg. “I saw what you did to Cobb,” he growls, baring his teeth, “and I think it’s time you get acquainted with how it feels.” His lips thin out into a tight scowl, fingers on the triggers, about to pull- but he doesn’t manage to shoot before he blinks out of the dream and into reality.
“What the hell, Eames,” says Arthur, pushing the man away from where he’s doing quick work in trying to get a makeshift bandage on Arthur’s arm.
“Why did you pull me out?”
Eames glances at Cobb, who’s glowering at him, through a black eye and greasy bangs, while attempting to sit up gingerly, looking utterly mottled.
“What did you think you were gonna do there,” murmurs Cobb, voice rough and scratchy. He stands slowly but surely, face carefully blank in an attempt to hide how much pain he’s in.
“Cobb,” starts Eames, finishing with Arthur, and he dashes forth to help Cobb, sliding under his shoulder, “you shouldn’t be moving.”
Arthur frowns at that but doesn’t comment on it. Instead he turns to face the still sleeping bodies beside him and furrows his eyebrows together. “How come they’re not awake yet?”
“I’ve sedated them,” says Eames, trying to find a safe place to put his hands on Cobb’s body for support. “They’re not going to be waking up anytime soon.”
“But they’ll be trying to wake.”
Eames looks at Arthur. “I know. But what do you want to do with them? Until you get a plan underway in resolving this problem, they’ll have to remain sedated.”
Arthur frowns at that, fingers coming up to trace the line of his eyebrow in contemplation. “What did they want?” he asks, glancing at Cobb. The pain in his arm is throbbing, and though he’s experienced many shots in dreams, they hardly come close to the real ones. “Why did they take you, Cobb?”
Cobb bites his lip, looking off into a corner before he answers, “They wanted to know about you.” He pushes Eames away to stand on his own, wobbling precariously. “They wanted to buy you off me, and when I refused, they used me as a ransom.”
“I would’ve done it, you know,” says Arthur, watching Cobb keep up his facade. Arthur wants to push him, make him see that it’s okay to ask for help, that he doesn’t need to put up a front, but he doesn’t.
“I know.”
“They’re wanted by Cobol,” says Arthur, closing his eyes and gesturing at Cobb’s captors with his good arm. “If we keep them sedated enough, we can trade them to clear our names with the company.”
“How do we know Cobol won’t turn on us, that Heiner and Straseskie won’t bargain something with them to get to us? They caught me, didn’t they? What stops them from trading that for their freedom? If they do it once, they can do it again,” argues Cobb, and Arthur opens his eyes.
He looks at Cobb standing there, defiant, hand cradling his abdomen. Arthur stands up and makes his way to Cobb, staggering slightly.
“Because I won’t let them, Cobb. Because while Cobol isn’t about honour, I am. And so is Saito.”
“Cobb,” startles Eames, “you’re bleeding through your shirt,” and Arthur looks down. He pulls Cobb’s hand away to see the sickening stain of blood starting to soak the already tarnished material. Eames crouches beside him to inspect the wound and Arthur gestures for Eames to help him pull the shirt off.
Cobb fights them every step of the way, trying to assure them that he’s fine and that they’re fretting too much. They manage to peel the fabric off though, despite his protests, to reveal cuts and welts crisscrossing Cobb’s torso like he’s a madman’s canvas.
Arthur hands curl into fists, pain lancing up his arm when he finds the wounds drive straight beneath the waistband of Cobb’s slacks. He pulls out his Blackberry and speed dials Saito.
Saito picks up after the third ring, and Arthur greets him curtly, “Saito, hello. Yes. I’m good- as can be, thank you. Right. Excuse me for being rude though, and calling on such short notice,” says Arthur, gesturing for Eames to take Cobb out, “but remember that favour you owe me? I’m here to call on it.”
-
Arthur fights with Eames over who is going to stay to watch over Heiner and Straseskie and who will accompany Cobb to the hospital that Saito’s fixed so that they’ll treat him with no questions asked.
Cobb manages to pull Arthur away from the squabble. He coerces Arthur by striking a deal; if Arthur’s not going to go to the hospital to get his arm check, then Cobb, himself, doesn’t need to go to the hospital to get checked.
Eames raises an eyebrow at Arthur and Arthur hesitates before relenting. He strips off his gloves, handing Eames his Glock and mentioning Cobb’s Beretta. Eames nods.
Arthur guides Cobb carefully back out to the side of the road, crouching to grab one of the cases from the bush. He ignores Cobb’s curious look and pulls out a clean shirt for Cobb. As the blond delicately puts it on, Arthur flags down a taxi.
They get delivered to the hospital, Arthur slipping the driver a grand in cash for speed and silence. It’s quiet during the ride, slightly awkward, the tension almost tangible but Arthur finds he doesn’t care much for small talk when his arm keeps throbbing and his focus is faltering just the slightest.
Still, he does his best not to stare, though he does keep a constant look from the corner of his eyes at Cobb. The man leans against the seat, resting but still tense, body held taut. Arthur worries his bottom lip at the sight and is glad when they finally arrive at the hospital.
Arthur doesn’t boom through the emergency doors, though he wants to, but walks calmly instead, hand on the small of Cobb’s back. He gets to the reception desk, and ignores the way the nurse stares pointedly at how he looks.
“Could you please call for a Doctor Skov to attend to us?” he asks, leaning against the tall surface that makes the desk’s front, and the nurse blinks at him. “Please mention that Mr. Saito requires his attention, which should make this all much smoother.”
Cobb makes a sound behind him, it’s one in annoyance and anger, and Arthur reaches back to placate him with a touch. The nurse jumps at the noise though, right into action, picking up the speaker phone and calling into it.
Another nurse comes out, seconds later, ushering the both of them to a nondescript room where Dr. Skov and two other nurses are.
They assess the both of them; the female nurse stepping forward to tend to Arthur’s arm, as the others get Cobb onto a bed.
When they try to wheel Cobb out though, Arthur gets up from his seat, growling, ignoring the nurse by his side’s surprised shout. He pulls one of the nurses away from the bed, and pushes him against the wall.
“What are you doing?” questions Dr. Skov, scowling, and Arthur snarls right back.
“I’m not letting Cobb out of my sight,” he hisses, emphasising his words by pushing the nurse harder against the wall.
Just as the doctor is about to retort, stepping forward, Cobb interrupts. “Arthur,” he says, sitting up with the remaining nurse’s help. “Come here.”
Arthur lets go of the man he apprehended, follows Cobb’s call and, like a moth to the flame, goes to Cobb’s side.
“I’m okay, Arthur,” says Cobb, like Arthur’s a little kid that needs to be spoken softly to, “you have to let these people do their job. I can’t get better without their help.”
“I don’t want you out of my sight,” hisses Arthur, knuckles going white at the grip he has on the steel of the bars of the bed. “It took me two days to find you, Cobb. Two days. I can’t-”
Arthur resolutely tells himself that he’s not going to cry, but he’s so tired. Pain cuts through his arm, the harder his grip is, and Cobb threads a hand through his hair, the expression on his face softening.
“Its okay, Arthur,” he coaxes, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s temple, nails scraping gently across his scalp. “You did good.”
Arthur relaxes under Cobb’s touch, eyes falling shut.
“You going to let these good people take care of us now?”
Arthur nods and Cobb pats him one last time before he’s wheeled off. Arthur doesn’t stray far though, following until he’s stopped in front of the doors, left alone to watch it like a hawk.
He thinks of all the things Heiner and Straseskie could’ve done to Cobb to make him break, to make him tell on Arthur, and he falls into a plastic seat, anguished at the thoughts.
While Cobb may be the most talented extractor there is, no one does a better, more concise job than Arthur. He’s the backbone of the operation. He’s the reason why all the people he has worked with have never been caught, have never had any underlying suspicion.
Because Arthur is honourable and people respect that, and thus respect him.
Shaking, Arthur buries his face into his palm, smelling gun residue, blood and dirt. He’s trying to take calming breaths in and out when a hand lands on his shoulder. He jerks out of his seat, stumbling onto tired feet, ready to defend himself.
It’s Saito.
“That’s quick,” says Arthur and Saito shrugs.
“I was in the neighbourhood.”
“Munich, right?”
Saito furrows his eyebrows at Arthur’s words but doesn’t ask, instead he says, “Why aren’t you being attended to as well?” He turns a full circle, searching for staff and Arthur shakes his head.
“I’m fine, I’m fine. I was looked at.” He doesn’t mention pulling away to stop Cobb from going, doesn’t mention how he threatened one of the nurses.
“That bandage on your arm says otherwise, Arthur.”
“It’s just a cut,” he says but Saito ignores him and walks off down the long hallway.
If Arthur wasn’t so tired, he’d follow after in assurance, but he doesn’t have the energy.
Saito comes back with a female nurse in tow, looking nervous, wheeling a trolley with supplies.
“Saito, honestly,” he starts but Saito glances at the closed doors to Cobb.
“Do you not want to be in a healthy condition when they are finished with Cobb?”
And that’s the end to the argument. Trust Saito to know where to hit him where it hurts the most.
Arthur grits his teeth and leans back in the chair, allowing the nurse to remove Eames’ bandage and get to work. He hisses when she cleans the wound, sterilising it before numbing the surrounding area.
“This’ll just need stitches,” she says, patting his shoulder. “Do you feel light-headed? Or numb in certain places?”
Arthur laughs unexpectedly, because when he thinks about it, he doesn’t know. He’s been on full-alert for days, and he hasn’t even stopped to consider his own needs.
“I don’t know,” he says, relaxing into the chair’s stiff back, still chuckling. It’s starting to sink in that he’s in a hospital, a hospital and he knows where Cobb is, knows that he is safe, and knows that if anything happens; Arthur is right there, in the same building, on the same floor, separated by white doors and a handful of people. “I don’t know.”
“I think he may be suffering from lack of sleep or shock, either one,” says Saito, smiling, almost fondly. “Maybe now is the time you can take him to a bed.”
“Not away from Cobb,” mumbles Arthur, “I wan’ stay here with Cobb.”
“We’ll get you a room right next door for now. And transfer you into the same room when he’s done,” promises Saito. “You know I’ll keep my word.”
Arthur nods, and promptly falls asleep.
-
When he wakes, Eames is there, sitting in between their beds, drinking tea and doing the crossword in the newspaper.
“You know that newspaper is in Danish, right?” grunts Arthur, moving to sit up. There’s a saline drip beside him, a needle in his hand and he glares at it.
“I speak many tongues, Arthur,” responds Eames, putting the paper down and put his elbow on the table, head in hand. “How’re you feeling?”
“Bloated,” says Arthur, patting his stomach, “this stuff is killing me.” He moves to pull out the drip but Eames catches his hand.
“You look healthy,” he says, putting Arthur’s hand to his side, “finally.”
“He’s right, you know.”
“Cobb,” calls Arthur, surprised to hear his voice, convinced that he should still be sleeping, resting, yet it makes his heart swell when he hears Cobb’s answering chuckle. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” sighs Cobb, “everyone’s been asking me that- don’t I look fine?” Cobb’s bed whirs up to a 55 degree angle and Arthur cranes slightly to catch his face. He doesn’t look as terrible as before, but it seems there’s a while yet before he returns back to his normal health.
“Like sunshine and puppy dogs,” teases Eames.
“You look cleaner,” states Arthur, then narrowing his eyes. “Did one of the nurses give you a sponge bath?”
Eames laughs, loud and bright, while Cobb smiles softly at him.
“Next time I’ll tell him to back off and let you do it.”
“Him?” repeats Arthur, moving to get up, tangling himself in the sheets and the irritating IV line.
Cobb just laughs; light, snuffling noises which he’s never made before. Regardless, just the sound warms Arthur and he leans back against his pillow, eyes falling shut. Content.
“I’m heading down for a coffee,” says Eames into the silence that falls upon them, he shuffles across the floor, newspaper crinkling as he picks it up, “I’ll be around.”
The door closes with a snick when he leaves, and Arthur finds he can’t be bothered to open his eyes to look at Cobb again.
“I’m still here,” says Cobb, as if he can read Arthur’s mind, and he probably can. “You can go back to sleep if you want, I’ll still be here when you wake.”
“Can’t be sure,” yawns Arthur and forces his eyes open.
The light makes him squint, but Cobb comes back in focus again, smiling at him.
Arthur grumbles beneath his breath, glad Eames isn’t here to see him do this. He grabs his IV stand, frowning at it in annoyance, and makes his way to Cobb’s bed.
“Shove over,” he mutters, watching Cobb scoot as best he can to one side, an amused expression on his face. Arthur crawls in, lying on his side and wraps his arms and legs around Cobb’s body to fit their forms into the small space.
“That make you feel better?” murmurs Cobb, fingers going through his hair. “Can you sleep now?”
Arthur doesn’t answer because he does falls asleep, under the comforting gesture and knowledge that Cobb is back and safe.