By the time Ariadne has finished everything, the sun had long since risen and she had called out sick to work.
The man was given twelve stitches between puncture and leg and eyebrow. He had his nose set and taped, along with two broken ribs, not to mention the four bruised ribs and two finger splints on his left hand (middle and forefinger). Ariadne had given him two low doses of morphine over the night to keep him sedated.
After pulling off her gloves, she went into the second spare room and promptly fell asleep.
She had said very little, Eames guessed because she was so focused. And too be fair he hadn't said much either.
Eames cleaned up, and half an hour later, he checked on Ariadne before returning to the patient. Eames checked the apartment again, locking the door and double checking the windows.
It was nearly noon when he found himself sitting at the bed side of his mysterious guest now clad in his boxers and socks. Eames had binned most of the ruined suit, after saving what he found in the pockets: a cellphone, wallet, and keys. The jacket, mostly intact, though it was stained and had a hole from the knife wound.
He glanced at the wallet. It hadn't seemed important before, but curiosity was suddenly creeping up his spine. Taking it, Eames opened it and a blue post it dropped out. He picked it up, and looked it over. In loopy fancy handwriting said:
Dinner on Friday.
Bring wine, love. 7pm.
Eames flipped it over and on the back in scratchy handwriting was:
January 12th 0228
It seemed to be important, so Eames set it aside before looking back at the wallet. His attention drawn to the NY driver's license, with a picture of a handsome man name Arthur Rayne. Eames compared the picture to the man on the bed, and adjusting for the swollen of his features, he concluded that this was Arthur.
Eames mused how he looked like a bit of a prude in his picture, and wondered how a presumably nice man got this beat up. Frowning in thought, Eames opened the money section and found two hundred dollars and twenty-eight dollars. This wasn't a robbery then.
Looking over at the sleeping Arthur, Eames muttered, "what kind of trouble did you get in Arthur Rayne?"
There was no reply as Arthur slept on.
It was barely three in the afternoon when a soft creak in the floor boards, woke Eames. He sat up in his chair, hand going to his gun at his back.
"Eames, it's me," Ariadne said, coming in with two cups of coffee.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I came to see if the patient had woken, and bring you some coffee," she stated.
"Arthur, his name is Arthur," Eames said, accepting the cup of coffee.
"Arthur," she repeated, taking a sip from her cup.
"Thanks," he said, and blew on the hot contents before taking a sip.
Ariadne just nodded, setting down her own coffee as she checked Arthur over.
After working her way from his nose to the stitches on his leg.
"Well, he seems to be mending okay," she took her coffee up again.
Eames nodded.
"What do you think you'll do with him once he wakes?" Ariadne asks.
Shrugging, he tries to not look at
Ariadne's eyes widened and made a "huh" noise into her coffee.
"What?"
"Hmm? Oh, I just have never known you to not have a plan before," she says idly.
"It's not like I planned a bloke showing up at my door at four am," he countered.
"True," she agreed, but there was something in the way she was looking at him, as if she knew something he didn't.
"You leaving?" he asked, subtly
She sighed. "Yes, yes I am. He should be okay. I left some pain meds in the kitchen along with some antibiotics. Make sure he know to eat with them," she finished her coffee, as she grabbed her coat and bad.
"Oh," she turned, "try and feed him something besides take-out, okay? You should try it too."
"Cheeky," he said, narrowing his eyes. She grinned, and Eames stood, following her out.
Ariadne deposited her mug in the sink and pointed to the orange and clear bottles with pills in them.
"Orange for pain, clear for the antibiotics. Two antibiotics each day, then one of the pain meds every six to eight hours as he needs them. Stick with soup for at least today and tomorrow. If he has any kind of pain or abnormal sensations call me, I'll come back." She waited until he nodded before she headed for the door.
"I will swing back by in three days," she paused then added, "if he's still here, of course."
Eames made a noise of agreement before handing her an envelope with money in it. She frowned, but took it.
"I'll restock on supplies before I come back. I'm low on somethings."
Eames nodded, shifting from foot to foot. He disliked this part, when Ariadne left.
She seemed to notice his dislike of this and quickly pecked him on the cheek.
"Try to not over think things," she said, and patted his side as as she walked around him and into the entrance way.
"Soup, but not too much. I'll see you in three days."
"Lock up on your way out, yeah?" he asked back, after he heard her unlock the front door.
"Of course," she said, and then she was gone. He listened for the click swish of the door locking and released his grip on his gun when it passed.
Sipping his coffee, Eames finally asked himself the question he really needed to ask himself, 'What was he going to do with Arthur?'
Eames moved the meds into the bedroom and busied himself with scrubbing down the house of all the spare drops of blood. He wasn't sure when he'd get the answers to all the questions he had bouncing around in his head.
Six hours passed, before Eames got relief from the constant flow of questions in his mind.
It was his eighth time checking on Arthur, when the man suddenly shifted and began to wake up. He managed to blink, the swelling in his eye had gone down enough for this to be possible. He looked at Eames and frowned.
"'ospital?" Arthur asked, his body tense as he started to sit up. Eames sat down, resting his hand on the un-bruised shoulder.
"No," Eames said.
"Work for Fischer?" it's a tense question, he can see Arthur curling his hand into a fist. It reminded Eames of a kitten extending its claws.
"No, darling," Eames said, cursing himself for the endearment. It had slipped.
"Who are you?" Well that was a loaded question.
'A Good Samaritan?' Eames almost laughed at that thought.
"You showed up at my flat last night?" Eames picked up a flannel from the nightstand and wiped at Arthur's brow. "Do you remember?"
Arthur hesitated, "I was running. I tried to get in. Had to pick the lock."
Explained how he got into the building, Eames was the only resident, as he liked to keep the place looking abandoned to avoid attention. He kept it locked up at all times. Ariadne had the only other key.
"Appreciate that you didn't break any glass."
"Dead give away," Arthur said, then groaned as he tried to sit up.
"Hey, lie still you were stabbed," Eames did not like that sound coming from his lips.
"Gotta get out of here. They are going to be coming for me," Arthur pushed off Eames' hands.
"Arthur, please," Eames said, then instantly cursed himself. If this guy wanted to go, he should just let him go.
"How did uh," he wrapped his arm around his middle, "How did you know my name?" he sounded scared.
When Eames didn't immediately answer, Arthur scrambled to get up.
"Fuck!" Arthur swore, when his leg scraped against the bed. His gash hitting the side. He tried to stand, but Eames stood first, blocking the path.
"Easy, you have stitches," Eames reached out, but didn't dare touch him. "You're going to pull them out."
"How the hell do you know my name?" Arthur yelled, pushing Eames away.
"Your wallet, you daft idiot."
"My-" Arthur paused, "oh."
"I'm not going to hurt you, darling," Eames couldn't stop the pet name. "Though you're doing a good job of it yourself." He hisses when he spots a thin trail of blood going down the outside of Arthur's leg.
"Shit," Arthur grabs the flannel and wipes up the blood. He moves to keep the wound level and gently begins to peel back the gauze.
Eames moves forward. "Be careful, you'll-"
"I can take care of myself, thank you."
"Oh you're doing a bang up job so far," Eames snapped.
"Because I planned to be attacked last night, which is why I ended up with some lunatic instead of at a hospital!"
"This lunatic saved your bloody life!" Eames growled.
That seemed to bring up Arthur short, and he just glared at Eames, then looked at the wound.
"It is fine. No stitches came out, just pulled a little," he reported.
"I'll get you a fresh gauze, then you can take some antibiotics and a pain pill," Eames said, moving toward the bathroom.
"Thanks," Arthur says, "um."
"Eames," he says, not looking back.
"Eames," Arthur says, softly, "thank you."
"Sure thing, darling," Eames smirked.
"And stop calling me that."
Chuckling, Eames went to fetch the bandage.
It took only moments to get the new gauze in place, Eames fetched some water. When he came back, it seemed Arthur was starting to doze again. He was sitting against the headboard, his eyes at half-mast.
"What happened to my clothes?" Arthur asked, when Eames entered.
"Ruined, I'm afraid. I can find you something if you want," Eames offered.
"Please," Arthur shifted down a bit, as his eyelids drooped.
"Take the medicine first," Eames quickly getting the pills.
Arthur tossed them into his mouth, and didn't reach up when Eames held the glass of water to his lips. Arthur drank a bit down before Eames' lowered it.
"Easy, now."
"There are people after me, Mr. Eames, and given the chance," he let out a long yawn, "they'll probably kill you to get at me and..." he trailed off with the shake of his head. "They're gonna come for me."
"Then we will lead them on a merry chase, darling," Eames pulled up a sheet over Arthur's stomach.
Arthur simply nodded before slipping unconscious.