The diagnosis. That's always the toughest part, isn't it? It's when you realize that your happy little life in which you found yourself so fortunate was fatally flawed. It's the discovery that reality can never be truly perfect, and maybe that's what had drawn Eames to the idea of forgery in the first place. In a dream he could live any life, replicate any story, instead of focusing on only one – his own.
Arthur walked into his apartment, furious and shaking. The sweet smell of coffee filled the air and enveloped him in a sense of bliss for a single moment. Eames was there. Though the bliss couldn't last long when the shocking reality of his diagnosis hit Arthur full force once again. Why didn't he tell him? Why would he lie?
He made his way into the kitchen, his gaze instantly drawn to the forger's brown hair that shone in the sunlight peeking through the kitchen window. He was looking down at some folders scattered on the table – Arthur's research for one of many jobs – a fresh cup of coffee sitting beside him.
Arthur cleared his throat to gain the other's attention as he stood in the doorway, Eames instantly looking up at him. He smiled, standing from the table, and walked over to the counter. "Hello, darling. Would you care for a cup of coffee? I just made some." He took a coffee cup from Arthur's cabinet despite not yet receiving an answer from the point man.
Arthur felt sick. His insides seemed to be twisting as he continued to look at Eames. He could only mutter one word. "Stop."
Eames, now pouring coffee into the cup, paused for a moment; his head slightly tilted. "Stop what, love?"
Arthur shook and tried to take a deep inhale to calm his nerves but it proved useless when he felt the words he didn't want to speak about to spew from his lips. "I know. Cobb told me."
Silently refusing to face the concerned point man, Eames placed the coffee pot back in the coffee maker, coldly stating "I don't know what you're talking about." He was completely still, blankly staring at the coffee maker in front of him with dull eyes.
Arthur sensed the hesitance in his words. He was lying. The enraged point man walked over to Eames, whose back was still facing him, and stood behind him. "I know you've always been one for imagination, Eames, but don't pull that shit. Don't stand there and lie to me like nothing is wrong." He could feel himself beginning to lose it as he silently pleaded for Eames to tell him the truth that he was so desperately trying to ignore. His lip quivered, gently putting a hand on the forger's broad shoulder.
There was a moment of silence between them. Calm, still, but certainly not alleviating. An unbearable anticipation was building up and Arthur's chest pounded with anxiety. Finally, Eames turned to face him. His dulled eyes expressed a genuine sadness that Arthur had never seen in Eames' eyes before; his mouth in an unintentional pout. He had looked defeated in a battle that had yet to even begin. "What you heard is true."
Again, silence; eerie and unsettling. Though Arthur had already known it to be true, hearing Eames verify it made the pain even worse.
It took Arthur a bit to manage what to say next. "So it is cancer, huh. How bad is the tumor?" Blunt, critical – typical Arthur – though he was not blunt in the sense of being his usual self, but because he needed to be.
Eames leaned back on the counter and let out a sigh before he spoke one horrendously fatal word. "Inoperable." His eyes twinged as he spoke it, Arthur then taking in the fact that Eames was more upset than he could ever be.
There was a pause before Eames continued. Arthur would have said something if there was indeed anything worth saying, but he was truly at a loss for words. "But they say they can try to treat it with chemotherapy." A small glimmer of hope; and though Arthur knew it was indeed a very small, it was all they had.
He nodded slowly, a sudden rush of emotion consuming him as tears welled up in his eyes. He wrapped his arms around Eames, burying his face in his neck, taking in the smell of his cologne like never before. "Eames, I… I'm sorry…"
The treatment. The glimmer of hope disguised in a painfully irritating process. Arthur attended every treatment, sitting in the chair beside Eames' in the bland hospital room for each one out of pure support. He saw a rapid change in the man he loved – the loss of his hair, the loss of his weight, the loss of his freedom. Though throughout time, he saw a growing acceptance in Eames. Though he would never say it, Eames felt it was best to accept such a cruel reality, letting nearly all regrets and false hope slip away.
"Can you hand me that cup of ice, love?" He asked politely, a shaky hand pointing to the blue plastic hospital cup on the table in front of him in the treatment room. Arthur reached forward to grab the cup, but noticed Eames slightly shaking his head. He swallowed hard; a smug smile, as surprising as that was, on his face. "That tray over there would probably be better, come to think of it."
Arthur quickly handed him the tray, Eames on the verge of vomiting as he gagged over it. He spit into it and placed the tray in his lap in result of the false alarm, letting out a sigh that exposed a slight hint of dismay. He smirked at Arthur who raised an eyebrow at him in question. "I'm surprised you're not completely repulsed by me yet."
Arthur couldn't help but laugh; it was something that he had become excellent at. As straight-forward and blunt as he was known to be, he knew that he had to make the best of the situation and make light of things whenever possible. He couldn't afford not to. Not now.
He took the tray off of the ill forger's lap and handed him the cup of ice he had asked for. "Repulsed? Never." He spoke sarcastically, earning a wide grin from Eames.
"I would hope so, darling."
The sun began to set; the walls of the living room gleamed a soothing shade of orange as the sun peered in through the curtains. Eames was sprawled on the couch, one arm draped over the side with his fingertips dangling ever-so-slightly above the carpeting, as he half-heartedly watched a documentary on the television across the room. He wouldn't have been able to even summarize it if he were asked. It was just static noise to him. At this point, everything was. The world kept moving around him, but his life seemed to come to an abrupt halt. The chemotherapy was no longer working and the cancer had spread. The little idea, that glimmer of hope, had faded away.
He refused to let himself be consumed by negative emotion, remembering what Cobb had once told him: "Positive emotion trumps negative emotion every time." He never thought he would have to apply those words to a situation outside of a job before, though now they seemed more relevant than ever. He thought of what he had rather than what he didn't. He had a home, he had friends, and he had a man who loved him – he had Arthur.
Arthur walked in from Eames' kitchen with a fresh cup of tea in each hand, an obviously fraudulent smile playing at his lips. How could he possibly have overlooked it? Eames was withering away in front of him.
He placed the cups on the coffee table in front of the couch, then playfully tapping the top of the forger's bald head lightly with his fingers. "You've gotta sit up if you're going to drink this."
Eames turned onto his back and looked up at Arthur, squinting slightly. "Do I now?" He smirked devilishly, taking Arthur's hand in his. "You sure this isn't some excuse for you to punish me if I don't comply?" He knew it wasn't of course, but even after all he had been through, even today, he still loved to tease Arthur.
Tilting his head slightly, Arthur played along in a desperate attempt to flee from the disturbing thoughts coursing through his mind. "Maybe. I can be rather unpredictable when I want to be." He sat at the edge of the couch, Eames still holding his hand, and ran his free hand up the other's chest.
Eames shook his head, unable to stifle a genuine laugh. "You? Unpredictable?" Come on, Arthur. You're the most predictable person I've ever met."
Arthur smiled smugly, rubbing Eames' chest. "You're cruel."
He felt his heart rate increase as he leaned in toward the thin man below him who had still seemed so composed. Was he denying the truth again or could he really still be the same person that he was before? Arthur could not be sure as he gazed down at what seemed to be the remnants of the Eames he once knew; a few fragments strung together within a shell he hardly recognized. He still loved him, he was still devoted, but he couldn't help but feel as if his heart were in a vice as he looked at him.
Their lips collided; Eames wrapping his arms around the point man, pulling him closer. Passionately, their tongues intertwined, fighting for dominance. Arthur's warm breath felt good against the forger's skin as he panted between brief breaks. He wanted to feel every inch of him. He needed to.
Arthur climbed onto the couch, now kneeling over Eames who wouldn't let him break away for more than a few seconds. The ill forger's hands slipped up the back of Arthur's shirt as Arthur's hands pressed against Eames' pale cheeks where a slight stubble used to reside.
Accidental tears ran down Arthur's cheeks, dripping onto Eames' face, bringing Eames back to a sense of reality. "Arthur…" he managed to say between passionate kisses. The point man broke away, looking down at Eames whose concerned look made him feel ridiculous.
"Arthur, stop. Enjoy this moment, please." He placed a hand on Arthur's cheek, smiling lovingly up at him, taking in the sight of his glistening brown orbs. "We'll have plenty of time to wallow in pity later." He could see that Arthur wasn't convinced by his words and emphasized what he had just said. "Plenty of time."
He spoke with such assurance, such perception. Arthur found it hard to believe that he was the one who had to be assured by the person whose life was given a deadline. It was cruel, it was unbearable, but there was still time left.
The end. Despite Eames' initial efforts to forget about the truth, he now accepted it better than anyone. He was so tired, so bothered, that he couldn't stand to spend much longer in his current state. He was tired of the doctors feeding him false hope, tired of the pain meds, tired of seeing Arthur and the rest of the gang worry about him. He has always been a person who believed in the wonders and significance of imagination, but even he knew that at this point there was no escaping this unfortunate reality.
It was dangerously close now, only him and Arthur sitting within the pale walls of his hospital room. Cobb, Ariadne and Yusef had already been by to visit him and he could see a repressed sadness in the eyes of each of them as they left him and Arthur alone. He remembered what they had been through together, what had brought them together – they were the fondest of memories other than those which involved Arthur. His happiest moments were spent with them – his most exciting.
He took Arthur's hand and smiled in order to assure him that he was alright, though he knew Arthur and he knew that he wasn't one to look past what was painfully obvious.
Arthur weakly smiled back, looking down at their hands and taking in the difference of their complexions – the man who had always been so tan, his skin now tinted with an ashy color, looking dull against Arthur's still-vibrant skin.
Eames rubbed his thumb over the point man's hand, a smile never leaving his now slightly stubbled face. "I'm sorry, darling."
Taken by surprise, Arthur curiously raised an eyebrow. "Sorry? For what?"
Eames let out a small laugh. "For not being able to do more with you. See the world, get married, adopt a baby… you know."
Frowning, Arthur shook his head. "Don't be sorry." He removed his hand from Eames' and placed it lightly on his cheek, letting his thumb run over it softly. "You've always been one for imagination, remember? We can just imagine it, can't we?" His voice did not quiver despite the overwhelming feeling of sadness, grief already setting in as he looked at the dying lover before him.
Eames laughed again, shaking his head at the accepting point man. He placed his hand atop Arthur's lovingly, gazing up into his deep brown eyes. "We could."
Compelled to do so, Arthur leaned in, tenderly kissing the forger's sickly dry lips, loving every second of the feeling; Eames' hand running through his hair. They pulled apart, gazing into the eyes of the other as if they hadn't seen each other for decades. A fondness, an indescribable passion was there that was so alleviating, so beautiful, that they both wanted to enjoy this moment for an entire lifetime.
Weakly, Eames pushed himself over, patting the space beside him. Arthur nodded and crawled into the small hospital bed, pulling the thin blankets over the two of them. He put a hand on Eames' chest, his head resting on his shoulder, remembering the many nights he had slept against him this way before. He took in the sound of Eames' breathing, and though it was shallow and weak, it was just as calming as ever.
Arthur inhaled deeply, closing his eyes peacefully. "I think we would adopt a little girl, don't you?"
Eames smirked, closing his eyes as well. "Yes, a little girl with curly blonde hair and big green eyes."
"She's beautiful." The idea of this little girl was planted in the point man's mind, and it didn't take any dream sharing. She really was beautiful; he could picture her clearly. He built off of the lovely idea as various images came to mind. "And she'd love to play on the living room floor as the two of us watch some ridiculous movie you have me watch with you."
Eames wrapped an arm around Arthur lovingly. "Ridiculous? I think I have very good taste, thank you."
"You call those horrible comedies good? I hope our daughter doesn't grow up having the same taste as you," Arthur joked, a slight quiver in his lip.
"I hope she does. If she grows up being as serious as you I think I might lose it."
Arthur jokingly pouted, patting Eames' chest lightly with his hand that rested upon it. "She'll turn out just fine."
Finally, Arthur was at ease. Truly at ease. As he lay there, Eames' arm placed around him as they imagined their future together, he learned that he, too, had accepted his fate. In this seemingly perfect moment, they let the dreams and desires that had resided within their subconscious take control and allow them such peace.
Their conversation carried on as they lay interrupted, free to let their imaginations wander. And in these, his last moments with the one he loved, Eames understood that imagination – the thing that he had always found to be so critical, so dear, in his line of work – had brought him and Arthur together. He pulled the point man closer as their conversation came to an end, an overwhelming exhaustion coming over him, and kissed the top of Arthur's head. "We have a beautiful future. I'm ready for bed, darling," He said, his voice shaky and soft, though just as appeasing as ever to the satisfied point man. Arthur knew what was to happen, but clung to this moment as if he were never to let it go.
Eames could feel himself being pulled into unconsciousness, but managed to say one last thing as he forced one last teasing laugh. "After all this time, it was nice to see you dreaming a little bigger."
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Yeah so I got this idea at 7am a while back and I've been contemplating posting it here or not. After a lot of thought I decided 'why not?' and did so. ^^ I know it's incredibly sad, but I hope you guys like it anyway~