Fandom: Inception | Pairing: Eames/Arthur
Disclaimer: nada me pertenece
Words: 659 | Rating: K+
Spoilers: none
Note: english is not my native language, sorry. ^^
Arthur hates flashbacks. Not that kind of useless hatred, childish, not one that can be mistaken for a whim or an irrational desire of going against nature. Arthur hates them, and although it sounds so arrogant as to get a look of disapproval in response, he knows he is smart enough to understand the reason for his visceral sentiment.
— Not all flashbacks are the same - he had said, and didn't even remember to whom.
But Arthur knows he's right. They're a burden. Memories you don't want to keep, hidden somewhere in your mind, waiting to hear the keyword that will unlock them, making them appear before your eyes as if it were a fucking movie. And a very odd one, because Arthur's flashbacks never bring good ones.
They're intense, well, sometimes, but they usually never leave him with the need to keep them in mind for long enough than a split second.
And Arthur knows he is putting one of those expressions that he hates to see in glass walls when he's talking to someone who says this right word to fuck the quiet conversation they are having and transform his face into a grimace mixture of melancholy and disgust.
Because Arthur is not a close friend of his awkward memories.
And Cobb has chosen the perfect words to fill his mind with images that are more blurry than clear, images that are a lot more plagued by feelings he doesn't want to stop and understand than objections or concerns or words with double meanings that never mean what you think they mean.
— I gotta go see Eames.
Damn Cobb a million times.
Arthur knows that he is putting that face. Eames brings back memories, and he wishes he hadn't had to hide them so deeply that the shock of suddenly recalling them for a moment wouldn't had to cloud his good judgment.
— Eames? - saying his name isn't helping at all -. He's in Mombasa. It's Cobol's backyard.
Yes, Eames is in Mombasa. Or so said the last text message he received from an unknown number from a prepaid mobile phone. Untraceable. Always untraceable.
— A necessary risk - Arthur just gulps at the thought of Eames and risk in the same bag.
But knowing the location really doesn't change the fact that they haven't seen each other since that time. Osaka. Exactly one year, seven months and fourteen days ago. Or so. Really, now's not the time to be thinking about that damn temporal we were having in Japan those days. Almost a week of rain nonstop, locked in the hotel rooms, working with this new thief —since the one his extractor had hired disappeared under a-lot-more-than-weird circumstances—, capable of doing his work and arguing every decision at the same time, the grin never leaving his face, that british accent always remarkable, his hands never shaking, his sight somehow fierce as a wild —and perfectly composed— animal.
Not that he was stunned. Not that he was blind, either.
And the work had finished well enough for Eames to leave a more than good impression as a thief.
But Cobb needing him is just out of the question. This is an important job. Arthur knows it and Arthur loves doing his job well enough to keep being the best at it. Eames around is a bad idea. Much as it had been to skip the tea and go straight to the last bottle of god-damned good whiskey left in the hotel bar.
— There's plenty of good thieves.
And Arthur knows there are, but none had ever stolen months of his life, constantly sneaking in his mind and playing at being an important piece.
— We don't just need a thief. We need a forger.
And Arthur knows for good.
Eames is just the best at it. And, yes, just for the record, he's not sure if he's even talking about the dreamwork part.