Arthur didn't know he was going to kill Eames when he first found out he was cheating on him.
He should have known, since the first thought that ran through his head was, I'm going to kill him, but he was too shocked to actually mean it. Nevertheless, on Monday night he was there, burying Eames under the dark soil.
Arthur woke up alone on Monday morning, the first sign that something was wrong. Eames was almost always there when he woke up, and Eames had been there the night before. It was a routine that they'd developed—maintain professional distance in the day, have dinner and spend the night together, then wake up together the next morning. But Eames wasn't there.
Arthur got up, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down. It was a nervous tic that showed along with his neurotic side, and Eames always made that side come out. But then again, he made certain other sides of Eames come out.
Arthur got dressed, fixing his waistcoat, hair, and tie a dozen times in the same nervous rhythm; waistcoat, tie, hair, waistcoat, tie, hair, waistcoat, tie, hair, waistcoat—
"Hello darling."
Arthur relaxed as Eames purred in his ear, his arms wrapping around Arthur from behind, holding his hands so Arthur was forced to stop his nervous adjustments. He leaned his head back against Eames's shoulder and closed his eyes. "I was about to send out a search party."
Eames smiled. "You worry too much."
"Where were you?" Arthur asked lazily, content against Eames.
Eames pulled away from him and walked back into the bedroom. "A business associate of mine called early and needed my assistance," he called to Arthur as he went into the closet in the bedroom. Arthur turned and saw that Eames was wearing an elegant three piece suit in white and black with a pinstriped shirt and complete with diamond cufflinks that Arthur didn't recognize.
"I didn't wake up," Arthur said, his brow furrowed. He was an extremely light sleeper.
"You were out like a light, darling, I'm not sure how or why," Eames said, starting to quickly get changed. "I tried to be quiet anyway so I wouldn't wake you up."
Arthur frowned. "What did this associate need help with?"
There was a muffled response.
"What?" Arthur asked, coming into the bedroom.
"I said he needed some personal assistance with a personal matter," Eames answered, standing up so he could pull on his pants.
"That's awfully vague of you."
"He'd be rather upset if I told you about the matter."
"Who is this 'business associate'?"
Eames started tucking his shirt—mustard yellow today—into his pants. "Old military friend."
"What military?" Arthur asked, leaning against the doorframe and watching him.
"One of them, why does it matter?" Eames asked, casting a glance at him. "Why all the questions?"
Arthur shook his head and Eames smiled at him. "Oh darling, don't tell me you're jealous?" he said, and Arthur shook his head again.
Eames came over and kissed him, his hands on either side of the other man's face, and Arthur put his hands and Eames's hips and pulled him closer. Eames broke it off reluctantly after a few minutes, looking at Arthur with a strange emotion—what was that?—in his eyes, and then took his hands off of Arthur and smiled distantly.
"Are you alright?" Arthur asked, his brow furrowed. Something was off about him.
"I'm fine, love," Eames replied.
Arthur pressed his skepticism to the back of the mind and ducked his head, starting to do up the buttons on Eames's shirt. "So," he said, "did you manage to help this business associate?"
"I believe my services were satisfactory."
"You 'believe your services were satisfactory'?" Arthur asked, and then laughed.
Eames grinned. "What?"
Arthur gave him a look, unable to stop smiling. "That is the oddest way to phrase that," he said, and Eames snorted.
"That's right, I forgot you were the diction Nazi," he said with a roll of his eyes.
"No, I just ask for clarity in speech," Arthur retorted, finishing the buttons. "Without clarity, the world would be anarchy, chaos, obfuscation."
"What?" Eames asked, brow furrowed.
"Obfuscation?" Arthur asked, giving him a look. He sighed and went back to smoothing the wrinkles in the shirt. "It means confusion, from the verb 'obfuscate'."
"You're so much smarter than me, darling," Eames said, kissing him on the cheek and then going back into the other room to pull on his jacket, instantly creasing the shirt. Arthur suppressed a sigh and followed him, saying, "So where do you want to go for dinner tonight?"
"Oh, I can't tonight, darling," Eames said, looking at Arthur with a look of pained regret.
"Why not?" Arthur asked, his bottom lip getting as close to a pout as he would ever get.
"I have to do a little research on our current mark," Eames replied, going over to Arthur and taking both his hands. "I'll probably be gone for awhile, so don't wait up for me. But I promise, tomorrow night we'll have a nice fancy dinner and I'll bribe you with flowers."
Arthur smiled slightly at this, and Eames smiled back and kissed him quickly before releasing his hands. "I'll see you at work then, dear, we can't arrive at the same time."
"I know," Arthur said as Eames prepared to leave. "I'll see you there."
Then Eames was gone and Arthur set his watch for twenty-five minutes. With Eames gone, Arthur suddenly realized what was off—he didn't smell like his usual cologne.
They'd had this system in place for about a year, ever since Cobb retired and Arthur became the new leader. They still worked the illegitimate side of the business, but were slowly transitioning away from it. Eames was still a forger, Ariadne was the architect, and Yusuf was the chemist when they needed one. Cobb popped back up occasionally, paranoid that they were all going to get stuck in Limbo, or die, or worse without his guidance.
But Arthur was the leader now, and he and Eames kept their relationship a secret because—well, because things were simpler that way. So they arrived at work at different times, acted like they always had, and didn't say a word.
Eames was already there in the warehouse, along with Yusuf, and the two were having an animated conversation about some British television show that Arthur knew Eames watched religiously. He swallowed the smile that rose with this thought and said, "Yusuf! Aren't you supposed to be working on that knew compound?"
Yusuf jumped and said, "Of course, Arthur" and scurried over to his lab table.
"You too, Mr. Eames," Arthur said, and Eames smiled lazily.
"Of course, darling," he said, but slouched back in his chair all the same. Arthur frowned at him and opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment Ariadne rushed in, her cheeks flushed and her breath quick. "Sorry I'm late," she said, giving an apologetic smile to Arthur.
"Sleeping at Cobb's again, were we?" Eames asked with a smile.
She turned red but said, "Cobb and I are friends, Eames. I was there to see James and Phillipa."
"Because they've adopted you as their mother," Yusuf piped up from his corner.
"No, because—nevermind," she said, flustered, and went to her work table.
Eames's teasing grin followed her there, but she refused to look at him, so he instead shared a knowing look with Yusuf.
"Alright, so where is everyone?" Arthur asked.
"Done," Eames said.
"Almost done," Yusuf said, looking up from a vial.
Ariadne put her model on the table. "I need a little help with the layout, Arthur, but this part of the dream is practically finished."
"Are you really done, Eames, or is this like Bangkok where you've just decided to wing it?" Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows.
Eames pointed at him and said, "I still maintain that that job worked out fine."
"We all almost died!" Ariadne exclaimed, giving him a look.
He shrugged. "Your word against mine."
"All of our words against yours, actually," Yusuf corrected.
"Enough of this, let's get back to work," Arthur said, clapping his hands.
The day ticked by like a staggering heart beat, in stops and starts. At the end of the day, Ariadne left, pulling Yusuf along with her with the argument that if he stayed and worked with chemicals for any longer he'd mutate into some kind of sewer monster, leaving Eames and Arthur alone.
Arthur looked at the door to be sure they were alone, and then went over to Eames and rested his head on Eames's shoulder, Eames putting his arms around him.
"How long will you be gone tonight?" It came out muffled.
"Far too late. You know these mysterious businessmen and their exotic night lives."
Arthur heaved a sigh and nuzzled his face into Eames's jacket. Eames smelled like Eames now, and it was the only thing comforting him.
Eames's voice rumbled against Arthur's head as he said, "Don't worry love, we'll be back to normal tomorrow."
"No, it won't be normal again until we're done with this job," Arthur bemoaned.
"Oh hush darling, it will." But Arthur had an unsettling feeling that it wouldn't.
They stayed together for a minute and then Eames broke away from him, kissed him, and said goodbye before hastening out the door.
Arthur went to his work table and clicked open the locks on his briefcase, opening it to begin loading in his numerous papers. This whole day was very strange. He just wanted the job to be over and everything to be back to normal.
He stopped, spying a phone on Eames's desk that he knew was one of Eames's many cell phones for his many aliases. He briskly walked over to it and picked it up, the screen lighting up at his touch. To his surprise, the phone didn't require a password to unlock it, unlike most of Eames's phones. Although this one was new, so maybe it just hadn't been programmed yet. Arthur unlocked it to find the one new message screen. He frowned slightly; it wasn't like Eames to leave his phone, especially unlocked, and especially if it was actually in use. He opened the message and read: "Hey sugar, last night was great, can't wait to see you again tonight. ;) xoxo".
Arthur stared numbly at the phone, his hand shaking slightly, as his shattered mind struggled to piece what it was seeing into a coherent form. Finally, one thought battled its way to the surface: I'm going to kill him.
He threw the phone across the room, shattering it on a cement pillar. He stormed back to his desk, slammed his briefcase shut, and rushed out with it. His car keys were in his hand and before he knew it he was driving and he didn't know where the fuck he was going.
He didn't remember finding Eames. He didn't remember what happened to the blonde tart with Eames. He didn't remember how they ended up where they were, in a clearing in the woods at the edge of the city in twilight.
"Darling, please, control yourself," Eames begged for what seemed like the hundredth time.
"How could I be such an idiot?" Arthur shouted, tears in his eyes. "Leaving in the middle of the night, coming home in the morning in dinner clothes and diamond cufflinks, smelling like someone else's cologne, lies about where you'd been, just—" He threw his hands up, words too difficult for him. "I can't believe I couldn't see you were cheating on me! How long has this been going on for?"
"A few weeks," Eames said, not bothering to deny it. So fucking calm in the face of accusation! "At least, this one has. There have been other times in other cities."
Arthur stared at him, his mouth slightly open. "How many others?"
Eames shrugged.
"How could you do this to me?" Arthur asked, his face crumpled into an expression of sheer anguish. "You said you loved me!"
Eames scoffed. "I exaggerated," he said, and then added with an apologetic smile, "Look Arthur, it was fun while it lasted but I don't really think we can go anywhere from here. You know my appetites darling—" here Arthur shuddered involuntarily "—and they can't be satisfied by one man. Not without consequences. You know that."
Arthur stayed silent, his fists clenched like a child having a temper tantrum. Only this was so much more serious.
"So unless you want to keep things the way they are, I guess we're through," Eames said. He offered a smile and turned to leave.
Arthur felt the rising tide of emotion threatening to swallow him in a rush of black anger and red, red violence, and before he could take control his vision was black, he was picking up the nearest object, and then he threw a rock at Eames.
It struck him in the head and he fell forward, blood leaking from the new wound.
Arthur stopped, trembling. What had he done? He'd killed the man he loved in a fit of jealous rage and now…Oh, now he had to be buried. Arthur pressed his hand to his mouth and then fixed his tie, not knowing what else to do. He wasn't dead, he couldn't be dead, he couldn't have been killed by Arthur, he couldn't—
"No no no no no," Arthur mumbled numbly, falling to his knees. He crawled to Eames, turning the man onto his back. Eames's eyes were closed and Arthur said, louder this time, "No no no no no, Eames, please, no, I'm sorry damnit I'm sorry!" He hunched over Eames's chest, crying.
After about ten minutes, he straightened up, his tears fading to hiccupping sobs. Why was he crying about this? Eames was a lying, cheating bastard. Maybe bastard was harsh. No, it wasn't! He'd lied, cheated, hurt Arthur, and claimed he loved him. Bastard wasn't extreme; he was a bastard.
Arthur's blood cooled and he wiped off his tears. He got to his feet and went to his car, coming back in a half hour with a plastic tarp, bungee cords, and a shovel. He carefully wrapped Eames's body up in the tarp and secured it with the cords, then began to dig. The soil wasn't particularly firm, but it was tenacious and kept sliding back into the hole. It took him forever to make even a little headway, and it was hours into midnight before the grave was halfway dug.
Arthur stopped for a minute, panting. His long discarded shirt, vest, and tie lay by the opening to the grave, crumpled and covered in the black dirt. Suddenly he heard the subtle sound of plastic moving. He turned to see the chilling site of the plastic tarp moving slightly, shifting from side to side. Eames was still alive.
Arthur began to laugh to himself and went back to his digging, still laughing. He finished quickly, just as it began to rain, and heaved himself over to Eames.
"Goodbye, Eames," he said to the wriggling body in the tarp, and then dragged the body into the grave. He started laughing again as he covered it; the whole thing was so very, very funny. And the sight of Eames being buried alive by Arthur's own hands only made him laugh harder.
Somehow Arthur made it back to his hotel room through the drizzling rain, his clothes dirty and ruined. He showered and scrubbed himself for at least an hour before the black dirt he'd buried Eames in came off. He crawled into bed, exhausted, and closed his weary eyes, only to see Eames smiling at him again. He rolled over with a groan and dug his face into the pillow that still smelled like Eames. So this would be difficult to get over, an understatement. But still, good riddance.
Arthur killed Eames on a Monday.
He buried Eames on a Tuesday morning.
On Friday, Eames came back.
Arthur heard scratching at the door of his hotel room door on Friday evening and answered it with caution and a gun behind his back. The peephole was empty and he frowned, but opened the door anyway. And there was Eames, lounging in the doorway with a smile and dirt-stained clothing. Arthur stared at him, his brain going into shock.
Eames smirked. "Hello darling."