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acquiescenceThe problem with Eames was that he knew just how to annoy Arthur, far better than anyone else had ever been able to during his life. It was one of Eames' many talents and one he took particular pride in, Arthur was certain.
The first time he met Eames, Arthur disliked him - though he could never put a finger on exactly what the reason for his dislike was. Arthur was not nearly so put together then when Eames had waltzed into their lives and set himself up as the best Forger in the business, and why exactly they needed a Forger Arthur never really understood.
All he knew was, when he was twenty-four, Eames rubbed him the wrong way. And seemed to delight in doing so.
As Arthur got to know Eames better he was able to come up with a great many reasons for his dislike, and eventual loathing, of Eames. It seemed that every time they came into contact with one another Eames never failed to give Arthur yet another reason to add to his list (not that he kept an actual list, it was all a mental thing, but it was there and Arthur could recall from memory and with complete accuracy the entire list with over seventy points on it if he had to).
He began to dread anytime they needed to bring Eames in on a new job, he would have rather done without the man whenever possible, and occasionally when it wasn't. Though Mal always insisted, she loved Eames, she called him darling man and patted his face and went back to work making breakfast for them all while Dom laid out the plans for their newest job. Arthur would always scowl at Eames from across the table, and turn his attention to the notebook he kept in his lap, jotting out notes as Dom spoke and making sure that when the time came they would have all they needed to make sure the job went off without a hitch.
"Arthur." He looked up from his furious scribbling to see Mal, Dom, and Eames all staring at him. Mal looking indulgent as she passed him a plate of food. "You need to look up from time to time." Eames smirked at him, as he tucked into his own plate of food. "Maybe live in the world a little bit."
Arthur glared at him and jabbed at his eggs with a bit more force than strictly necessary - watching the smooth yellow yolk spread across the plate at a leisurely pace before he took a bite. Mal clucked her tongue and pressed a kiss to the top of his head before she continued cooking, and Dom all the while was coming up with plans and designs for the dream they would create.
In those early days Arthur had been justified again and again in his dislike for Eames. It was simply the way things were.
When Mal died though, things changed.
They didn't see Eames as often as they had in the past, the forger got himself into enough trouble without adding Dom's baggage to the mix - it would likely end in disaster, if they did it more than necessary. And without Mal around to referee their conversations Arthur was sure someone would be shot before they had even explained the entire job.
So they made do without Eames' skills; they did jobs where they didn't need a forger, or when they did they picked someone else.
"I heard about the job in Mumbai." Eames said conversationally, leaning back in his chair, feet kicked up carelessly on the table in front him while they went over the newest job. Arthur had been against bringing Eames into this one - but Dom had been insistent, he was still the best, even Arthur had to admit that. The few times they had worked with other Forgers things had never gone as smoothly as they used to when they worked with Eames. "I'm hurt you didn't call me."
Arthur rolled his eyes, but didn't comment, it was exactly what Eames wanted and he wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"I mean it would be one thing if you had called in Callahan, or even Finley, but you called in Jenkins. It's like you wanted the whole thing to go tits over arse, and I mean - it did, or that's what everyone is saying. Have you seen Jenkins since then?" Eames was goading him, Arthur knew it. Jenkins had been more than proficient at his job, and he'd completed the job, maybe things hadn't gone as smoothly as they wanted, or smoothly at all - but they got what they needed and Dom and Arthur had left Jenkins with his share and gotten out of dodge as quickly as possible.
"So I take it this job requires a bit more finesse than Jenkins is capable of?" Eames continued to press at Arthur, testing him, trying to find the weak spots in his normally smoothed out exterior.
"This job requires the best." Was all Arthur had said in response to him, it was simple and it wasn't a lie - and it didn't give Eames anymore to go off on. Not that Eames wasn't talented enough to take that single statement and run with it for the rest of the job.
Thankfully things didn't work out quite like that.
"I swear to god, if you do not shut up I will shoot you myself." Arthur growled as they ducked down a corridor in the hotel Nash had built for them. He'd made Dom stop building after he'd watched Mal stand over him as he bled out for the tenth time. She never made it quick, always preferring to draw out his last gasping breath as long as possible - that same sweet smile he knew so well curling easily across her lips like she couldn't imagine anything better than watching him die again and again.
He couldn't take it anymore, and thankfully Dom hadn't pressed when Arthur told him they needed another Architect. Nash wasn't as good as Dom, not even close, there were few who were - but he made something that would serve their purposes well enough while they worked. And Arthur decided he would likely be the best they could do if they were going to have to work without Dom.
"You wouldn't shoot me, darling." Eames assured Arthur in a quiet voice. "You'd miss me too much."
They just had to stay alive, just another twenty minutes and this would all be over and they'd be back in that crappy hotel room where they had drugged the mark and Arthur could pack up the PASIV and they could go their separate ways.
Just twenty more minutes.
Though when the time was up, they didn't split up - Dom went to his room, and Nash took his money and disappeared as he always did, he would show up again when they needed him for the next job, and Arthur - well he found himself with a more than annoying sidekick.
But after months of traveling around the world with Dom, with taking care of him of listening in on phone conversations with his children, seeing the defeated look on Dom's face each and every day, spending a few hours with Eames almost felt like a vacation. Like a long needed break from playing the responsible adult he'd never had to be until everything turned to shit.
It was one thing to play the responsible part with Eames when they were working, when Arthur could tell himself it was all business, but when they were off the clock - when they didn't have plans to make, and facts to double check, and time tables to deal with - they were both different people.
Eames didn't push so much, in fact he was very nearly sedate - or what would pass for sedate when you were talking about a man who didn't seem to have a proprietary bone in his body.
And Arthur felt almost relaxed, Eames didn't rub him quite so raw, and he even managed to laugh once or twice.
"I don't know why we haven't done this before now, darling." Eames said, happy grin on his face while he tipped back what remained in his glass, Arthur had lost track of how many they'd had, but it had to have been significant, otherwise he couldn't imagine why he was actually enjoying spending time with a man he was quite sure he had hated up until the point they'd sauntered into this bar together and started drinking.
"Probably because you're an insufferable idiot." Arthur suggested without any of the heat in his voice that would have normally accompanied such a statement.
"Well that's true, but I don't see what that has to do with anything." Eames chuckled, waving a waitress over for a refill on his drinks by curling two fingers in her direction.
She didn't even ask before she simply brought over a fresh drink for them both, and Arthur felt obligated to drink what remained in his glass that much faster before he could start in on the next.
How they moved from the bar to the hall outside his room Arthur wasn't really sure - though the how didn't actually seem to be all that important as he struggled to find the key card for the door, the task made all the more difficult without the full use of his hands, one of which was fisted in Eames' hair, and the other trapped between their bodies where Eames was rutting against him right there in the hall where anyone who happened by could see them.
It was a bad idea, some part of his brain insisted, though Arthur couldn't figure out why that might be - not when everything felt good, and for the first time since they had fled the States he wasn't thinking about Dom, or Mal, or where they had to run next.
No, this was a very good idea, Arthur decided when his fingers finally closed around the key card and they stumbled into the dark room, only to be pressed up against the door again a moment later, watching rapt as Eames slid to his knees.
And oh god, Arthur had never noticed before that Eames was kind of ridiculously good looking - probably because the man never shut up long enough for anyone to notice anything other than just how god damned annoying he could be. Arthur had always seen how charming Eames could make himself, how smart he truly was beneath the delightful idiot act he put on, but none of that ever let Arthur really see Eames. But then, quiet, looking up at him from the floor before focusing on opening his pants - Arthur could actually see it.
Throughout the night he was constantly made painfully aware of just how good looking Eames was. It was impossible not to see, it was there in the line of his hip, the curve of his lips, the keening moans he was able to draw forth from the other man with the gentlest of caresses. How had he been so blind?
The next morning Arthur was sure he was going to die, his mouth tasted awful, and his head throbbed. Thankfully, blessedly, wonderfully, he was alone - he really didn't know what he would have said to Eames had he stayed, but at some point during the night or the early morning the Forger had slipped out, the only evidence Arthur had not gone to bed alone, aside from his clothes strewn across the room in a way he never would have allowed if he'd undressed himself, was the glass of water and bottle of aspirin waiting for him by the bed.
In one thought Arthur blessed and cursed Eames before downing several pills and a large swallow of water.
They never spoke about what had happened that night, Arthur had made a point not to bring it up and had planed on ignoring anything Eames might have tried to bring it up again, but he never did. Things didn't change though; Eames was still as annoying as ever, Arthur still wanted to shoot him more often than he appreciated his help on the jobs they called him in on.
The only difference after that night was the way Eames seemed to stick around longer than necessary when they had finished a job. In the past everyone went their separate ways immediately - it was easier to follow them, track them if they spent too much time together, especially when they weren't working, it was habit to move on as soon as they had finished a job.
But Eames - he stayed around, helping Arthur clean up, make sure there was no sign they had ever been there.
And more than once they repeated their night after the bar - though usually without getting quite so drunk. And every morning Arthur woke alone with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin to greet him. It was starting to become habit, something Arthur almost expected at the end of every job.
Until Rio.
"I've got to go visit Eames." Arthur's stomach dropped at the name. He wanted to tell Dom it was a bad idea - that it had been too long since they'd worked together, but the look in his eye was enough to tell him he wouldn't be talking Dom out of this one.
"Eames? Well he's in Mombasa, that's Cobol's backyard." It was a weak attempt, but Arthur had to try something.
"It's a necessary risk."
And so Eames had reentered his life, though it wasn't the same. Things were off between them - oh they were back to their usual banter, their little insults and Eames constantly pushing, but when it was all over, when they reached LAX, Arthur got his baggage and hopped into a cab and didn't look back. He didn't stop to wonder if Eames was waiting for him, didn't even let himself think that it might be a possibility. He put as much distance between himself and that airport, and Eames, as possible.
It turned out he needn't have tried so hard. Eames was on the next plane out that same afternoon.
Arthur told himself he would have been fine to never see the Forger again, to never have to deal with Eames and his pushing, but the first time Saito called in a new job, Arthur couldn't help the twinge of satisfaction at being able to work with the best again.
Oh he'd tried to enjoy a simple life, to make use of his time off, and yes not being chased every day did have its advantages, but after all the time he had spent living on the run Arthur wasn't sure he was cut out for a normal life anymore - if he ever had been in the first place.
Eames still pushed, he was annoying as ever and Arthur wasn't sure they were going to make it through the week they still needed to wait for Yusuf and Ariadne to arrive.
"Why?" Arthur said finally throwing his hands up in frustration at the end of a particularly stressful day. "Do you do this just to fuck with me? Do you get some kind of pleasure out of all of this?" He asked him, his voice rising in a way he never allowed himself most of the time - Arthur liked maintaining control of his emotions, liked being in control of himself, and there was just something about Eames that played havoc with his control.
"Whatever do you mean Arthur, love?" Eames asked, looking up from where he'd been wiggling his pen back and forth between his fingers reading through the notes he'd amassed on Terence Covey during the few days they had been looking into him - Eames was working on his in, debating between a particularly fetching blonde mistress or the mark's wife.
"You know god damned well what I mean!" He was practically shouting then, and Eames hadn't stopped the tapping of his pen. He was so tempted to pull his gun, he could feel it there pressed against the small of his back, just begging him to take it out and flick a thumb against the safety and make Eames stop.
Eames dropped the pen and sighed shaking his head. "You really need to learn how to let go from time to time, you're going to get yourself killed one of these days if you're not careful about that."
"That's what this is about? All of this is for my own well being?" He asked, incredulously. He very nearly put his hands on his hips while he waited for an answer from Eames about his behavior, but he had far too much self respect to make a fool of himself like that.
"Of course." Eames answered simply. "What else would it be for?"
Arthur ended up throwing a book at Eames' head before he stormed out - it wasn't nearly as satisfying as shooting him in the face might have been, but he had a feeling Saito would disapprove when he found out that Arthur had killed his forger.
In the end, he was sure he couldn't have been happier to have Ariadne and Yusuf arrive. He could foist Eames off on Yusuf, the two could reminisce about Mombasa and he could talk mazes and plans with Ariadne - it was far better for his sanity, and Eames' well being, that they stayed apart as much as possible for the remainder of the time they were working together on this particular job.
Arthur was considering talking to Saito about perhaps finding a new forger - or at least one who could manage the smaller jobs, watching Eames flick little balls of paper at Yusuf while they talked about the new chemical compounds Yusuf had been working with since they had seen each other last. Yusuf was especially animated while he spoke, using great sweeping gestures of his hands to illustrate his points - Arthur only heard snatches of the conversation but he heard enough to be glad he wasn't included.
Eames was not nearly so bad when there were others around, and his desire to kill the other man diminished more with every passing day.
Eames, it turns out, is quite a decent companion. Arthur enjoys the time he is able to spend with the librarian while he works - though he enjoys the time they spend together over dinner more. He is able to watch Eames a bit while he works but as a whole the reading of the histories was far too involved to let his mind wander as he might have liked. Instead Arthur watches Eames in between each history that he reads, and drinks in his fill of the man over their evening meals.
"Why are you always writing?" Eames asks him one evening after they had finished their meal and they were simply chatting, lingering. Eames still walks him home at the end of every night, but they take time to sit and talk some before leaving.
They never talk much while they walk, preferring the companionable silence that seems to fill those moments, though Arthur likes to linger when they do finally reach Terra Mirum. There may be a brief comment occasionally - something said in passing about a building, about the night sky, about the weather, but there is never much said beyond those sorts of things.
"It helps."
"Helps with what?" Eames asks tilting his head while watching Arthur's face.
"Remembering."
"What are you trying to remember?" Eames asks him, he seems to be in a particularly curious mood that evening, more so than usual.
"Before." It has plagued him since his arrival, Arthur still could not remember what had prompted him to come here - why this town, how had he found himself on that path that day, what set off the course of events that lead him to this place now, sharing space with Eames for a large part of his day. "Do you remember everyone who comes here?"
"I remember many of them, but there are far too many for me to remember them all."
"Do they remember why they've come?"
"Do you need a reason to be here?" Eames asks. Arthur wonders if maybe he doesn't need a reason - he is here after all, and there is no where else to go.
Perhaps he doesn't, perhaps this is all he needs - the histories of this place and the time spent after supper with Eames. For some reason though, it doesn't feel like enough; there should be more to it than these simple explanations - life should be more complicated than this.
They are quiet until they reach Yusuf's pub, standing outside under the stars, Arthur wraps his arms around himself - it's growing colder every day, soon it will likely snow.
"You could come inside one night." Arthur says, watching Eames' face while he speaks. "Not with everyone of course." He has learned that Eames is not overly fond of large crowds, preferring the quiet solitude of the library and its stacks, and there is almost always a large gathering of some sort at this time of night. "But upstairs, with me."
"Why, Arthur?"
"I'd like you to."
"Why?"
And Arthur isn't sure. It is not as though he is without company in the evenings, Eames walks him home and there are always plenty of people to talk to until he retires upstairs to rest his eyes. He can't stay out as long as he feels like he should be able to - reading the histories is tiresome work.
He thinks maybe he wouldn't tire so quickly of Eames' company. The other man is easy to talk to and Arthur imagines what it would be like to have him upstairs in his room - he hasn't had anyone up to his room apart from Yusuf that first day when he was showing him around. But Arthur thinks he wouldn't mind having his privacy broken for Eames.
If he could spend more time with him, learn the hard lines and slopes of his face by candle light, understand the different tones of his voice and talk long into the night, Arthur feels like he might understand better. He might know why he's here.
And yet the question lingers in the air, without answer. Arthur doesn't know how to put his thoughts into words - he feels like he should, like he's always been able to find the right words, but they're not here now.
Once Ariadne and Yusuf arrive things started moving more quickly. Arthur and Eames had done much of the foot work, laying a foundation and gathering important information that the rest would use when creating the dream levels.
It was a different kind of job than any they had done in some time, different even than the Fischer job. That knowledge made an almost tangible change in the way they all worked. There wasn't the same easy joking atmosphere that had become standard when the four of them got together.
They were all focused on their work, and Arthur was glad for the distractions to keep his mind busy during the day and late into the evening.
"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm beat." Eames was the one to speak up first, interrupting the quiet that had filled the warehouse most of the afternoon, while they all worked. And his voice broke the spell, everyone had their own projects to work on that day, Eames going over the information they'd gathered, he'd be going out to do a little in the field work the next day, but for today he'd been focusing on what they could get in written form.
"Yes, I think it's best we call an end to the day." Yusuf agreed, rubbing his eyes. Arthur could only imagine how he felt, working with chemicals all day, making sure they had just the right ratios for this particular job. Normally his job was one of the easiest, and he got to spend his days talking with Ariadne, but this job - inception - required something more than his ready made concoctions.
They left separately, going back to the hotel, Arthur was the last to leave the warehouse, making sure everything was in order and the building secured before locking up for the night. He took a meandering way back to the hotel, stopping at a little shop for a bowl of noodles and hot tea, a stack of research beside him while he ate; even when they weren't working Arthur couldn't stop himself.
Ever since Dom left, since Arthur had picked up the slack their former extractor had left, Arthur had done his best to make sure he was always above reproach in his work, that there could never be any flaws in his plans or in his research. The Fischer job had shaken him, and he couldn't afford to make a mistake like that again. So he worked hard, harder than he needed to as Eames liked to tell him again and again, but the jobs always went smoothly, and Arthur attributed that success rate to the extra time and effort he put in to his work.
It was well past two in the morning when he finally made his way back to the hotel. Saito had bought out an entire floor for the job - the man was all about avoiding mess whenever possible. Tonight though, Arthur was glad for it, he could go up to the top floor and to the room he'd chosen for the job and collapse into his bed without any interruption.
As usual, though, even that was too much to ask.
"You know," Arthur said with narrowed eyes, "Saito bought out the entire floor." He did not like walking into his room to find it had been taken over in his absence.
"Of course I know, love. The rooms are rather nice, I've seen all of them, but this one is the best." Eames pouted at him from where he lounged in Arthur's bed, legs stretched out in front of him, impossibly long and drawing Arthur's eyes more than he might have liked.
"You should have gotten here earlier if you wanted the best room." Arthur said, and turned away from the bed striding to the dresser on the opposite wall and stood with his back to Eames. He couldn't look at him now, not when he was tired and all he wanted to do was go to sleep. Instead Arthur busied himself with removing his cufflinks, taking more time than was strictly necessary to take them off and putting them away with more care than he felt even at his most anal.
With that taken care of Arthur pushed up his sleeves to his elbows and turned around to look at Eames where he still sat stretched out on his bed, taking up far too much space - particularly when all Arthur wanted was a full three hours of uninterrupted sleep.
"You're in my bed."
"So I am."
"Why?"
"Didn't we discuss this all ready? You snagged the best room on the floor." Arthur could feel the forger's eyes roaming over his body, it was clear what he wanted, why he'd come, and Arthur really couldn't deal with this tonight.
"That doesn't explain why you're in my bed." Arthur gave into the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, he knew how the gesture made him look - every bit the anal retentive asshole that people saw when they looked at him in his three piece suits and slicked back hair - he was beyond caring at this point though, especially around Eames.
"It's very comfortable."
"Eames." It took every ounce of self control Arthur had left not to grab the gun that sat nestled against the small of his back and shoot Eames in the face, it was almost alarming just how often that thought had crossed his mind over the last week. He'd never wanted to shoot anyone more than he wanted to shoot Eames, and while he'd gotten the opportunity to do so any number of times in dreams it was never quite as satisfying as he might have imagined it to be in reality - particularly when they woke up and Eames was looking at him with that hurt look on his face, like he couldn't believe Arthur would ever want to shoot him.
"Arthur." Eames replied in much the same tone. "You look tired, come lay down."
He really should argue, throw Eames out bodily, something; Arthur really just wanted to sleep.
In the end, it was far too easy to simply hang his clothes up and climb in between the sheets - god Arthur really could kiss Saito sometimes, the man always got them the absolute best lodgings - facing away from Eames. He was intent on ignoring the other man, having turned out the light and not said a word to him as he closed his eyes.
Arthur knew better than to think he could simply be left alone to sleep though.
Eames was right there, pressed against his back almost from the moment Arthur laid down, an arm winding frighteningly easily around his middle as Eames fit himself in along his back – body curling against his like a comma there in the dark. He could feel the broad expanse of chest there against his shoulder blades, the way Eames' hips fit right there against the curse of his ass, the way even his thighs fit perfectly against Arthur's until they were perfectly matched.
His gun was right there, sitting on the nightstand within arms reach, it would have been so easy to reach out and grab it and force Eames away, to actually do something about his current predicament, and yet Arthur didn't move.
Instead he closed his eyes and just felt. Eames' breath warm against the back of his neck as he nosed in there against the close trimmed hairs like he wanted nothing more than to lay there with Arthur. Like he wasn't expecting anything else.
"Arthur." The illusion was too good to last though.
He lay quietly though, refusing to answer Eames, if the other man wanted to talk so much then he could damned well do it without Arthur's help.
"I've been thinking," That was an ominous way to start any conversation, if he'd ever heard one. "About the Fischer job."
"What about it?" Arthur hadn't expected Eames to go in that direction.
"Well not the job itself - after."
For some unexplainable reason Arthur's stomach clenched as he remembered the aftermath of the Fischer job, leaving the airport as fast as he could, not letting Eames initiate the strange dance they had been working their way through for far too long before he was gone. Only to find out later that Eames had beaten him to the punch.
"I shouldn't have left like that,"
"Like what, Mr. Eames."
"Arthur." Eames' tone was imploring, and Arthur could hear the unspoken request in it - but he wasn't going to turn around, he'd rather lay there on his side and stare across the dark room than give Eames the satisfaction of seeing his face for this conversation. Eames pulled away, and Arthur missed the closeness before he'd even thought to stop himself. "You make everything so difficult." It wasn't an accusation, there was no harshness in his tone, it was merely a statement of fact, and yet Arthur couldn't help the way he winced.
"You know what it's like, Arthur." But he didn't, he didn't even know what Eames was talking about anymore - if it was him, and the way he'd run, or the way Eames had run, or whatever this was between them, or maybe something else entirely. "You saw what this can do to you, this job. Mal and Dom -" Ah that was it, Mal and Dom. But this … what there was between him and Eames, it wasn't the same. It was so very different. "You followed that man around the world for two years, you have to know what this job can do to us - you've seen it, seen it in the way Dom was, the way Mal was before."
"What are you saying?" Arthur stopped him, he couldn't keep letting him go on the way he was. This was all ready painful enough for the both of them.
"This." Eames sighed, pressing his forehead to Arthur's shoulder, winding an arm around his waist there in the dark, settling against him again, holding him close like he was going to fly apart if he couldn't have his hands on Arthur. "I don't know when it stopped being about getting over the high of a job."
Despite the clarification, Arthur still didn't know what he was supposed to say to that, what did you say to what was effectively one of the most annoying people you knew telling you that they loved you? Especially when it felt so right to hear it.
Arthur pulled out of Eames' touch in a rush, rolling out of the bed gathering up the red die that had sat there on the nightstand beside his gun, holding tight to the small weight pressed into his palm, all sharp corners and smooth sides until he had what felt like enough space between the two of them - where he couldn't feel Eames' eyes on him, and he rolled the die once, and scooped it up and rolled it again, and again, and again, and again.
It felt like the world was tilting on its axis, and not the way it did at times in dreams, when you had trouble a layer above. No, this was like the world tilting without any explanation that his mind could work through easily. He rolled the die again, and again, and again, and again.
"This isn't a dream." Eames' voice was quiet behind him, but Arthur didn't turn to look at him. He rolled the die again, watching it fall just the way it was supposed to. He couldn't turn around, couldn't look at Eames, not when he expected something from him, anything, not when he had no idea how to deal with this.
"Come back to bed Arthur." Eames had gotten closer, laid a hand on his shoulder and turned him back in the direction of the bed. It was easy after that, to just follow, to stop thinking, to hold the die firmly in his hand again and lay down with Eames pressed along his back and let himself sleep.
His eyes ache at the end of the day, and all Arthur wants to do is go to sleep - and yet despite that he's more than happy to linger with Eames when he's finished, drawing out their walks back to Yusuf's as long as he can - though Eames doesn't seem to notice, or to care if he does.
This evening they're still at the Library; Arthur has managed to distract Eames from their customary schedule where they ought to be walking home by now, to get him to stay and talk longer with him. He isn't sure why this feels illicit, it's completely innocent, he sits and talks with Eames over dinner every night, and they talk on the way back to Yusuf's pub, but this - staying there at the Library even though he is done for the night - it's like he's doing something he ought not, and there is a certain revelry in that feeling.
"Do you remember anything from the outside?" Eames asks him, Eames doesn't often ask Arthur anything specific. He'll ask the same questions everyone in the town will ask, like they've been rehearsed. If he likes living with Yusuf, why would he want to leave, why does he write, why does he question the rules? So this question, the one about something unrelated to the town - it surprises Arthur.
"Not really." He rubs the back of his neck, feeling tense and sore - it shouldn't weigh on him so much, reading the histories - and yet it does. It's a constant weight on him at the end of the day, like he hasn't simply been sitting and listening. "I remember feeling lost, and finding a path. I followed it to the gates." Arthur has wished numerous times that he could remember more than that, but try as he might he is unable to recall anything from before that moment. Like he sprang into being in that place and never existed in this place before that moment.
Eames nods, like maybe he expected that answer. "You haven't left before though right? Not even just outside the gate?" Arthur knows Eames hasn't left they've spoken about it before, it seems only Ariadne's mother has left the town. Or if anyone else has left no one talks about it - he just finds it odd that people never leave, not even right outside the gate. It seems nearly impossible that people could live their entire lives in this place
"No, I have not left before." Eames always gives him simple answers, Arthur wonders if it is possible for anyone here to look beyond the surface of a question, to see the questions that he isn't asking. If anyone does they haven't let on about it yet. This world is so concerned with the way things are, with the way things have been, no one stops to consider anything else.
"What about the forest?" Arthur asks. "Is there anything there?"
"We don't go into the forest, it's not safe."
"But why?"
"There are animals in the forest." Arthur frowns though, it doesn't make sense. The town built the wall to protect itself, but why allow the forest that resides right beside the town to dwell within that same protective sphere they'd built up to protect themselves if there is still danger there. "It is not safe."
"No one goes into the forest?"
"There are a few people; they live there, close to the edge - where it is safest. Those without families." Eames explains while Arthur tries to make sense of it. Though there doesn't appear to be any logic to be found in it.
"It's not safe." Eames says again, and Arthur nods. It is something he will explore later, something he'll try to figure out like everything else about this place.
It should have been a simple job - or as simple a job as inception ever got. For all they'd accomplished with the Fischer job, all the acclaim and rumor that had surrounded the successful completion of that impossible job - Inception still wasn't something people just did.
There were still too many risks involved. And knowing that if you did end up dead in the dream you'd find yourself in Limbo made it a less than appealing idea for most dream share teams. Arthur didn't really blame them, after all the fuck ups they'd dealt with, and all the insanity of the Fischer job, rushing into another inception job was not something that was high on his list of priorities.
But this wasn't Robert Fischer. This wasn't a man who had been trained to keep his mind safe. This was Terence Covey.
This was Terence Covey, a man used to being safe, used to feeling like he was better than everyone else. It would be a simple job, in and down three layers and then back up and they'd be done. It would be simple. They'd gone over the plan again and again, dealt with the man's motivations, with the catalyst for the job.
It would work.
"He is selling trade secrets to the highest bidder." Saito had told Arthur when they met in New York, giving him more specific details about the job than he had when he'd made the initial call.
"Can't you just fire him?" Arthur asked.
"I could, but the information would still be his to share. I need him to be loyal to this company." For all that Saito had seemed just like a small business man concerned for the wellbeing of his company, working with him over the last few years had revealed him to be far more ruthless than he appeared at first glance.
So that was their starting point. Loyalty to the company, to Saito, erase the desire to sell his secrets in the first place. They broke it down into its simplest parts, created a plan from that just like they had done with the Fischer job, they created each level to help them make their point and have the idea stick the way they needed it to.
"We have five hours." Arthur announced one week before the job would be completed. "We shouldn't need that long so long as everything runs according to plan, but let's not get cocky." He warned them. They didn't need anyone getting killed because they were too sure of themselves. But with the exception of Eames who never appeared as though anything were bothering him, they were all focused on their jobs entirely - Ariadne was far too professional for anything less, and Yusuf, well he loved mixing his blends of the somnacin drug so it was easy for him to get caught up in his work.
Arthur didn't let himself think about that night with Eames, didn't let the memories of what he'd said push their way into his mind, not when he was working. At the end of the day though, when he was alone in his room (thankfully Eames had not barged into his solitude again since that night) Arthur couldn't help the way his mind wandered, the way his thoughts always returned to Eames. To the idea that perhaps this all hadn't been one long cruel joke, but that the forger actually felt something more for him than what he let on.
Rio had changed things between them, it had reminded Arthur of the reason why letting himself be involved with Eames as anything other than a professional was a bad idea.
They'd tumbled into bed without even making an attempt at getting drunk before hand, fully aware of what they were doing Arthur had gone into that evening hungry for Eames' hands on his skin, the taste of him in his mouth, and the warm full weight of being filled by him.
He'd been on his knees, face pressed into the lush sheets, while Eames' worked a hard fast pace, just the right side of painful. Arthur keened into the bed, reaching back for Eames' thigh pulling him as close as he could, wanting more anything, despite the way Eames was plastered along the curve of his spine, arm wrapped around his chest. If they were any closer they would be one.
"There, god Eames, there fuck." Arthur gasped the words out, frankly amazed he had the presence of mind to even form words at all by that point.
"Arthur, gods Arthur." Eames' breath was hot against his ear, filling his thoughts, pushing out everything else until there was nothing but pleasure left, nothing but the roar of his own orgasm as he came into the sheets and Eames' hand.
"I love you." Arthur still didn't know who had said it, he couldn't be sure, and that alone scared him more than anything. Eames was gone in the morning, the same as he always was. Pills, a glass of water, several bruises, and a ring that Arthur doesn't recognize are Arthur's only mementoes of the night before.
He tucked the ring into the inside pocket of his suit coat as he left that morning. If he moved just right he could feel it there against his chest.
He didn't let himself think of that night when they got off the plane in LAX, didn't let himself consider it as he hailed the first taxi he could after the Fischer job, and he certainly didn't let himself think of it now. Not with Eames' words from the other night still fresh in his head.
It was stupid. And Arthur knew it. But he couldn't stop himself.
"Let's just get in and do this and get out as quickly as possible, no mistakes." Arthur reminded them all that morning. They'd paid off the hospital staff and gotten the time they needed to complete the job - now all that was left was actually running it. Putting their plans into action, and trusting that they had done enough work to make the plan into a successful reality.
And they really had done their work. The first two levels of the dream went perfectly, text book, and if Arthur hadn't been so caught up in everything, in how well they were doing, getting ahead of himself, thinking about what he might do when they'd finished before they'd even gotten to the end of the job - before they'd finished the third level, then he might have realized dreams never went this smoothly. Even the easy jobs.
There was always something that tripped them up, it could be something small, something that didn't make a difference in the long run, but dreams were never textbook. Dreams were never predictable; you couldn't predict the subconscious of any person, no matter how well you thought you knew them, no matter what you planned for.
Maybe if Arthur hadn't been distracted he would have remembered that, but his thoughts wandered. He let himself think about Eames. About this Eames, the man who was completely focused on the job, the one who was calm and collected and wasn't constantly driving him up the wall or nearly begging to be shot in the face. But an Eames who could be responsible.
He would have seen the projection, would have noticed the way he was being watched as he made his way through the dream level, seeking out information about just who Covey had been selling secrets to while Eames watched Covey - to make sure the idea was going to be firmly planted in his mind. He should have seen it, should haven noticed the movement behind him, but he was caught up in opening the safe, in working through the combination and reading the documents Covey kept hidden there, in the deepest part of his mind.
But he didn't notice it, and he wasn't paying attention, and Arthur didn't even have time to turn before the blade slid across his throat. He had time to panic though, to have that sick well of desperation suddenly flood his stomach as he knew what was coming - knew what waited for him. And no one would know.
He'd be lost and no one would know.
"Arthur!" The projection crumpled at his side, the near silent sound of a shot drowned out by the wet sick gasping sounds of Arthur struggling for breath. "Arthur, damn it, Arthur." Eames was there, kneeling beside him on the floor, right there hands red with blood. Frantic in a way Arthur had never seen him before.
Why was Eames there? He was supposed to be with Covey, Arthur didn't understand.
This wasn't the calm man he'd seen earlier, not the one focused on the job, not the man who knew what they were here to do. He didn't know what to do with this Eames, how to fit him into the box and form he'd long ago created for the man.
"Arthur stay with me, stay here with me." Eames implored him, eyes wide trying to do anything to stop the bleeding, but the world was going grey at the edges in familiar ways. Though Mal didn't stand over him this time, there was no calm easy smile watching as he bled out. No, Eames didn't look hungry for his death the way Mal always had.
Arthur tried to move his lips, to form words, though he wasn't sure what he wanted to say - or if it would even matter. He knew what was waiting for him as soon as the last of life slipped from him. He wouldn't be coming back from this, not the way he normally did.
"Arthur." Eames squeezed his hand tight, pulling him up from the ground and pressing Arthur to his chest. And Arthur gave into it, closed his eyes, and let himself feel Eames' arms around him, the scent of him filling his nose, the warmth all around him even as the rest of the world went cold and dark.
And he stayed just like that until there was nothing.
"You're going into the forest aren't you?" Eames voice is even as they walk together in the dark.
Arthur had been replaying their conversation about the forest and what lay beyond the trees that curled around the town. He had been warned not to go there, by everyone, and yet he felt drawn to them all the same. There is something out there, something waiting for him.
Maybe answers.
"Yes." He doesn't try to deny it, doesn't even think about telling Eames not to spread it around. He doesn't know what they will do to him if they know, but he needs to go out there.
"It's not safe there."
"I know."
"Will you come back?" This is the question that is harder for Arthur to answer; he hears the worry in Eames' voice, the hurt that Arthur might not want to stay there in the town where things are good, that Arthur might not want to stay there with him – though perhaps that is simply a wistful thought on Arthur's part.
"I don't know." Arthur can't lie to him, as much as he wants to tell Eames of course he'd be back, of course. He is just going into the forest to look around and then he would be back. He knows the words would be a lie, and he won't lie to Eames.
"You'll need what the gatekeeper took from you."
Arthur doesn't understand, why would he need those few things he left with Saito, how could they help him now? They had seemed so inconsequential at the time, and now thinking about the possessions he'd had with him when he came to the town Arthur can't imagine any reason he might need any of it again.
"They'll help you to understand."
Arthur replays the conversation in his mind again and again as he goes to the gate, the one entrance and exit from the town - the place that ought to be his escape, and yet he knows that true escape - what he's really looking for, doesn't lie outside the walls of the town. He would be just as lost out there as he is in here.
Saito is making inspections of the gate, large hands running over the weather-worn wood of the gate, checking for weaknesses and damage. He makes this inspection every day, without fail. Arthur has watched him do this before, sitting just inside the gate while Saito moves around both sides of the massive doors that close the town off from the rest of the world.
They talked then, the way they always did when Arthur visits Saito. Apart from Eames, Saito is the only other person Arthur has shared so much of himself with. He questioned the man endlessly, pushed and looked for any bit of information he could get, and at the same time Saito was there taking what he could from Arthur as well.
He only waits long enough to make sure Saito is completely focused on his inspection and ducks into the little house where he lives. It's easy to find the box filled with the things he'd had with him when he arrived; it's got his name on it. Inside Arthur finds his few belongings, the gun (which he tucks into the back of his pants, unsure of what else to do with it), the ring (it slides easily onto a finger, like it was meant to be there), and the die. It's the die that is the hardest to understand. What purpose does it have? The gun and the ring, they're easier to ignore, things people might carry if only he could remember his life before the town, but the die? Who carries something like that?
He holds it between two fingers examining the small red cube, turning it over to see each face. It's heavier than it looks, and he's surprised by the weight of it. Like it was made for something more than games, but what he's not sure.
He pockets the cube and ducks out of the house before Saito is finished with his inspection, putting things back to right in hopes his theft will remain unnoticed - at least until he's far enough away that he will not have to worry about whatever retribution might befall him for this particular crime.
The die is a constant weight in his pocket, and continually draws his attention as he makes his way through winding side streets and between buildings as he moves back through the town toward the forest that rise up over it.
He ducks around corners, checking to make sure no one sees him as he treks through narrow alleyways - the actions feel familiar, like he's done this before.
It's a short run between cover of the buildings to the cover of trees and brush, and Arthur takes it at a run, making it into the darkened light of the forest without being seen. He looks back toward the town, sees the place that has been home for months now - where there are people he knows, even one he likes, but nothing is right there. For all its rules and all its safety the town is wrong.
It should have been easy to stay there with Yusuf, to spend his days with Eames, and Ariadne, and Cobb, even Saito. But there is something off about all of them, like he's known them before, better and more vibrant than they are now. They do more than worry and work, they were people once, real whole people, Arthur knows that and yet he can't remember it no matter how hard he tries.
His hand slips into his pocket almost unnoticed, long fingers wrapping around the red cube he finds there. It's like comfort, and reassurance, and truth all at once.
He's still moving quickly, pushing his way through the untamed life of the forest as he creeps up around him, cutting off what little view of the town had remained with each step he takes deeper toward the center. The growing vegetation slows him over time, moving in to cut off his path and pushing him in different directions, like it's guiding him.
A clearing opens up in front of him, branches parting like this place has been waiting for him, like this was where he was supposed to be from the moment he'd stepped into the town. His fingers itch, like they want to toss the die across the grass and see how it lands. Like it will hold some answer for him.
"What are you doing here?" Mal asks, she steps further into the clearing, moving so easily that if Arthur hadn't really been paying attention he wouldn't have noticed the movement at all.
"My name -" He knows who she is, it was obvious from the moment he saw her and there is never even a question in his mind that this is the woman Cobb is always looking for, the one who misses her children each day. It seems only right that she know him as well - but…
"I know who you are." She cuts him off. "What are you doing here?" How? How did she know him? Had someone told her? But if no one went into the forest then how would they tell her? She shouldn't know him, and yet it seems strange that there could have ever been a time when he didn't know her.
"I - I'm just trying to understand." He has a reason for coming out here, that much he knows. He's looking for something. An answer, trying to understand this place, the people in it - all the questions that have gone unanswered since his arrival
"How can you understand? Do you know what it is to be a lover? To be half of a whole?"
"No" But he should, he knows he should. There is something missing; that hole in his memory, the gap between where he had been to where he is now, he could see it, more real than he ever had before. And Eames, Eames was there, but he wasn't like the librarian. Not soft spoken and polite, no he was loud, and pushy, and perfect. He was perfect.
Eames is red, red and frantic and worried and Arthur doesn't understand why. Eames shouldn't look at him like that, Eames is supposed to laugh, and push, and drive him insane with the most meaningless comments possible, he's not supposed to have blood dripping from his hands, he's not supposed to be holding Arthur close, clinging to him the way Arthur suddenly remembers him.
"I'll tell you a riddle. You're waiting for a train, a train that will take you far away," She's moving, and Arthur knows he should leave. Mal is the reason they told him to stay out of the forest, it wasn't wild animals, it isn't something stealing the children, it is her - it has always been her. This woman. But he can't move, his feet are planted to the ground more firmly than any of the trees that surround them, casting dark shadows on the grassy floor of the forest.
"You know where you hope this train will take you, but you don't know for sure. But it doesn't matter, how can it not matter to you where the train will take you?"
Oh god, Eames.
This isn't right; Arthur isn't supposed to be out here, not with Mal. Not with her pacing toward him like a hunter stalking it's prey. He shouldn't feel so trapped, he should be able to run, to do something, anything, but stand there and wait. It's like he's bleeding out all ready, like he's clinging to his last dying breath without hope for anything more than oblivion.
It's only then that he sees the glint of silver in her hand, only then that he takes a step back and at the same time drops the die from his hand. It falls through the air and lands without a sound, rolling before it settles, the second face tilted up toward the sky, and suddenly everything comes rushing back. The projection's blade that slid across his throat - splitting him open, his fall into limbo, Eames and his stupid perfect face, the Covey job, Hong Kong, Saito, New York, Eames, Rio, the dream - all of it. It hits him like a bullet and yet the realization of where he is, the final piece of the puzzle slotting into place isn't enough to save him.
The blade slides in easily between a pair of ribs, catching a few vital organs in the process, and he topples to the ground clutching at the wound.
Mal stands over him, watching his face sadly, and wiping the red sticky blade on her dress. He's seen that look on her face before, watched her stand over him - it's not quite the same though. She's not looking at him like he's some masterpiece laid out for her amusement, no she watches him with longing in her eyes. She can never go back, not to Cobb or her children. Mal won't be coming back from this.
"Because y-you'll be together." The words are hard to get out; he never tried to talk to Mal before, not after she'd killed him. He hadn't seen the point. But now, this time, there are words.