Time: 4 AM
Eames looks away from the clock.
Eames lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, his fingers still stroking Arthur's hair. Eames looks down at the younger man. A faint smile ghosts across Eames' lips. With a sigh, Eames carefully detaches himself from Arthur. He sits on the edge of the bed with his arms on his knees, cradling his head. He looks at the small drawer under the night stand. It was one of those nights.
With a huff, he reaches for the drawer and opens it. Inside were miscellaneous papers and objects of little value that had been dumped there for Eames was too lazy to be bothered by where to put them. He rummages through the contents before his fingers found what they were looking for; a small flat forest green rectangular box. He lifts the box from the mess and holds it in his palm. He takes the lid off the box and drops it on the floor. In the dark, he eyes the tips of the two needles as they glowed in the faint light that came through the window.
Behind him, Arthur had been watching, a sad look reflected in his dark eyes. The feelings that Arthur felt was not pity. It was never pity. It was something more than that. Something that could never be put into words; but if it had to be, it would be pain. Sharp pain in his heart because he knew. He understood. And on nights like this, he would never say a word, not a single word about how Eames should not be thinking about doing that, going down that hellhole again, going through the shitstorm that landed him in so many unspeakable places that only god knows how he even ended up there in the first place. Arthur just watches, silently.
Eames stares at the needles, fighting the battle that could never win the war. Never win the war. On these nights, he was just a soldier fighting without any armor, without any weapons, without any backup. This was a battle he had to fight naked and completely alone. Eames closes his eyes and releases a broken breath. He turns his head to look behind him. He sees Arthur looking at him with those beautiful eyes. Such beautiful dark eyes. It wasn't that Eames expected Arthur to be fast asleep still, but he never anticipated Arthur to not look at him with disgust. Every time it shocked Eames when he turns around, how he never sees Arthur look at him with disgust, or pity, or anger, or any of those things. As Eames holds Arthur's gaze, something goes through Eames.
Turning back around, he looks back down at the box and the two devils that wait to catch him off guard. Slowly Eames stands up. With a loud shout, he flings the box at the wall with all his might.
"Fuck this shit," Eames murmurs as he tries to catch his breath. "Fuck this shit."
Eames turns back around to look at Arthur. Arthur gives him a soft smile. He reaches out with his hands. Eames looks at them. Fear, distrust, pain, everything melts away as he looks up at Arthur.
Arthur wraps his arms around Eames, holding Eames' head close to his chest. Stroking his hair and making soft shushing sounds. Until sunrise, they remained like that. Shortly afterwards, Eames closes his eyes and finally drifts off to sleep.
Arthur looks down at the man, the soft smile never leaving his lips. He leans down and plants a kiss on Eames' head.
"Goodnight," Arthur whispers against Eames' hair.