Rating: T for swearing and mild adult content.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Author's note: This is un-betaed. I'm really bad with punctuation so bear with me the best you can. I haven't written fanfiction in a really long time, so I hope this doesn't suck too badly.
I Went Out In The Rain, Suddenly Everything Changed.
Saturday 11:53 P.M.
Arthur is lying in his bed- wide awake- listening to the sound of heavy raindrops hitting the roof of his apartment building. The wind outside suddenly begins to howl ferociously and within seconds he hears something crashing onto the cement of balcony outside of his bedroom window. Arthur flinches at the noise. He knows that it is the sound of his potted gardenia plant meeting a rather terrible fate. It is the only plant Arthur has. He probably shouldn't have kept it on the edge of an unstable, green plastic table; It had been a gift after all.
Now it is in pieces and Arthur never thought he would feel so disappointed over losing a potted plant.
Saturday, 11:56 P.M.
A gentle roar of thunder echos through the night sky.
Arthur turns on his left side and buries his head into the soft fabric of his pillow case. Physically, he is exhausted after spending the day over at Cobb's house, trying to keep up with two very energetic children. His his eyes feel dry and heavy, like the weight of the world was resting on them.
However the image of scattered soil amongst the broken pieces of a simple tan colored pot, and the rain drowning the innocent white flowers that once blossomed brilliantly on the gardenia plant is on the front burner of Arthur's mind.
That fucking plant and the British prick who practically forced him to take the stupid thing.
"God damn it," Arthur mumbles to himself as he roll onto his left side. He takes the unused pillow from the unoccupied side of his king sized bed, and throws it over his head.
Sunday, 12:12 A.M.
Now there is a Downpour. The rain is beating down on the roof so hard now, that for a few seconds Arthur is afraid that water is going to burst through the ceiling and drown him.
He hates the rain. Especially when starts to fall in Los Angeles. Especially when it is preventing him from getting a decent night sleep.
Arthur, is a sensible man, understands that mankind cannot control whether or not it rains. However one of the perks of living in southern California is that rainfall is limited and sunshine and decent weather are in abundance. There is of course some overcast, but Arthur didn't mind a few gray skies as long as rain isn't involved. Cobb jokes that Arthur should go live in Death Valley if he wants to avoid rain altogether and still live in California. If only it weren't so hot, or unlivable, Then maybe Cobb would be on to something.
Sunday, 12:30 A.M.
"Oh fuck it all!"
Arthur sits up, and throws the pillow he had over his face and his dark gray comforter off of himself. He runs his fingers through the dark mess that is his hair and can feel the remains of the gel that had held his hair together on his fingertips. He thinks that maybe he should have showered before he went to bed, that's what he used to do before. When had this changed?
Putting this thought aside for the moment, Arthur slowly places his feet on the smooth wooden floor. He stares at the window, which is lit up slightly by the streetlights outside.
The blinds on the two bedroom windows are open enough to see rain drops slide gently down the glass. Arthur can't help but think about how much they reminded him of tears running down the checks of some sad fuck who has just had their heart ripped out.
Lovely thought, Arthur he thinks to himself.
He considers getting up for brief moment. He has his hands pressed on the bed,preparing to push himself off the mattress.
Arthur closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
Sunday, 1:19 A.M.
The light from the T.V. is bright in the otherwise dark living room.
The Sopranos is on and it's not the most soothing thing to watch at one in the morning, but at this point in the night, Arthur could care less.
The cushions of the black leather couch are surprisingly comfortable, maybe more so than the rather pricy orthopedic mattress on Arthur's bed. As he watches his favorite show, which has been edited (quite blatantly) for network television, his mind is racing a million miles per minute.
His day at Dom's had brought up some rather unpleasant feelings Arthur had been trying to bury deep down for a month, but were now rising to the surface thanks to his long time friend.
Arthur is amazed that even outside of dreams, Cobb can still find away to get the answers he wants: he finds it to be both very brilliant and extremely annoying.
Saturday, 9:30 P.M.
He and Cobb were sitting in the dining room, drinking beers in comfortable silence;Phillipa and James had been in bed for an over an hour. The house was dead quiet. Only the sound of rain, splattering the deck could be heard.
Arthur is taking a long sip of his drink when he noticed the very grave look on Cobb's face. The first thought that goes through his mind is that Cobb is thinking about Mal, however his eyes have a clear focus: they are on Arthur.
Cobb is worried about him. Very Worried.
It took him five more minutes of what had suddenly became awkward silence, to actually voice this.
"You know, you can talk to me about anything. And when I say anything, I mean anything." Cobb's voice was full of determination, but lined with deep concern."I know you, Arthur. I know that something is wrong."
At that moment Arthur had felt a tremendous amount of guilt. The man who had gone through the worst sort of hell and here was Arthur, dragging him back down again with problems he should be able to solve himself. Still he knew there was no point in putting off this conversation.
"Your right, I have been a little bit off lately."Arthur could not bring himself to deny Cobb's claims. He was not in denial over the fact that he had been extremely out of sorts for the past few weeks:the lack of sleep, of energy, of feeling in general were changes he had noticed in himself, and more things seemed to be popping up everyday. For example, the night before he gone to make himself dinner. and realized that the only thing in his fridge was week old leftover Chinese food-and he ate it! Of course he threw up almost immediately after. "It's really nothing I can't fix myself. I've been through a lot worse. You don't need to worry about me."
"Yes, I do need to be worried about you, Arthur." the tone in Cobb's voice had become very serious "I know why your acting like this. I am not stupid."
"And what is it that you think you know, Dom?"
"I know that your upset Eames went back to Mombasa. You wanted him to stay, perhaps more than you willing to admit."
The conversation was going exactly where Arthur had dreaded it would go.
"Eames has nothing to with thi-"
"That is complete bullshit." Cobb quietly snapped at him. Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but Dom beat him to it. "You have been a complete mess for the past month. Ever since he left, you have made a mess of yourself and have been avoiding any sort of human interaction. Ariadne told me she has been trying to get a hold of you for weeks, and that you have yet to return any of her phone calls. Christ, I had to have my children beg you to come over today just so that I could try to knock some sense into you."
It took a minute for those words to really hit Arthur. He knew Dom was more frustrated than angry, but that didn't mean that he was going to get off any easier. He owed the older man the truth, or at least a small part of it-the part he understood.
"I was disappointed in Eames' sudden departure. I thought-i don't know what I thought- that maybe he wasn't so bad to be around."Arthur was shocked that he managed to keep his voice so clam despite the sudden rush of sadness that was surging through his vein's. He found himself looking down at the brown bottle of Pacifico in his right hand; his eyes not daring to meet Cobb's."I get it now though. He comes and goes, to hell with anyone else. It's just how he is. It's screwed up, but he'll never change and I-we can't expect him to."
"Listen Arthur, I know the two of you spent a lot of time together after the Fischer job. I saw how close you were get-"
"Nothing happened." Arthur interrupted quickly and downed the remainder of his beer which now tasted warm and awful. He could feel Cobb's concerned stare seeping onto his skin and a horrible lump forming in his throat. "Nothing at all."
The last part came out more bitterly than he intended.
–
Sunday, 2:27 A.M.
Arthur doesn't realize he had fallen asleep until he wakes up.
The leather is sticking to small of his back, where his black Arcade Fire shirt was pushed up slightly, exposing his skin. He can feel a slight pain in shooting up his neck as he raises his head from off of the arm of the couch and thinks that maybe he was wrong about it being more comfortable than the bed. He doesn't understand how Eames was able to sleep on this couch like this for three months.
Yes, Eames had stayed with Arthur for three months. Those who have been around the two of them before would find this very hard to believe, and it had taken Arthur awhile to grasp the concept as well.
It's like this:
Two days after the inception job, Eames showed up at Arthur's door ( he still has no idea how Eames found out where he lived) , an ugly brown and yellow checkered suitcase in hand, and declared that the hotels in L.A. "were absolute rubbish." He then asked Arthur if he could stay with him until he figured out what his next move would be. The request was a little strange, considering the rather long history between the two of them, which wasn't always pleasant. However something had changed between them during the Fischer job. Arthur wasn't quite sure what it was, or when it happened, but he found that he didn't hesitate when replied: "I don 't see a problem with that request Mr. Eames."
It was the start of something that ultimately went nowhere: the nights spent staying up late watching the "Dirty Harry," films, Arthur showing Eames his childhood home in Orange County, eating In-N-Out, Arthur laughing when Eames confessed to liking Jimmy Buffett- blaming it on the few months he spent working with an extractor who was an avid "parrothead"- and Eames laughing when Arthur later admits that he knows all the words to "Cheeseburger in Paradise" but only because his father used to play it when he was a kid.
Then there was the kiss they almost shared one night, when they had a little too much drink, and Arthur found himself pinned between Eames and the refrigerator. He can still remember the smell of hard alcohol on the other man's breath, and how hard his heart was racing at the thought of their lips touching. He also remembers his disappointment, when Eames pulled back abruptly and walked away.
The the next day he told Arthur he was going back to Mombasa-that he had overstayed his welcome. He was gone long before Arthur had a chance to process it, leaving him with just a fucking potted gardenia plant that was meant to bring "some life into the dreary world of Arthur," and dashed hopes.
This thought makes Arthur cringe slightly.
There is a dry, scratchy feeling forming in this throat, like he hasn't had a sip of water in days. He slowly gets up and he is really feeling that tight pain in his neck now.
Could this night get any worse? He thinks to himself as walks slowly across the wooden floors, and into the kitchen. He flicks on the switch, and the almost white light cause Arthur to wince at the brightness.
Slightly blinded by the kitchen light, Arthur feels his way around the kitchen until he reaches the sink, which is located right by the kitchen window. His eyes adjust to the light just in time to grab a glass out of the cabinet, and place it under the water filter that is attached to the faucet. He lets the water reach up to a little more than half the glass before turning off the water.
He presses the glass to his lips and lets the cool liquid run down his throat. Out of the corner of his eye he can see out the window, through the open blinds. The streetlights outside make it so that Arthur can see the rain hitting the ground, but it takes him a second to notice the ugliest chartreuse colored umbrella, Arthur has ever had the misfortune of looking at.
Anyone who is out in standing out in a downpour at almost 2:30 in the morning is an idiot, at least that is the belief Arthur currently holds as he leans in to take a better look a the scene below.
The owner of the umbrella-a man-is leaning up against the street lamp that is just a few feet away from the entrance of the apartment building, below Arthur's kitchen window, but closer to the street curb. All Arthur can make of this person was that they are wearing what looks like a toffee colored trench coat, and jeans. He would be able to see the man's face if the umbrella wasn't blocking it. Damn umbrella Arthur thinks to himself, for he is genuinely curious to see what kind of person stands around in the rain.
Suddenly the man, as if he knows he is being watched , looks up right up into Arthur's window-right up at Arthur himself, and now he can see-
Eames!
Their eyes meet for the first time in weeks.
Arthur almost chokes on his water.
Sunday, 2:32 A.M.
He doesn't know if he should go down there and backhand the bastard, or if he should just keep watching to see how long Eames plans on standing in the pouring rain, staring up at him from under that hideous chartreuse umbrella. Arthur can just imagine the handle of the umbrella being in the shape of a ducks head. He couldn't help, but smile at the thought, because despite the fact that Eames is an extremely self-centered shit, even now Arthur can't help but find him enduring. Fuck.
Arthur takes another sip of his water, but his eyes never leave the scene below. He can see Eames taking a long drag off of his cigarette, and Arthur wishes the streetlight would just be a little brighter so that he can really see the expression on the forger's face.
At this point Arthur feels like his curiosity is about to over take his pride, because the wind is picking up and Eames isn't moving. Why the hell isn't he moving?
Arthur takes another drink. He can't figure it out because Eames doesn't do things like this. Eames is not the type of person to stand outside a person's apartment, in the middle of a rain storm. He is suppose to in Mombasa, gambling, drinking, and flirting with anything that moves.
But he is not, and Arthur doesn't think that he can go the rest of his life without knowing why.
So he sets the empty glass down on the kitchen counter and walks towards the closet by the front door. He takes out his rather expensive dark gray coat; it doesn't exactly match his Arcade Fire shirt and dark blue, flannel pajama pants, but it works for the moment.
He has to search around for a minute to find the pair of black running shoes that he never wears. He doesn't bother with the shoe laces.
He doesn't forget to take his keys on the way out.
But he does forget to take an umbrella.
–
Sunday,2:41 A.M.
He steps outside.
The rain wastes no time in covering the defenseless Arthur. Forgetting to bring an umbrella with him will not be on the list of " The Smartest Things Arthur Has Ever Done"
It's too late to go back up for one now.
Right away he sees that Eames is still leaning against the pole of the streetlight, still smoking his cigarette.
"It sure took you long enough darling." Eames says half jokingly when he sees Arthur, though there is no sign of humor on his face. Arthur walks slowly towards him, trying to avoid stepping in any large puddles, but still trying to look normal while doing so. Eames never takes his eyes off of him. Arthur never takes his eyes off Eames. It is not too far of a walk from the entrance of Arthur's apartment to where Eames was standing, but by the time he reaches him, he is already sopping wet. Eames extends the umbrella out a little as an invitation for him to get under, but Arthur doesn't dare move. Instead he just stands there-staring into Eames eyes- looking for something that will give him a clue into what is going on in that brain. Eames sighs, and chucks the butt of the cigarette he has been smoking into the gutter. "Come on Arthur, your going make yourself ill."
Arthur doesn't move, hell he can barely breathe. Deep affection and pain are fighting for dominance over Arthur's emotions and he doesn't think he can feel the rain on his skin anymore, it is so damn cold! What he can feel though, is his body trembling violently as mixed result of the weather and his nerves. Fantastic Arthur thinks to himself.
Eames moves instead, slight caution in every tiny step, eyes still locked on Arthur's until the tips of their shoes are touching lightly. Eames maneuvers the umbrella so that it is covering both of them, but more so Arthur. It is not a large umbrella, and there is barely enough room, which makes Arthur very uncomfortable. Also the fact that their eyes haven't left each other since Arthur had came out of the Apartment complex, was a very unnerving thought.
Everything around them is quiet. An occasional car passes by even now and then. Other than that there is nothing but the sound of the rain falling and the wind rustling.
Eames looks like he is about to say something, but Arthur knows it's time to put himself out there, so that he could see what this man, who has left such a void in his world for weeks, could possible have to offer him now.
"You left." his voice is so shaky, that he hardly recognizes it. "You packed up your stuff-you couldn't even bring yourself to look me in the eye when you walked out the door-but now your here and you can't look away. I don't understand."
Eames eyes look like they are about tear away from his gaze the moment he stops speaking, and Arthur thinks that it just might break him if he did.
This doesn't happen though.
Instead, Eames slowly extends his right hand up towards Arthur cheek. With extreme caution in his every movement, Eames lightly trails his thumb down the left side of his jaw, in the space between his ear and the tip of his chin. Arthur shivers at the feeling of cold, rough skin moving up and down his face, but the touch is so gentle that he can't bring himself to shake it off.
"I was in Mombasa for less than an hour, before I realized what a miserable prick I was being" Eames word choice at such a moment, makes Arthur want to laugh, but the miserable, almost pathetic look on the older man's face stops him. " I took two shots of whiskey, then took the next plane back-."
Wait. What the fuck?
He didn't even listen to the rest of what Eames is saying. The anger Arthur had been suppressing the whole time is finally rearing it's ugly head, and he jerks his head away from Eames touch, almost as if it is starting to burn his skin.
"You've been in L. A. this whole time,almost a month, and you just now got around to showing your face here? At two in the morning-in the fucking rain?" he all but shouts. Arthur is trying to keep his voice down, but after all he has been through in the past few weeks, he thinks he has earned the right to make his pain known ."Do you have any idea what you've done to me?"
Eames' eyes go wide.
"Arthur, I've be-"
"Shut up." Arthur snaps and starts to back out of the hideous umbrella. He can feel the rain descending on him again, Showering him in humiliation. "I don't even want to hear your bullshit. That's all this is anyway:Bullshit!"
"Arthur please, listen to me for one God damn-"
He is on his feet now, walking as fast as he can away. He can here Eames call his name out, but that only makes Arthur quicken his pace.
But Arthur has forgotten one very important thing: His shoelaces are still untied. And that is how-in the blink of an eye-Arthur finds himself, face down on the wet cement, the rain beating down on him unmercifully. There is a slight pain in his left knee where it had collided with the ground, but Arthur can't bring himself to move. At this point, he might as well die here, he is so embarrassed.
A few painful seconds pass before He feels strong hands grip his shoulder, and turn him around so that he is on his back. He can see the dark sky and the raindrops falling from it. He can see Eames hovering over him, practically lying on top of him.
The man has no concept of person space Arthur thinks to himself.
"Arthur, are you alright?" Eames says and without waiting for an answer, he beings to check to see are any head injuries. He touches Arthur's forehead softly, and then works his fingers up through his hair. Arthur briefly wonders what happened to the umbrella, because now he can see tiny drops on the tips of Eames eyelashes, on the curve of his nose, and more importantly-on his lips. Those irritatingly gorgeous lips. Eames seems to notice him staring, because he quickly untangles his hands out of Arthur's hair, but he doesn't attempt to move off of him. At this point, the sensible thing for Eames to do is to get off of him and help him up so that Arthur can knock him back down on his ass, but the man is just looking at him fondly with a small, yet cautious smile forming on his lips. "You are not the most graceful creature on the planet, are you darling?"
"Thank you for that, Mr. Eames." Arthur reply's dryly. "Now will you please let me up, so that I can get as far away from you as I possibly can."
Eames chuckles, he leans forward so that his lips are dangerously close to Arthur's
"No."
"Come on Eames, I'm not in even in mood for this." Arthur pleads, with irritation and exhaustion laced in his words. This has to stop. "I can't have you coming into my life, only to leave because you can't handle change, or whatever it is that scares you away. Even if the thought of you not being around hurts, watching you leave hurts a lot worse."
The smile leaves Eames face, but he still shows no sign of moving.
"Alright then."
Arthur blinks in confusion. "Alright, what?"
"I'll stay," Eames replys, like it's the easiest thing in the entire world. "I'll stay, and you won't hurt anymore, and I won't have to stand outside your apartment in the wee hours of the night, trying to pluck up the courage to come up to your apartment, and knock on your door."
Now Arthur is really confused, because even though he is still furious at the man, he really wants to close the gap in between their lips.
"Are you trying to tell me, that standing outside my apartment in the middle night has become a regular thing for you?" Arthur says trying to comprehend what Eames is saying.
Eames bites his bottom lip slightly, and nods.
Arthur hears a car pass by them, tires hitting the water that is flooding the street.
And suddenly he doesn't want to punish Eames, or himself anymore. There has been enough of that already.
Arthur lifts his right hand off of the ground, and brings it around so that it rests on the back of Eames' neck, and with a slight push, their lips finally touch. The kiss is surprisingly slow and sweet, just a simple movement of mouths. Eames' lips are so soft and he can taste the rain on them. After seconds, Eames pulls back slightly, his eyes glassy and filled with uncertainty and for a brief second Arthur is afraid he is going to runaway again.
He slowly stands up, and extends his hand out for Arthur to take.
Relief washes through Arthur, and he takes Eames' hand and allows him to pull him from off of the ground. Not even a second after Arthur is on his feet, he finds himself in Eames arms, being kissed thoroughly. It is messy and desperate, and God does Eames have a talented tongue! It is so good, that the fact they are still both soaked and shivering doesn't phase either of them.
They eventually part for air, but the tight grip Eames has around the younger man's waist doesn't loosen. He holds Arthur so close, like he is something truly precious.
Arthur buries his face in the crook of Eames neck, and slowly nuzzles against the wet skin there.
"We should have done this along time ago." he says softly as he starts to nip at Eames neck.
Eames hums in agreement, as he trails is right hand down Arthur's back, then slightly past the waistband of his flannel pajama pants, to rest on the small of Arthur's back.
Arthur tries to suppress a groan when Eames' hand goes even lower.
"We should get inside darling." Eames says, but continues to let Arthur nibble at his neck, almost desperately now "I don't want my Arthur getting ill."
Arthur chuckles. "Oh, I am yours now?'
"I should like to think so," Eames responds. He takes the hand that isn't trying to feel up Arthur's backside, and uses it to move Arthur's chin gently, so that he is now looking the forger in the eyes again. "wouldn't you?"
Arthur pretends to consider this. "Hm, well I guess that might be nice."
"Might be?" Eames laughs and kisses Arthur on the tip of his nose. "Oh love, I can promise that it will be more than nice."
–
Sunday, 3:03 A.M.
Arthur takes Eames hand and leads him towards the entrance of his apartment complex in an almost hurried fashion. Eames' can laugh at his desperation all he likes, but staring tonight, the forger had a lot of making up to do.
Arthur doesn't know it yet, but when he wakes up in a few hours he will find that it still hasn't stopped raining, and that what's left of his gardenia plant will still be scattered all over the balcony. He will think about the chartreuse umbrella left abandoned on the sidewalk, while it's owner is curled around him, running his fingers through Arthur's hair, faintly humming some song the younger man won't recognize.
It will be the moment where Arthur knows, without a shred of doubt, that he is in love with Eames, though there are still eight more hours before this happens.