1. Returning Home
Arthur's home (one of his many hideouts) was surprisingly messy. Papers were strewn and piled on every available surface, which in this case was not a large space. This particular hide away was located in Sweden. It had three rooms, a bathroom, a bedroom and a kitchen/living room. The walls were all varying shades of brown and crème. The apartment held little to no personal items since this wasn't one that Arthur visited frequently. One of his favorite living spaces was his flat in Paris but after the Fischer job he was happy to avoid Paris for a while.
Leaving the airport felt strange for Arthur though it shouldn't have. He had done it countless of times before. With the job done there was no point in keeping contact. The rationality was there, but Arthur still felt weird about it. Cobb, Eames, Ariadne, and Saito all going about their business in the airport acting like they didn't know each other, like they hadn't just gone through one of the most stressful and draining jobs of Arthur's career. Cobb was with his kids by now, Ariadne back in Paris, Saito back to his business, Yusuf to Mombasa and Eames was who knows where. Arthur's skin was still crawling from the last goodbye Eames had given him. He had leaned over to get his bag and then felt warm breath on his ear and heard a, "Goodbye Darling." When he turned around he didn't see anyone. Eames was nowhere to be seen.
To distract himself Arthur decided he would tidy up. The only fractionally clean thing was his closet filled with his meticulous suits. He took the ones he had stuffed in his suitcase and laid them on his bed. He got out the iron and board from deep in the back of the closet and started on his suits which where wrinkled from being carelessly thrown into his case. When each item of clothing was smooth and wrinkle free he hung each one up in his closet. Almost as far deep as the iron was his casual clothes. Navy and forest green sweaters, light blue and pink button ups that were slightly too big on him and size medium t-shirts that his mother had given him whenever she had to travel somewhere for work. Folded on the top shelf were his jeans and sweatpants. He pulled a pair of soft, black sweatpants and a deep purple t-shirt that read 'I heart NY' on it. Then he got to work on organizing the closet. There weren't very many clothes in it, three or four suits well seven now that he had unpacked his bag, the formerly mention shirts/sweaters and the iron board. Arthur earned for his more familiar clothes in Paris, but Paris only made him think of the job, which made him think of Eames.
Next to suffer Arthurs cleaning wrath was the kitchen/living room. It was a small space with a counter and sink in the corner and a microwave plugged in and a mini fridge stacked on top of it. A table and two chairs were opposite the old couch that Arthur had picked up at a garage sale. The coffee table and small TV were also cramped into the space. The room looked like someone had tried to meld all of their rooms into one; all that was missing was a bed. Luckily Arthur had his own room for that.
Arthur had never minded small spaces. The apartment he was in was only slightly smaller than the one he, his mom and his brother had lived in for his whole childhood. His mom still lived there now, but he hadn't seen her in years. Not his visits had stopped, since his line of business had gotten too risky, too dangerous to have attachments. The thought occurs to Arthur that he could go back. He could dream up his old life and live there forever. Since Cobb was supposedly retired he had left the PASIV and extra Somnacin vials with Arthur. He could go back to a world where it was just himself, his mother, his brother, and his dreams. He could get a job and send his little brother theater school and live a safe life, but Arthur knew it was a bad idea. What kind of job would he even get after coming from this? He would be around no one that would understand the addictive adrenaline rush from dreaming, no one to tell him that no he wasn't crazy. It would also mean that he would live in a world without Eames and for some reason Arthur knew that he never wanted to live in a world without Eames.
The thoughts unsettled him so he started stacking papers. Old job research and research for future ones. In one pile he found all of the maps he had once printed, all of the places that he had tracked Eames to. He put them all in the shred pile, but conveniently forgot to shed them later. Soon good portions of the papers were cleared up. Set into piles lined up against a wall. The PASIV had gone into one of his kitchen cabinets until it was needed next.
The mix of having only stale cereal, a box of minute-rice, and a bottle of ketchup in his fridge and being too tired to go get anything led to Arthur just going to bed. That it seemed, was easier said than done. He lay awake in the dark room. The clock next to him said 2:37am in bright red numbers. Apparently sorting out his papers had taken longer than he thought. He reached for his totem, which sat next to the clock. He absently rolled the die around in his hand staring at the blank ceiling. Finally his eyes closed and sleep took hold of him, his hand clutching his totem went slack.