Je Vais Toujours Vous Trouver
Arthur's hands were shaking so violently that he had to pause several times in order to calm himself before he could even get the door to his apartment open. When he finally did manage to get it open and step inside, he dropped his messenger bag and immediately remembered why he had opted to not come home for several days. Everything, every single tiny, insignificant detail about the apartment, reminded him of Eames.
He slammed the door behind him after stepping inside, not realizing soon enough that it was probably too late at night...early in the morning? He couldn't remember anymore...to be slamming doors, but he just really didn't care. He couldn't care. And he didn't expect to care about much of anything for a very, very long time.
He stood in the entryway of his- their- apartment and stared vacantly at its contents and willed himself to push back the tears that threatened to seep forth from his eyes, and not for the first time that night, his eyes already red and raw from crying. He despised everything he saw. He loathed the European four-person dining room table-and-chairs set they had bought from Ikea that was set up just outside their depressing excuse for a kitchen. He hated the old, worn in couch where he and Eames used to curl up and watch old 50's movies on the television. He hated the bookshelf where his and Eames's book both now congregated, their collections having joined through their shared love and insatiable appetite for knowledge and literature. But it was what rested on top of the bookshelf that finally caused the burning tears to run down his cheeks.
He walked over and looked at the picture for a moment, before he turned the frame down, heavy sobs now wracking his entire frame. Thinking of nowhere else he could be, definitely not the couch, and certainly not the bedroom, he laid down on his side in the middle of their living room, and let his tears become yet another set of stains on the carpeting. He lay there for he knew not how long, with the colored lights from outside shining in the window and providing the only light in the house. It could have been minutes, days, hours...time did not move the same when it felt like you were slowly dying from the inside, namely the heart, out.
When Arthur was finally able to see through the blurry tears in his eyes, he stared straight ahead, eyes nearly unblinking. He did not move, until he noticed a sliver of gray out of the corner of his eye. He shifted his gaze slightly, and saw that it was in fact his sweatshirt hanging off the far end off the couch. The sight caused more tears to slide from his eyes, though this time they were silent. After a brief moment of useless contemplation, he slowly pushed himself off the ground with his weak arms and crawled over to the couch until he could reach over and pull the sweatshirt to himself.
He held the piece of clothing in his hands lovingly, as if he were handling some priceless treasure, and slowly bent his head forward to bury his face in the folds of woven thread. He breathed in the soft scent that permeated the fabric, and felt it slowly ease the tension in his body, though it only worsened the ache in his heart. He lethargically climbed up onto the couch and slid the fabric over his head and onto his body. He sat for a moment, feeling the warmth on his skin tingle and slowly increase, before he pulled his feet up onto the couch and laid down across the cushions. He tenderly pulled his sweatshirt tighter around himself, burying his feelings in the soft, familiar fabric.
421 days prior...
On the very long list of things that had gone absolutely wrong for Arthur that day, he could now add that it was raining. In fact, it was not just raining; it was the kind of rain that completely blocked out the sun because the clouds were so thick with blackness, thick with secrets. Where most people saw clouds as something light and free, Arthur had always imagined clouds as a place for everyone's secrets to be stored. All those things that everyone kept to themselves, the clouds knew as well, and eventually the clouds became so ripe with secrets they all came pouring out in the form of rain, because no matter how hard you try, secrets can't be kept forever. They have to come out sometime.
There were a lot of deep, dark, horrible secrets being let go that day.
It was the kind of rain that made everything feel damp and cold, even if you were somewhere dry and out of the rain. And that's exactly how Arthur felt, sitting on a bench at the bus stop. His once cleanly pressed three-piece suit, his favourite thing to wear, now felt heavy and unnaturally confining. His exposed skin and slicked back hair felt coated in moisture. It felt unbelievably uncomfortable, and all Arthur wanted to do was go home.
He anxiously awaited the bus's arrival, and despite his utter contempt for public transportation, he was forced to take it by circumstance's amusement. After coming out of the insurance office he had worked at having found out he had been unjustly fired, he discovered that his car had also been towed, and for the life of him, he did not know why. His phone had died, so even if he had someone to call to pick him up, he could not, he didn't have enough money for a cab, and the nearest bus stop was three blocks away and it had already started pouring by then. Arthur was not a crier, he rarely cried over anything at all, but in that moment, he could feel a salty stinging around the corners of his eyes.
Arthur was having a shit day.
Despite this depressing fact, Arthur kept his face indifferent and calm, a skill he had perfected over time that no one had ever been able to pick up on or mark a noticeable difference from when he really was calm. It was just another defense he had created for himself, it kept him safe and unnoticed. He kept his eyes trained down the street in the direction the bus would be coming from, lost in his own miserable thoughts, when from around the corner came a man walking down the street. He bore a black umbrella, and was wearing a gray suit with a button down shirt in a frankly alarming shade of peach. He didn't wear a tie, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. As the man drew nearer, Arthur noted that the man's face was mildly stubbled, and his hair was parted at one side and slicked down nicely.
The man's pace was leisurely as he walked down the street, seemingly paying no mind the weather as a faint whistle drifted from his full lips. He walked past Arthur with hardly a glance his direction, but after taking a few steps away, the man stopped in his tracks. He turned on his heel and faced Arthur, examining him for a few moments, before stating without the slightest hint of a doubt with a beautiful British accent, "You've had a shit day."
Arthur was stunned into silence, not that he had been making noise beforehand. How had the man been able to read him so quickly, especially when his face of indifference had been carefully knit upon his features? He could not get his mouth to open, and even if he could have, he had not the words to fill it.
"Oh, don't look so frightened, darling, it's just something I'm good at. I can read people. And you, sir, are an open book."
He didn't understand. An open book? An open book? Never in all of Arthur's life had he been called an open book, in fact, in most cases he was called quite the opposite. Most people didn't even bother speaking to him when he looked so impassive and indifferent all the time, and this man called his bluff like he was a beginner at poker, and the other man was a professional. Arthur's mouth fell open, yet more of nothing came out.
The other man's mouth quirked up in a faint smile at finally getting a reaction out of the man, and he stuck the free hand not holding the umbrella in his pocket.
"I'm right though, aren't I?" He sounded almost cocky, like he knew he was right and was just waiting for Arthur to admit it. Arthur snapped his mouth shut, his jaw tensing in growing annoyance. The stranger seemed to take notice of Arthur's apprehension, and his smile softened as he looked down at the ground for a few moments. And slowly he looked up, his smile now warm and kind, and he pulled his hand out of his pocket and presented it to Arthur.
"The name's Eames." He said, his voice a soft lilt. Arthur's face relaxed ever so slightly at the man's change in attitude, and he contemplated Eames's hand before grasping it hesitantly.
"Nice to meet you, Eames." He said politely, albeit slightly terse, and carefully shook the man's hand.
"And what might I have the pleasure of calling you?"
Arthur contemplated this for a moment. Did he want to share his name with this man? Should he just use a fake name? And what exactly were Eames's motives in talking to him? Arthur decided he was entirely not in the mood for any kind of social interaction, not with the day he was having.
"Not interested." He replied, again replacing the protective, apathetic mask on his face.
"Not interested?" Eames asked curiously, though unabashedly and intriguingly unoffended at the silent accusation.
"Yes, not interested." Arthur replied.
"I never said I was trying to pick you up, pet."
"But you never said you weren't." He retorted quickly, "And besides, what makes you think I go that way?"
"What makes you think I go that way?" Eames's face adapted a smile that only fanned the annoyance that had been growing inside Arthur, and successfully suppressed the curiosity he had been feeling.
"Actions speak louder than words." Arthur replied.
"Indeed they do, so why are you feigning disinterest when I clearly intrigue you?"
"I never said I was intrigued by you, nor did I ever say I went that way."
"But you never said you didn't, darling."
Arthur stopped at this. It was true, he hadn't, nor was he willing to do so. Once again, he was left speechless by this total stranger who had swept in like a sudden gust of wind, and pegged Arthur like he'd known him forever. They remained in stony silence only broken by the heavy beating of the rain. Neither of them said anything, though their held stare was indeed speaking louder than words. Eames was the first to break it, and he sighed as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small notebook and a pen.
"Look, I'm going to give you my number, and it's up to you if you want to call me," he said as he scratched some numbers onto a sheet of paper. "Think about it on a day when you're feeling better, and if you decide you want to, I'll be waiting." he ripped the sheet of paper out and folded it in half once before handing it to Arthur, who took it with great apprehension, and twirled in his fingers once or twice before courteously placing it in his pocket, totally unsure if he was going to put it to use or not.
"I'll think about it." he said truthfully, though he kept his voice at an even cadence.
Eames just smiled that same soft smile at him. "Good. Well it was very nice meeting you." he said earnestly, and Arthur did not know how to reply. Eames looked as if he did not expect one though, and merely looked Arthur's face over for a few more seconds, before turning once again and began walking the direction he had been going.
Arthur's eyes trailed after him, just a hint of peach at the collar of Eames's shirt was showing, giving him something to look at as the man walked away. He had never met anyone like the man in all his life. After a few moments of heavy contemplation and a twisting feeling in his gut, he quickly shouted after the man.
"It's Arthur!"
Eames turned quickly so he was once again facing Arthur, but said nothing, so he said again, this time a little quieter, a little more shyly, "My name is Arthur."
A full blown, teeth-baring smile bloomed on Eames's face, and Arthur felt his stomach tighten. The man looked exquisitely happy.
"It was very nice to meet you, Arthur!" Eames called back at him, the smile unfaltering on his face.
"You as well, Mr. Eames." Arthur replied, and let the tiniest, faintest smile grace his lips. Eames turned back around and began walking once again, though this time his step seemed the slightest bit lighter, and he could have sworn he heard a faint whistle once again.
Arthur turned his gaze away and looked at the ground. That was probably the oddest encounter he'd had in his whole life. He carefully dipped his hand in his pocket and felt for the tiny slip of paper, but did not remove it from where it rested. As Arthur lifted his gaze to look up at the sky, still heavy with rain, he realized that the sadness teaming within him from earlier had disappeared and was replaced with a pleasant lightness. The smile on his face grew wide, as he silently told the clouds that, yes, he would call Eames tomorrow.
406 days prior...
Arthur felt to make sure his tie was straight and that his hair was slicked back nicely as he walked into the little Italian restaurant with all of the confidence he could manage. This was his first date with Eames, as well as the first time he'd seen him since the day they met at the bus stop just over two weeks ago. Due to Eames's erratic and unpredictable work schedule (he restored old paintings at the local museum, and sometimes worked in galleries as well) this was the first day they had been able to meet up. Arthur had been perfectly free these two weeks though, being out of a job and all, but he made use of the time job hunting, and honestly just enjoying the much needed time off.
He approached the hostess and said, "Hello, I'm here meeting someone, his name is Eames?"
"Oh, yes, he said he was expecting you, would you like me to show you to the table?" She asked politely and wore a pleasant smile.
"If you could just point me in the direction, I can find him." Arthur replied, returning the smile politely. She pointed him towards the back corner of the restaurant and said that Eames was sitting in a booth. Arthur thanked her and began walking over. He took his steps slowly and measuredly, taking his time in getting there so that he could attempt to calm the nerves in his body that seemed to be unreasonably excited. He found Eames in the back corner, like the hostess had said, and when the other man noticed him, he smiled warmly.
"Hello, Arthur, darling, how are you?" Eames said as he straightened his posture, but did not get up to hug or shake hands with Arthur, which he was glad for, because he did not know how he would react to either, so he just slid into the seat opposite Eames in the booth.
"I'm doing quite well, actually, thanks." He said smiling. "You?"
"Oh, the same old hectic lifestyle. I'm dreadfully sorry I've been so busy, pet, but paintings can't restore themselves, can they?" Eames smiled at him playfully, and Arthur felt himself unable to suppress a faint chuckle. It shouldn't have been funny, it really shouldn't have, but Eames had his own way of saying things that seemed ever capable of bringing a smile to Arthur's lips.
"It's alright, don't worry about it, I've been occupying myself anyway." Arthur replied.
"Yes, that's right, how goes the job hunt?" Eames inquired.
Okay, so they hadn't seen each other, but maybe they had been texting over those two weeks. Arthur couldn't help himself, Eames was so...unique.. and Arthur wanted to discover more.
"Very well, I've turned in several applications, and I have a couple of interviews lined up actually." Arthur said, pleased with himself. Nothing was very promising yet, but he had made progress, and a few places showed mild interest in him.
"Really? Like where?" Eames asked, seeming genuinely interested, and not just trying to feign conversation because they were on a date. No, Eames made everything feel natural, and entirely unawkward like Arthur had been expecting it would be.
"Well, the place I'm actually most excited about is this...this little old bookstore I applied to. I wasn't expecting a response. I just did it, I don't know, for fun I guess, but they called me and set up an interview, and I'd really love to work there." Arthur smiled kind of shyly. Working at a bookstore seemed almost juvenile, but he hadn't been able to resist applying to the store when he had passed it by, his love for literature coupled with the overwhelming smell of old books had taken over the rational part of his brain as he filled out the application in the store and turned it in.
"A book store? That sounds so lovely, do you like books a lot, darling?" Eames slipped in yet another pet name that Arthur had at first found odd and out of place, but had come to realize that he secretly enjoyed them.
"Like is a severe understatement." Arthur replied, and Eames's mouth quirked into a smile. They launched into one of the most lengthy and passionate conversations about literature Arthur had ever had, only broken when they ordered and were brought their food. They discussed all of their favourite authors, genres, and series, and then delved into deep conversation about all of the classics, everything from Shakespeare to Fitzgerald. Eames was incredibly intelligent, and spoke every word he said with grace and love for the subject matter, and there were only one or two books Arthur mentioned that Eames hadn't read.. It left him feeling a little weak in the knees.
Some time after they had finished eating, their conversation finally began to wind down, and it was only then that Arthur bothered to check his watch, and was shocked to see that they had been in the restaurant for almost three hours. They both agreed it was best that they head home for the night, and Eames kindly walked Arthur out to his car.
"I had a very enjoyable evening, Eames, thank you." Arthur said earnestly and gave Eames a contented smile.
"Oh good, so I've earned a second date?" Eames asked smiling, and winked at Arthur.
"We'll see." he said and smiled, knowing full well that the man had indeed earned a second date.
There were a few moments were neither of the two said anything, and Arthur wondered fleetingly if Eames was contemplating giving him a quick kiss goodnight, and Arthur secretly hoped he would. But when Eames finally did move, all he did was grab Arthur's hand, gently say "Well, goodnight, my fellow lover of literature. Until next time." and ever so gently place a kiss on the skin on top of his hand.
"Good night." Arthur breathed, barely able to get anything out at all over the exuberant fluttering in his stomach and delightful, excited beating of his heart. Eames smiled at him, and turned and walked towards his own car.
Arthur thought the kiss Eames had decided to give him was better.
103 days prior...
Blue skies smiling at me,
Nothing but blue skies do I see.
Blue birds singing a song,
Nothing but blue birds all day long.
Never saw the sun shining so bright,
Never saw things going so right.
Noticing the days hurrying by,
When you're in love, my how they fly.
Blue days, all of them gone,
Nothing but blue skies from now on.
Blue skies smiling at me,
Nothing but blue skies do I see.
Blue days, all of them gone,
Nothing but blue skies from now on.
At some point over the next 10 months, Arthur had fallen totally and completely in love with Eames. He loved absolutely everything about the other man, like his passion for art and how could talk about it for hours and hours on end without ever growing tired, and how he was good enough at drawing and painting to perfectly mirror the masters. He loved the way Eames would run his fingers through Arthur's hair while they watched Hitchcock or Audrey Hepburn on the couch in his apartment. He loved how Eames had cared enough for him to start lending him books, and not really expecting them back at any time. He loved the look on Eames's face when Arthur gave him a new book to read in return.
But most of all, he loved the way Eames loved him back. Where most people in Arthur's life hadn't been able to see through Arthur's defenses and multiple masks, Eames saw through them as if they were non-existent. He would question Arthur relentlessly when something was bothering him, and only ever to show that he cared about how Arthur was feeling. He knew just when to press gentle kisses to Arthur's forehead or lips to calm him down when he was too angry to even get words out of his mouth. He loved the way Eames knew him like nobody else had even bothered to know him.
They saw each other on almost a daily basis now. Arthur would come home from work (he got the job in the old book store he'd applied to) and Eames would just show up whenever he was finished with his day at work, which was later than Arthur on most days. They'd have dinner together, then do paperwork or watch TV, or just sit and read books together. And when it got late, Eames would kiss him goodnight, whisper words of love against his lips, and go home.
But some nights he didn't.
Today was their ten month anniversary, not a particularly auspicious occasion, but they decided to go out and have fun since it was a Saturday and they were both free. Eames had suggested they go to a carnival that was in town, and he couldn't resist the pull of the warm Autumn air and child-like exhilaration he got at the thought of going to a carnival again. So he got up early, got ready as quickly as he could, and left to meet Eames at the carnival.
When he finally arrived and met up with Eames, all he received in terms of a greeting was a whistle, followed by, "Arthur, darling, I feel honoured."
"What for?" Arthur questioned as he linked his hand with Eames's and tugged him gently towards the admissions booth.
"You're wearing a tee shirt and jeans, love, and not just any tee shirt, your Smiths tee shirt. You don't do that around most people." Eames said, allowing himself to be dragged behind Arthur.
"You're not most people." Arthur said and threw Eames a quick, shy smile over his shoulder and continued walking. He noted that Eames was wearing boot cut jeans, a white tee-shirt, and a grey zip-up hoodie that, if Arthur was honest with himself (which he usually was), fit Eames' frame entirely too well. Eames held any snarky joke he may have had about Arthur's comment, or the look he was giving him, in and smiled quietly to himself as he followed behind.
They hastily got their tickets and joined the massive crowd of people entering the carnival for the day. The area was made to look like an authentic Venetian Carnivale, everything done up in exquisite shades of red, purple, and green with glittering gold accents. Nearly every face was adorned with gorgeous handmade and painted masks, and street performers doing everything from juggling to fire spinning littered the walkways everywhere you looked. There were vendors selling food and souvenirs, as well as a variety of games to be played and prizes to be won. Arthur hardly knew where to start first. Eames, however, seemed to know what he wanted to do as he switched their positions and pulled Arthur along towards a ticket booth that sold admissions to rides. He quickly purchased the ticket stubs, and they set off.
They spent the day flitting about the carnival, eating food that made Arthur make involuntary noises of delight, playing games that weren't entirely rigged like usual, and riding rides that, while modern, had been decorated to fit the décor. They also watched several of the performers as they walked around, and caught a few shows that involved comedy sketches or acrobatic feats. But best of all, he did it all with Eames. Arthur could never have asked for a more perfect day, and he couldn't remember a time when he had ever been happier.
After they left one of the small showings, they paused to try and figure out what they wanted to do next. They had just decided that they were going to try and find something for dinner, when a voice behind them spoke up.
"Can I interest you gentleman in a photograph? A memory to last a lifetime, and only for $10."
They both turned around to face the voice that had approached them with the offer. It was a young boy, no older than 15, and he was dressed in carnival attire. Arthur assumed his family must work in the carnival, and he sold photographs as a way to make extra money, and also explained the hiked up price.
"Uhh, no thanks, mate, we'll pass." Eames said to the boy with a smile, then turned back to face Arthur, "Dinner then?" and began to walk away, assuming Arthur was in tow.
But Arthur didn't move. He couldn't. An odd feeling washed over him, a feeling of urgency. He wanted to remember this moment in the future, certainly, but there was a feeling beyond that that…that this was a moment he wanted to be able to look at in the future…
Eames realized after a few steps that Arthur wasn't following and turned back around. "You coming, love?"
The words spilled from Arthur's mouth, "Eames, I need a photograph." But as soon as he realized how demanding he sounded, he back peddled, "I mean, I would like one, I didn't mean-"
"It's alright love," Eames interrupted Arthur babble, "I understand." And with one look at Eames face, Arthur knew that he did understand. He had somehow seen the urgency written across Arthur's face, the same as he read all of Arthur's other expressions, and needed no further explanation.
Arthur smiled warmly at Eames as he walked back over, and then reached for his wallet to get out a ten, but Eames put his hand up. "I've got it, darling," and fished in his pocket for the bill and handed it to the young boy, who's painted face smiled brightly.
They stepped to the side of the crowd and stood up against a wall to avoid getting in the way, and Eames sidled up next to Arthur and slipped his arm around Arthur's waist. Arthur gave Eames a soft smile, but turned back to face the boy so that he was ready for the photo when he was done setting up the camera and portable printer he had. It was only a few seconds later when he felt Eames' nose bump against his neck, just below his ear. Arthur wasn't a particularly shy person, but he ducked his head slightly and smiled broadly at the small gesture. Eames would never cease to make him smile.
"I love you, darling." Eames whispered quietly against his ear.
Arthur raised his head and looked at Eames, the smile on his face replaced with something softer. Eames' normally playful expression bore one of only fondness and love. It was certainly not the first time the sentiment had been uttered by either of them, but Eames' warm seriousness had taken Arthur by surprise.
Eames raised his free hand and placed it lightly on Arthur's jaw and gently pulled his face towards his own, and who was Arthur to deny the man what he wanted, when he was everything that Arthur wanted for the rest of his life…
The camera flashed only a few seconds after their lips touched, and they gently pulled apart. Arthur had almost completely forgotten they were even trying to take the photograph, and it hadn't exactly been the pose he wanted, but he wasn't going to complain. He separated from Eames (reluctantly) and walked over to the boy, who was fiddling with some setting on the camera.
Arthur gently cleared his throat, "Does it uhh, look good?" he asked somewhat quietly.
The boy looked up from his camera and flashed a smile, "Yes, it looks good. Just give me a moment here to get it printed."
"Okay, good, good." Arthur responded, and remained silent for a few moments. "Listen, uhh, sorry about that, he just… kind of…"
"It's okay, really. That was more natural than any pose I could have put you two in." he said sincerely, his smile remaining. Arthur merely nodded, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased away.
The boy finished up with the settings a few moments later, and the picture came out of his portable printer. He delicately took it out and waved it in air for a few moments to dry the ink before handing it to over to Arthur.
"Thank you," Arthur said to the boy as he took the photo in his hands.
"No, thank you." The boy said with a smile, a slight bow, and a flourish, and turned around and disappeared into the crowd.
Eames finally joined him at his side. "Well, let's see it then." He said, grinning widely.
Arthur held the photo up for both of them to see, and was startled by how good the shot was. It was framed nicely, and the camera was good quality with vibrant colors. His and Eames' eyes were both closed, but the love written into every pore of each other's faces were clearly evident, and the gentleness of Eames' hand against his jaw made his heart melt a bit. The boy had added a light vignette to the photo, not anything tacky, it actually worked well with the shot. Like it was putting the focus even more-so on the two of them. Arthur loved it.
"It's perfect."
After they got their photograph, they redirected their attention to finding some dinner, and found it in the form of traditional Venetian sausages, followed by some frittelle, a Venetian doughnut-like pastry, and both were stunningly delicious. They milled about the carnival a bit more after that, watched a few more shows, and then decided to use the last of their ride tickets and ride the giant Ferris Wheel they had set up.
They got on the ride and spent the first few minutes in silence, just enjoying the view of the carnival in the late twilight, all of the shops had turned on their lights, and the whole carnival gave a wonderful warm glow. The sun had nearly set, and Arthur could feel the temperature dropping against his bare arms, and his body gave a slight shiver.
"Cold, darling?" Eames inquired mockingly, and Arthur frowned.
"No, I'm quite alright, thanks." He replied defiantly and turned to look out the car window, ignoring Eames. He felt the other man shift next to him, and a few moments later he felt warm fabric placed in his lap. He looked down and it was Eames' grey sweatshirt, assumedly for him to wear.
"There, darling, quit being such a prat and put it on." Eames said smiling at him. Arthur looked over at him, and could only smile, shake his head, and put the sweatshirt on. It was still warm from Eames' body heat, and it smelled of him in the most pleasant way. Arthur would be very sad when he had to relinquish it.
Eames slipped his arm around Arthur's shoulders, and as if he'd read Arthur's mind, said against Arthur's ear, "Why don't you just hang on to that for a bit." and turned his head to look back out at the scenery. Arthur's smile grew, and he rested his head on Eames' shoulder and looked out as well.
As Arthur surveyed the massive amount of people below, all doing their own activities, living their own lives, each with their own joy and tragedy, a thought occurred to him.
"Eames, what if we got separated down there and never found each other again?" Arthur inquired softly.
"Well, that's a load of rubbish, because I know where you live." Eames replied easily.
"Yes, but…what if my car hadn't been towed that day? Or what if I had called a cab, or the bus had been on time, or you were actually a normal person and didn't enjoy walks in the rain? We would never have found each other… I'd still alone and probably still hate everything about my life. I can't even-…I can't even bear to think about that…"
"Darling, darling, listen to me," Eames cut him off when he sensed Arthur beginning to grow upset. "That's not what matters. The fact is that none of that happened, and what matters is we did meet on that day. It couldn't have happened any other way, and I did find you. I'll always find you."
3 days prior…
Snow. Black Ice. Sliding. Couldn't stop. I'm sorry I'm sorry. I couldn't stop. I'm sorry.
Arthur was numb. His vision was distorted. He was vaguely aware of the cold air biting his exposed skin. White snowflakes falling against his face. Someone was talking to him. Apologizing. Crying. Why were they crying?
Where was Eames?
Arthur looked around. Colored lights lit the street. Red and blue ones flashed over and over again.
Where was Eames?
Arthur's vision began to focus. He realized he was standing in the middle of the street, and snow was falling from the night sky around him. There was someone else there. A woman, and she was crying, but Arthur didn't understand why. There were other people gathering around now, their faces white and not one of them smiling.
But where was Eames?
Arthur looked down, and he found Eames. Lying on the pavement in from of him, but he wasn't moving. And there was blood around his head… So much blood…
Oh, God…
"Eames…Eames! EAMES!" Arthur shouted as he threw himself on the ground beside Eames. He tried touching his face, but all he received in return was blood covered fingers. He tried gently shaking his shoulders, but Eames gave no response.
"Eames, no, no, Eames, wake up, oh god!" Arthur said mindlessly, trying and failing to wake Eames up. Arthur understood why he was numb.
He didn't know how long he lay on top of Eames, and knew he was saying words but he didn't know exactly what he was saying. He was eventually pulled away from Eames' body, and at that point he knew that he was screaming Eames' name. They sat him down in the back of an ambulance, wrapped an orange blanket around him, and went to go take care of god knows what. Arthur stopped screaming. He stopped moving. Someone walked up to him a few moments later and pushed a small, black velvet box into his hands. They said it was in Eames' pocket. They said it was for him. And they walked away again. Arthur didn't open it. He just held it in his hand. He face was blank and his eyes were hollow.
Eames was dead, and so was he.
Present…
Arthur breathed in the scent of Eames from the sweatshirt wrapped around his torso. His eyes were drying, and his breathing had evened out again. He felt he was finally ready to open the box. He hadn't been able to even touch it for the past several days, but he needed to know now. He got up off the couch to get it from his messenger bag where he had kept it for the last several days. Before he reached his bag though, he looked over at the picture frame he had turned down earlier, and walked over and righted it. Looking down at Eames kissing him that day at the carnival, he realized that it was the only picture he had of he and Eames together.
Arthur stepped away from the picture and walked over to his bag. He pulled the little velvet box out and turned it around in his shaking hands as he walked back over to the couch, knowing that Eames had probably done the same. Sitting down again, he stayed still for a few minutes, and then opened the box.
Inside was a beautiful gold ring and Arthur felt his eyes began to tear up again. He plucked it out of the box, letting it fall to the floor, and turned the band around in his fingers, feeling it warm up with the skin contact. The gold caught the reflection of the colored lights outside the window, and he noticed that the inside of the ring had an inscription. He brought it closer to his face to read it.
I'll always find you
Arthur began to cry again as a smile broke out onto his face, he couldn't help it. Eames knew how to make him smile, even when no one else could. He slipped the ring onto his ring finger on his left hand, and never intended to take it off.
He lay down on the couch again, and looked out the window at the brightly colored lights. From the apartment above, he heard music softly beginning to play, and he became aware the Christmas was in three days. Not that it mattered. He had no one to spend it with. Well…
Arthur sighed. "Guess it's just you and me, Eames. Just you and me…"
Arthur listened to the music coming from upstairs, and felt Eames run his fingers through his hair, and he closed his eyes.
I'm dreaming tonight of a place I love
Even more than I usually do
And although I know it's a long road back
I promise you
I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents under the tree
Christmas eve will find you
Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents under the tree
Christmas eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
If only in my dreams