A single bead of sweat slips between Cobb's shoulder blades and he realizes, for the second time in less than two years, that he's been screwed by Eames' poor judgment.
The three men who have them cornered are your typical for-hire hit men and in the second it takes for Cobb to exchange a worried glance with Arthur, the big one grabs his weapon.
Cobb knows the second that the Cobol grunt pulls a gun that they're dead men. Cobb dives left, hoping Arthur is smart enough to save himself, and lands hard behind a stack of palates. Gunshots ring out, sending plaster raining down from the ceiling.
Fuck settling their debts, Cobb thinks as he fires through the wood. This was definitely not worth it.
Arthur drops the men easily with three succinct shots and then collapses back to the floor, the wound in his chest sucking viciously. Cobb crawls across the floor, smearing blood behind him as he goes, his kneecap in six or seven pieces. It hurts worse than anything he's ever felt in his entire life and, at the same time, the pain is nothing compared to the insane amounts of guilt he is swallowing. He reaches Arthur and pops the buttons off his vest when he rips it open.
"Shit," Cobb groans. "You're an idiot."
"Not now," Arthur replies, coughing violently, blood pouring out of his mouth. Cobb wipes his cheek, blood spraying when Arthur coughed.
"Come on, let's go," Cobb says, putting his arms under Arthur's and moving to pick him up, only to fall back down when his leg gives way. "Goddammit, Arthur, you have to get up!"
Arthur swats at Cobb's hand and tries to wipe his own mouth, instead letting his arm drop to his side. His breathing is beginning to labor and his eyes are starting to fade.
"Arthur, this is ridiculous, we have to go." Cobb is pleading now, begging his friend to get off the ground. He is watching Mal die all over again.
Arthur's chest is heaving, the blood coming from his wound starting to darken and Cobb knows he is dying; it is only a matter of time. Cobb knows he should go to a hospital, his knee is in pieces and bleeding profusely, but he can't leave the man he plucked from a bar in Littleton alone in an empty warehouse with three other bodies, and so he stays.
"Arthur King?"
Arthur is drinking at his favorite bar when Cobb finds him, arms full of paperwork, three piece suit disheveled.
"Who's asking?" Arthur asks, leaning back and wobbling a little. Cobb smiles, extending his hand.
"Dominick Cobb."
"What do you want?" Arthur knows he sounds rude but he's had too much already and this guy has files and that's never good.
"I need your help, Mr. King, researching someone." Cobb sits down on the barstool next to Arthur and slides a thick manila folder in front of him. Arthur takes it warily and flips it open, scanning the small print.
"Will Eames, 32, Suspected Currency Forger. What do you need to know, it seems like you've already got a lot."
"I need your help finding him," Cobb says, resting his elbows on the bar. "Last we heard, he was in Mombasa."
"Who is 'we'?" Arthur asked, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. "Is this a joke? Did Bodhi put you-"
"Mr. King, I can tell you everything about yourself, from your Social Security number to the current address of Hannah Majors, the girl that broke your heart in fourth grade. Can you help us or do I need to be a little more convincing?"
Arthur blinks twice, before putting his glasses back on and opening the file again.
"So, Mombasa."
Arthur is dying, Cobb knows this and stays, because the guilt he feels is overwhelming. Six years of work and the closest they'd ever gotten to death was in a dream, and now here they were, in various stages of the ends of their lives, left with no one but each other.
"Arthur, I'm sorry," Cobb says, readjusting his leg so that it might, maybe, hurt a little less before he bleeds to death.
"Really, don't waste your last words on apologies," Arthur mumbles, his eyes rolling. "This hurts."
"Stop talking, you're making it worse," Cobb grunts, placing his hand on Arthur's chest. He feels Arthur's heart pounding and notices the blood squishing out in rhythm and suddenly feels sick. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, tasting metal in his mouth and knows its blood.
The sound of bullets pinging off metal makes Cobb's head hurt. He, Arthur and Eames are tearing down a hallway of some government building and, per the usual, Eames' mouth has gotten them in trouble.
Cobb hears something snap like a piece of wood and a second later, Arthur's anguished scream. Eames skids past Cobb, not slowing down or stopping as Cobb wheels around and, almost mechanically, grabs Arthur and throws him over his shoulder, practically unaware of his weight.
"You're unbelievable," Cobb roars at Eames when they emerge into the sunlight, scanning the traffic for Nash. "You were going to leave him there!"
"Mate, I knew you'd grab him," Eames responds, shoving a couple out of the way and flinging the door to the car open.
"I knew that too and I'm still pissed," Arthur groans as Cobb dumps him in the backseat. "I think my leg is broken."
Cobb can barely catch his breath, but in the back of his mind, he can't help but feel a little panic.
"How'd they find us?" he asks. Eames shrugs.
"Probably a funny bloke I met in Monaco," he says, staring out the window. "Regardless, we need to go back to Los Angeles and regroup. I suppose Arthur here needs a hospital." Eames pats Arthur's knee, biting back a smile when Arthur screams in pain.
"Leave him alone."
"Yeah, leave me alone."
"Oh, boo hoo, are you two getting hooked?" Eames deadpans, rolling his eyes.
Neither Cobb nor Arthur has a response, choosing instead to look different directions and pretend the previous night hadn't happened.
"How's your leg?" Nash asks after a few minutes and Arthur mumbles something in return. Eames scoffs.
"Hell Arthur, it's a broken leg, you're not dying." Arthur rolls his eyes and Cobb can't help but smile.
The memory is enough to jar Cobb back and when he opens his eyes, Arthur is dead.
This is wrong, all wrong, he thinks, placing a full palm on Arthur's face. Young men shouldn't die of gunshot wounds, at least not without a warzone involved and Cobb feels Arthur has been cheated, living out his final moments on a crude cement floor.
It's unjust, unfair and though Cobb's never been a fan of the level playing field, he knows that he should taken Arthur's bullet. Instead, the only person left in the world who knows him, has died his death.