A/N: Sorry, this chapter kind of got away from me and it got a little long. Happy reading anyway, hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 5
"Oh, good, it's here," Arthur said, nudging the package with his toe as he unlocked the small bungalow. The stale air rushed out when he opened the door, and he moved through the house, opening windows and letting in a breeze. "Make yourself at home!" he hollered at Eames as he opened the box on the kitchen bar, tossing packaging out until he uncovered the Somnacin samples Yusef had sent.
Eames dropped their bags and the PASIV on the couch and looked around. It was surprisingly homey. He'd been to one of Arthur's apartments once, it was bare and plain without a trace of personal touch. This, though, this seemed like it might be Home, that is if Arthur would consider himself to own anything so pedestrian. Eames found himself smiling at the small things he noticed that he'd never have assumed Arthur would own-a low-end telly, a high-end stereo system, and an honest-to-God set of crappy well-thumbed paperbacks shoved on a shelf in the corner. He moved to the stereo and powered up the iPod docked there.
"Darling? These are all Rhianna songs."
"Of course they are," came Arthur's confused voice from the kitchen. "What else do people listen to?"
"I find myself drawn to the classics. You know, The Beatles and whatnot." Eames shook his head, smiling as he abandoned the iPod to examine the bookshelf.
Arthur's snort was louder as he entered the living room and handed Eames a glass of ice water, which he accepted gratefully. "I can't believe what a giant walking cliché you are, Eames."
"I'm English, Arthur. How many times do I have to explain the laws there?"
Arthur's dimples peeked out and Eames couldn't stop the thrill that ran up his spine at the sight. He covered it by taking a long drink, condensation cool against his fingertips.
"There's a guest room on the left, that's me on the right, " Arthur said quickly, inclining his head toward the hallway. Eames nodded and was preparing the appropriate innuendo as a retort, but Arthur was already off, all movement and efficiency. "I'll call Ari, let her know we're here. She should have already touched down, but I haven't had a chance to check the flight delays."
"Nothing you can do about them anyway, Arthur."
He paused. "Good point."
Eames took his bag to the guest room Arthur had indicated to place his few clean clothes in the closet. He made a mental note to talk to Arthur about laundering his remaining clothes and tried not to think about how it wouldn't really matter if it turned out he couldn't make it out of limbo. He also tried not to think about how he didn't really have a lot of other preparations to make in that regard, no one to contact, not a lot of affairs to put in order. It wasn't as if he had the most secure line of work in the world, so he'd always had a few things in place in case he didn't make it topside again. But it wasn't anything he'd looked at so square in the face before either. He didn't deal in odds the way he was sure Arthur did, but he always gave himself pretty good ones depending on the team he was with and the job that needed doing. This one, though, had a distinct smell of "one way trip" all over it. It was, in a word, sobering.
Arthur stacked the samples on the counter then opened the fridge by habit. Of course, it was unplugged and empty, he hadn't been in this house in months. The last time he'd been here had been a short overnight because it was silly to rent a hotel room in a town where he owned a house. But he remembered standing in this exact spot, looking at this exact same dark, empty refrigerator and thinking, 'I really do like this house, why am I never here?' At the time, it had been because Paul didn't even know he owned the damn house and he'd been living in that tiny apartment in Ontario. Now, though, it was because he might not be living anywhere soon. He might be hooked up to an IV at the Marina Del Rey Hospital by this time tomorrow while someone, probably the police, tried to notify his next of kin. Arthur pushed the thoughts away from him forcefully and slammed the useless refrigerator closed.
"Eames!"
"Yeah!" came the muffled shout from down the hall.
"You hungry?"
He heard Eames pad down the hallway and poke his head around the doorway of the kitchen. "Sure, darling. What are you going to introduce me to in your beautiful hometown?"
"Oh. Uh, well, shit. I was just planning on ordering in, but if you wanted to go somewhere..." Arthur trailed off because he hadn't thought of that, and of course Eames might want to blow off steam and do something fun on his possibly last lucid night on earth...
"No, no, that sounds lovely. What do they have for takeout in this one-horse town?" Eames winked at him. Seriously, who winked? And how could he be adorable and charming and so fucking hot when he winked!? No one should be able to do that, it went against the basic laws of nature.
"Well, this is Los Angeles, so...kale or sushi? Or kale with sushi?"
"Hmm. I'll leave the decision in your capable hands."
"Pizza and wings it is." Arthur reached for his phone while Eames's laugh followed him back down the hallway.
"Sounds perfect!" he called backwards and Arthur couldn't stop the stupid smile that crept onto his face. Who knew that getting pizza delivered could make a person happy?
He ordered food, then checked the flight schedules. "Eames?" He wandered down the hallway and leaned in through Eames's open door. "Ari's flight was delayed, she won't be here until late."
"Are we going to be ok?"
Arthur considered. "I suppose it depends on what time she gets in. We might just have her come over early tomorrow morning and go over everything then. I've got an outline of what we'll need to cover with her."
"Of course you do," Eames grinned.
"Yeah, of course I do," Arther countered pointedly. He arched an eyebrow at Eames. "You're welcome."
He headed to his room and moved immediately to the little table next to the bed. He moved it to the side and pressed the latch that opened the space under the floor. From it, he withdrew a sleek box made of wood and a familiar silver case.
"Neat," Eames said from behind him.
"Mmph," Arthur grunted. "Should have known I couldn't keep it secret from you."
"Why would you even try, darling!" Eames said lightly. "Not that I don't have a pretty good idea, but what is it exactly that you were so foolishly attempting to keep secret?"
Arthur grabbed the slim silver case and set it on the bed. He flipped the clasps and raised the lid to reveal a very advanced version of the PASIV that currently sat on his couch.
Eames let out a low whistle. "Where did you find that?" he asked, clearly fascinated.
"Stole it," Arthur said matter-of-factly. "Then made a few minor improvements."
"You stole it?! Truly?" Eames couldn't seem to help himself, he reached over to stroke one finger around the edge of the machine. "I didn't think you had it in you."
Arthur was not impressed. "Eames. I literally steal things for a living."
"Well, yeah, but you do it in such a proper way," he grinned. "What's that?" he said, nodding toward the wooden box. It was made of a dark walnut, the edges beautifully joined.
"That's her," Arthur said. "Rhonda." He felt himself grin, then opened the lid and removed his handgun and the ammo, automatically checking and loading the magazine. He handed the gun to Eames, grip first, silently offering. Eames looked surprised, then one corner of his mouth turned up and he reverently took the gun.
"Rhonda, eh?" he said, running his fingers over the metal.
Arthur nodded solemnly.
Eames grinned, wide and toothy. "She's lovely, pet."
Arthur accepted it back, then set it on the little table by the bed. He replaced the box in the space beneath the floor and re-latched it, moving everything back in place and making the hiding place virtually undetectable, even if you knew where to look.
When he looked up, he found Eames studying him, a strange look on his face. "What?" Silence stretched between them for a few heartbeats and Arthur felt a flare of panic. Here it came. Eames was going to tell him that this whole thing had been fun, darling, but he really must dash as he didn't really fancy spending the rest of his virile years in limbo, cheers and ta very much, or however he talked. It was really overdue if he was being honest with himself. He couldn't really expect Eames to be invested in this kamikaze mission, there was absolutely nothing in it for him, and it was completely shitty of him to even hope that Eames would have considered it. Arthur opened his mouth to cut him off before he even got started, to tell him that he knew what he was going to say and it was fine, really, and he'd buy him a ticket to wherever he wanted because of course he didn't have to stay around to help-
"Did you order beer with the pizza or should I run to get some?"
Arthur blinked. He dragged in a shaky breath, his nerve endings jangling. "Uh. No, I didn't order any." He stood, hands in his pockets, loaded die tight in his fist.
"Brilliant. I saw a shop down the street, I'll just pop over there and grab some. Do you still drink that piss water you Americans call beer?" Eames grinned cheekily.
Arthur smiled against his will. "You can get whatever you want, I'm fine with that."
"Oh ho! In that case, I'm buying the darkest beer they sell. I might just buy motor oil and see if you notice." Eames grabbed his jacket off the couch and headed to the door. "Back in a tick. Don't forget to let me back in."
"Sure," Arthur said, following him to the door and closing it behind him. Then he stood back, looking at the door for a breath before closing his eyes and scrubbing his hands over his face. Suddenly the door swung back open and Eames's beautiful face appeared again.
"Should we have some kind of secret knock or a password or something? So you know it's me when I come back and you let me in right away." Eames explained helpfully.
Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, unable to stop the slow smile that threatened to take over his face. How was he so fucking...god. "I think we'll figure it out."
Eames hesitated a second, then said, "Right," then closed the door behind him.
Arthur waited a few seconds, sure he knew what was coming next. Sure enough, ten seconds later, the door swung back open.
"Darling, I'd really feel better if we had a knock."
Arthur couldn't help the laugh that rolled out. It felt good, normal. "Go to the store, Mr. Eames."
Eames grinned, crooked teeth on display. "Right." Then he closed the door behind him.
A short time later, they stood in the kitchen, each of them leaning on a counter munching pizza out of the open box between them and swigging out of bottles.
"What I can't figure out, is what the hell happened up top that caused a fucking avalanche on my level," Eames said, laughing a little. It was funnier now, but the memory still a little fresh to forget all of the stress of trying to outrun a giant wall of snow.
"I don't know, but it was fucking nuts on my end too. I thought I might not get you all to the kick." Arthur admitted, waving a pizza crust his way.
"Really?" That surprised Eames. Arthur was nothing if not competent when it came to being the one watching over the dreamers. "The projections give you that much trouble?"
"No. Well, yes," Arthur admitted. "But that wasn't the real problem. The real problem was the zero grav."
Eames choked on the mouthful of beer he had. He sputtered and coughed until he could get his breath back. "Excuse me? What? Zero grav: as in zero gravity? As in weightless floating? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
Arthur's dimples peeked out. "Yeah, that's what zero grav usually means. So here I am, fighting off Fischer's projections while the entire room spins like a fucking dryer. And then," he grins, pizza crust gesticulating wildly, "trying to contain you assholes while you're floating around behind me."
"What did you do? How could you possibly create a drop when there was no gravity? A kick, by definition, requires gravity."
"Oh, I know, I remember your definition demonstration." Arthur mock glared at him. At least, Eames chose to believe it was a mock glare. "Let's just say it involved several, several feet of PASIV line, a couple pounds of C4, and our entire team growing much closer for a short while."
Eames was trying to laugh at the absurdity, surely Arthur's intent, but he couldn't stop being bowled over by this man in front of him. He felt his mouth hanging open and tried to cover it with an amazed chuckle.
"You are something else, Arthur." He shook his head in amazement.
"Me?!" Arthur looked genuinely confused. "You're the one that completed fucking inception, Eames. Your Maurice Fischer forge was the one that talked Robert into getting the idea, and it was your idea to do it that way! The whole thing was fucked and YOU pulled it off."
"Yeah, I'm sure Cobb and Saito are thrilled with the job I did," Eames brushed off the compliment and then cringed. Jesus fuck, what an insensitive thing to say. He glanced at Arthur quickly, and the other man looked somber, but not upset. Eames finished his beer. "You want another?" he offered, opening one for himself.
"Uh, sure," Arthur said. He looked at his watch. "Jesus, is that really what time it is? Ari's plane should have landed, I thought she'd have been here by now. It's getting late."
Eames hesitated. "Don't take this the wrong way, pet, but I am having a hard time convincing myself that I want to sleep tonight."
Arthur appeared amused. "Seeing as how you've never, in the entire history of us knowing each other, ever said to not take something the wrong way, I'm almost too shocked to tell you that I know exactly what you mean."
Eames shrugged one shoulder. "Seems a bit of a waste, to sleep in preparation for sleeping. Especially since we could be gearing up for a very large amount of sleeping if things don't go well."
They drank in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Then Arthur asked, "If...if it doesn't go well, is there anyone you want me to...or anything I can do...?"
Eames glanced at him over the top of his beer bottle. "I was just thinking about that earlier. No, actually. I've got a few things in place that'll happen automatically, have done for years. And no family to speak of, at least...none that I speak of. So, no, I think it's all sorted. Bit embarrassing, really." He shuffled his feet, then planted them firmly and shoved his hand in his pocket instead. He ran his fingers over the edge of the poker chip in his pocket (rough-reality). He'd picked up the habit that most long-time dreamsharers had-unconsciously checking his totem during times of stress. Of course, Arthur didn't share this habit. Part of Eames wanted to know that Arthur had some stupid annoying habit like he always left the bread bag and the butter open and on the counter, or he expected you to warm up his cold feet by putting them on you. Not that he'd lord it over him and tease him mercilessly. Well, not all the time.
"That's not embarrassing. Just an unfortunate side effect of the job." Arthur finished his beer, and Eames smiled as he watched him collect and rinse the empty bottles before putting them in the recycling bin.
"What about you?" Eames couldn't help asking.
"Me?" Arthur replied. "I've got a few automatic things too," he stated, nodding. "Part of it involves Cobb's kids, so I feel like I should call Miles and tell him something, but..." Arthur sighed. "Anyway, I don't really have anyone. My parents, maybe? If you feel up to it. Their info is on my phone, I'll make sure I write it down for you."
Eames nodded, then asked the question he didn't want to know the answer to. "What about...will Paul want to know? How do I get a hold of him?"
Arthur tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, teeth gritted.
And Eames held his breath.
Arthur smiled ruefully. "No, he won't want to know."
Eames grimaced for Arthur's benefit. "Ended that badly, huh?"
Arthur crossed his arms. "You know, I must just not be built for relationships. Or at least, I can't find anyone who wants to be in one with me. I think there must be something broken in me, or maybe I have some sort of stupid-about-relationships gene." Arthur rolled his eyes at himself, smiling ruefully.
"You're kidding, right?" Eames felt a sudden flare of anger. "You are literally a genius. You can hack into Interpol, and you know about physics, and you can fly a bloody plane for fuck's sake."
"Oh shut up, you speak, like, fifty languages!"
"I do not! It's like...twenty. And that's not even really a fair number, it's probably less than that," he added quickly, "because there are several languages that are close enough that you can get by on knowing just one, like Bosnian and Croatian-"
"Will you listen to yourself?! Fuck, Eames!"
Eames's eyes dropped to his shoes and he shoved his hands in his pockets, fingering the poker chip in his pocket, running his fingers over the ridged edges, assuring himself that this was reality.
"Also, that is super hot."
Eames's eyes flew to his, searching to make sure he wasn't joking because he really didn't think he could take that. But he found Arthur's eyes steady on his, his hands in his own pockets, waiting. Eames thought about the years they'd worked together, seeing each other, maybe, every seven or eight months and every time he'd see Arthur again he would be hit with a wave of longing all over again. He thought of all the times he'd wished for this moment, and knew, with certainty, that the only reason Arthur was doing this was because it might be his last night on earth and why not? His heart broke, just a little, at the thought and he wished he were strong enough to say no and hold out for what he really wanted. But he knew he wouldn't. It was his last night on earth too, and he'd take what he could get and pretend it was enough. Eames took a step toward him, directly into Arthur's space, too close to mistake his intent. Eames took his hand out of his pocket (the one not clutching his totem, desperately), and watched his fingers graze over Arthur's forearm, feeling the rough pads of his fingers skate over this small expanse of skin where his sleeves were rolled to the elbow. Then slowly, so slowly, he slid his palm up over Arthur's bicep, shoulder, the gorgeous column of his neck, and then he smoothed his thumb over Arthur's jawline. Eames watched his hand make this journey intently, giving Arthur time and space to move away if that was what he wanted. He couldn't quite meet his eyes, though, terrified he might find uncertainty or, worse, laughter there. He felt Arthur lean slightly toward him and his heart slammed in his chest. Eames shifted closer, his mouth inches from Arthur, and he could feel his breath ghosting over Arthur's skin.
"Ljubavi moja," Eames said, his voice low and rough. He couldn't stop staring at Arthur's lips, so tantalizingly close, and, suddenly, so impossibly possible.
"Eames," Arthur said, sounding slightly strangled. Eames met his eyes then and saw the dark desire and heat there, seconds before Arthur slammed their mouths together. Eames held Arthur's face between his hands, sucking and nipping at Arthur's lips and then licking into his mouth when it opened for him, the delicious glide of tongues causing a low moan to reverberate in the back of his throat. Arthur clutched at Eames's back, hands scrabbling at the muscles there, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. Eames pressed them even closer together, slotting one thigh between Arthur's and feeling his hips jerk forward involuntarily. A low groan was wrenched from Arthur as his hardness brushed Eames's hip, and Eames moved his kisses down Arthur's jaw toward his earlobe. Eames drew the soft flesh into his mouth, as he untucked Arthur's oxford from his trousers, desperate to get to skin. He was determined to make Arthur fall apart, to make him feel as crazy as he felt. Arthur seemed to melt against him, his breaths panting and heavy and his fingers scrambling with the buttons of Eames's shirt. He got about three buttons undone before Eames reclaimed his lips, each kiss hungrier and more desperate and Arthur's clever fingers fumbled uselessly.
"Darling," he panted against Arthur's lips, "I've thought about this so many times." He slid his palms around to grasp Arthur's perfect arse, fingers kneading.
"Me too," Arthur gasped, giving up on buttons and running his hands up under Eames's shirt to feel warm, taut skin. He pressed his mouth to Eames's bared throat, licking over his pulse point and fastening his lips around the spot that made Eames's suck in a breath. When Eames's gasp turned into a whine, Arthur buried his fingers in the hair at the base of Eames's skull and tugged his head back, exposing his neck and giving Arthur better access. Arthur let one thumb skate lightly over Eames's nipple while he grazed his teeth, lips and tongue up the line of muscle in Eames's neck.
"Christ," Eames gusted out, "you feel so good, pet." His hips canted against Arthur's, then again, moaning softly as their grinding became more rhythmic, each of them seeking friction.
A loud knock on the front door made them both freeze, heads jerked toward the sound.
"Shit," Arthur whispered.
"Hello? You guys in there?" came Ari's voice from outside.
"Yeah!" Arthur cleared his throat, 'uh, yeah. One sec!" They stepped away from each other hurriedly, straightening clothing and flattening disheveled hair.
Eames retreated to the kitchen, arms braced against the counter, forcing too fast breaths out his nose. He screwed his eyes shut, fingers white against the cool countertop, his internal monologue sounding something like, "ShitFuckGodDamnBloodySonofabitchingFUCK."
The front of his trousers tented obscenely and he wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry. He settled for deep breathing and thinking about his third-grade teacher, Mrs. Stebbins. He prayed this would work because he definitely did not want some kind of deep-seated Mrs. Stebbins kink. Then he checked his totem one more time. Yep. Just as he thought: too unfairly real to be anything but reality.