So, my first Inception story. Here's hoping that it turns out alright. I apologize in advance for the brevity of this first chapter. They do get longer.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
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Arthur peered around the corner, unsure of how to deal with what awaited him. It was big, gruesome, and hard to kill. He wasn't armed; he had not foreseen this happenstance. This was a showdown and he was defenseless. Logic told him that this was his dream, he was in control. But the pit of his stomach screwed up. He felt himself begin to wretch. Then, blood tried to jettison through the fingers that desperately covered his mouth. He didn't want to be heard. This wouldn't be the day he died in his dreams. He would not lose to this monster inside of him.
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In their flat, Eames and Arthur sat on the couch watching a bit of evening telly. They had been married for over half a year and as they flipped through the channels, Eames watched Arthur's hand on the changer, admiring the ring. Eames thought about how happy he'd been since Arthur had agreed to move to England and be his husband. Arthur was a straight-laced stick in the mud, but Eames found him entirely irresistible. He never saw himself as gay, no. He loved women. It was just Arthur. If anything, he was Arthursexual.
"There's nothing good on t.v." Arthur huffed, looking to Eames for any positive feedback to this observation. Yet, all he got was that look. The same look Eames always got when he was thinking too much about how pleased he was. Arthur sighed with a smile.
" Nothing on telly, mhm? Well, I suppose we'll just have to entertain ourselves otherwise."
"Must you always be so base and sexually charged when you talk?" he asked of Eames, who seemed far too enthrall with the notion of Arthur undressed to care. Arthur shook his head in good humor, but went back to the television. He stared hard at the crawler on the bottom of the screen, watching it tick by with news that could not distract him. He had been feeling ill all day, unsure if he should have made something lighter for dinner or not. The nausea was overwhelming him now.
"- 'right, darling?"
"What?" he asked, his breath a touch short. Eames playful smile crept back into his natural pout gently when he realized that Arthur looked to be doing poorly.
"Are you alright, darling? You're looking a bit off colour." Arthur nodded, an undignified burp rising out of his throat lazily. It left a sour taste on his tongue, making the woozy feeling even worse. Eames place a hand on the small of his husband's back, trying to keep him grounded. He turned the t.v. down with the opposite hand and focused all of his attentions to Arthur.
"I think- I think I might need to throw up." Said the point man at last, moving to his feet quicker than a rabbit in the buck-shot splattered snow. He wretched and emptied his stomach over the toilet, clutching the side vigorously. Eames held back a stubborn strand of hair that did not want to stay quaffed and turned his head for the duration of the sickly episode. Once he had assured himself that his stomach was completely void all the chicken marsala he had made, Arthur leaned back on the wall and stared up a the ceiling.
"Uuunh" he moaned, noting that he sounded quite undignified. Eames pluck a bit of toilet paper from the roll and offered it to Arthur, who took it and pressed it to his mouth.
"Feel better, darling?"
"Yeah," he lied, a hand to his stomach. He hadn't felt this sick in quite some time and he wondered what kind of bug he'd caught to make him vomit. Arthur tried to avoid the activity as much as humanly possible. Eames, ever the doting husband, pressed a hand to Arthur's cheek.
"Get to bed, hmm? I'll clean up a bit then meet you there." He did as he was told, got into bed and shut his eyes.
Forty-five minutes later, Eames was lying next to him.
10 after that, Eames was snoring lightly.
Every 25 minutes after that, Arthur would get up, lean over the toilet, wretch a little, then go back to bed. By 5 a.m., He'd given up returning to the security of his bed and took to sleeping propped up against the wall in the bathroom. No point, he thought, in getting up and down anymore. It was almost morning and he'd had enough.
When Eames got up at 7:30 to take an early shower, he found his husband lying on the floor asleep looking pale. After the initial shock, he gathered him up in his arms and lay him down in bed.
He'd been hired to do a job that day, but Eames couldn't leave his husband's side. Instead, he did what he could do while Arthur slept. He cleaned house, washed the laundry and made a light lunch. That morphed into a light dinner when Arthur graced the living room around 4 p.m.
"Darling." Eames moved to his side, an arm snaking around his waist to support him. His hair was unkempt from sleep, his eyes half-lidded.
"Eames, I'm-"
"Don't say a word, darling. Sit down on the couch, I'll make some tea."
After tea was stomached, and dinner picked at, it started up again. And Arthur repeated the previous night's cycle.
The next day, Eames forced his husband into the car and down to the hospital. The only words upon arrival, the only words that the nurses heard and upon seeing Arthur's face understood, were:
"Fix him. Now."
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More to come
~Arsenic
