Chapter 9

Arthur lay stretched across his bed, naked and blissed out. He could hear Eames in the shower, which he'd been invited to join, but he still couldn't move after the earth-shattering orgasm he'd just experienced. In fact, he didn't think he'd be able to move ever again. It was a pretty good way to go, all things considered. Oh, Arthur? He was a nice guy, how did he die? Wow, too much good sex? Bummer.

He grinned, seemingly unable to stop, but he was rudely commanded to stop basking in afterglow when his stomach growled in a fairly demanding way. He considered how long he'd be able to stay in bed before his stomach started to eat itself, but for some reason, he always had an annoying sense of something that made him feel like he couldn't just lay around, that he had something to do. Which was ridiculous, he knew for a fact that he didn't have anything that needed doing. Well, that wasn't true, there was a loose shutter on the west side of the house that needed to be fixed, and he supposed the lawn could stand to be mowed. But honestly? He was going to have to look for ways to fill the day anyway.

Just as he was weighing the merits of forcing his orgasm-inflicted body into motion, he heard the shower shut off. Eames was humming something, and Arthur decided he was just fine staying where he was, he'd just enjoy the show. Sure enough, Eames exited the bathroom in a towel, a fog of steam following him out the door. He was beautiful. There was no other word for it. Swirls of ink decorated his skin, his muscle definition and waistline maybe a bit more relaxed than they were in the past, but he was still so ridiculously gorgeous. He saw Arthur looking and grinned wolfishly while jumping on the bed and crawling his way up Arthur's body. He kissed Arthur, those long, slow, deeply intimate after-sex kisses that were Arthur's favorite. Well, next to hot, frantic pre-sex kisses. And comfortable, middle-of-the-afternoon kisses. Actually, all of Eames's kisses had pretty high pedestals.

"Hello, dear," Eames said. "Enjoying the view?" Eames wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. "I don't think I should indulge you so much, you know. You're not a teenager anymore."

"Humph." (Had Eames known him when he was a teenager?) He couldn't remember. (Why couldn't he remember that?) He tried to shrug off the odd thought and focus on the presentation in front of him. "You're my husband, and so, legally, you have to do what I say," Arthur said as haughtily as he could manage. "And that means that this," he ran his hand down Eames's side and gripped his ass under the towel, "is mine, and I can do what I want with it."

"Is that what it means? I must have missed that in the vows." Eames planted a loud smacking kiss on Arthur's dimple and rolled off him. "Better get up, darling. I'm making eggs wearing only my towel, you won't want to miss it." Then he winked and headed to the kitchen.

Arthur closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose, stretching and basking in how lucky he was. Finally, he rolled out of bed, briefly contemplating a shower but lazily throwing on a tattered t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts instead. He padded out to the kitchen, where Eames was, indeed, making eggs while wearing a towel. And humming. Arthur slid behind him and kissed his shoulder. "What are you humming? You never hum."

"Metallica. And yes I do, I'm the humming-est guy you'll ever meet."

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. "You're humming Metallica. Since when have you liked Metallica?" (Was that odd? Why was it odd?) He went to set the table but found it already set.

"What can I say, I'm drawn to the classics," Eames said offhand. He turned and deposited fluffy scrambled eggs onto plates.

Arthur sat, feeling slightly out of sorts but couldn't put his finger on why. He took a bite of egg and moaned because they were magnificent. Holy shit, these were the best eggs he'd ever tasted. "Jesus, Eames, what did you do to these eggs? They're amazing."

Eames looked bemused. "Same as every day, pet. But I'm glad you like them. So, what do you have planned for today?"

Arthur could not get over these eggs. Fuck. "Uh, I don't really have anything planned. I was thinking about fixing that shutter and then maybe mowing the lawn. You?"

Eames started loading the dishwasher. "I actually already did that stuff yesterday, so I guess you've got a day off. Tell you what, I'll put up the hammock and you can have a kip."

"Oh. Well, I kind of wanted to, like, do something."

"Need a repeat performance of this morning?" Eames teased.

"Are you kidding me? I can't do that again, I'm still recovering. Plus, I've been reliably informed that I'm no longer a teenager," Arthur grinned, sliding his arms around Eames and kissing his tattoos. "Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't we go to the shooting range this afternoon?"

Eames looked confused and started laughing. "Really!? Why?"

Now it was Arthur's turn to look confused. "Uh, I don't know. Why not?"

Eames shrugged, still laughing. "I mean, I guess, if you want to, pet. What are we shooting? Got a crossbow I don't know about?"

Arthur frowned, then shook his head at himself and tried to laugh along. "Heh. No, I just thought I'd take Rhonda and you could take your Colt and, I don't know, it'd be fun."

Eames kissed his dimple. "Arthur, I didn't know it was actually possible to screw someone's brains out, but I'm kind of impressed with myself. We can go if you really want, even though I have no idea who Rhonda is. But let's go tomorrow, ok? I've got some stuff to do around the house, and I still want to put up that hammock."

Arthur's unsettled feeling was back. "Uh...sure. Sure. Well, in that case, maybe I'll just go see what Dom is up to. Unless you need some help?"

"Nope, it's all sorted. Go on, I'll be here when you get back."

"'Kay." Arthur shrugged and tried to push it aside. "Well then, Mr. Eames, I absolutely forbid you to put on more clothes while I'm gone. I expect that hammock to be put up while wearing a towel. Our neighbors deserve no less."

Eames laughed and pushed him toward the shower.

"Christ, I can't believe the kids are so big." Arthur accepted the iced tea Dom brought him and watched James try to ollie over the obstacles he'd constructed on the back patio.

"I know it, man," Dom agreed. "They always say, 'Oh, it goes by so fast,' and I thought it was just one of those things people say. But seriously, blink and they're 16 and calling for gas money."

"No, I'm serious. It actually feels that way."

"I said, I know, man. And feel free to contribute to the gas fund, she's going to kill me."

Arthur grinned and sighed, leaning his head back on the lawn chair and feeling the heat bake his sunscreen into his skin. He'd been trying to ignore it, but the little niggle of unease was creeping into his conscious mind again, and he decided to bring it up.

"Dom?"

"Mmm?" Dom said around a mouthful of iced tea.

"Do you ever feel like you're...I don't know...missing something? Like, there's a special mission in life or a purpose to why you're here, and you just have to find it and it'll all make sense? Except you can't quite figure out what it is?"

"Yep."

Arthur started in surprise. "Really? You do?"

"Yeah, Arthur. I think that's called "life". Everyone goes through that. Although, I'm not going to lie, most people your age went through it about 20 years ago. But whatever, welcome to the club."

"Club?"

"Yeah, the "I don't know what I want to be when I grow up club". Lots of people join when they're adults. Say, what's going on? You and Eames ok?" Dom squinted at him.

"Yeah, of course. It's just that lately...lately, I've been feeling, I don't know. Off, I guess. Maybe I need a hobby," Arthur huffed out a laugh. "Or maybe I need to pull another job. Get back in the saddle." Actually, the more Arthur thought about it, the more appealing it sounded. There was something comforting about the research that went into a job, the hours spent going over finances and background checks and hacking into emails. Shit, he couldn't remember the last time he'd hacked into anything. He was probably all rusty.

He saw Dom staring at the backyard with an odd look on his face: contemplative, a bit confused, a small frown. Arthur was so good at killing a mood. It was his special talent, really. Maybe it could be part of his new hobby.

"Hey, are you ok?"

Then Dom relaxed and sat back cradling his iced tea. "Sure, why wouldn't I be? Everything I want is here." He started to hum a little and Arthur felt better.

Arthur berated himself for not being able to enjoy the things in front of him. Honestly, a great friend, who was really more like a brother, who'd accepted him and shared his family with him, and an amazing husband who was everything. He didn't need to be able to break into CIA databases to be happy.

Then he realized Dom was humming. "Is that Metallica?"

"Is it? Yeah, I guess it is." Then he went back to humming.

"Weird. Eames was humming that this morning." (That was weird, right? Why did it seem like he should know this song?)

"Was he? You always said he had good taste, but I never believed it until this very moment," Cobb smiled with his eyes closed, head tipped back on the chair in imitation of Arthur.

It was late when Arthur closed the front door quietly behind him, lost in thought. He could hear Eames in the kitchen, still humming Metallica. Finally, he made a decision and headed for the bedroom, not disguising his footsteps. He moved the little bedside table, popped the latch, and withdrew the laptop and gun case from the space under the floor. He waited, but didn't hear Eames come in behind him and he frowned. Then he frowned some more, because why would he be expecting his husband to genuinely sneak up behind him?

He took the laptop to the desk in the corner and booted it up, and removed the gun from the case while he waited. He inserted the magazine, loaded a round in the chamber and laid it on the desk next to the laptop and looked at it. He took a few breaths, then walked to the closet and reached in the far, far back, fingertips brushing the leather he suspected would be there. As he slid his arms through the shoulder holster straps, something shifted in his mind. The holster fit familiarly against his side, and when he slotted the gun (Rhonda) into it, it felt right. It felt solid, and comforting, and he hadn't realized how strange it had felt without it until he put it back on. Like a wedding band, he thought and ran his thumb over the edge of his.

His laptop was ready, but he had something else he wanted to check first.

"Eames?" he called, realizing now that the humming had stopped. He heard footsteps down the hall.

"Yeah?" Eames asked poking his head in the bedroom. He took in Arthur's holster and grinned at him, his face slightly confused. "What's up?"

"Est-ce que tu m'aimes?" Arthur asked, watching his face. Do you love me? Eames didn't lose his grin or his slightly confused face. And he didn't answer. Arthur walked closer to him. "Et pourquoi ne pas vous faufiler sur moi, Eames?" Why didn't you sneak up on me? And why don't you know who Rhonda is and since when do you like Metallica, and what the fuck is wrong with me?

"Is this going to be a thing, carrying a gun and speaking French? Because I could definitely get into this." Eames reached for him and Arthur let himself be pulled into a kiss, and he kissed back, desperately, tasting his own fear. Why did he have a feeling that something was off? Or maybe not something, maybe HE was off. He had these insane notions, things that seemed so obvious until he looked at them again, like Eames should know French and it would be weird if he didn't, but then...would it really be weird if his very English husband didn't speak French? Why would that be weird? Lots of people didn't speak French. Cobb didn't speak French, and he had been married to a French woman. Arthur threw himself into the kiss, suddenly needing Eames more than he ever had. He needed him to be here, needed to be with him. He needed to drown himself in Eames, shut out everything else in the world, wrap Eames around him and never come up for air. He wanted to rip off his holster and throw them out the window, then take Eames to bed and fuck him through the mattress until neither of them could see straight. He wanted, God, he wanted...

"Hey, hey, hey...darling...DARLING. What is wrong?" Eames was holding him by the biceps, concern etched on his face. Arthur realized his eyes were wet. He choked back a sob and clutched at Eames, burying his face in his neck and holding on for dear life.

"I don't know, I don't know anything anymore, I feel crazy." Arthur was fairly sure he sounded it too. "Let's just go somewhere, just the two of us, ok? We'll get on the plane, take a job somewhere..."

Eames pulled back, looking even more concerned. "A job? What kind of job?"

Arthur's frustration at the whole situation bubbled up. "What do you mean what kind of job? The kind of job we do. I'm sure we can scare up a PASIV somewhere, please, just...I need this. It's part of me, I didn't realize how big of a part until now, so just...please."

"I think you need to be more passive," Eames said teasingly. At Arthur's confused look he continued, "Look, just calm down, please? If you want us to go on holiday somewhere, that's fine, but you're a mess, darling, you should see your hair." He smiled softly. "Why don't you just lie back for a bit, hmm? We'll have Dom come over tomorrow, and we'll have a few beers, and it'll be a nice, normal day and you'll feel better."

Dom. A buzzing was filling Arthur's head, the kind of static that builds up just before it clears. Something was wrong, definitely. Something wrong with him, and something with Eames. But Dom...something was ABSOLUTELY wrong with Dom. Something...something...

He let himself be led over to the bed, a warm hand on the small of his back, his mind whirring. When Eames was satisfied he was settled in successfully, he headed back to the kitchen and as soon as he was out of sight, Arthur eased from the bed and walked to the window. The static in his head wasn't clearing, but it seemed to be solidifying, like shapes coming out of the fog. He eased the window open and stole quietly outside. He wanted to reach out for Eames, needed him at his back for this, but he didn't have time. He had to figure this out now. He had a deadline, and he had something he needed to do and it had something to do with Dom.

When he knocked on Dom's front door and he opened it in his pajamas, Arthur thought for the first time to look at his watch.

"Oh, Jesus. I'm so sorry, Dom, I didn't realize...I'll just go. I didn't wake the kids, did I?"

Dom snorted. "You cannot actually wake up teenagers, it's a law of nature. They're either still up, or they're comatose. Come in, please. You look like you could use a drink."

Arthur followed Dom to his tiny office and accepted the tumbler that was pressed into his hand.

"Now, what is going on? Are you guys ok?"

Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, his earlier conviction withering in the face of Dom's confidence. "Eames seems...strange or something, I don't know, maybe it's me."

Dom frowned. "Have you talked to him about it?"

"No, it's just little things, and maybe I'm reading into it." Arthur hesitated, but then pressed on. "Like, he didn't seem to know anything about dreamsharing. But that can't be, can it? I told him we should take a job and he asked what kind of job."

"Wow, dreamsharing." Dom sat back in his chair. "I haven't thought about that in forever. I gotta tell you, I don't know that I'd know anything about it either, after all this time. Maybe give him a break."

Arthur wasn't so sure.

"Ok, this is obviously upsetting you, let's talk about something else," Dom said, placing his own glass on his desk and sitting in the creaky leather chair. "Something that makes you happy. Come on, sit down."

Arthur dropped into the chair opposite him and took a long drink.

"Tell me how you and Eames got together."

"You know that story, we saw the house when we were visiting you and we called the realtor right then, who was having a shit day and offered it to us for probably half what it was worth. Remember? We couldn't pass it up."

"Sure, but what about before that? Like, how did you get to know each other?"

"Through dreamshare, of course."

"But you just said Eames didn't know anything about dreamshare."

"Right?! Which is why it's so weird!" Arthur plowed a hand through his hair.

"Ok, alright, fine, um, maybe a different story. How about, when did you know you loved him?"

Arthur deflated. "I've always loved him." A small smile flitted over his face, and he closed his eyes. "I just didn't know he felt the same way."

"What happened?" Dom prodded gently.

Arthur's brow furrowed, thinking. "Well..." he started slowly, "there was a night we stayed up all night, because something was going to happen and then we kissed, and then...wait, what did happen?"

"Was it New Year's?"

Arthur shook his head. "No, something bad was going to happen. Now it's going to bug me."

Dom shrugged. "It's probably not important."

But the static in Artur's head was getting louder, and clearer. "...there was something we had to do...and it was dangerous because we knew we might not make it back...because we had to go...Cobb," Arthur looked up suddenly. "How did I get here?"

"I know, man, life. You think it's going to go one way, but suddenly-"

"No, I mean, how did I GET HERE." Arthur leaned forward, eyes intent on Dom's. "Did I ride a bike? Do I own a car? Did I walk from the bus stop?"

"Well, how the hell should I know?!" Dom looked at him like he was delirious.

"No, that's what I mean! I have no idea!" Arthur could feel himself grinning and he stood, hands pressed flat on Dom's desk. "Dom! Do you realize what this means!?"

"Obviously not," Dom said dryly.

Arthur was giddy with happiness and couldn't stand still. "Do you still have your top?"

Dom's face clouded instantly. "I don't think about that anymore."

Arthur's stomach was doing tiny jumping jacks and he wanted to shake him. "Yes, you do! You're going to think about it right now, go and get it." When Dom didn't move, Arthur moved around the desk, pulling on the sleeve of Dom's pajamas. "I'm serious, go get it! Hurry up!"

Dom's face was mutinous, but he went. Arthur heard him walk up the stairs, heard the mutter of a TV in another room, one of the kids. He had better be right about this. He had been so sure, but a tiny niggle of doubt was creeping in, and he thought about Eames, probably stretched in their bed right now, or maybe waiting up for him on the couch, nursing a cup of tea. He wiped his palms on his pants, grounding himself. A few moments later, Dom was in the doorway, top gripped tightly in his hand.

"Spin it."

Dom didn't release his grip. "I...I can't," Dom replied stiffly. If Arthur had been worried Dom wouldn't remember, he wasn't worried now. "She's not here, and I finally got to a point where I'm ok with it. I can't go back. I've built one life without her, I don't know if I can do it again."

Arthur faced him. "Dom. I know, ok? I do."

"No, you don't!" Dom exploded, fists clenched. "You don't! You get more time with him, not more time without him! It's already been so long...and I just want to be with her." Dom's anger was fading into despair, and Arthur was scared.

"Dom. Look at me. You're right, ok? You're right. She still won't be there. But you're the same man, and you can do it. And we have to go back. You know that, right? I have to go back, but you HAVE to go back. They need you. Right now, they need you there. They don't need you here. And think of it this way...you get to watch them grow up all over again. How many parents get to do that?"

Dom shut his eyes and drew in a shaky breath. Then, with an equally shaky hand, he spun the top carefully on the desk.

It spun...and spun...and spun...and Dom just watched. He watched for an impossibly long time until Arthur finally reached out to stop it and placed it back in Dom's hand.

For just a moment, Dom looked lost, eyes pleading with Arthur to make it not be true. Then he set his jaw, squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. He nodded at Arthur and without a word, Arthur drew Rhonda and shot him in the head.

The top tumbled out of Dom's limp grasp and rolled until it bumped Arthur's shoe. Arthur looked at it grimly. "Eames, you better fucking be there." Then he turned the gun on himself and pulled the trigger.

A/N: Oh, and that Metallica song? Totally "Enter Sandman".