Chapter 4: Delusional
Hot showers were truly a godsend. After nights of revelry, long days in dusty warehouses, and international flights, little else made him feel more human. So when Eames awoke to stiff neck muscles, uncomfortable jeans and morning breath that would rival a dog's, a shower was the first order of business.
Today would be more of the same. Maybe Arthur would wake up again, and maybe he wouldn't. At least his fever had broken. The man's skin was still damp with a thin sheen of sweat, but he was no longer burning to the touch. That had to be good news, and Eames found himself in a better mood than he had been since Cobb left.
Having combed the last of his hair in place, he pushed open the bathroom door, bracing as the cool air hit his body, covered only a towel knotted low around his hips. He cast a casual glance to the bed, noting the point man's unchanged position. The low rumble of his stomach stole his attention from the bed as he turned to his suitcase, sorting through its contents. Room service was most certainly the next order of business.
"Please tell me you haven't strutted around like that for the past two days." The voice was low, scratchy, infinitely more coherent and unmistakably Arthur.
"No," Eames turned with a smile, not missing a beat, "I normally don't wear a towel." Something of a groan whether from annoyance or pain, Eames couldn't be sure, sounded weakly in the room. "How do you feel?" Eames couldn't stop himself from walking closer to the bed, glancing down at Arthur, getting a good look at him in the morning light.
"Like shit…," Arthur's eyes dropped closed, "but I want to try to eat, take a pill or two."
"Atta boy, darling" Eames encouraged, face falling as Arthur opened his eyes, "god, Arthur, your eyes…."
"You should see them from my side…they fucking itch like hell." Eames had never seen eyes so bloodshot and swollen. It was almost a wonder Arthur could keep them open.
"What's wrong with them?"
"Hard contact lenses aren't meant to be worn overnight, much less four days straight," Arthur slowly blinked, a stuttered cough bubbling up his throat making his face scrunch in pain, "I wouldn't be surprised if they're infected."
"You wear glasses?" Eames would never have guessed. Just more proof that he knew nothing about this man. "Well why didn't you think to take them out? Surely it wasn't worth this…" Eames couldn't quite believe it nor tear his gaze from Arthur, inexplicably drawn to Arthur's pained eyes.
"Of course it was—without them I couldn't have seen to escape, infection aside." Eames had never suddenly been more grateful for his perfect eyesight. Contacts would only complicate things, and here was living proof.
"So…they're still in?" Arthur nodded shortly, silently. "Do you need help…taking them out?" Eames had no clue where the start with contacts. And if he were perfectly honest, the thought of poking around anyone, even Arthur's eyeball, was a little unsettling.
"I don't…," Arthur trailed off, slowly dragging his right arm up his chest, biting his lip. His eyes narrowed, face falling as he saw the bandages wrapped securely around each finger tip. "Yes…," his voice was small, unsure, "I need your help." The shame on Arthur's voice tugged at Eames' heart as he stood over Arthur, still wearing nothing but the thin hotel towel. Eames swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, eager to erase that tone from Arthur's voice and unnerved at the prospect before him.
"Let me at least put some pants on before I start digging around in your eyes, yeah? I'll be back." Eames tore himself away, turning back to the forgotten boxers and undershirt.
"Where are my things? My glasses are there." Eames cast a quick glance to Arthur before settling on Arthur's bag.
"Your bags are here…I found your room and rescued them."
"Oh, my hero." Arthur deadpanned, a smirk forming on Eames' face as he stepped into the boxers, sliding them up under the towel.
"You know, I've actually missed you," Eames started, unknotting the towel and letting it fall to the floor, "the walls just don't respond the way you do." He brought the cotton undershirt up and over his head, threading his arms through the sleeves. Crouching down, he sifted through Arthur's bag, knowing right where his dop kit was. Not that he could ever admit to rifling through Arthur's things now that he was awake.
Sure enough, Eames found a slim leather glasses case among the contents of the dop kit, along with a contact lens case and cleaning solution. He would be doubly screwed if Arthur asked him to actually clean his contacts. Grabbing the glasses and contact case, he turned back towards the bed.
"Fair warning, I have no experience with contacts." Eames said, hoping it was disclaimer enough or that Arthur would change his mind.
"I don't think you could hurt my eyes anymore than they already are, Eames," Arthur said quietly, eyes closed, head turned on the pillow revealing the graceful curve of his neck. God, how had Eames missed that before? The skin was positively begging to be kissed.
"So what do I…do?" Eames finished uncertainly, hovering over Arthur as the point man straightened his head, looking straight up at Eames.
"You'll probably have to sit or kneel to be able to see it," Arthur started softly, as the forger dropped almost nervously to sit on the edge of the bed, "use your left hand to hold my eye open and right hand to get it out." Eames rose his hands slightly before dropping them.
"Shouldn't I….wash my hands or something first." A snide cough of a laugh sounded from the point man.
"At this point, it doesn't matter." Slowly Eames brought his left hand to the side of Arthur's face, gently touching skin, feeling the younger man involuntarily shudder and slightly pull away. Even Arthur was surprised by his reaction to Eames' slight touch. It was only Eames. Why he was suddenly so scared?
The forger's fingers settled more against Arthur's skin, on either side of his right eye, holding the lids open. He moved his right hand in, leaning down to better see as Arthur drew a sharp, shaking breath, body quivering. Eames instantly snapped both hands back, watching Arthur near cower, eyes clenched shut. Clearly this wasn't going to be as easy as Eames thought.
"Hey, Arthur, you're ok," Eames started soothingly, hoping it would help, "I'm not going to hurt you." He rested the palm of his left hand against Arthur's bruised cheek, acclimating the point man to his touch.
"I know you're not." Arthur grit out, frustrated, angry with himself. "It's just…"
"You were tortured…it's never easy."
"And you would know?" Arthur bit back.
"Yes, actually." Eames tone conveyed long accepted pain, spoke of memories he'd just as soon forget. "This…fear will pass, I promise."
"And what if it doesn't?" Arthur's voice was small, aging him twenty years younger to that of a child.
"I won't let that happen," Arthur focused on the firm conviction of Eames' voice, letting his eyes open and settle on the forger's storm gray eyes, "come on," Eames started again, a playful smirk coming to his face, "let's make you blind and loopy on pain pills. I just might have to track down a video camera."
"I would kill you."
"I don't doubt it." He rubbed his thumb along the side of Arthur's face. "Ready?"
"I am." Arthur turned his vision to the ceiling, letting go a short breath, doing his best to ignore the throbbing ache of his ribs. Eames moved his left hand back to either side of Arthur's eye, exposing the red, irritated surface, spying the small lens. Quickly he reached his right hand over, pressing gently against it and pulling it free. Arthur blinked furiously as Eames retreated, releasing a tense sigh.
"Did I hurt you?"
"No," Arthur said shortly, "god no, it already feels so much better."
"Last one?"
"Last one." Arthur steeled himself as Eames' hands returned to his face, fighting back his welling panic. The last time anyone was this close to him, they were ripping off fingernails. It was pain unlike Arthur had experienced before. But he needed this—this was the only way he would get over the 'fear' as Eames had called it. To remember and know that not every touch was out to cause pain. He snapped both eyes instantly shut when the last lens was free, squinting and rapidly blinking, trying to work up some moisturizing tears for his dry, aching eyes.
"So how blind are you?"
"I can't see distances…shapes are fuzzy and I can't read signs. But I'm nowhere close to being blind."
"Well that is good to know," Eames said, rising from the bed, the growling in his stomach propelling his thoughts in other directions, "did you still want to try to eat? I'm starving."
"Yeah," Arthur said sleepily, feeling his mind threaten to slip off to darkness, "something easy…steamed white rice?" Eames brow furrowed almost in disgust as he turned back to the bed.
"Steamed white rice? That's it?"
"I haven't eaten in four or five days, I need something gentle in my system."
"How do you know all this?" Eames flashed back to Cobb's words regarding Arthur and field medicine.
"Always good to know what you need if you get injured. Saves time in a more serious situation."
"Always the point man…" Eames trailed off, picking up the phone to dial room service. It was a simple order—eggs, toast, sausage, tea and white rice. He stepped back over to his suitcase, slipping on a pair of faded jeans, searching for a sweater.
"What's the date?" Arthur's voice was growing sluggish as he lay still. The forger guessed the stress from contact removal was greater than he thought.
"December 26th. You missed Christmas by fifteen minutes when you woke up last night.
"I woke up last night?"
"You don't remember?"
"Not really…." Eames pulled a sweater on, grateful for its warmth in the cool room.
"You were burning with fever, so I'm not surprised. You were managing some conversation though."
"What did I say?" An undercurrent on concern hinged on the slow point man's words.
"That you are madly in love with me." A cheeky grin spread across Eames' face, meeting Arthur's sharp glare as he cracked a bloodshot eye.
"That's not funny."
"Of course it is."
"I…I can just go back to sleep and leave you to your silent walls."
"Oh that's just mean, love."
"What the hell is with the pet names all of a sudden?" Shit, Eames had forgotten about that. Had he actually been calling Arthur pet names while he was awake? He only did it as a joke while the younger man was unconscious.
"Just hoping to get a rise out of you," Eames easily lied, "I've been cooped up in silence for too long."
"However did you survive?"
"It's a miracle to be sure." A gentle knock stole Eames' attention as he moved for the door. Arthur heard the faint announcement of room service and the clank of metal lids on dishes as a cart was rolled into the room. God, the scent of Eames' sausage was heavenly. Maybe the forger would share a bite.
"And what have we here?" Eames's voice was full of mock-surprise as he turned his attention to the food. "Mm, scrumptious eggs and sausage for myself, and bland, boring white rice for my invalid."
"I am not your invalid." The smell of food was only souring Arthur's mood as he more came to realize just how starving he was.
"My bedfellow?"
"I am not your anything." Arthur watched Eames walk over towards the bed, steaming bowl in hand.
"Testy when we're hungry, aren't we?" He said casually, sitting on the edge of the bed with considerable more ease than earlier. Arthur chose not to dignify that comment with a response. As if this wasn't humiliating enough already.
"Ok, open up, I'm starving—sooner you're fed, sooner I can eat. Oh, do you want your glasses?" Arthur just barely shook his head, focusing on Eames, noticing the proffered spoon with a small amount of rice on the end. Frustrated anger furrowing his brow, Arthur opened his mouth, closing his lips around the spoon, eagerly gumming the tender rice. The warm mush was heaven sliding down his throat. Eames offered up another spoonful in silence, taking note of the angered crease in Arthur's forehead, the tightness in his facial movements.
"Isn't this fun?" Eames just couldn't stop himself, catching a sharp glare from Arthur's murderously red eyes.
"No," he grumbled, swallowing another bite, "this is humiliating."
"Only because you're making it that way," Eames said softly, tone surprisingly serious as he spooned some more rice and held it out, "every one of us in this business gets into scrapes that we need help getting out from. You're not the first and you certainly won't be the last." Arthur chewed his rice silently, thoughtfully. "I'm merely trying to make light of the situation—lighten your mood—attempt to see if there's any lighter side to your usual calculating, efficient demeanor." Arthur just started back at him as he prepared another spoonful. "We could make this a game."
"No." Arthur ground out, spitting out the spoon with a bit more force to prove his point. "No games with my food."
"Are you really in a position to stop me?" Eames teased, a mischievous smirk curving about his lips as he offered up more rice. Arthur's jaw set in a familiar, tight annoyed line, eyes glaring fierce daggers as he let go the spoon, gnawing on the rice. "Oh there's the look I've missed so much…," he looked down to spoon out more rice, "if looks could kill Arthur—"
"You would have been dead years ago." Arthur finished, watching Eames dish another spoonful, a horrible thought dawning on him. "I shouldn't be saying things like that," he suddenly, quietly, even ashamedly said, "I should be…thanking you for taking care of me. I'm sorry I haven't done it already."
"Nothing to be sorry for. I dish it out expecting nothing less in return."
"That's no excuse." He closed his lips around the spoon again, feeling the welcome warmth of fullness in his stomach.
"Bantering with you has always been special, darling. Don't discount it so." Eames brought the spoon back to the bowl, letting go a deep breath, casting a glance to his own breakfast, swearing he could feel his stomach caving in.
"Go eat," Arthur said quietly, relaxing further into the pillow, "I've had enough."
"Pills first, in case you fall asleep." Eames gently rose, grabbing the two bottles off the dresser. "One to kill germs, the other to kill nerve endings."
"Bring it on. This is miserable." Arthur tried to draw a deep breath, unable to fully move against his ribs without pain rocketing through his body. Ever since waking he'd long been fighting the pain coursing through his system.
"I know; tilt your head if you can." Arthur slowly worked his head up from the pillow, just an inch or so, welcoming the pills one by one with a swallow of water. He slumped back against the pillow with a grimace, relieving the pressure on his ribs. He would be out of commission for months. Shit…no work meant no money.
"Is Cobb in Paris?"
"With Mal and Phillipa." Eames answered through a mouthful of egg.
"What about the Melbourne job?" Arthur felt hid eyelids grow heavy.
"You just focus on getting better. We'll handle that one."
"Who'll be on point?" A numbing warmth was starting to spread through Arthur's limbs.
"Not you obviously."
"No shit."
"Cobb said he would contact Kimmy." Eames glanced over his tea, watching Arthur's lips set in a thin line, eyes opening with an indignant air.
"I'm better than she is." Did Arthur know how utterly adorable he looked, injuries aside? Hair all mussed, lips tight and near pouting, voice small yet confident.
"I don't think Cobb denies that. I believe his words were she's close to the same caliber as you." Arthur nodded shortly, finding his head heavy, starting to swim.
"I'd accept that." A smile came unbidden to Eames' face as he watched Arthur relax more into the pillow, words slowing as the pain pill kicked in. Eames contemplated popping one himself and passing a few entertaining hours. Instead, he settled more against the chair, drinking the rest of his tea, relishing a full stomach, wondering what next.
xxx
Arthur didn't really have a sense of time. All he could decipher was day and night, but only because of the sheer curtains over the floor to ceiling window and balcony door. He rolled his head on the pillow, annoyed to not find a clock on the nearest bedside table. He suspected it was some early hour of the morning, given how the forger was occupying the other half of the bed, cocooned up beneath the sheets and comforter.
He sighed in the silence, turning now to his bedfellow, debating whether or not to wake him. Not that he particularly needed anything, but the forger was just a little too close for comfort. Eames was curled up on his side, knees almost touching Arthur's leg, hair falling askew and facial features blankly relaxed. Arthur supposed it was as close as the other man ever came to just being himself. It was almost a shame he was asleep. It surprised Arthur to no end how much in this moment he wanted to know the real Eames. Slowly he came to register the two gray eyes staring sleepily, even affectionately at him.
"See something you like?" Eames' voice was husky from sleep, accent thickened on the slow words.
"Just wondering how much longer we're going to be in bed together."
"Technically, I'm in bed. You're on the bed. Though I wish you were under the covers with me." Eames wiggled against the mattress as if trying to snuggle closer.
"Isn't it enough that I already suspect your motives without you adding the sexual innuendo?" Eames stilled, glancing up at Arthur, confusion knotting his brow.
"My motives for what?"
"For staying here with me. We've only worked a handful of jobs together and aren't exactly what you'd call 'friends.'"
"You are way too awake for this early in the morning," Eames sighed and let his head sink further into the pillow, "let's go with I just couldn't stand to let a pretty thing like you go to waste."
"Are you capable of being serious, even for a minute?"
"Only if necessary."
"Consider it imperative in my company."
"Always so demanding, Arthur, really. I'm doing you a favor—volunteering my time—and this is the thanks I get."
"Volunteering—I didn't think the word was in your vocabulary."
"Well if you don't believe it, maybe this will serve as a token of my good faith." The sheets rustled, revealing part of Eames' bare chest that Arthur's eyes inadvertently settled on as the forger twisted and reached for his bedside table. He settled back in bed, moving his hand over Arthur and depositing a small red die on the man's chest.
"Wasn't sure why you'd risk your life for a loaded die, but it didn't take long to figure it out." Arthur swallowed, looking down to his totem, fingering it with his bandaged fingers, hefting the welcome weight in his palm.
"But you've touched it and effectively rendered it useless." Eames tired to decipher the emotion on Arthur's words, but failed in his early morning state.
"Not necessarily."
"'Not necessarily'?" Arthur's eyes narrowed to an annoyed glare. "The whole purpose of a totem—as I know you are well aware—is that no one else knows the weight and balance of said object except the owner. You violated that rule. It's all too easy to manipulate."
"Exactly, it's too easy to manipulate," Eames said, nuzzling against his pillow, "it's too obvious a place to start. Rest easy, Arthur. If I wanted to fuck with you, your totem would be the last place I'd start."
"If you wanted to fuck with me…," Arthur shook his head in a cross between annoyance and amusement, "what if the price was right?"
"There's easier ways to get to you darling—drugs in the food, tying you up in your sleep. I could take you in a fight if I had to." Arthur laughed despite himself, clenching the die tight in his hand.
"Right now, a four year old girl could take me."
"Don't downplay the tenacity of four year olds, darling." Eames let his eyes slip closed as silence settled in the room. The corner of Arthur's lips lifted in a half-smile as he continued to hold his die close. He couldn't believe he was actually considering taking Eames at his word. He had never counted the word of a thief and conman to be worth much, yet he was inclined to trust it. Only time would tell if he would come to regret this decision. Arthur settled his eyes back to the forger, watching him quietly lay beside him.
"Don't you dare go back to sleep."
"Why?" Eames grumbled. "It's early."
"Because I'm awake and you snore."
"I do not…well maybe sometimes." Eames opened his heavy eyes to Arthur, glancing up at the point man. "Go back to sleep Arthur. God knows you could use it more than me."
"Haven't I slept enough," frustration cut through Arthur's usually controlled words, "god, I want nothing more than to get out of bed and move around."
"Not yet…can't have you tearing your stitches or making your ankle worse or collapsing from exhaustion." Eames caught Arthur's quiet annoyed sigh. "Just relax…you'll be on your feet again before you know it." He raised a hand to Arthur's sling-bound arm, surprising the other man at the palpable heat seeping through the material. Arthur wondered if Eames was burning up under the covers, or if he was naturally jus that warm. What would it be like to curl up against that body, in those arms, and feel that heat? A shiver ran involuntarily through Arthur at the thought, emphasizing the chill in the room.
Eames' breathing started to even out, his hand falling slack from Arthur's arm and sliding down the sling, coming to a rest on Arthur's stomach. Arthur couldn't believe the direction of his thoughts. Never before had thoughts of attraction surrounding another man plagued Arthur's mind. He knew his preference and women satisfied him in every way. What made the forger so special to cause him to question his preference?
The warmth from Eames' hand was spreading through the thin sheet and Arthur's torso, bringing a drowsiness to eat away at Arthur's conscious thought. He tightened his hand around the die, relishing in its comforting weight and let his eyes close. Secure in the weight of his totem and the reassurance of Eames' heat, he slipped off back to sleep.
Both men were too lost in the haze of early-morning sleep to notice Arthur's complete lack of flinching at Eames' touch.