Sorry for the delay. Please enjoy!
Chapter 7: Darren
Eames could not put Arthur's book down. It was too engrossing. He just had to know if they ever recovered the treasure, dammit. The soft clack of Arthur's laptop keys filled the room as he feverishly read. The Zune was charging, and when he was done with the book, he would have to question Arthur about the music he had heard.
Eames managed to tear his eyes away from the book, glancing up to the point man. His brow was creased in his usual lines of concentration, the normal mask of inscrutability over his handsome face. Arthur had been surprised to discover the Zune held no charge, but didn't think to question Eames at the time. The forger was almost surprised Arthur hadn't noticed the book. He glanced quickly back down as Arthur's head rose, hoping the point man hadn't seen him staring.
"That looks like my book." Arthur said quietly, eyes squinting behind his glasses to better make out the cover.
"That's because it is your book."
"And who said you could read it?"
"I asked and you never answered."
"Eames, I was unconscious."
"The doctor said you could hear me." Arthur fought a roll of his eyes, knowing he was powerless to do anything about it. Eames was on the opposite side of the room, sprawled out on the loveseat near the window.
"Please don't spoil the ending. I'd like to finish reading it for myself."
"Would I do that?" Eames forced an innocent look to his face as he turned a page.
"Of course you would."
"Well, if you're willing to share your laptop, I'd relinquish your book." Eames swung his legs down as he sat up on the couch, marking his place with his finger, watching the point man smirk dryly.
"Only if you can figure out the password.
"I tried darling," Eames admitted, "for the life of me, I couldn't get it."Arthur's eyes fixed sharply to Eames at the admission as if realizing something.
"You went through my things….," Eames couldn't stop the curl about his lips, "that would explain the dead Zune."
"Is your name really Arthur Darren?" Arthur continued to stare back, fighting back all hints of surprise.
"What makes you ask?"
"Well Arthur Gordon is obviously fake. I'm willing to bet on Darren given the name so distinctly inscribed on the inside cover of Heart of Darkness—A. M. Darren." A smile of what appeared to be relief flashed briefly across Arthur's face.
"Believe what you want, Mr. Eames." The forger caught the hint of admission, the attempt to brush it idly off.
"What's the 'M' stand for, Arthur?"
"What's your first name, Eames?"
"What's your computer password?" Eames loved Arthur's little laugh.
"Not on your life, Eames."
"At least give me a hint…I'd be only too happy to give you a hint about your book's ending here," Arthur's eyes narrowed to the famous glare, shooting it briefly over the laptop, "would the password have something to do with a mythical bird from Kansas perhaps?'
"You found that?"
"A Jayhawk, love?" Eames asked incredulously. "Really?" Arthur shook his head briefly with a throaty laugh. "It doesn't seem elegant enough for your tastes."
"I'm not sure any college mascot qualifies as elegant necessarily."
"Does that make you my little Jayhawk then?"
"I dare you to call me that again." Arthur didn't need to look up from the laptop for Eames to know that he would carry out the unspoken threat.
"I just couldn't help but think how utterly adorable you would look with that silly bird on your chest, maybe ruffle your hair a little for good measure to complete the college student look…." Eames could see the tips of Arthur's ear reddening as he spoke. Taking care to lock the computer, Arthur set it on the bed next to him, swinging his legs over the side.
"I didn't call you it again." Eames called out casually, rising from the couch, hoping Arthur wasn't planning on carrying out his threat.
"I'm not after you Eames. I'm going to walk to the bathroom."
"Walk…on your own?" Arthur hadn't moved from the bed without Eames' help since he woke up four days ago. They'd worked out a system of Eames half-dragging Arthur to the bathroom, holding him up as he shakily stood on his feet, trudging him over to the sink when finished and then back to the bed. But for Arthur to walk on his own? Eames doubted his ankle could take it.
"I want to try, at least." Eames couldn't stop his snort of a laugh as he crossed the room, stopping to lean against the bathroom door frame, facing Arthur.
"Of course you would, darling. No public urination for our Arthur here."
"Eames, I swear…." Arthur trailed off as he rose from the bed, keeping a hand on the bedside table in support as he settled his weight on his left foot, gingerly resting the toes of his right foot against the carpet. The ace bandage was tight and supportive around Arthur's ankle, encouraging him to take a step.
He drew a sharp breath as dull pain hummed through his foot at the added pressure and weight, quickly settling back on his left foot. Again he limped forward, forcing his brain to isolate the pain and shut it out, willing himself to keep moving.
"That's my boy…come to daddy." Arthur's eyes immediately settled to Eames', dying to wipe the grin off the forger's face. Eames couldn't hide his amused smile as he watched Arthur continue to hobble towards him. He found himself impressed at the point man's progress. He hadn't given the man that much credit. In a way he found himself saddened that Arthur no longer depended on him for mobility. He had surprisingly enjoyed the feeling of knowing someone needed him.
Arthur neared him, doing his best to ignore the mounting pain, but knowing he was failing. He stepped with his right foot, ankle instantly giving, his knees buckling and his body falling. Eames reached out, catching the younger man in his arms before he hit the floor, drawing his body against his. It ended up like an awkward hug, Eames' arms tight around Arthur in support, Arthur's face pressed against the fabric of his shirt.
"Trying to walk before you can stumble?" Eames quipped, willing to say anything to distract him from thinking about how good Arthur felt against him.
"I wasn't sure I would even make it this far." Arthur's words vibrated against Eames' chest.
"I think you underestimate your stubbornness, love." Eames' voice had dropped to a softer, tender tone.
"But it was worth it." Eames' brow furrowed.
"What was worth it?" Arthur shifted in Eames' hold, feeling the forger stifle a groan as his fist slammed into Eames' left collarbone. The man could not go unpunished for all his earlier, teasing comments. Eames couldn't help the smile that grew on his face, his groan morphing into a low laugh. Nothing about this situation should make him as happy as it was.
"Oh I love it when you get rough." Eames mumbled.
"You have no idea."
"Mmmm I'd like to."
"Let me go, Eames." Eames knew that tone on Arthur's voice well enough to know not to push things. He was in danger of overplaying his hand if he held onto Arthur much longer. Slowly Arthur shifted his weight from Eames' chest back to his feet, creating space between them. Their eyes met, almost level, as Arthur stood, ready to hobble the rest of his journey.
"Do I need to stand by in case you collapse again?" Eames had to ask.
"Without you to catch me, there's no incentive to collapse." The forger froze on the words. Did that really mean more for Arthur's feelings than Eames would have guessed?
"I'll hold you to it." Eames composed himself just long enough to put words together before Arthur moved around him, the weight of his steadying hand lifting as he rounded the doorframe, closing the bathroom door behind him. Eames' eyes fell closed with the click on the door latch, letting go a breath, fully realizing just how screwed he was.
xxx
Arthur was looking more like himself with every passing day. Eames had forgotten (or maybe never really noticed) just how painfully handsome the younger man was when clean shaven with his hair carefully styled. Arthur wasn't yet back to wearing his contacts, but his glasses added a surprising level of sexiness to the point man that Eames wouldn't have before guessed. After helping Arthur secure a plastic bag around the ace bandage on his ankle and being summarily shooed from the room, Eames found it was the only place he wanted to be—at Arthur's side in the shower, equally as naked, running his hands over the point man's body, a thin layer of sudsy soap aiding his journey. Given the tenacity with which Arthur had ushered him out, he could guess Arthur's reaction to such a suggestion.
Letting go a resigned sigh, he snatched his wallet and door key from the bedside table, letting the door fall shut with a soft click. Maybe champagne would loosen Arthur's tongue and inhibitions. It was New Year's Eve after all, and a little celebration was in order. It was a short walk to the nearest liquor store and even quicker to select a bottle of champagne. By the time he returned to the room, Arthur had dressed in black cotton pajama pants and a light gray, fitted t-shirt, and sat on the bed, propped up against the pillows. With his black hair styled into place and the soft yellow bedside lamp glow on his healing skin, Eames had never found the man so deliciously tempting. He swallowed hard as those sharp brown eyes behind complimenting frames locked to his, a small smile on the point man's face, his brows arched in curious amusement.
"Why the champagne?" Arthur nodded to the bottle in Eames' hand.
"You can't properly ring in New Year's without champagne."
"Is it really New Year's?"
"December 31st indeed." Eames shed his sweater, leaving him in just jeans and an undershirt to near match Arthur's dressed down state as he dropped to the other side of the bed to sit.
"Willingly choosing to stay in, are we?" Arthur prodded with a hint of mirth, somehow unable to believe Eames would choose to not go out for a New Year's celebration.
"Well you're not exactly fit to party, and I can get equally as drunk here for cheaper than at the bar around the corner." Eames settled back against the pillows next to Arthur, stretching his long legs out on the bed, reaching for the TV remote that lay idly between them.
"You could share if you felt so inclined."
"Not sure you should be drinking too much. What with healing and all."
"Please," Arthur scoffed, "a little champagne never hurt anyone."
"Famous last words, love." Eames settled deeper into the pillows, surfing through the channels.
"Actually, I would kill for a slug of good bourbon." Arthur said absently, watching the channels in front of him flip by.
"I'm sure you'll live—ah, look what we have here," Eames stopped on a channel playing a familiar theme, the black space background with scrolling yellow text, "good old Star Wars. Return of the Jedi, it looks like. One of my favorites—and dubbed in Russian no less for the pleasure of our cultural enhancement. Surely you've seen it, yes?" Eames leaned forward slightly, unwrapping the wire on the champagne bottle, missing the slight roll of Arthur's eyes.
"Of course I have—and more than once if you choose to believe it." Arthur's words ended with the pop of a cork as Eames settled back into the pillows. "Though I was more a fan of Star Trek."
"Oh my god," Eames laughed, "of course you were. That is just too perfect. I bet Spock was your hero."
"And you have clearly taken some cues from Han Solo."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, darling." Eames raised the bottle to his lips for a swig.
"Not sure I meant it entirely as a compliment."
"You do have to concede the similarities—the swagger, roughish charm, devilishly handsome looks—"
"I believe the phrase is 'scruffy-looking nerf-herder.'"
"Who's scruffy looking?" Arthur breathed a silent laugh, finding a smile unwittingly curving about his face as he reached over for the champagne bottle.
"Never had you figured for a Star Wars fan boy." Eames chuckled on Arthur's words, watching Arthur take a drink of bubbly.
"Well I already knew you were a geek, so it's no surprise to learn you're a Trekkie geek."
"They're both science fiction, Eames—does liking one over the other really make it any less geeky?" Arthur countered, passing the bottle back, glancing to the screen to catch a shot of Jabba the Hutt.
"Star Trek is infinitely geekier—the emphasis on science, discoveries, peaceful exploration in the name of the diplomatic, regulated Federation. With Star Wars—you have the ultimate adventure, good vs. evil, scrappy rebels taking what they can and giving nothing back—"
"Your point?"
"One word makes Star Trek geekier than Star Wars any day: uniforms. Those goofy pants and silly jerseys—no one but a geek would wear such things."
"But the women wear miniskirts and knee high boots."
"Princess Leia in the slave girl costume—case in point." Eames nodded to the TV, taking a drink as both men focused on the image of Leia splayed against Jabba in the skimpy costume.
"Granted," Arthur conceded, reaching over for the bottle, "but surely even you can't deny all the alien women Kirk seduced."
"Not hot by today's standards. Most of them look like they had a bad run-in at the wax museum." A small laugh left Arthur as he still tried to pry the bottle from Eames' hand.
"Eames…let go." His eyes turned to the forger's face as he watched the movie.
"What's the magic word?" A smirk came to Eames' face.
"No," Arthur snatched his hand back, "I will not play your game."
"But I'm so much fun."
"Not as much as you think you are."
"Admit it darling, you've warmed to me in the last week." He turned to face Arthur with a small smirk.
"Begrudgingly."
"Surely you can do better than that." Eames raised the bottle to his lips, hearing the near silent sigh from his companion over the movie.
"I would call you my friend after this," Arthur said quietly, "before I would have barely considered you a colleague. You've shown yourself to be more than the arrogant, flippant, crude forger you masquerade as."
"We all have our personas to play in this business—you are more than the cold, succinct, professional point man you show yourself as."
"To each their own." Arthur again reached for the bottle, brushing Eames' fingers as the forger yielded. Arthur raised the bottle, drinking the dry bubby liquid, burping a few bubbles as his eyes settled to the TV, watching Jabba's party barge explode. He couldn't believe how easy it was just sitting here, shooting the shit with Eames. Before this, he would never have given the forger the time of day or night. Would they go back to that after this? Again he raised the bottle to lips, taking a big drink, hoping it would provide some clarity.
"Don't you dare drink the whole thing," Eames lightly scolded, his tone dropping, "though I wouldn't be opposed to getting another bottle…cozying up to you on this bed, getting to better know the man beneath the suit."
"You've already seen what I have to offer." Eames froze, feeling heat rise to his cheeks, his heart race as he thought back on the wanton image of Arthur naked in a bath. "You're the mystery—to get to know better beneath the often hideous clothes."
"Oh love, you wound and arouse all the once." Eames couldn't help turning to face Arthur, searching for any hint of an invitation to lean over and kiss him hard, push his lean body back into the bed, press his growing erection against Arthur's hip, hear the younger man's ragged breaths.
"Forget I said anything." Arthur took another drink, still not having relished the bottle to Eames in the meantime.
"Ok, give it back," Eames pried the bottle from Arthur's fingers, taking a big pull, "I have to drown my rejection somehow."
"Rejection?" Arthur glanced to the movie, glimpsing Yoda. "I don't believe I rejected you."
"What would you call it then?" Eames cast a quick glance to Arthur before facing the TV, silence falling between the two men as Luke asked Yoda the all important question. Surprisingly, Arthur wasn't sure how to answer. He wasn't oblivious to Eames' interest and attraction. He just didn't know if he could fully reciprocate. He had never even thought of another man in such a way, but lately with Eames, the thought had continually crept to mind. What he couldn't decide was if it was genuine interest in the man or a result of the Florence Nightingale effect. In either case, outright rejection would surely make the air between them intolerably awkward, and that was the last thing he wanted.
"I don't know."
"That's a lame, copout answer, darling. But hope springs eternal, so I'll drink to that." Eames took another drink of bubbly.
"Is that why all the pet names?" Arthur had to ask.
"Not in the beginning. It started as a way to get a rise out of you that never really worked, and now it's my joke to the world—while everyone thinks I'm just playing to annoy you, I know I mean it."
"And now I know it," Arthur quickly pointed out, "and I never rose to your pet name taunts in hopes that if you received no attention, you would desist."
"Desist?" Eames cast the point man a somewhat curious sideways glance.
"Mmmhmm." Arthur kept his eyes on the TV.
"Now you're just being snobby."
"And you're acting like a pouty child." Eames draped an arm around Arthur's shoulders, pulling the younger man towards him, tucking Arthur against his side.
"And what a pair we make." Arthur strongly considered pulling away, but surprisingly found he didn't want to. Gradually he relaxed against the forger's side, finding the chill from his damp hair replaced with enticing heat from Eames' solid body. It wasn't as awkward as Arthur had originally thought, but in fact brought a surprising level of contentment. The lift of a small smile crept to the corners of his mouth as he shifted to better rest against Eames' shoulder. Surely Eames knew the fate that awaited him at the end of Arthur's pistol if he decided to tell others about this.
Eames couldn't believe his luck. He'd always considered himself a man of rotten luck, but here, with Arthur so comfortably close, he was willing to reconsider. Arthur's familiar cinnamon, woodsy scent invaded his senses, whether from shampoo, body wash, aftershave, Eames had no clue. But it sent waves of warmth coursing through the forger's blood as it never had before, fighting to keep his thoughts on the movie and just enjoy the moment without wanting more.
The movie played on through the woods of Endor, the vacuum of space and the sterile halls of the Death Star. The champagne bottle grew steadily emptier as the two mean lapsed into silence, occasionally offering a comment on the movie or sharing a laugh. Arthur stayed tucked against Eames' side the whole time, content to just sit there. The warmth from the forger's body was mixing with the relaxing champagne, making his eyelids heavy. He wanted to kick himself for occasionally dozing off on New Year's Eve before midnight, but he had never felt such peace in just being with another person. His eyes closed as he gave up, snuggling more into Eames' side, knowing the forger would wake him when it was time to count down.
His eyes flew open at the startling sound of a not too distant explosion. He quickly noticed Eames' absence from the bed, the open balcony door and the flashing lights in the sky. Fireworks. Was it really midnight? A quick glance at the clock confirmed it was indeed 12:01 am. Arthur rose from the bed, adjusting his askew glasses with a yawn, cursing Eames for just letting him sleep.
He wandered out onto the balcony, taking in the impressive fireworks display in front of them, a smile coming to his face. He had always loved fireworks. The yacht club he grew up apart of always did fantastic Fourth of July shows over the water. He turned to the forger, masking his smile, eyes narrowing in surprised confusion at the digital camera in Eames' hand.
"Photography?" Arthur asked quietly. "Or are you really that sentimental?" Eames set the camera on the wide balcony rail, adjusting settings.
"Seth's love of poetry was one of the man's many artistic outlets. The man was a consummate artist, swore everyone needed a creative hobby for release," Eames depressed the shutter, picking up the camera, "acting for me was such a natural talent that Seth determined I needed another outlet."
"Interesting that you would choose photography."
"Is it really, Arthur? The world is constantly changing; a photograph captures life as it was the instant the picture was taken. It can never be recreated, it will always be different. It's a way to make something ever changing forever constant, captured as proof of what it was. There's nothing concrete about dreams or the work we do—if anything we go to great lengths to guarantee that nothing of our jobs can be captured and used to prove the job existed. Photography is the complete antithesis of that." Eames turned to Arthur, catching a look akin to admiration, and maybe even jealousy in the point man's eyes.
"Did Seth help you figure that out?"
"He helped me see a photograph for what it is."
"And this was your college love? The one you shared poetry with?"
"He was indeed." Eames' voice was surprisingly respectful as he fought off images of the man from his past, not wanting it to interfere with Arthur in the present. He turned his attention back to the camera, adjusting the shutter speed and casually snapping pictures of the buildings and booming fireworks. The city of Kiev was putting on quite an impressive display.
Arthur bent to rest his arms against the railing, hearing the forger move about with his camera. Part of him was infinitely jealous Eames had shared something so special with another person. Arthur wasn't sure he could ever claim he had a relationship as life changing as the one Eames talked about. But why was Eames even sharing all the tidbits about his past relationship? This whole night was starting to feel strangely like a date. The thought made Arthur blush in the faint light and wonder if Eames would try for a New Year's kiss.
"Happy New Year, Eames," Arthur kept his eyes fixed on the fireworks popping around them, "if it weren't for you, I probably wouldn't have lived to see it." He couldn't bring himself to look at the forger. He just wasn't sure he could pull himself away if Eames moved closer, attempted to kiss him, sweep him off his feet. Not that it would necessarily be a bad thing, but was he ready?
"I've told you before, you underestimate your stubbornness love," Eames' voice was soft, eyes locked to the younger man, wishing Arthur would turn towards him, "it will take more than a few Kiev policemen to end your days." Eames barely caught the point man's near silent laugh, watching the corners of his mouth lift. God he was beautiful—the distant colored lights reflecting off his pale skin, facial muscles relaxed in a smile, sharp eyes drinking in the sights of celebration. Eames held the camera at shoulder level, pointed towards Arthur, depressing the shutter to auto-focus.
"Arthur?" The point man couldn't deny the tone on Eames' voice, finally turning to the forger, finding his smile involuntarily growing. A steady green light instantly disappeared on Eames' camera, matched by the mischievous grin on Eames' face.
"Eames," Arthur's smile fell under a sharp tone, "delete that picture."
"No guarantees."
"Please, I'm not photogenic, nor do I want pictures of me available to interested parties. I work to keep people in our line of work off the radar—pictures are at the top of the list."
"No one is going to get their hands on this picture, I promise," Eames' tone was placating as he watched Arthur's eyes continue to narrow, "it's just art for art's sake, Arthur. And contrary to what you think, you're beautifully photogenic." Arthur continued to silently stare down Eames, daring him to keep talking and not delete the offending picture. Eames sighed and fought back a roll of his eyes. "You need to loosen up and live a little—I'm not going to show this picture to anyone. I don't want anyone else sharing in my masturbatory fantasies." Arthur's eyes widened in the low light.
"Ok, now you better fucking delete it."
"Oh come now, doesn't that flatter you a little bit?" Eames ventured, turning casually back to snap a picture of the skyline.
"No, not at all." Actually, beneath the shock, Arthur was surprisingly a bit flattered. No one had ever called him beautiful, regardless of the situation. He couldn't believe such a casual statement was actually making him blush the more he thought on it. Not that he could ever admit it to Eames.
"Well it's buried on my memory card somewhere now. Too much effort to find it & delete it." Eames continued to snap away, occasionally adjusting a setting, pointing between the various colorful firework explosions around them.
"That's what I get for trusting you," Arthur commented casually, "you didn't even wake me up for the countdown."
"You didn't miss anything—the champagne was gone. Unless you wanted to give me a kiss for luck?" Eames waggled his eyebrows suggestively, hoping Arthur would take it as a joke despite the earlier serious direction of their conversation. Arthur shook his head lightly, smile growing and eyes narrowing playfully.
"In your dreams Mr. Eames."
"See you there, darling."