Pairing: Arthur/Eames.
Warnings: Just a whole lot of angst. I'm not even kidding – you've been warned. I suppose mild gore as well because of the references to blood.
Disclaimer: I'm sure as hell not Christopher Nolan, which is obvious because the kiss would have been between Arthur and Eames, and not Arthur and Ariadne. I'm making no profit out of this either.
Rating: T for language, mainly.
Summary: A severe accident leaves Eames in a wheelchair, but Arthur is there to pick up the pieces. At least for a while. When Arthur ignores him, what can Eames do to win him back when he sees himself as nothing but a burden?
A/N: I feel so bad for what I did to Eames in this fic. I genuinely cried when I wrote this; it really exhausted me emotionally. I recommend tissues for this one, guys, because it's going to be a rollercoaster ride full of angst.
Kill the Lights
There's a blinding light...
You snap your eyes open. It was just a dream, but your heart is still pounding. It felt so real, so you check that the moisture on your forehead is sweat instead of blood. Your body is as unblemished as it was before you went to bed, but you need to find your totem – just in case. It's not on the bedside table where you left it. You start to panic now. You can't see it anywhere.
"Arthur!" You call out. There's no reply. You eye up the wheelchair, but that's too much effort.
Arthur doesn't answer the other four times you call out to him either.
There's a blinding light and a scream...
The accident is putting a strain on your relationship. That much is obvious. It hasn't always been this way, but the past few weeks have been brutal. You don't even remember the accident. All you remember is a bright light. The rest is a complete blur. You could ask Arthur what happened, but you're not sure you want to know. The only thing that even shows the accident actually happened is the reduced feeling in your legs. The doctor says it'll be a miracle if you ever walk again. You had argued and tried to stand, but obviously you had fallen to the floor. Arthur was there to pick you back up again, in every sense of the word.
It had been a struggle to get to this point: acceptance. The first few weeks after the accident were awful. Self-pitying would be the best way to describe it. You remained in bed for the first week, even when Arthur was pleading with you to get out of bed.
"Eames, the doctor said you need to keep your body active!" Arthur had exclaimed. It wasn't that you wanted to stay in bed – you just couldn't leave. You didn't have the energy or motivation, and the idea of having to use that god-awful wheelchair just depressed you further.
Nothing felt okay. You asked God – or whoever was up there – over and over again why it had to be this way. You got into your head that you were a burden to Arthur, who had not left your side since the accident. He deserved more. He deserved better. The idea of suicide entered your head shortly after the first week. It made perfect sense – Arthur wouldn't have you burdening him anymore, and he could get on with his life. Your life wasn't important anyway, especially now you couldn't actually do anything. No one would hire a forger in a wheelchair. You felt completely useless.
That was all in the past, though. Arthur had helped you see reason, and he helped you pick up the pieces. He had remained strong for the both of you, holding you as you cried and rationalising all the dark thoughts that were buzzing through your head.
"I would not be able to just carry on with my life if you died, Eames. You are my life. No accident will ever change that." That was the closest you'd seen him to having actual tears in his eyes.
Arthur is crying now, though; it's a heart-breaking sight. He is making no sounds at all, but there are tears pouring down his face, and they don't look like they'll be stopping anytime soon. You make your way over to him and ask him what's wrong, but he just turns away and continues to cry silently.
"Talk to me, darling. Tell me what's wrong." You place a hand on his shoulder to comfort him, but he flinches and stands up. Judging by a locking sound, he's barricaded himself in the bathroom.
There's a blinding light and a scream. Everyone is screaming...
Everything's a mess. It's been weeks since Arthur last spoke to you properly – last held a conversation with you. You feel like a stranger in your own apartment, which has acquired a horrifically tense atmosphere. You would leave for a few hours to get some fresh air, if you had the energy to.
Arthur's not eating. For once, you doubt it's because of his inability to cook. You'd offer, but he would either ignore you or refuse. Besides, you can hardly reach the counters anyway. This fucking wheelchair is the fucking bane of your existence. You would tear it to pieces if you had the strength to, but that wouldn't solve anything anyway.
It's times like this that you hate that Arthur keeps all of his problems to himself. If he would just talk to you about what was bothering him, you might be able to resolve it.
You don't know what to do anymore.
There's a blinding light and a scream. Everyone is screaming. Then it all goes quiet...
You wake up to find the wheelchair not at your side. It was there when you went to bed, so Arthur must have moved it. The real question is why? Arthur knows you need it to get around the apartment. You start to wonder if the reason he's moved it is so that you can't get around. It makes sense.
You shake the thought from your head – he isn't like that. You try calling his name, but, as always, he doesn't answer. There are two options: you can wait until he walks by or you could try and find the wheelchair yourself. The second one doesn't sound like it can be done, but you've always been one to blur the line between the possible and the impossible. Very gently, you edge towards the end of the bed. You can still feel your legs – you're not paralysed completely – but it isn't as much as you should. This doesn't faze you, and you continue until your legs are dangling off the edge. The journey from the bed to the floor feels like a mile, but both feet are now resting on the floor. You can actually feel your toes against the soft carpet, which is definitely a positive sign. Clinging onto the bed like a lifeline, you gently rise up...
Oh my god. You're actually standing. A grin breaks out on your face, possibly the first one in weeks, and you fight the urge to run and show Arthur. No, you remind yourself, I have to check this isn't a fluke. You move one step forward. Then another. Back to the first one. You're no longer holding onto the bed, yet you're still standing. This has got to be a miracle. Your legs feel stiff and you cannot shake the feeling that they might collapse at any moment, but you don't care. Arthur needs to see this, and then maybe things will go back to the way they were. He will actually talk to you again because you're not so useless.
It takes a good five minutes to actually reach Arthur because your legs are so weak, but the important thing is that you manage it. Arthur is reading a book as you enter the living room.
"Arthur, Arthur!" You exclaim excitedly.
He doesn't even look up at you.
"Arthur, look. I'm walking!" Even when he still hasn't given you eye contact, you don't give up hope; this issue can be resolved. "I wouldn't have tried without your encouragement, darling. Nice idea to get rid of the wheelchair – I really appreciate it."
Still, Arthur says absolutely nothing. Even a smile would suffice, but his face remains as stoic as ever.
All the anger and sadness you've been feeling spills out, and you grab the book in his hands and throw it at the wall. That got his attention. He stares at the book and then back to you, and there is actual fear in his eyes. Arthur is never afraid. Never. He has done things – both in real life and dreams – that other people would never think of doing, and he did them all without flinching. Fear written across his features is new to both you and him.
...You realise that he's scared of you.
"Arthur, listen, I..."
"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" Arthur screams. His voice is part angry and part terrified.
Your chest aches and the tears are starting to build, but you stumble away anyway. Just as you reach the door, your legs collapse and fall, face first, straight onto the floor.
Arthur doesn't even get up to help you.
There's a blinding light and a scream. Everyone is screaming. Then it all goes quiet. There's blood everywhere.
Every morning, you wake up to find the wheelchair gone. It's as if Arthur's taunting you, and it's becoming harder to rationalise the situation. Instead, you make your way to the living room, which is where it's kept, and you go and get it. Even though you spend most of your time in bed, you like knowing it's right by you. It's a small comfort. Moving the wheelchair back and forth has become almost a routine between the two of you; the only routine you have now.
You find your poker chip, but it's locked away in a cabinet, right next to a picture of you and Arthur from six months ago. The key is nowhere to be found. You consider breaking it, but that would be just another thing Arthur would hate you for. That list is already so big, as well, it seems. You just have to get used to the idea that this is a god-awful reality, but reality all the same.
There's a blinding light and a scream. Everyone is screaming. Then it all goes quiet. There's blood everywhere. Your blood...
You're awake long after Arthur has gone to bed. You're exhausted, but sleep is the last thing on your mind. Everything else is on your mind instead. Mainly Arthur, actually. He is getting worse and worse. This is the first time you've seen him sleep for days. Exhaustion has finally caught up with him, you realise. The grey smudges under his eyes have become a permanent feature, and he's losing weight fast. You feel at a loss as to what to do. He won't listen to you. Hell, he won't even speak to you. He's acting as though you don't exist, and you're not sure how much more of it you can take.
There's a part of you that feels like it's missing, and it's not the feeling in your legs; it's Arthur being intimate. You don't even mean sex – you mean the level of intimacy that goes beyond simple lust. It's the looks that he'd give you and the spontaneous, gentle kisses that you know weren't really spontaneous because he'd been planning to kiss you for at least ten minutes. It's the rare moments where Arthur would bring his barriers down and let you see how he was truly feeling, and you would see nothing but pure love in his eyes. You hadn't seen him look at you like that for what felt like a very long time.
You sigh and look over at him. His back is to you, but you can tell he's fast asleep. Even asleep, he doesn't look truly relaxed right now – his back is tensed up, and he appears restless. You lean forward and gently kiss him on the back of the neck, just like you've always done when he's stressed. His body visibly relaxes, which brings a smile to your face.
"Eames..." Arthur whispers.
"Yes, darling?"
"I love you."
You feel a lump in your throat form; "I-I love you too, Arthur. More than anything."
"I know you do. I miss you..."
"I miss you too, love. We'll get through this, I promise."
He mutters something that you can't hear, but it doesn't matter. You feel happier than you have done in weeks and, with the new hope that everything will work out eventually between you and Arthur, you fall fast asleep with your arms around his waist.
There's a blinding light and a scream. Everyone is screaming. Then it all goes quiet. There's blood everywhere. Your blood. Too much blood...
Arthur starts spending more and more time out of the house. Some days, you only see him in the evenings, but he's so quiet he might as well not be there at all.
"How was your day?" you ask, the first time he came back home.
"My day was..." but then he stops. He had almost gone back to the old routine of whenever either of you left the house, the other would always ask how the other's day had been. Just another thing that feels dead between you.
He always seems upset when he returns home. It's obvious he's been either crying or trying not to cry. Once or twice, he comes back with a bouquet of flowers. They're plain, normally white, and incredibly beautiful. Every time he throws them in the bin with disgust, though. You're starting to wonder if he's having an affair. Who else would buy him flowers, after all? That doesn't explain his reaction to them, unless the lover is getting more serious than Arthur can handle.
The idea of him being with someone else shatters what's left of your heart into a million pieces. There's only one thing that's keeping you here: what Arthur said to you in his sleep. Even that is getting harder and harder to hold onto for. You wonder if Arthur loves you at all.
There's a blinding light and a scream. Everyone is screaming. Then it all goes quiet. There's blood everywhere. Your blood. Too much blood. Arthur is crying...
When spoken words fail, written words always succeed. Arthur understands written words better than anything else. He's always reading something, be it a newspaper or information on a job. If he could spend his life writing down what he had to say to people on paper rather than face to face, you can imagine he'd be far, far more open. This is why you've decided to leave him a little letter. It takes you a good hour to write just a few lines, but you want it to be perfect:
Arthur i love you, you know that. i would tell you everyday if i thought you wouldn't get bored of hearing it. You're so distant with me lately and i don't know why. Tell me what to do darling. Please.
Always yours,
Eames.
You leave it on his desk, knowing it won't take long for him to find it. You have a response by the end of the day:
Eames, are you doing this to hurt me? I love you, but you can't do this to me. It's not fair.
You take some comfort in the familiarity of his handwriting, but that is all. Clutching onto the letter like it's the most important thing in the world, you crawl under the covers of your bed and stay there for the next few days.
You don't try and write again.
There's a blinding light and a scream. Everyone is screaming. Then it all goes quiet. There's blood everywhere. Your blood. Too much blood. Arthur is crying. He can't hear you...
You can hear voices coming from the kitchen. One of them belongs to Arthur, but you're not entirely sure of the other – definitely male, though. Your heart clenches. Surely, Arthur wouldn't bring his secret lover to the apartment? Even you would have to walk – or stumble – away from the relationship after that. For once, the wheelchair is right next to the bed.
It's like he wants me to find them at it. You practically jump into the wheelchair and head to the kitchen as quickly as possible.
"Arthur, this is getting ridiculous." You'd recognise that voice anyway; it's Cobb's. You're relieved that it's not 'another man', but a part of you wants an excuse to let go – to end this. You're tired and you want to sleep; you're just not sure if you want to wake up. Without making a sound, you listen to the rest of the conversation;
"Cobb, I am not going mad." From the tone of his voice, Arthur is trying to keep calm.
"Arthur, listen to me. As your closest friend, I am telling you to let go of him. Move away, start life afresh. This is destroying you."
"I can't!" Arthur is shouting now. "Will Eames even let me? I don't want to go. It's...it's not fair..."
You've had enough of this. You burst into the kitchen. "Arthur, it's nice to see you can tell someone else our problems but not me!" You're yelling, but you're hurt more than angry. Both Cobb and Arthur look shocked.
"Jesus Christ, Arthur – you were right!" Cobb yells. "Eames, leave Arthur alone! He doesn't want this. He needs catharsis."
You stare at Arthur, who is saying nothing. The silence hurts more than if he had screamed "I hate you" at you over and over again. It's the final straw. Once Cobb is gone, you're going to have it out with Arthur. He is going to tell you what's wrong, whether he wants to or not. You've had enough of this bullshit.
When Cobb leaves, though, Arthur does shortly after. You have no idea when he'll be back, and you wish you didn't care.
When Arthur returns, something doesn't feel right. He looks the same – just as overly thin and pale as always – but something is different about him. You just can't figure out what. For a second, you consider not having this conversation now, but, no, it needs to be now. No more putting it off.
He's in the living room, sitting in his favourite chair.
"Eames, are you there?" Arthur says.
It's the first thing he's said to you that wasn't him screaming in weeks. It knocks you back a bit.
"I'm here, darling," you answer. The pet name is just a habit now – it doesn't feel like it means the same anymore.
"I-I guess you are," he mutters. "Eames, I-I...I feel crazy right now...Eames, I can't do this anymore. I thought I could, but I can't. It hurts too much, oh god, it hurts." He's crying now. Fuck your decision to shout at him, you head over there and place an arm on his shoulder. He flinches, but doesn't move away.
"Nothing makes sense in my head anymore. I'm half a whole without you, and I can't do this."
"You don't have to, darling – we can work through this," you reassure. "We've gone through hell and back together, haven't we? Just...just give me a chance."
"I can't, Eames. I can't. W-why did you have to leave me?"
You're about to answer – say that you've not left because you're right here – when he suddenly pulls a gun out of his pocket. Your eyes widen and you move back a bit.
"Darling, w-what are you doing?" you force out.
He's not aiming it at you, though. Oh, no. He's aiming it at his own temple.
"This is the only solution." The old Arthur is back – the one that's determined and will do anything to get the job done. This does not ease your anxiety in the slightest.
"There is another way, Arthur. Please. I can't lose you." You're begging now, and you're moving towards him slowly.
"It's funny, I've done this so many times in dreams that I've lost count, but now that it's all very real, it's a lot harder." He laughs nervously. "This is the only way we'll be together, so it has to be done."
"Arthur, what are you talking about? I'm here!"
He's ignoring you, staring intently at the deadly weapon in his hand. His body is shaking.
"Eames, why did you have to die?"
The world suddenly seems to stop. Your body is trembling at his words. He's lying, he has to be. You're right here – you've been here all along. It doesn't make any sense.
"I'm not dead, darling. I'm right here, I..."
"I'll see you on the other side."
It all happens so quickly. A gunshot rings through the air, and Arthur is leaning against the sofa. You feel the darkness consume you as you fall...
"I can't do this, Arthur!" There are tears in your eyes as you yell.
Arthur is right in front of you; "You have to, Eames. It won't be too long, I promise...you can still work in the meantime – you'll be able to walk in the dream..."
"And then let you watch me fall apart every time I return from the dream world and I can't fucking walk? I don't think so."
"What are you going to do then?"Arthur is shouting now too.
"I will not burden you with this, Arthur – I love you too much." Before he has the chance to reply, you head towards the front door.
The journey to the entrance of the apartment block is a blur. You know Arthur is shouting at you, but all you can hear is your own heart pounding. There is a main road right next to the apartment.
This is for you, Arthur. Live your own life.
You're at the edge of the road now. The sound of the traffic sounds miles away, yet there are cars just a foot away.
"EAMES!" Arthur yells. He sounds so desperate – so vulnerable – and you hear the volume suddenly turning up, like you've been taken out of a trance.
You turn around to face him, but your hand slips and you knock off the brakes, and you roll towards the traffic.
Time slows as you feel yourself falling. There's a blinding light and a scream. Everyone is screaming. Then it all goes quiet. There's blood everywhere. Your blood. Too much blood. Arthur is crying. He can't hear you. No one can...
You come back to reality. There is no blood on the walls, which means...which means he hasn't shot himself. You sigh in relief. He doesn't deserve the same fate as you. You remember it all now – you remember how you died. The missing piece of the puzzle has been found, and it all clicks into place. Arthur wasn't ignoring you – he couldn't see you. You've been haunting him for weeks, and he can feel your presence. Guilt builds up inside you; you've caused him even more hurt by staying around.
"I can't do it, for fuck sake!" Arthur yells and throws the gun at the wall. He's back to sobbing, which brings tears to your own eyes. He's hurting so much, and it's all your fault. But you can put this right. You grab a piece of paper and start writing furiously. Once you're done, you place it in his trembling hands.
"Eames..." he murmurs. "Dear Arthur, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I hadn't meant to die, but it happened and I've hurt you more than I can bear. I had forgotten that I'd died until you mentioned it, so I honestly thought you were ignoring me – that you didn't love me anymore. I realise now that I was wrong.
I love you so much, my darling, but I have to move on. I'll be waiting for you, but don't you dare come up to me before it's your time. Live for both of us. Yours forever, Eames."
By the end, it's almost impossible to tell what he's saying; it's all spluttering and choked back sobs.
"D-don't leave me, Eames," Arthur cries.
Your heart aches, but you know you have to. "You know I can't do that, pet."
He nods, almost like he heard you.
"I'll see you again, Eames. I will never love anyone like I love you, and I just wish I'd told you that more often."
You see a bright light to the left of Arthur; one you're sure wasn't there before. You know what that means – it's time to go.
You leave him one last note before you step into the light.
I didn't need to hear it every day to know you loved me, darling. You showed me in other ways. I'll see you around.
A/N: There we have it. I did warn you that it was a depressing one. I'd like to think that this story hasn't triggered any painful memories for anyone, but if it has then I can only apologise.
Any constructive criticism is welcome, and reviews are lovely too.