A/N:
General:
- Wow! Eight reviews within thirty-six hours. That's pretty epic. I like you all a lot. :D
- Chapter two! You'll hear the story (which isn't about a car crash, per se) in chapter three, which I am writing now. It's breaking my heart to write it, but write it I must. Besides, I've got plenty of HAPPY ArMes stories I can work on. Yay! :D
Warnings:
- Character death.
- A few cliches, probably.
- OOC.
Disclaimer:
- Speaking of things it breaks my heart to write, I do not own Eames, or Arthur, or Dom Cobb. Nor do I own Tom Hardy (but he is on my Christmas list... hint hint! ;D), or Joseph Gordon-Levitt, or Leo DiCaprio, or Chris Nolan, or Inception, or any other related person/thing.
Eventually, whoever is at the door stops knocking, but Arthur knows better than to hope they've given up. The doorknob twists slowly, and he wonders when Cobb became so out of touch that the most obvious thing he could have done is his last resort.
"Damn it, Arthur. Why can't you answer your phone?" Cobb is chastising him in a familiar tone, but the worried edge to the words is something new. The door clicks shut and Cobb's footsteps sound on the wood floor. They echo in the silence that is all too loud. "Or your door, for that matter?"
Arthur cocks his head slightly towards the voice, but he continues to stare at the fireplace and ultimately says nothing. He wavers involuntarily as Cobb sits down beside him on the couch, wiggling the cushions gently. From the corner of his eye, he sees Cobb reach out gingerly, as if to grasp Arthur's shoulder, but the man stops short and brings his hand to his own forehead. It lingers for a moment before Dom runs the hand down his face and sighs. In that sound, Arthur hears the gentle subjacent plea; I have lost one friend today, Arthur, I do not want to lose another. But it changes nothing, not today.
"I didn't pound on your door for two whole minutes just to watch you stare down a fireplace grate, Arthur."
Arthur looks at him now, but only briefly. Before he can think too much about just how intently Cobb is studying him, searching for some kind of mirror image, he is certain, Arthur turns away again. His small gesture is apparently enough for Cobb, who visibly relaxes into the sofa after realizing that Arthur is not actually catatonic, that he can rule his personal reconnaissance mission a success. Still, Cobb continues to speak, though his words lack a certain anxiety. He never could stomach an empty silence.
"Ariadne wants me to call her as soon I leave. I guess I can tell her that you're all right. Well, as close to all right as you could be right now. She really is worried about you, Arthur. So is Yusuf. Hell, even Saito called me this afternoon. I guess the news traveled quickly. Always does in these situations…. You know, Arthur, they're hailing… him… as a hero."
At this, something in Arthur snaps. Before he himself knows what is happening, he is on his feet. Dizziness hits him in a wave and knocks him gracelessly back to the couch. He feels the need to vomit again, but he ignores it, though it does keep him from a second attempt at standing. He ignores everything but the rage that is brewing down below, because if he loses focus, the volcano is going to erupt, and Arthur does not know that it will ever stop.
"Arthur? Arthur. What's wrong?"
Arthur does not answer, will not answer. Not because it is a stupid question, though he knows Cobb does not mean it as such. Nor is it because it would take him a lifetime to tell Cobb all the things that are wrong today, and it is definitely not because one wrong thing eclipses all others and Cobb already knows what it is. Arthur leans forward to sink his forehead into his own waiting hands, elbows on knees and eyes to the floor. Cobb does not ask again, but he is on high alert once more. It is obvious that he is struggling to maintain the minute distance between himself and his point man, and it is likely he is only doing so because he knows that is what Arthur thinks he needs. Some small part of Arthur, a very young and very scared part, wishes that Cobb would say the hell with what Arthur wants and just embrace him. There is a part of Arthur that needs someone to lie to him and tell him that it will soon be all right. But, Arthur keeps that part locked away because the part that controls him does not want to be touched ever again. Not unless it's by hands that should feel so much more rough than they actually do, hands that know every line of his body better than he knows them himself, hands that-
"Please leave, Dom," he whispers to the floor. This is the first thing Arthur has said in hours. The words feel harsh and uncomfortable in his dry throat, and he realizes that he much prefers silence. Speaking is just one more thing that feels wrong today.
"Arthur-" the man begins.
"Please," Arthur begs, and it sounds so much weaker to his own ears than he would care to admit. Cobb sighs heavily again, but after a moment's consideration on his part, the cushions spring back to their original form. Arthur can hear the snapping in Cobb's back as he stands and wonders when they all began to get so old that they creak as they move, like wooden stairs in a rundown home.
Cobb says nothing as he first begins to move towards the door, but Arthur senses him lingering just as he is about to step into the hallway.
"You can be saved from limbo, Arthur, if you're dreaming…. But it isn't so easy to resurface if you hit rock bottom while you're awake."
Before the words have completely sank in, the door is closing behind Cobb, and Arthur is alone again. He is not sure if that is as comforting as he imagined, but he makes no moves to retrieve his friend. Instead, he sits on the couch, just as he did before; unmoving, unfeeling, but not unthinking. No, that will never be possible, no matter how hard he tries.
No matter how hard he tries, Arthur will never be able to stop replaying this day in his head. He will remember waking up to the smell of slightly over-brewed coffee and perfectly fried eggs, and from now on, his heart will break a little more every time he encounters either scent. He will remember kissing a stubbly Eames good morning and laughing at the man's apron, at how at-home the seemingly undomesticable man seemed in their kitchen. Arthur will remember telling Eames goodbye, but his brain will likely skip like a scratched CD over the next few hours. Then, it will come to a screeching halt, as will his heart, when he remembers how shrilly the phone rang and how desolate the voice on the other end sounded. He will remember the pressure of the pit in his stomach when that same voice promised bad news, and the way-
Arthur stops himself here. He puts every shred of effort possible into not continuing with his current train of thought. When it does not seem to be working, when the words 'bus' and 'fire' begin to seep in, he stands slowly and starts to pace. When the words 'internal bleeding' and 'trauma' find their way into his thoughts, Arthur makes his way to the kitchen. He lingers not, and he keeps his eyes to the floor as best he can. Finally, he reaches the cabinet closest to the refrigerator. He swings it open and plunges his hand in, searching for some liquid relief, something so out of his character that he hopes it's a therefore infallible solution. Once back in the living room, he realizes that he has forgotten to grab a glass. He doubts he will mind swigging straight from the bottle once he gets started.
A/N:
- Thanks a TON for all the reviews of the first chapter. Please keep them coming! :D
- If you reviewed already, I will be replying to you. It just takes a while, as I am internetless. :'(