1
Arthur sat there, deaf and blind to the world. He could feel his knuckles whitening as his grip on the cheap, uncomfortable chair tightened manically. He, the ever-composed epitome of calm and cool, was struggling to remember how to breathe.
But he had to. If he didn't, the world would come tumbling down around him like one of Ariadne's first immature dreamscapes. It felt like it was. The room was spinning and his walls were cracking and he was clutching to the seat arms like they could save him.
He forced his lungs into action, but every breath felt like a stab. The news was breaking him.
The doctor's speech about experimental treatments and radiation and chemotherapy faded in Arthur's ears until all he could hear was the beating of his own diseased heart. He wondered how many times more he would hear that thump.
A million? A thousand? A hundred? Once more, twice more, three times and how was he still managing to breathe when - a paralysing sense of fear spread through him until the only things he could still do were see and hear.
He needed to keep seeing. What if he never saw a painting again? Never heard a clock tick or a bog bark? If he never noticed the way Ariadne smiled or that crease in Cobb's cheek when he winked? That laugh from that man that grated on him and gave him the shivers...
His eyes darted and ears pricked trying to drink it all in, everything, the dull, fatal room and he was trying to block it out at the same time. Because there was too much, it was crushing the senses. His head was bleeding.
Doctor Armstein walked over and patted Arthur on the arm, bending down to him, looking into his eyes. Perhaps he was ill, so very ill, but his pride was still intact and, repulsed by this condescension, the Point Man was able to jerk himself into action and stand up.
The sudden movement made his pounding head reel. The dogs playing poker in a picture on the wall seemed to stare at him, mocking him. They'd be there forever, looking like that.
He shook the doctor's outstretched hand robotically and said yes, he would come back in a week, no, he would not take any drastic, unplanned measures and, yes, he would tell his next of kin as soon as possible. He was sure his father, in his earthy tomb, would love to hear the news.
Arthur walked out of the clinic with his neck muscles stiff, automatically holding his head high despite the fact what he really wanted was to sit on the pavement there and then and just freeze life. The flowers seemed duller and the air leaden and his entire world a shade of shades.
Yet, contradictorily, with a countdown ticking away the time he had left, all he wanted to do was capture every moment, however mundane.
Arthur finds it hard to go back and remember that day, the day he learned to value. It leaves him with a dull ache in his chest and a feeling of dismay.
He wants to go back. Redo it. Change.
The warehouse was deserted when he arrived, the team out, perhaps for lunch.
Why hadn't he gone with them? Why had he gone to the clinic? Why? The word trailed through Arthur's brain until it no longer sounded or looked right.
The warehouse felt like an empty shell.
The air was cold and nothing looked quite right, and everything smelt different.
Arthur felt like the warehouse.
He was glad his colleagues were out. The fragile, volatile state he had been plunged into did not bode well for his behaviour. He was almost certain that if Ariadne or Cobb had come and asked him how his appointment went he would have crumbled.
Oh God, Cobb, how could he tell Cobb? How could he tell anyone?
No, it was for the best that he was alone. His plan seemed better alone.
With nothing else to do until the team arrived, and needing to appear normal for his plan to work, Arthur did what he had always done best.
Sitting at his neat desk, he began the work he had missed that morning. They were researching a mark who was a suspected drug baron, earning millions of dollars every year. However his empire was a head-achingly intricate affair with more branches and offshore accounts and little side-businesses than a Point man's worst nightmare.
It was perfect for his purpose
He worked for two hours straight, not looking up even when the team re-entered the room and Eames' loud, brash chatter disturbed the heavy quiet. He began mentally coaching himself, planning what he would say should someone ask about that morning, while trying to keep up the pretence that he was desperately hard at work.
It was Yusuf who approached him and Arthur was the first to admit that was unexpected. He smiled, clapping him on the back.
"Hey, you ok? How'd it go?"
Arthur forced himself to look up and employed his mouth muscles in flashing Yusuf a tight-lipped smile. He wondered later on how he'd managed it.
"Fine thank you. The doctor prescribed a course of drugs which I'll have to take but it's a small price to pay for my health."
Arthur had never been the best liar, so he wondered where this skill had sprung from. Even as a child he'd never been able to tell an untruth to his father. Not that he ever used to do anything wrong of course, but he was, and had always been, an honest man.
Everything was different now though.
Yusuf smiled and nodded.
"Guess you've got a lot of work to do. I'll catch you later."
Arthur nodded and smiled that false, grim smile and turned back to his work.
Arthur's chest hurts and he leans over the toilet bowl, coughing up his guts, or that's what it feels like. As his throat burns and his stomach aches, he shakes and rocks and wishes for someone to hold him.
Desperately, drowningly, he clings to the rim of the toilet bowl.
Why is he alone?
No one had suspected any different from Arthur's tale. They thought it was a miracle. He was going to be OK. He wasn't sick anymore. That's what they thought.
That night, like so many nights before, he was the last left in their 'office'. The warehouse, which Saito had bought them as a post-job present, was custom-built for the team, playing to their dynamics. Yusuf had a whole lab, in which there were often very loud, very noisy, very foul-smelling explosions. Ariadne also had a large area, black and cream, filled with sketchpads and easels, pens, paper, paints, three laptops and a computer. Arthur had always thought it was a little excessive, but ever the gentleman, had never said so aloud. Eames? Well, Eames had a room messily filled with mirrors and files upon files of pictures and information on various marks, and their brothers, sisters, mothers, uncles, dogs, friends, servants and so on. A shudder always passed through the point man's body when he witnessed the shocking array Eames usually left his area in. Cobb had the whole of the second floor to himself, with giant whiteboards for planning the jobs, but he usually spent time on the first floor, going round the team and checking their work. Saito dropped in from time to time to discuss old times and occasionally to offer them a new job.
It shouldn't work, not in the business they were in. A team that large, all the members knowing each other so intimately, working together for so long. Cobb and Arthur had been a rarity, a freak specimen, but a whole team? It confused many but Arthur knew why they stayed together. Because they were a puzzle. They fit – well, if not perfectly, then pretty damned close.
Arthur walked around, drinking in sights and the smells and the memories and locking them all away forever. In his mind, this was the perfect goodbye. No tears shed, no questions asked, no strings attached. Peaceful.
He regrets it now, not telling them. No doubt they have already replaced him with someone infinitely less talented, but capable enough for them to do jobs without fucking up too much.
He's feeling better, the nausea's passed and Arthur sighs and returns to the balcony.
Egypt really is intriguing at night, Arthur thinks to himself. The heat is not as oppressive and the sounds are duller, muted. Everything is purer and simpler and those are two things the ex-point man has come to respect and treasure in his days of searching.
A yellow lizard runs along the balcony rail, stopping as it sees Arthur's fingers blocking its route. The tiny creature freezes, seeming to shiver. It looks up, eyes black and beady and Arthur can't look away because he can see raw fear in its dilated dark pupils and he is worried that it's his hand causing it. He withdraws his hand faster than if he were touching hot coals. He realises, with muted shock that it isn't a normal reaction. But that undiluted fear he sees is so...familiar.