Darling One
Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or its characters
Warnings: Some strong language and graphic scenes that may be disturbing to readers. Discretion is advised. SLASH later in the chapters.
A/N: Probably going to be written as a three shot, but it may take a little longer. Enjoy =]
Eames was surprised by what he saw in the almost empty warehouse that afternoon. Arthur was stretched out on one of the lawn chairs with his feet curled up to his chest, dreaming. Dreaming without any help. It was a wonder the man could dream naturally at all, but to add to the mystery of it all, Arthur seemed to be dreaming as deeply and vividly as if he had never been exposed to dream sharing at all. Eames smiled and shook his head, remembering a time when he hadn't been able to control his dreams which popped up in the night. Arthur was shivering despite the sticky heat in the warehouse and Eames made to cover him with a nearby blanket but stopped as he came to stand right by the side of the slumbering, dark haired man. Something was wrong. Arthur's brow was furrowed and his eyes were moving far too rapidly to have to do with R.E.M. He was making small whimpering noises and Eames reached down to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. Arthur wasn't shaking from cold; he was shaking from fear.
Eames' heart sank as he watched Arthur, his feet moving slightly to imply running or kicking, his mouth twitching into an ever-present frown. And suddenly Arthur let out a scream that echoed around the empty warehouse and inside Eames' chest. Eames took one last swift look around the warehouse to ensure no one had come back for something and quickly set up the dream sharer, hooking himself up to Arthur. Eames had no idea if one could even share a natural dream, but he was desperate to do something, even if it was simply changing the dream itself. Eames pressed the button and went under, only a little nervous about dream sharing unsupervised; there would be no one to give the kick if something went wrong. His head throbbed as he came into Arthur's nightmare. He was met by a dark room in which two small children sat. A blonde girl played with her Barbie dolls while a dark haired boy sat reading a book far beyond his years. He looked uncannily like Arthur, and Eames wondered if Arthur had children. He also wondered about the whimpering from before. This did not look like a nightmare, but Eames forced himself to remember that looks can be deceiving. He should know; he'd been deceiving people by shifting his looks in their dreams for a very long time.
"Arthur?" asked the little girl sweetly. The young boy looked up from his book. Eames thought it was funny that Arthur had named the kid after himself. "Will you play Barbies with me?"
"In a minute Matilda. I'm almost finished with this chapter," he said as he turned back to his reading.
"Please Arthur? Pretty, pretty please?" she begged and the boy chuckled.
"Alright," he said, closing his book. Eames gasped as the boy stood and walked over to Matilda, revealing his face fully to Eames for the first time. This was not Arthur's child; this was Arthur as a child. Little Arthur sat down next to Matilda and picked up a plastic doll. They made the dolls talk and shook them gently from side to side to imply life and laughed for a good half an hour.
"Arthur, you're the best big brother ever!" exclaimed Matilda, smiling from ear to ear. The corners of Arthur's mouth twitched up (a habit he was already picking up on) and he replied "And you are the best little sister." Just then the bedroom door banged open and a tall, burly man with dark hair like Arthur's staggered in. He observed the scene before him and little Arthur's eyes went very wide. The man glared at the Barbie doll in Arthurs hand and walked over to him, swiftly kicking the toy from Arthur's fingers.
"Boys don't play dolls," the man said loudly, forcefully, and then he glanced at Matilda, as if remembering her presence. "And you," he said angrily, pointing a finger at the girl of no more than five, "Don't you encourage him. Don't want your bestest big bwover to turn out a fag, do you?" Matilda said nothing. "WELL?" screamed the man.
"No daddy, that's not what I want," Matilda whispered. Eames heart dropped into his ass. Daddy, she'd called him. He stalked from the room and slammed the door behind him. Arthur stood and walked over to the corner of the room where the doll had landed, and handed it back to a shaken Matilda. He wiped away the silent tears that slid down her face. Already Arthur hid himself away behind the emotionless mask he wore so well during a job. He couldn't have been nine yet.
"Arthur," Matilda began tearfully. "What's a fag?" Arthur looked at her for a moment, considering his response, then looked away ashamedly. He did not like lying to her, but he didn't want her to know.
"It's what they call cigarettes in England," he said dejectedly and then sat down away from her again, picking up his book where he'd left off.
The dream cut to Arthur standing outside a yellow house on a dead lawn with tears in his eyes. He hugged Matilda close to him and buried his face in her hair. "You be good for mommy now, okay?" he said. "I'll call you every night." Matilda nodded and wiped at her own eyes. Then she picked up her small, purple knapsack and walked across the lawn to her father's car; he was sitting in the driver's seat, chewing on a cigar and honking his horn. He was sending Matilda away to live with her mother in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Arthur waved goodbye to the only friend he'd had from his house in Bangor, Maine, and dreaded the moment his father would come back from the airport.