A/N: The title for this chapter, "I Will Lay Me Down," comes from the lyrics of Simon & Garfunkel's "Bridge Over Troubled Water".

"I'm sorry, Mr. Eames, but the board won't go back on its decision. There's nothing we can do."

"That's quite alright, thank you," Eames sighed and hung up the phone. He flopped down on his hotel bed, staring up at the patterns in the popcorn ceiling. Even if he hadn't gotten kicked out the fraternity, he wouldn't have spent another night in the frat house. And now, as he'd just been informed, his scholarship had been revoked. Which was just fucking great, but he'd expected as much. It left his future on rather uncertain terms, and that meant calling his father.

Annoyed to the point of wanting to kick something, he rolled over and opened his laptop to distract himself. He minimized the news article about what had happened last month, trying not to think about his fuckhole roommates, who had (rightfully) been arrested, and the angry commenters who'd railed for Eames to get the same treatment. Eames wanted not to have to think about it at all, but it seemed like it was everywhere he turned, pervading every aspect of his life. He pulled up facebook, hoping that maybe his Wordscraper partner had finally made a move, something, anything other than the incident, when he saw an item in his feed that piqued his interest.

Ariadne Kouvas to Arthur Solomon
Saw this and thought of you. Hope you're feeling okay!

Below was a link to some Youtube video about a Star Wars wedding, but Eames was more concerned with the fact that a mutual friend had just posted on Arthur's wall. Eames moved his cursor over the blue text of Arthur's name and let it hover.

Arthur. Eames had debated whether or not to try and contact him in the weeks after the incident, and always he'd decided against it. Eames had gone to class the next day unsure of what to expect, but Arthur hadn't been there in his usual TA position. In fact he hadn't been there since, not in any of the classes Eames had gone to. Eames was sure that Arthur didn't want to see him, that it could only lead to trouble. Why would he wanted to be confronted with the source of his trauma, after all? But checking up on him through facebook was harmless enough. Right? Eames clicked.

There were only a few wall posts from Arthur since he'd been abducted, just a funny Youtube video or two and a half dozen or so Farmville updates, all in the last week. Everything else was from other people; a 'Glad you're okay' and a few 'OMG!' comments. Eames bit his lip. The number of total posts had dropped off sharply after the attack. Maybe Arthur wasn't doing so well, and Eames wondered why. Eames didn't really know Ariadne well enough to try fishing information out of her, and she had to know that he was connected with the attack, however unknowingly it was at the time. No, she'd probably go into protective mode if Eames asked her about Arthur, and he had no desire to deal with the fallout of that. So he clicked the 'Send Arthur a Message' link.

'Hi, it's Eames. You remember me? ...Well, obviously,' he typed in the message field, and promptly backspaced. 'Hello,' he tried again. 'I just wanted to check up on you, and see if-' Backspace. Eames ran a hand through his hair and peered at the screen as if he could see though it. 'Hi, Arthur. I know you'd probably rather not talk to me, but I wanted to ask how you were. I haven't seen you in class lately, and I was just a little worried about you. I hope you're doing okay, and that the damage they did to you on my behalf wasn't permanent. And I wanted to let you know that I'm sorry it happened to you, sorrier than I've ever been. I know that doesn't make things alright, but I hope it helps you to know that I'm thinking about you, and if you ever need a friend...' The cursor blinked. '...I've got your back.'

Eames' pointer hovered between the 'Send' and 'Cancel' buttons. As much as he cared about Arthur, had always cared, ever since that first class, he couldn't let his desire to hear from him cloud his judgment. There was always the possibility that sending Arthur this message could be the worst thing Eames could do. Instead of healing, instead of closure, it could be like ripping the scab off a healing wound. And, as Eames decided, he didn't want to risk that. Fuck. He let out a small sigh before clicking the 'Cancel' button.

He went back to his profile, busied himself with changing his profile picture to something wackier and tried not to think about it. He wasn't helping anyone by torturing himself over this, not when he could be spending his time gearing up for the phone call he'd eventually have to make to his father. His father had heard about the incident, of course, and he was none too pleased, so Eames was sure he wouldn't be thrilled about hearing he'd have to take up the slack from the scholarship as well. Eames tried to prepare himself for the arguments his father would use, what tactics Eames would have to employ to get him to agree to paying his tuition.

A tinny 'ping' from his laptop speakers made him jump as he was planning his next move in Wordscraper. His brow furrowed as he glanced down to where a small dialogue box had popped up at the bottom left-hand corner of the screen-and he froze.

'Arthur Solomon has sent you a message.'

Eames trailed the cursor apprehensively toward the box, wondering whether Arthur had somehow known Eames was looking at his profile, or if by some terrible mistake Eames had pressed the 'Send' button instead of 'Cancel'. But he was reasonably sure he hadn't, and there was no way for Arthur to know Eames had been checking up on him. So this message, whatever it was, was out of the blue.

'Hey,' read the subject line. How descriptive, Eames thought. His hand shook a little bit as he clicked it to view the rest of the message, and without realizing it, he held his breath as he began to read.

'It's Arthur. First off, I'd like to apologize for not getting back to you after that night. Things were kind of crazy at first, and then after they'd settled down I felt guilty for not having contacted you sooner, avoided doing anything out of guilt, and then it turned into a vicious cycle of not contacting you and feeling guilty some more. You know how it goes.' Eames' mouth twitched into a frown at the thought that Arthur would feel like he had to apologize for anything, but he kept reading. 'This may sound out of the blue, but I was... wondering if you'd still like to get coffee with me sometime. Are you free to meet me at the coffee shop in the student union tomorrow at 3?'

Eames had a class then, but he typed up his response without a second thought. 'I'll be there.'

Eames had never wished he hadn't left his umbrella at the frat house more fervently than he did now. The rain was coming down in sheets, buffeted to the point that it was nearly falling sideways, and he'd gotten soaked almost immediately after stepping out. He clung to the sides of buildings when he could, under the overhangs (not that it helped) until he finally reached the union. The doorman gave him a rather nasty look when he went in.

"Sorry, mate," he said, shuffled around a bit on the non-slip rubber mat and made his way toward the coffee shop. He was a couple of minutes late, but he'd left early and he didn't expect Arthur to have made it through the rain on time either. When he didn't spot Arthur at any of the tables, he grabbed a few sheets from a discarded newspaper and spread them out on a chair before sitting down. A coffee was out of the question-his hands were shaking as it was.

It wasn't a long wait. He'd only twiddled his fingers for a minute or two before a huddled figure in a navy hoodie trudged in, carrying an umbrella wrapped in a plastic umbrella bag. He looked up, and because Eames had been watching for him all along, they made eye contact immediately. Arthur froze like a deer in the headlights. For a nerve-wracking moment Eames was convinced he'd just run away, but after a second or two Arthur seemed to collect himself. He took a deep breath and slid down into the chair across from Eames'.

There was a moment of silence, during which Eames imagined all the terrible things Arthur could be preparing to launch at him. But all Arthur said was a quiet and shaky, "Hi."

"...Hi," said Eames. The silence came back, but awkward this time. Eames wasn't even sure why Arthur was here, whether to talk to him or berate him, but he realized suddenly that it didn't matter, because he was being rude, and where the hell were his manners? "L-let me get you something," he began babbling. "Coffee? Tea? The croissants here are particularly good."

Arthur held up a hand to stop him. "It's okay, I'm not hungry or thirsty," he said apologetically. "Don't think I could stomach it right now anyway." The corner of his mouth twitched in a small smirk.

"I see," Eames nodded grimly. Oh, this wasn't going well. He could already tell. Maybe Arthur was here for some kind of closure, and of course Eames would give that to him if he could. But afterward, Arthur would be done with him. He'd want to move on with his life, and that probably meant saying goodbye to Eames for good. So Eames couldn't quite manage to feel cheery about it when he asked, "You wanted to talk?"

Arthur looked down, wringing one hand inside the other. He still hadn't taken off the hood of his jacket, and the oversized thing made his already skinny frame look almost impossibly small. Eames wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch Arthur's cheek, so he sat on his hand instead.

"Yeah," said Arthur slowly, and rather hesitantly. The hand-wringing intensified a notch. "First off, I guess I wanted to say thank you."

He glanced up, and Eames blinked at him. "Thank you?" Eames repeated. "What do you have to thank me for?"

"You know," Arthur hedged, shifting in his chair. "You saved me. You stood up for me, punched that guy in the face, brought me to the police station. You didn't have to do any of that."

Eames felt a thrill of horror run through him that Arthur would be surprised about the things he'd just mentioned. "Of course I did. If I hadn't done any of that, it wouldn't have been, you know, decent!"

"Yeah, well. A lot of guys aren't." Eames didn't know what to say to that. Arthur's dark eyes went back to his hands, which were busy picking at one of the napkins. "Thank you for being decent, is what I'm getting at, I guess," he said at length.

"I... you're welcome."

"I uh," Arthur started again, and he sounded curious and a little regretful. "I heard they ended up kicking you out of the fraternity."

Well, it wouldn't do for Eames to lie. "Yeah, they did. They revoked my scholarship, too, but before you apologize," he shot out as Arthur's expression slid toward 'tortured', "it's alright. My family's bloody rich, so they can afford to pay my tuition. I'd hoped to avoid it, but only because my dad's an arsehole. It'll be okay."

"I guess there's that, then," Arthur said morosely, then an unconvincing, "I'm glad."

Another awkward silence. Arthur swallowed, and then whatever it was holding him back seemed to burst in a rush of words. "I haven't been taking this whole thing very well," he said. "The university has been paying for me to go to therapy sessions, and it helps some but I don't really enjoy it. I don't like being that close to someone, spilling my secrets to a stranger, you know? So I've just been internalizing it all, and that hasn't really been working. I've been sitting in my room, not talking to anybody, playing fucking Farmville and thinking about how damn sad my life has gotten. Farmville? Do you know how sad that is?" If he'd expected an answer, he kept going before Eames could think of one. "I keep thinking that I'm alone, that things are never going to get better, and I wanted to know if you... if you still felt the same way about me that you felt before, because I don't want to end up alone forever. I want somebody who's going to care about me. I want somebody I can share all this stuff with, somebody who will listen and not judge me, and maybe be something more, and," he swallowed, "I'm pretty sure I've been rambling for close to a minute by now, and I look like a total idiot, and you're going to say 'no', aren't you-"

Anything else was lost in Eames sudden unbidden laughter. Something in his heart had burst, had overflowed and bubbled its way out of his chest, out of his body altogether until he was beaming and shaking with mirth and affection. "Oh, Arthur," he gasped helplessly as Arthur went ghost white, and then beet red. "Arthur, love, no don't leave. I'm not laughing at you!" He reached out to snag the smaller man's wrist before he could race out of the shop or sink into his chair. "Arthur, you idiot, what I'm trying to say is, that may be the best thing I've heard in all my life. Now please do us both a favor and kiss me."

Arthur stilled in wonderment. "You mean... you really feel that way about me? Even after what happened?"

"Arthur," Eames said seriously, his chuckling quieted down. "I have always felt that way about you, and I always will. I've cared about you since I first saw you in Oringa's class, wearing that Muppet Movie t-shirt. I couldn't stop if I tried, not even if I wanted to."

"...Really?" said Arthur doubtfully, though he seemed pleased.

"Yes, really," Eames smiled.

"And you'll stick with me, even though I'm not completely over this? Even if I've still got a ways to go before I'm okay again?"

"Nothing would make me happier than to make you happy. To be by your side, for as long as you want me around. Because I think you're worth it."

"Well, in that case," Arthur grinned, and he stood up out of his chair, leaned over the table and pressed his lips to Eames' in a fierce kiss.

And for all Eames had been asking for it, he still managed to be dumbstruck. But honestly, considering the circumstances, with Arthur's fingers threading into his hair, and Arthur's tongue prodding at his lips for entrance, and Arthur's love in his heart, he decided there were far worse things to be.