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It's autumn now, the leaves on the trees slowly fading from their usual rich green to golden reds and yellows. The colors seep into every part of the town, drowning daily life in their deep saturated colors. Arthur isn't used to these kinds of changes in the town - everything has been the same since the day he arrived there, nothing changes there. It's always the same, and it has been for years - or so he's told. He doesn't really know for sure, but it's not important.
The leaves are changing now, some falling to the ground, other clinging with the last of their strength to branches that want nothing more to do with them for the rest of the year. They'll be replaced next Spring, new bright green young leaves springing up to take their place and holding tight to their tree as long as they can before the process is started all over again.
Arthur watches the leaves every day, checking the colors and the variations as they change and pull him toward the winter months. It's a slow process, and if he wasn't actually looking for the changes he wouldn't even notice them until the leaves were finally giving up the battle all together and were blanketing the ground with their deep colors.
But he looks for the changes, watches every day and takes note of it - though he's not sure why he does other than to have a way to mark the passage of time. Everything else stays the same, but the leaves change - and Arthur clings to that knowledge for some reason, even if everyone in the town says it makes no sense.
"The seasons change the same as they do every year." Yusuf says, his voice slow and unworried - he does not take notice of the changes that the leaves undergo every day, he pays no attention to the number of leaves left clinging to the trees with their last bit of life, he cares not for the crunch of dead leaves scattered across the cobbled streets of the town - it is all unimportant to him. "What good does it to do count and measure? Will it change anything?"
"That's not the point." Arthur insists, and makes note of the day's changes in the little notebook he keeps in the pocket in the lining of his jacket. He can feel it, firm against his chest throughout the day, his own personal reminder of the changes that they experience - his one defiance since he came to the town.
The town has many rules. Far too many, Arthur tells himself some days, but he obeys them all and he does not ask too many questions. He accepts the rules as everyone else does, but he questions them on his own, in the privacy of the pages of his notebook. He stays up late at night, lantern burning in his room while he scratches out his notes for the day on the pages bleached yellow by candle light. It's the one thing they let him keep when he entered the town. And he holds it tight every day, keeping it with him at all times lest it and everything he knows disappears along with it.
He doesn't understand it, and he doesn't understand why no one ever questions the way things are. Instead they all answer the same whenever he brings the question up.
"Things are the way they are, because it is how they have always been." It's a simple answer and brooks no arguments no matter how much Arthur tries. Things are the way they are because it's how they have always been, again and again. It doesn't matter who he asks, it doesn't matter how he asks, or how many times he brings the question up. The answer never changes now matter how much he wishes it would. He just wants some kind of change, something new, something different.
But nothing ever changes here.
He’d done this kind of work for years; it was what he was trained for after all. Arthur never really expected anything different from his life. Oh, maybe something a bit more glamorous than all of this, but that wasn’t ever really the point, now was it?
Besides, Arthur knew himself well enough to know that he was never going to be the glamorous type. He was far too organized for that, far too grounded in reality. He liked things to be in order, to make a plan and then see it through to its completion. He liked those kinds of things, and as Eames always reminded him that was not the way glamorous people acted. And in Arthur's mind, Eames was something of an expert on the subject - not that he would ever tell him that, god knew he'd never hear the end of it if he did. And Eames was always far too pleased with himself all on his own without Arthur giving him any extra help.
He was good at order though, it was why Arthur always played the role of the point man. He knew what he was doing, and he was good at it. And that was the important part - you couldn't do this kind of thing if you were only going to half ass it, Arthur had heard of too many up and coming people in this business who went and got themselves on the wrong end of a .22 because they didn't take the time to make sure they were doing things right.
Arthur was just a kid when he started working with Dom and Mal, fresh out of the military with a crew cut and feeling like just a bit of an idiot without his uniform - he felt like a kid, hell he was a kid, and without the starched uniform and all its trappings he felt even more his age - but Mal was a friend of the family, he’d known her since he was a kid (well more of a kid) and when she said she had a job offer for him Arthur had jumped at the chance.
He hadn’t expected her to want to make use of the training he’d received over the last four years. Dream share technology was still experimental when Arthur had joined ranks, and he was part of a group trained and tested with the tech. He’d been killed an innumerable amount of times in his dreams, more times than he'd ever imagined. They said it was so soldiers could get used to the idea of killing - they just forgot to mention it was so they could get used to the idea of being killed too. Death was comforting now in some ways, it was as easy as falling asleep, or waking up in most cases.
Mal showed him how the technology could be used for more though. She never let herself be contained by the idea of what things should be - she was always doing something new, something different, much to Dom’s constant consternation. They were an odd pair in Arthur’s mind, but Mal loved him, and there was no stopping her once she had her mind made up.
Something they all learned later.
It had been just the three of them for so long, Arthur was unprepared to be left with only Dom after everything, but he couldn’t just leave him. Mal had loved him, and Dom wouldn’t have lasted a day on his own. Arthur grew up more in those months he and Dom traveled across the globe, everywhere but home, than he had during any other part of his life. He stopped being that little boy that Dom and Mal had taken in and trained and became a man. He had a purpose and there was nothing Arthur loved more than to have a purpose. It was part of the reason he'd loved the military so much - you always had a purpose there, no matter your rank.
The three of them had made an excellent team - but without Mal things never worked as well as they had in the past. Dom was sloppy, and it only took Mal sidling up to him once to slide a knife between his ribs for Arthur to know there was something wrong.
It was never easy being killed by Mal, no matter how many times it occurred - and it happened more than Arthur would have liked. In the military, you knew how it would happen. You’d get shot, sometimes you’d bleed out - but only if you were clumsy and dropped your gun somewhere you couldn’t reach. And if you were lucky you’d have someone there to finish the job if they didn’t do it on the first try.
Mal liked to watch you die though; she liked to make it last and let you feel the pain, feel the life slipping out of you, savoring each drop. She had always been like that.
Sitting at the table at breakfast, Mal would lean back in her chair with all the ease and contentment of a cat while she slowly peeled the bitter sweet rind off her orange, fingers glistening with juice in the morning light coming in through the windows. She would lay each section down before continuing with the task, running her thumb beneath the peel and the tender flesh of the fruit separating the two as she slowly worked her way around until she was left with just the ripe sweet sections of orange. And even that she would take her time to savor, peeling apart each section piece by piece and closing her eyes to enjoy the burst of juice on her tongue with each bite.
Arthur had always loved to watch her so enraptured. Until she watched him die with the same fervor.
Arthur thinks he likes the town. He would say he likes the town if he was asked. It’s a very nice place to live. The climate is temperate, and the people are all nice. He never had anything bad to say about the town, and despite that, there was something about the place that never felt quite right to him. Something was always a bit off, but he could never place it.
He’s been here a few weeks all ready, actually it’s been five weeks and four days. He could never let himself lose track of the days, even if each one does have a habit of fading into the next in a very annoying sort of way, despite his meticulous notes.
Why he came here is still something of a mystery. A mystery Arthur has been working to try and solve since his arrival. All he can remember is that he couldn’t go back the way he’d come.
The town centers around a large plaza, the cobblestones arranged in what must have been an artful design at one point, weaving their way around the open area that centers on the fountain in the middle of it all. It’s dry now - and by Arthur’s estimation it has been for some time now. At one point painted with an intricate design that’s long since faded in the sunlight.
From this central plaza more buildings fan out, always circling this central spot despite the odd lay out in parts of the town. Arthur wonders if any plan went into the building of the town or if it slowly built itself up over the years in whatever way that worked best at the time - without thought for any future expansion. It was a curious thought any way his mind framed it.
To say, though, that the plaza is the center of the town is not entirely correct - it is the physical center of the town but nearly everyone who remains in the town takes up residence in the northern quarter, nearest the gate and at the furthest point from the forest that creep toward the buildings at the town's furthest edge. There is a wall that surrounds the town, wrapping around it and disappearing as it wraps around the forest as well, keeping everything closed in though Arthur doesn't understand why.
Since his arrival Arthur has been told the wall is there to protect the town - there are animals that roam the land beyond the wall and in the past the animals used to come into the town and steal children away in the dead of night. So, many years ago the town began work on the wall, building it higher and higher every year until they were certain the animals could not climb over it - and no one could flee over it either.
"But why would you want to leave?" Ariadne asks as she surveys the space she’s been clearing for her garden. Arthur stands with her, watching her movements, the way she makes notes on her plans, adjusting for the level of the soil and the tilt of the sun. It’s all very taxing work - Arthur can see that.
"What if I needed something?" It doesn’t seem like it should be such an odd thing, to want to leave the town.
"What would you need that we don’t have here?" Ariadne frowns at her plans, rubbing something out with the back end of her pencil before replacing the thoughts that had been there with something new, something better no doubt.
"I don’t know. There are people outside the wall, aren’t there? What if I wanted to visit them?" Arthur kicks at the ground, hands shoved into his pockets. It’s getting colder now, as more of the leaves turn from green to red and then brown.
Ariadne stopped working then, usually when they have their conversations she continues to work never looking at Arthur while she perfects her plans, her responses to his questions were the only way he ever knew that she was even aware that he was there with her each morning at all, and looks at him for a moment before glancing over the wall that rose up toward the sky. Its uneven edge like a battlement reaching out toward the grey blue canopy overhead.
"My mother left the town." She says. "Years ago."
"Where did she go?" Arthur asks.
"I don’t know." Ariadne lifts her shoulders for a brief moment and sighs. "She had plans, so many things that I never understood. And she said she couldn’t stay."
Arthur wonders where her mother could have gone, what she did out in the lands outside of the wall, why she didn't take Ariadne with her. And he wonders if he came from the same place that Ariadne’s mother had gone. There is so much that he can’t remember, so many things he feels he should have the answer to, but cannot find them no matter how hard he tries.
He remembers the path he found himself walking along right as the wall loomed up over him, and it had been an easy choice to make his way toward the town. And when Arthur reached the gate and was stopped he couldn’t think of a reason not to do as he was asked - what else would he do? Go back out into the land that surrounded the town? There was nothing as far as the eye could see - no it was by far the safer choice to enter the town.
"You’ll be staying at Terra Mirum." Saito had told him. "You follow the path into the town and take the third right you'll find it easily enough." He'd promised. "Yusuf will take care of you and make sure you have everything you need."
"I have my own things." Arthur protested, not that he had much, just a few odds and ends stuffed into his pockets, but it seemed like he should make sure Saito knew that.
"You must leave them here." Saito had said.
"Why?" Arthur's hand clenched, desperate for something in his pocket, something that had some meaning, but he wasn't sure what it was.
"It is the way things are." Had been the simple response he'd been given.
"After you're settled you will go to the Library. There is a man there, tell him I sent you, and he will explain your work."
The offer came in when Arthur was in Madrid, he was working at letting himself relax - enjoying the spoils he'd won over the years he'd been at this business but had never been able to enjoy for one reason or another, usually Dom.
He lay on the beach, the sun high overhead soaking into his skin. He was restless though; Arthur had never been good at staying in one place for long, and even worse at sitting still when he did end up sticking around. He liked having something to do - a purpose - without it, he felt lost, unsure of what to do with himself.
Eames was the man of leisure; he was the one most at home lying in bed with the sheets all wrecked and soaking in the feeling of having nothing at all to do. There were times Arthur envied him that ability to be so completely at home in his skin no matter where he was. And then Arthur would remember that he hated Eames, the man had no subtlety for all his ability, and all his training.
You didn't just join this world without training of some sort - most civilians didn't even know that dream share technology even existed. Mal and Dom were the rare exception to the rule - they had a connection in Miles.
But Eames.
He was a military man like Arthur, and despite all the training he must have had you could never see it in the way he carried himself. Arthur kept himself neat and orderly, clothes pressed and polished - a studious uniform of expensive suits that might have looked silly on the young boy that had left the military and was taken in by Mal and Dom all those years ago, but now they fit him to a T.
And yet for all that Arthur knew to make up the man, Eames never for even a moment let on that he was more than a man willing to do the smallest amount of work to complete a job, though Arthur knew differently of course, but that wasn't exactly the point.
Eames had been trained just the way Arthur had - to gain experience in killing. Though where Arthur had gotten into all of this to experiment with Mal and Dom, Eames had gotten into it for the money. They both had their training but Eames used his for his own gains from the start, Arthur had only done so when the other options disappeared.
He didn't exactly have that excuse anymore. Since they had successfully pulled the Fischer job, Arthur didn't actually have to continue in this line of work - he had many different options open to him now, and more than enough money to keep himself quite happy should he desire that sort of life.
But that was the thing about inception. After you did it, nothing ever was really quite the same again. And while he'd royally fucked up he still missed the kind of sick desperation he'd felt in the pit of his stomach while they did their best to avoid the projections of Fischer's mind. The jobs he'd pulled since then were never as good.
They were all easy, too easy, now.
In the past extraction had been something of a challenge, but when you knew what you were doing - knew that you could successfully pull of an inception; well, the challenge went right out of it.
Which was why Arthur had attempted to live a life of leisure. To spend the considerable amount of money he'd earned and just be for a short time, but it seemed that years of keeping himself constantly moving was not an easy habit to break, no matter how much he might try.
So he was grateful when Saito called him, and filled him in on this newest job he had for him. Saito kept the entire team on retainer (except for Dom - who had sworn off the business entirely after he'd gotten back to his children. Dom did like to keep his word, and he'd told Miles it would be his last, though Eames constantly suggested that Dom would be back at some point. "No one leaves all of this that easily, darling. He'll come back, give it time." He sounded so sure, that Arthur almost believed him, but then he visited and saw Dom's face as he played with Phillipa and James and he knew, no matter how convincing Eames could make himself sound, Dom wasn't coming back.)
Saito always called Arthur first. He'd sort of taken up the slack in the space where Dom had been for so long, it wasn't all that difficult, and he had more than enough experience with all of it. Arthur jotted down a time and a date on the napkin that was weighted down by the disgustingly blue sweet tropical drink he'd gotten as part of his attempt to live easily, and then stuffed it into his pocket (maybe it wasn't exactly kosher wearing anything but swim trunks while lounging poolside, but there was no way in hell Arthur was going to go around bare chested with only a pair of tacky shorts to cover him, and god forbid anyone suggest something smaller than trunks.) before heading back up to his room.
The high rise building where he met Saito didn't have quite the same view as his room in Madrid, but Arthur had always preferred looking down at a city sprawled out in all directions beneath him, than to see an expanse of nature at all angles. This was much more relaxing than a sea side hotel any day, no matter what anyone said. And he had a feeling there would certainly be someone who would have said something about that particular assertion.
"Ah, Arthur, I am so glad you could meet me so quickly." Saito looked older some how since they had gotten off the plane in Los Angeles, they never spoke of what had happened in Limbo - if Saito even remembered it, though Arthur didn't doubt that he did. He walked like a much older man now. One who had lived through many years.
"Of course." He inclined his head in greeting.
"Please have a seat."
Though the town is large, reaching out in tendrils from the center plaza it seems strangely empty. Many of the homes and businesses all seem to be abandoned, though Arthur can see smoke rising from the chimney tops in the evening of places he had been certain were left vacant for years now. He can never truly be sure of that, and he hasn't felt curious enough to go investigate the situation for himself some lonely night.
No, at night he is more than content to wrap himself up in the thick wool blanket that covers the small bed Yusuf provided for him when he came to his pub that first day. Yusuf had looked like he was expecting Arthur, like he'd known before even Arthur did that he would be coming here - and the room was waiting, ready for him as soon as Yusuf had taken him inside.
"I will prepare meals for you each morning, and you are welcome to spend your free time here in the pub." Yusuf had explained simply, gesturing to the dimly lit room Arthur had entered upon his arrival at Terra Mirum. "Though you may also visit the rest of the town, be sure though -" Arthur had looked up from where he'd been drawing idle patterns on the bar top when Yusuf paused to make sure he had his attention. "You do not wander too far into the forest, always make sure you can see the town if you do venture into the forest."
And that was all that was said on the matter, Arthur still didn't really understand the warning, but he had heeded Yusuf's warning none the less. There was something in the other man's tone that brooked no argument from him.
All in all Yusuf was a good man, he kept himself busy during the day with his pub, wiping tables and working on new and inventive brews that he could share with those who visited. It was what he was known for - Arthur heard it from everyone when they learned he was staying in the room above the pub.
"Oh Yusuf makes the best ales."
"His beer is the best around, there is nothing better than what Yusuf makes there at Terra Mirum."
"You're lucky to be staying there, so many would love to have a chance to see for themselves how Yusuf works his magic."
Arthur didn't really understand it, but nodded and agreed with the proper amount of solemnity that yes, Yusuf really was the best, and it was such a honor to be staying with him since he'd come to the town. And everyone who heard it seemed to be convinced that Arthur was in fact as grateful for the opportunity as he ought to be and they were satisfied. And Arthur was safe from what he imagined would be quite a tirade from the way people seemed to be so intense about their mutual respect for the brewer.
When Arthur was not with Yusuf he took his time exploring the town. He would wander up streets, and down alley ways, and though he never seemed to find anything different he continued to trace the same paths every week trying to find something new or different. But as he was reminded quite often nothing ever changed there.
"Have you seen my wife?" Cobb asks him one day, while Arthur is watching his children play in the grass. A little boy and a little girl running hand and hand through the tall grass near the edge of the forest, until they tumble to the ground curling in on themselves giggling like mad. Arthur never really sees their faces but he can imagine the glee on their faces as they play together.
"I haven't." Arthur turns from the children to look at Cobb. The man is older than him, and constantly looks like he needs someone to look after him, like he is lost without his wife who seems to have left at some point - though no one seems to know what happened to the woman. All he is ever told is that she is gone, but Cobb cannot seem to accept that or doesn't know the way everyone else in the town seems to. Arthur isn't sure what to make of the situation.
Cob frowns and sighs. "She's going to miss the children again if she doesn't come home soon." And all Arthur can do is nod in response, he isn't sure what else to say to the man, it is not the first time they have had this conversation. Though Arthur wishes that were the case, it was easier the first time - if a bit unexpected, but having to relive this conversation - to try again and again to search for the right answer, the one that will make Cobb look a little less lost is never found and it is endlessly frustrating for Arthur.
"You shouldn't spend so much time with Cobb." Ariadne tells him as he stands with her, watching her going over her plans again. She's broken ground now, and it's more than just plans for uneven dirt the way it has been for as long as Arthur has known her - and he wonders how many more times her plans will change until she is satisfied with the results she comes up with. They all look vaguely similar to Arthur, but then he is not the designer and so he keeps his mouth shut and lets Ariadne continue her work in peace.
"Why?" Cobb may constantly ask the same questions but Arthur doesn't see the harm in it.
"He is not well - he's missing something, and no matter what we do he does not get better." She speaks matter-of-factly about the man and pushes her pencil behind her ear blowing a strand of hair out of her face as she picks up her shovel again, getting back to the process of moving soil and turning into reality the plans she has made for this space.
"Will it hurt me to continue to speak with him?" Arthur wonders while watching Ariadne. She is beautiful and Arthur feels like he ought to be working alongside her instead of simply standing there - but they all have their professions and this is hers. He has been told this before and the people here seem to be very firm in their chosen professions. So Arthur remains where he stands and watches her work.
"No, of course not."
"Will it hurt him if I continue to speak with him?" He asks.
"No, why would it?"
"Why should I not spend time with him then?"
"What will it change if you do? He never changes." Ariadne turns over another shovelful of soil, wiping away moisture from her brow on her sleeve, before continuing with her work. "Nothing ever changes." Arthur repeats the words with Ariadne silently.
Nothing ever changes. And yet here in front of him is evidence that it does in fact change. And his notebook is filled with instances of change since he'd arrived, and his own work has been cataloguing history - a record of all the changes the town had gone through up until this point. Things do change here despite what people seem to think - Arthur just does not understand their insistence that it does not when it is so apparent that it does.
The one time he tried to have this conversation though it did not go well.
"Small things change yes of course, that is all part of the passing of time, but things do not change here. They are they way they are for a reason and there is no reason for them to change so they do not." Saito had told him simply one afternoon when Arthur had wandered to the gate and struck up a conversation with the man. He doesn't know how to fight it when Saito is so firm in his assessment that things are as they should be.
Arthur feels like there should be more he has to say about it but he can never find the right words, and so he leaves the gatehouse without having added anything to the conversation they run again and again, but Saito never seems to tire of it for all that it is the same. Arthur suspects that is because no one comes to visit him at the gate house with as much regularity as Arthur and he enjoys the company to the solitude in which he lives the majority of his life.
Saito laid out all the details for Arthur that night in the hotel room overlooking New York. The next day Arthur was on a plane out to Hong Kong to start setting things up before everyone else arrived, it was what he did now - he was still the point man after all - even without Dom around to do the extracting. Arthur just took on an added role. It wasn't too difficult considering the majority of what he did originally was taken care of before they ever entered the dream - he just cut himself out of his ability to be the dreamer for the second level of dreams.
But since Ariadne didn't need to babysit Dom and his sanity she made the perfect replacement for him, and she had grown up quite a bit since the Fischer job so he never felt too bad about leaving her behind.
And they rarely got involved in the kind of high stakes jobs that the Fischer job was anymore. There was very little call for that sort of thing despite their ability to complete the task. Things were never as intense as they were then - and Arthur was at times grateful for that - he'd never fucked up as royally on a job as he had on the Fischer job and he was glad not to have the opportunity to do that again any time soon.
But on the other hand...
"No it's perfect really." Arthur assured Saito over the phone as he walked through the warehouse the businessman had procured for just this job. It was large, but not so expansive they would feel lost in the space. There was space for them to spread out , everyone would have their own space in which to work while they got things squared away - you almost always only had one chance to do these things and Arthur didn't want to rush this and miss their opportunity to complete the job.
While Saito was amazingly generous at times, Arthur had no doubt that beneath all that was a man who did not like to be disappointed and he would get what he wanted. Arthur didn't want to be the one to find out what Saito was like when he was disappointed.
Thankfully this time Saito wouldn't be playing tourist in the dream - he trusted them to complete the job, and wasn't as eager to watch over his investment as he had been in the past. In fact, Arthur was sure that the Fisher job was the last time Saito had gone into dream space - though after what had happened Arthur wasn't sure he blamed the other man. He didn't know how Dom had continued with dreaming once he'd gotten back from Limbo.
He suspected the insistence that they go back was part of what had gotten to Mal, no matter what Dom said about inception, about the idea he'd planted in his own wife's head.
Arthur didn't care.
He pushed away those thoughts though all ready working on the plan for the job. Yes, the space Saito had gotten for them would more than do.
Arthur would take a few days to scope out the situation before he contacted the rest of the team and had them come out. He wanted to be as thorough as possible with his background work.
"You work too hard, darling." The familiar voice startled Arthur out of his thoughts, brooding over the open moleskine that lay open on the table in front of him while he sat in the corner of the hotel bar - he liked having his back to the wall.
"Someone has to." Arthur said looking up, his eyebrows knitting together when he saw Eames standing across from him - familiar smirk spread across his face while he looked down at him.
"Well aren't you going to invite me to sit down?"
"Why would I do that?"
"Because it's the polite thing to do, of course." Eames rolled his eyes like the answer had been the most obvious one in the world, and perhaps it had been, but then very little of their relationship had ever been based on what had been the polite thing to do. No, in fact the majority of their relationship was predicated on just the opposite.
Eames had always rubbed Arthur wrong. Mal had adored Eames, she thought he was wonderful and so talented she reminded Arthur again and again, though he would only scowl and continue ignoring Eames as long as he could, or respond with scathing remarks when he had to speak to the other man.
Despite his own opinions of the man, it had always seemed that Eames enjoyed their sort of verbal sparring, without even the slightest hint that Arthur's attempts to make Eames see that his enjoyment had not been the point of any of this had even been recognized. But it never did any good. Eames always insisted on pet names, and private grins, and cautionary touches when no one was looking.
Arthur hated it and at the same time he wasn't sure he would have known any other way to interact with Eames for all his desire to change things. It seemed despite everything Eames never changed.
"What are you doing here?" Was Arthur's only response when Eames pulled out the chair across from him and waved over a waitress in a skirt that had to be kept in place by tape (or magic - Arthur couldn't really decide) and ordered himself a drink.
"Pleasure to see you again as well Arthur, darling." Eames smirked. "We are working a job are we not?" He asked, raising his glass in a silent toast after the waitress set it down in front of him, and Arthur watched as Eames shamelessly let his eyes follow the shape of her backside as she made her way back to the bar.
"You're not supposed to be here for another week." It seemed Arthur was unable to actually answer anything said by Eames at the moment; he was far more concerned with how the forger had managed to find his way here a week early.
"Saito seemed to think you could use a hand on some of the ground work, and I could use the extra time to figure out who would best suit this sort of thing." Eames elaborated for him and Arthur could only nod - Saito might not want to play tourist anymore, but that didn't keep him from meddling. It made Arthur tense to know that he wasn't as in charge of this job as he might have liked to be - but there was little to do about it now, Eames was here and he wasn't about to send him back the way he'd come no matter how much he might have liked to.
"So what have you gotten so far?" Eames asked, taking a slow sip of the amber liquid that circled around in his glass, leaning back, and Arthur felt Eames' feet nudge his under the table as Eames stretched his legs out in front of him, crowding up into Arthur's personal space. Eames knew how much Arthur hated that, and Arthur made it his mission not to let on that this bothered him tonight - he didn't care Eames was an idiot, he didn't need to give him further excuse to continue to play with him.
Arthur explained the details he'd gleaned so far, as much as he might have wanted that extra week on his own to figure things out - it would help to have an extra set of eyes and another brain to come up with ideas, and things that Arthur didn't see.
Eames did have a knack for coming up with ideas that were out of the box - and for someone like Arthur who was so very in the box it helped to have that differing view point around at times like these. They could take the next week and figure things out before Ariadne and Yusuf arrived and they made the final arrangements for the job.
The only problem with having Eames there with him for a week without the other two members of the team meant that all his time was spent with the most annoying man in the world. And Arthur decided on the second day, while Eames leaned back in his chair popping gum as he read through the Covey files that it would be a miracle if he didn't shoot him before the week was up. In fact it would be a real feat if he didn't strangle Eames before the hour was up if he were being honest. And Arthur was nothing if not honest.
"Honest to a fault." Eames had told him more than once. Usually when Arthur had made mention of his horrid taste - or when Arthur had said for not the first time that Eames was a complete idiot. Neither was particularly true, but Arthur needed something to grasp on to - Eames had so easily found his way under Arthur's skin and it was only fair that Arthur had something of his own to use against the other man, true or not.
"I could never be anything but." Was always his response, and perhaps he even smiled a bit when they had that particular conversation, but Arthur never would have admitted to it even if it were true, and it most definitely wasn't.
"You'll be reading the histories." Saito had told him that first day while he stood in the gatehouse emptying his pockets of all his belongings, dropping them all into a box that Saito had provided for him. Saito let him keep the notebook that he had brought with him, but the rest: a gun (why did he have a gun?), a single red die, and a ring; had been left there in the gatehouse.
Saito had promised to keep it safe for him, to make sure nothing happened to it all - and he would be there to watch over it for him, and if Arthur ever left he could have it all back happily, but none of it was allowed in the town. What was there left for Arthur to do but empty his pockets? He couldn't go back out into the lands that stretched out uncomfortably around the town, who knew how long he would have to walk before he found something, anything at all.
No, the town had been his only option.
"Histories?"
"Yes."
"What does that mean?"
"The histories of the town - of the world, are kept in the library. Yusuf will point you in the right direction once you are settled in." Saito had assured him. And Yusuf had; he gave Arthur very good directions.
"There is a man there, at the library; he takes care of the histories. He will make you dinner each night and show you how it is to be done." Arthur was even more confused that first day - how else did one read histories but to open the book and read the words from the page? He couldn't seem to come up with any other way to make it work in his mind and so he put it out of his mind while he settled in at Yusuf's place.
He waited a few days, getting to know the town a bit better before he made his way to the library. It was on the opposite side of town, and Arthur had to cross through the central plaza in order to get there - oh he could have taken side streets most likely, but it would have drawn out the trip and he had a feeling he would be lost in a manner of minutes if he started going down streets he didn't recognize.
The town wasn't that big, but he'd see the way the alleyways wound and twisted behind the main buildings and he wasn't in a hurry to try and find his way through the maze they no doubt created. And so he stuck to the larger roads following the directions Yusuf had given him.
If Yusuf hadn't described the building to Arthur when he had given him his directions Arthur would have missed the building entirely - it looked nothing like a library. In fact it looked the same as every building around it in most ways, though it was the largest of any in this part of town.
Arthur wonders what the other buildings contain - there is no way of telling from the outside, and they all appear to be abandoned so he hasn't tried to go inside to investigate. Perhaps the building next door is a bakery, though there is never the smell of baking, and maybe the building across the street is a hardware store - though with so many buildings in disrepair Arthur suspects the town does not have such a business within its walls. Or if it does no one makes use of it - he likes making up ideas for what the other buildings might be used for, coming up with something new each time he passes them.
In the time it takes to walk to the library from Yusuf's pub, Arthur speculates about the buildings he passes, and wonders to himself if there are people inside, peeking out at him from the dingy windows, looking out where Arthur can only imagine he sees in.
It helps to pass the time, no matter how futile the exercise is. Much like writing in his notebook.
When he first came to the library Arthur was sure he had the wrong building. It looked empty when he stepped inside, it was quiet and there was not a soul to be seen. He slowly steps into the dim light cast by a fire glowing in the hearth, the only sign that there might possibly be someone there, and looks around.
"Hello?" He calls into the space but there is no answer. Arthur waits, standing still near the fire hands stuffed into his pocket, though he's not cold - the gesture is simply to keep him from fidgeting, he hates doing that for some reason. It doesn't give the right impression, but what impression would be the right one isn't entirely certain either.
Arthur waits there for seven minutes, telling himself that he will leave after ten if no one has shown up and ask Yusuf to give him the directions again - perhaps he can convince Yusuf to walk him to the library if he asks right, though he has a hard time imagining the brewer leaving his pub on its own - even for the time it would take to show Arthur the way to the library.
Maybe he could ask Ariadne, or Cobb, or even Saito - though each one has their own reasons that they might not be eager to leave their tasks to help him. Thankfully he does not have to do any of this.
A man steps out from the back room rubbing his hands clean on a towel and stops when he sees Arthur standing by the fire.
"Oh, you're here. You should have said something."
"I did." Arthur insists. The man looks familiar, but Arthur is not sure why - no one else has seemed that way to him since he came to the town. "When I came in."
"I didn't hear you then." The man shrugs, and tilts his head toward the room he just left. "Come with me and we can get started."
Arthur simply nods and follows him to the back room - it feels a bit like he shouldn't be there, like he's intruding in some way, despite having been told by Saito that this is where he is supposed to be. He follows the librarian though, letting him lead the way into the back and then through the stacks.
Expecting the shelves to be filled with books, Arthur is taken aback when Eames stops him in front of the first shelf they come to. "These are the histories. It is my job to take care of them and to help you if you need it." He explains, though Arthur's full attention is on the records that fill the shelves. They stretch on so deep into the room - the building is so much bigger than Arthur had suspected from the outside – that Arthur isn't sure it would be possible for any one person to ever read them all.
"How am I supposed to read these?" Arthur asked glancing back at the librarian, unsure of what he should do here.
"I will show you, it is not very difficult."
The librarian took the memory off the shelf and lead Arthur to a table - it was still in view of the stacks, but it was removed enough that Arthur could work in peace, and so could the librarian, but if he needed help all he had to do was call and he should be heard.
The librarian explained the equipment, and the way Arthur was to read the histories. "I have never done it myself, only the historian may read the histories - but I know enough to explain it to you." And as he had been told it was very easy to do.
It was tiring work though, and Arthur made it through only one history before he felt exhausted, though all he had done was sit for the entire time it took for him to take the history from the record and take it into himself. It was only a small portion of life here in the town - from an individual perspective, and it had taken so much out of him.
Taking a history in, it was hard to explain how it was done – the librarian showed him the basics of the act, but as he had said he had never done it so it was up to Arthur to put the simple motions into action and hope it came out right. The first time, Arthur sat there at his small table, the record in his hands and placed it on the gramophone. He expected sound to emit from the ancient machine, for music to fill the room – something familiar. What happens instead Arthur has trouble describing.
It's almost like he leaves the room, like he's pulled from that spot at the table and dragged into a memory that is not his. He sees it played out with startling clarity, the experience, the emotions; the entire memory is committed to his mind like it was his own from the start. And when it is over he finds himself back in the library, at the table he never left more exhausted than he ever would have thought possible.
"It is difficult at first." The librarian explained as they sat together after he had taken away the record and brought Arthur dinner of stew and hot coffee. It wasn't anything special, but after the work he had done Arthur felt much relieved to have something to eat and drink. "It will get easier though the more you do it."
"Are you sure?"
"Oh yes, I have worked here for quite a long time and I have helped other historians start this work. They all assure me it gets easier the more you do it." Arthur pokes at the vegetables that remain in the bottom of his bowl while they talk, breaking off small bits and eating them.
"How many other historians have there been?"
"Who can say? There has always been a historian since the start of the town."
"What happened to the last one? Before I came here?" Arthur wonders, if there was always a historian there should have been one before he arrived here in town.
"She was given a new job; it is the way things work." Had come the simple reply.
And things were done the way they were because that was the way they were always done. Arthur knows the mantra by heart and he had only been there a short time all ready - it seemed to be something every person in the town knew, and they were not at all shy about reminding Arthur of that fact as often as they needed to.
After that first day, the librarian offered to walk Arthur home when they had finished for the night, and he accepted, not entirely sure if he could find the way back in the dark on his own.
"You really are lucky to be staying with Yusuf, he is a master creator." The librarian tells him as they walk side by side in the dark, echoing a sentiment he had heard more than once all ready.
"So I have been told." Arthur doesn't have it in him to be properly grateful for the opportunity, thankfully the librarian doesn't seem to be the sort to demand that sort of thing from Arthur the way others have.
For the most part they walk in silence, only the sound of their footsteps echoing off dark windows and doors as they stroll through the empty streets. Only a few windows shine with lights giving away the fact that there are people living inside. And even then it never seems like enough to account for the size of the town.
"How long have you lived here?" Arthur asks.
"My whole life."
"Really?"
"Yes." Arthur isn't sure why he is surprised, but then he realizes that everyone else he has talked to has come to the town at some point in their lives. No one he has spoken with has lived here their entire lives. And that makes the librarian different.
"How long have you worked in the library?"
"Since I was fifteen."
The librarian answers all his questions as they walk together, and though Arthur doesn't ask many questions he does find out quite a bit from the librarian. He wonders about this man - suddenly finding him so much more interesting than he had only moments before. He wants to ask him more, but he isn't sure how to word it, he isn't sure what exactly he would ask either - he just knows that there is more to this man than it seems, and he would like to find out what it is.
The people in this town seem more than happy to just take things the way they are, they rarely ask questions - they make statements far more often. And they answer Arthur's questions, but no one ever asks Arthur about his life - or the things he does, or the things he's done.
Only Saito.
For some reason he wants the librarian to ask, he wants to share more with him than he has with anyone else, even Yusuf with whom he is living. He isn't sure why he feels an instant kinship with the man but he doesn't feel the need to try and explain it at the moment either.
Instead he moves just a bit closer while they keep walking together.
"I will leave you here." The librarian had said when they arrive outside Yusuf's pub, Arthur is surprised, he expected the librarian to come in - after all it seems strange to have come so far only to turn around again.
"You'll be there tomorrow?" Arthur hears himself ask, unaware of the question until it had all ready been spoken aloud.
"Of course." And he feels relief course through him, despite knowing the answer to the question all ready.
"Good."
"Good night." The librarian is turning to leave then, and Arthur stops him with a word and extends his hand in his direction.
"I am Arthur." He introduces himself for the first time, becoming something other than the historian to the librarian.
"And I am Eames." There is a slight smirk on the librarian's lips then, and he inclines his head toward Arthur just a bit before turning and heading back in the same direction he had come.
The problem with Eames was that he knew just how to annoy Arthur, far better than anyone else had ever been able to during his life. It was one of Eames' many talents and one he took particular pride in, Arthur was certain.
The first time he met Eames, Arthur disliked him - though he could never put a finger on exactly what the reason for his dislike was. Arthur was not nearly so put together then when Eames had waltzed into their lives and set himself up as the best Forger in the business, and why exactly they needed a Forger Arthur never really understood.
All he knew was, when he was twenty-four, Eames rubbed him the wrong way. And seemed to delight in doing so.
As Arthur got to know Eames better he was able to come up with a great many reasons for his dislike, and eventual loathing, of Eames. It seemed that every time they came into contact with one another Eames never failed to give Arthur yet another reason to add to his list (not that he kept an actual list, it was all a mental thing, but it was there and Arthur could recall from memory and with complete accuracy the entire list with over seventy points on it if he had to).
He began to dread anytime they needed to bring Eames in on a new job, he would have rather done without the man whenever possible, and occasionally when it wasn't. Though Mal always insisted, she loved Eames, she called him darling man and patted his face and went back to work making breakfast for them all while Dom laid out the plans for their newest job. Arthur would always scowl at Eames from across the table, and turn his attention to the notebook he kept in his lap, jotting out notes as Dom spoke and making sure that when the time came they would have all they needed to make sure the job went off without a hitch.
"Arthur." He looked up from his furious scribbling to see Mal, Dom, and Eames all staring at him. Mal looking indulgent as she passed him a plate of food. "You need to look up from time to time." Eames smirked at him, as he tucked into his own plate of food. "Maybe live in the world a little bit."
Arthur glared at him and jabbed at his eggs with a bit more force than strictly necessary - watching the smooth yellow yolk spread across the plate at a leisurely pace before he took a bite. Mal clucked her tongue and pressed a kiss to the top of his head before she continued cooking, and Dom all the while was coming up with plans and designs for the dream they would create.
In those early days Arthur had been justified again and again in his dislike for Eames. It was simply the way things were.
When Mal died though, things changed.
They didn't see Eames as often as they had in the past, the forger got himself into enough trouble without adding Dom's baggage to the mix - it would likely end in disaster, if they did it more than necessary. And without Mal around to referee their conversations Arthur was sure someone would be shot before they had even explained the entire job.
So they made do without Eames' skills; they did jobs where they didn't need a forger, or when they did they picked someone else.
"I heard about the job in Mumbai." Eames said conversationally, leaning back in his chair, feet kicked up carelessly on the table in front him while they went over the newest job. Arthur had been against bringing Eames into this one - but Dom had been insistent, he was still the best, even Arthur had to admit that. The few times they had worked with other Forgers things had never gone as smoothly as they used to when they worked with Eames. "I'm hurt you didn't call me."
Arthur rolled his eyes, but didn't comment, it was exactly what Eames wanted and he wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"I mean it would be one thing if you had called in Callahan, or even Finley, but you called in Jenkins. It's like you wanted the whole thing to go tits over arse, and I mean - it did, or that's what everyone is saying. Have you seen Jenkins since then?" Eames was goading him, Arthur knew it. Jenkins had been more than proficient at his job, and he'd completed the job, maybe things hadn't gone as smoothly as they wanted, or smoothly at all - but they got what they needed and Dom and Arthur had left Jenkins with his share and gotten out of dodge as quickly as possible.
"So I take it this job requires a bit more finesse than Jenkins is capable of?" Eames continued to press at Arthur, testing him, trying to find the weak spots in his normally smoothed out exterior.
"This job requires the best." Was all Arthur had said in response to him, it was simple and it wasn't a lie - and it didn't give Eames anymore to go off on. Not that Eames wasn't talented enough to take that single statement and run with it for the rest of the job.
Thankfully things didn't work out quite like that.
"I swear to god, if you do not shut up I will shoot you myself." Arthur growled as they ducked down a corridor in the hotel Nash had built for them. He'd made Dom stop building after he'd watched Mal stand over him as he bled out for the tenth time. She never made it quick, always preferring to draw out his last gasping breath as long as possible - that same sweet smile he knew so well curling easily across her lips like she couldn't imagine anything better than watching him die again and again.
He couldn't take it anymore, and thankfully Dom hadn't pressed when Arthur told him they needed another Architect. Nash wasn't as good as Dom, not even close, there were few who were - but he made something that would serve their purposes well enough while they worked. And Arthur decided he would likely be the best they could do if they were going to have to work without Dom.
"You wouldn't shoot me, darling." Eames assured Arthur in a quiet voice. "You'd miss me too much."
They just had to stay alive, just another twenty minutes and this would all be over and they'd be back in that crappy hotel room where they had drugged the mark and Arthur could pack up the PASIV and they could go their separate ways.
Just twenty more minutes.
Though when the time was up, they didn't split up - Dom went to his room, and Nash took his money and disappeared as he always did, he would show up again when they needed him for the next job, and Arthur - well he found himself with a more than annoying sidekick.
But after months of traveling around the world with Dom, with taking care of him of listening in on phone conversations with his children, seeing the defeated look on Dom's face each and every day, spending a few hours with Eames almost felt like a vacation. Like a long needed break from playing the responsible adult he'd never had to be until everything turned to shit.
It was one thing to play the responsible part with Eames when they were working, when Arthur could tell himself it was all business, but when they were off the clock - when they didn't have plans to make, and facts to double check, and time tables to deal with - they were both different people.
Eames didn't push so much, in fact he was very nearly sedate - or what would pass for sedate when you were talking about a man who didn't seem to have a proprietary bone in his body.
And Arthur felt almost relaxed, Eames didn't rub him quite so raw, and he even managed to laugh once or twice.
"I don't know why we haven't done this before now, darling." Eames said, happy grin on his face while he tipped back what remained in his glass, Arthur had lost track of how many they'd had, but it had to have been significant, otherwise he couldn't imagine why he was actually enjoying spending time with a man he was quite sure he had hated up until the point they'd sauntered into this bar together and started drinking.
"Probably because you're an insufferable idiot." Arthur suggested without any of the heat in his voice that would have normally accompanied such a statement.
"Well that's true, but I don't see what that has to do with anything." Eames chuckled, waving a waitress over for a refill on his drinks by curling two fingers in her direction.
She didn't even ask before she simply brought over a fresh drink for them both, and Arthur felt obligated to drink what remained in his glass that much faster before he could start in on the next.
How they moved from the bar to the hall outside his room Arthur wasn't really sure - though the how didn't actually seem to be all that important as he struggled to find the key card for the door, the task made all the more difficult without the full use of his hands, one of which was fisted in Eames' hair, and the other trapped between their bodies where Eames was rutting against him right there in the hall where anyone who happened by could see them.
It was a bad idea, some part of his brain insisted, though Arthur couldn't figure out why that might be - not when everything felt good, and for the first time since they had fled the States he wasn't thinking about Dom, or Mal, or where they had to run next.
No, this was a very good idea, Arthur decided when his fingers finally closed around the key card and they stumbled into the dark room, only to be pressed up against the door again a moment later, watching rapt as Eames slid to his knees.
And oh god, Arthur had never noticed before that Eames was kind of ridiculously good looking - probably because the man never shut up long enough for anyone to notice anything other than just how god damned annoying he could be. Arthur had always seen how charming Eames could make himself, how smart he truly was beneath the delightful idiot act he put on, but none of that ever let Arthur really see Eames. But then, quiet, looking up at him from the floor before focusing on opening his pants - Arthur could actually see it.
Throughout the night he was constantly made painfully aware of just how good looking Eames was. It was impossible not to see, it was there in the line of his hip, the curve of his lips, the keening moans he was able to draw forth from the other man with the gentlest of caresses. How had he been so blind?
The next morning Arthur was sure he was going to die, his mouth tasted awful, and his head throbbed. Thankfully, blessedly, wonderfully, he was alone - he really didn't know what he would have said to Eames had he stayed, but at some point during the night or the early morning the Forger had slipped out, the only evidence Arthur had not gone to bed alone, aside from his clothes strewn across the room in a way he never would have allowed if he'd undressed himself, was the glass of water and bottle of aspirin waiting for him by the bed.
In one thought Arthur blessed and cursed Eames before downing several pills and a large swallow of water.
They never spoke about what had happened that night, Arthur had made a point not to bring it up and had planed on ignoring anything Eames might have tried to bring it up again, but he never did. Things didn't change though; Eames was still as annoying as ever, Arthur still wanted to shoot him more often than he appreciated his help on the jobs they called him in on.
The only difference after that night was the way Eames seemed to stick around longer than necessary when they had finished a job. In the past everyone went their separate ways immediately - it was easier to follow them, track them if they spent too much time together, especially when they weren't working, it was habit to move on as soon as they had finished a job.
But Eames - he stayed around, helping Arthur clean up, make sure there was no sign they had ever been there.
And more than once they repeated their night after the bar - though usually without getting quite so drunk. And every morning Arthur woke alone with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin to greet him. It was starting to become habit, something Arthur almost expected at the end of every job.
Until Rio.
"I've got to go visit Eames." Arthur's stomach dropped at the name. He wanted to tell Dom it was a bad idea - that it had been too long since they'd worked together, but the look in his eye was enough to tell him he wouldn't be talking Dom out of this one.
"Eames? Well he's in Mombasa, that's Cobol's backyard." It was a weak attempt, but Arthur had to try something.
"It's a necessary risk."
And so Eames had reentered his life, though it wasn't the same. Things were off between them - oh they were back to their usual banter, their little insults and Eames constantly pushing, but when it was all over, when they reached LAX, Arthur got his baggage and hopped into a cab and didn't look back. He didn't stop to wonder if Eames was waiting for him, didn't even let himself think that it might be a possibility. He put as much distance between himself and that airport, and Eames, as possible.
It turned out he needn't have tried so hard. Eames was on the next plane out that same afternoon.
Arthur told himself he would have been fine to never see the Forger again, to never have to deal with Eames and his pushing, but the first time Saito called in a new job, Arthur couldn't help the twinge of satisfaction at being able to work with the best again.
Oh he'd tried to enjoy a simple life, to make use of his time off, and yes not being chased every day did have its advantages, but after all the time he had spent living on the run Arthur wasn't sure he was cut out for a normal life anymore - if he ever had been in the first place.
Eames still pushed, he was annoying as ever and Arthur wasn't sure they were going to make it through the week they still needed to wait for Yusuf and Ariadne to arrive.
"Why?" Arthur said finally throwing his hands up in frustration at the end of a particularly stressful day. "Do you do this just to fuck with me? Do you get some kind of pleasure out of all of this?" He asked him, his voice rising in a way he never allowed himself most of the time - Arthur liked maintaining control of his emotions, liked being in control of himself, and there was just something about Eames that played havoc with his control.
"Whatever do you mean Arthur, love?" Eames asked, looking up from where he'd been wiggling his pen back and forth between his fingers reading through the notes he'd amassed on Terence Covey during the few days they had been looking into him - Eames was working on his in, debating between a particularly fetching blonde mistress or the mark's wife.
"You know god damned well what I mean!" He was practically shouting then, and Eames hadn't stopped the tapping of his pen. He was so tempted to pull his gun, he could feel it there pressed against the small of his back, just begging him to take it out and flick a thumb against the safety and make Eames stop.
Eames dropped the pen and sighed shaking his head. "You really need to learn how to let go from time to time, you're going to get yourself killed one of these days if you're not careful about that."
"That's what this is about? All of this is for my own well being?" He asked, incredulously. He very nearly put his hands on his hips while he waited for an answer from Eames about his behavior, but he had far too much self respect to make a fool of himself like that.
"Of course." Eames answered simply. "What else would it be for?"
Arthur ended up throwing a book at Eames' head before he stormed out - it wasn't nearly as satisfying as shooting him in the face might have been, but he had a feeling Saito would disapprove when he found out that Arthur had killed his forger.
In the end, he was sure he couldn't have been happier to have Ariadne and Yusuf arrive. He could foist Eames off on Yusuf, the two could reminisce about Mombasa and he could talk mazes and plans with Ariadne - it was far better for his sanity, and Eames' well being, that they stayed apart as much as possible for the remainder of the time they were working together on this particular job.
Arthur was considering talking to Saito about perhaps finding a new forger - or at least one who could manage the smaller jobs, watching Eames flick little balls of paper at Yusuf while they talked about the new chemical compounds Yusuf had been working with since they had seen each other last. Yusuf was especially animated while he spoke, using great sweeping gestures of his hands to illustrate his points - Arthur only heard snatches of the conversation but he heard enough to be glad he wasn't included.
Eames was not nearly so bad when there were others around, and his desire to kill the other man diminished more with every passing day.
Eames, it turns out, is quite a decent companion. Arthur enjoys the time he is able to spend with the librarian while he works - though he enjoys the time they spend together over dinner more. He is able to watch Eames a bit while he works but as a whole the reading of the histories was far too involved to let his mind wander as he might have liked. Instead Arthur watches Eames in between each history that he reads, and drinks in his fill of the man over their evening meals.
"Why are you always writing?" Eames asks him one evening after they had finished their meal and they were simply chatting, lingering. Eames still walks him home at the end of every night, but they take time to sit and talk some before leaving.
They never talk much while they walk, preferring the companionable silence that seems to fill those moments, though Arthur likes to linger when they do finally reach Terra Mirum. There may be a brief comment occasionally - something said in passing about a building, about the night sky, about the weather, but there is never much said beyond those sorts of things.
"It helps."
"Helps with what?" Eames asks tilting his head while watching Arthur's face.
"Remembering."
"What are you trying to remember?" Eames asks him, he seems to be in a particularly curious mood that evening, more so than usual.
"Before." It has plagued him since his arrival, Arthur still could not remember what had prompted him to come here - why this town, how had he found himself on that path that day, what set off the course of events that lead him to this place now, sharing space with Eames for a large part of his day. "Do you remember everyone who comes here?"
"I remember many of them, but there are far too many for me to remember them all."
"Do they remember why they've come?"
"Do you need a reason to be here?" Eames asks. Arthur wonders if maybe he doesn't need a reason - he is here after all, and there is no where else to go.
Perhaps he doesn't, perhaps this is all he needs - the histories of this place and the time spent after supper with Eames. For some reason though, it doesn't feel like enough; there should be more to it than these simple explanations - life should be more complicated than this.
They are quiet until they reach Yusuf's pub, standing outside under the stars, Arthur wraps his arms around himself - it's growing colder every day, soon it will likely snow.
"You could come inside one night." Arthur says, watching Eames' face while he speaks. "Not with everyone of course." He has learned that Eames is not overly fond of large crowds, preferring the quiet solitude of the library and its stacks, and there is almost always a large gathering of some sort at this time of night. "But upstairs, with me."
"Why, Arthur?"
"I'd like you to."
"Why?"
And Arthur isn't sure. It is not as though he is without company in the evenings, Eames walks him home and there are always plenty of people to talk to until he retires upstairs to rest his eyes. He can't stay out as long as he feels like he should be able to - reading the histories is tiresome work.
He thinks maybe he wouldn't tire so quickly of Eames' company. The other man is easy to talk to and Arthur imagines what it would be like to have him upstairs in his room - he hasn't had anyone up to his room apart from Yusuf that first day when he was showing him around. But Arthur thinks he wouldn't mind having his privacy broken for Eames.
If he could spend more time with him, learn the hard lines and slopes of his face by candle light, understand the different tones of his voice and talk long into the night, Arthur feels like he might understand better. He might know why he's here.
And yet the question lingers in the air, without answer. Arthur doesn't know how to put his thoughts into words - he feels like he should, like he's always been able to find the right words, but they're not here now.
Once Ariadne and Yusuf arrive things started moving more quickly. Arthur and Eames had done much of the foot work, laying a foundation and gathering important information that the rest would use when creating the dream levels.
It was a different kind of job than any they had done in some time, different even than the Fischer job. That knowledge made an almost tangible change in the way they all worked. There wasn't the same easy joking atmosphere that had become standard when the four of them got together.
They were all focused on their work, and Arthur was glad for the distractions to keep his mind busy during the day and late into the evening.
"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm beat." Eames was the one to speak up first, interrupting the quiet that had filled the warehouse most of the afternoon, while they all worked. And his voice broke the spell, everyone had their own projects to work on that day, Eames going over the information they'd gathered, he'd be going out to do a little in the field work the next day, but for today he'd been focusing on what they could get in written form.
"Yes, I think it's best we call an end to the day." Yusuf agreed, rubbing his eyes. Arthur could only imagine how he felt, working with chemicals all day, making sure they had just the right ratios for this particular job. Normally his job was one of the easiest, and he got to spend his days talking with Ariadne, but this job - inception - required something more than his ready made concoctions.
They left separately, going back to the hotel, Arthur was the last to leave the warehouse, making sure everything was in order and the building secured before locking up for the night. He took a meandering way back to the hotel, stopping at a little shop for a bowl of noodles and hot tea, a stack of research beside him while he ate; even when they weren't working Arthur couldn't stop himself.
Ever since Dom left, since Arthur had picked up the slack their former extractor had left, Arthur had done his best to make sure he was always above reproach in his work, that there could never be any flaws in his plans or in his research. The Fischer job had shaken him, and he couldn't afford to make a mistake like that again. So he worked hard, harder than he needed to as Eames liked to tell him again and again, but the jobs always went smoothly, and Arthur attributed that success rate to the extra time and effort he put in to his work.
It was well past two in the morning when he finally made his way back to the hotel. Saito had bought out an entire floor for the job - the man was all about avoiding mess whenever possible. Tonight though, Arthur was glad for it, he could go up to the top floor and to the room he'd chosen for the job and collapse into his bed without any interruption.
As usual, though, even that was too much to ask.
"You know," Arthur said with narrowed eyes, "Saito bought out the entire floor." He did not like walking into his room to find it had been taken over in his absence.
"Of course I know, love. The rooms are rather nice, I've seen all of them, but this one is the best." Eames pouted at him from where he lounged in Arthur's bed, legs stretched out in front of him, impossibly long and drawing Arthur's eyes more than he might have liked.
"You should have gotten here earlier if you wanted the best room." Arthur said, and turned away from the bed striding to the dresser on the opposite wall and stood with his back to Eames. He couldn't look at him now, not when he was tired and all he wanted to do was go to sleep. Instead Arthur busied himself with removing his cufflinks, taking more time than was strictly necessary to take them off and putting them away with more care than he felt even at his most anal.
With that taken care of Arthur pushed up his sleeves to his elbows and turned around to look at Eames where he still sat stretched out on his bed, taking up far too much space - particularly when all Arthur wanted was a full three hours of uninterrupted sleep.
"You're in my bed."
"So I am."
"Why?"
"Didn't we discuss this all ready? You snagged the best room on the floor." Arthur could feel the forger's eyes roaming over his body, it was clear what he wanted, why he'd come, and Arthur really couldn't deal with this tonight.
"That doesn't explain why you're in my bed." Arthur gave into the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, he knew how the gesture made him look - every bit the anal retentive asshole that people saw when they looked at him in his three piece suits and slicked back hair - he was beyond caring at this point though, especially around Eames.
"It's very comfortable."
"Eames." It took every ounce of self control Arthur had left not to grab the gun that sat nestled against the small of his back and shoot Eames in the face, it was almost alarming just how often that thought had crossed his mind over the last week. He'd never wanted to shoot anyone more than he wanted to shoot Eames, and while he'd gotten the opportunity to do so any number of times in dreams it was never quite as satisfying as he might have imagined it to be in reality - particularly when they woke up and Eames was looking at him with that hurt look on his face, like he couldn't believe Arthur would ever want to shoot him.
"Arthur." Eames replied in much the same tone. "You look tired, come lay down."
He really should argue, throw Eames out bodily, something; Arthur really just wanted to sleep.
In the end, it was far too easy to simply hang his clothes up and climb in between the sheets - god Arthur really could kiss Saito sometimes, the man always got them the absolute best lodgings - facing away from Eames. He was intent on ignoring the other man, having turned out the light and not said a word to him as he closed his eyes.
Arthur knew better than to think he could simply be left alone to sleep though.
Eames was right there, pressed against his back almost from the moment Arthur laid down, an arm winding frighteningly easily around his middle as Eames fit himself in along his back – body curling against his like a comma there in the dark. He could feel the broad expanse of chest there against his shoulder blades, the way Eames' hips fit right there against the curse of his ass, the way even his thighs fit perfectly against Arthur's until they were perfectly matched.
His gun was right there, sitting on the nightstand within arms reach, it would have been so easy to reach out and grab it and force Eames away, to actually do something about his current predicament, and yet Arthur didn't move.
Instead he closed his eyes and just felt. Eames' breath warm against the back of his neck as he nosed in there against the close trimmed hairs like he wanted nothing more than to lay there with Arthur. Like he wasn't expecting anything else.
"Arthur." The illusion was too good to last though.
He lay quietly though, refusing to answer Eames, if the other man wanted to talk so much then he could damned well do it without Arthur's help.
"I've been thinking," That was an ominous way to start any conversation, if he'd ever heard one. "About the Fischer job."
"What about it?" Arthur hadn't expected Eames to go in that direction.
"Well not the job itself - after."
For some unexplainable reason Arthur's stomach clenched as he remembered the aftermath of the Fischer job, leaving the airport as fast as he could, not letting Eames initiate the strange dance they had been working their way through for far too long before he was gone. Only to find out later that Eames had beaten him to the punch.
"I shouldn't have left like that,"
"Like what, Mr. Eames."
"Arthur." Eames' tone was imploring, and Arthur could hear the unspoken request in it - but he wasn't going to turn around, he'd rather lay there on his side and stare across the dark room than give Eames the satisfaction of seeing his face for this conversation. Eames pulled away, and Arthur missed the closeness before he'd even thought to stop himself. "You make everything so difficult." It wasn't an accusation, there was no harshness in his tone, it was merely a statement of fact, and yet Arthur couldn't help the way he winced.
"You know what it's like, Arthur." But he didn't, he didn't even know what Eames was talking about anymore - if it was him, and the way he'd run, or the way Eames had run, or whatever this was between them, or maybe something else entirely. "You saw what this can do to you, this job. Mal and Dom -" Ah that was it, Mal and Dom. But this … what there was between him and Eames, it wasn't the same. It was so very different. "You followed that man around the world for two years, you have to know what this job can do to us - you've seen it, seen it in the way Dom was, the way Mal was before."
"What are you saying?" Arthur stopped him, he couldn't keep letting him go on the way he was. This was all ready painful enough for the both of them.
"This." Eames sighed, pressing his forehead to Arthur's shoulder, winding an arm around his waist there in the dark, settling against him again, holding him close like he was going to fly apart if he couldn't have his hands on Arthur. "I don't know when it stopped being about getting over the high of a job."
Despite the clarification, Arthur still didn't know what he was supposed to say to that, what did you say to what was effectively one of the most annoying people you knew telling you that they loved you? Especially when it felt so right to hear it.
Arthur pulled out of Eames' touch in a rush, rolling out of the bed gathering up the red die that had sat there on the nightstand beside his gun, holding tight to the small weight pressed into his palm, all sharp corners and smooth sides until he had what felt like enough space between the two of them - where he couldn't feel Eames' eyes on him, and he rolled the die once, and scooped it up and rolled it again, and again, and again, and again.
It felt like the world was tilting on its axis, and not the way it did at times in dreams, when you had trouble a layer above. No, this was like the world tilting without any explanation that his mind could work through easily. He rolled the die again, and again, and again, and again.
"This isn't a dream." Eames' voice was quiet behind him, but Arthur didn't turn to look at him. He rolled the die again, watching it fall just the way it was supposed to. He couldn't turn around, couldn't look at Eames, not when he expected something from him, anything, not when he had no idea how to deal with this.
"Come back to bed Arthur." Eames had gotten closer, laid a hand on his shoulder and turned him back in the direction of the bed. It was easy after that, to just follow, to stop thinking, to hold the die firmly in his hand again and lay down with Eames pressed along his back and let himself sleep.
His eyes ache at the end of the day, and all Arthur wants to do is go to sleep - and yet despite that he's more than happy to linger with Eames when he's finished, drawing out their walks back to Yusuf's as long as he can - though Eames doesn't seem to notice, or to care if he does.
This evening they're still at the Library; Arthur has managed to distract Eames from their customary schedule where they ought to be walking home by now, to get him to stay and talk longer with him. He isn't sure why this feels illicit, it's completely innocent, he sits and talks with Eames over dinner every night, and they talk on the way back to Yusuf's pub, but this - staying there at the Library even though he is done for the night - it's like he's doing something he ought not, and there is a certain revelry in that feeling.
"Do you remember anything from the outside?" Eames asks him, Eames doesn't often ask Arthur anything specific. He'll ask the same questions everyone in the town will ask, like they've been rehearsed. If he likes living with Yusuf, why would he want to leave, why does he write, why does he question the rules? So this question, the one about something unrelated to the town - it surprises Arthur.
"Not really." He rubs the back of his neck, feeling tense and sore - it shouldn't weigh on him so much, reading the histories - and yet it does. It's a constant weight on him at the end of the day, like he hasn't simply been sitting and listening. "I remember feeling lost, and finding a path. I followed it to the gates." Arthur has wished numerous times that he could remember more than that, but try as he might he is unable to recall anything from before that moment. Like he sprang into being in that place and never existed in this place before that moment.
Eames nods, like maybe he expected that answer. "You haven't left before though right? Not even just outside the gate?" Arthur knows Eames hasn't left they've spoken about it before, it seems only Ariadne's mother has left the town. Or if anyone else has left no one talks about it - he just finds it odd that people never leave, not even right outside the gate. It seems nearly impossible that people could live their entire lives in this place
"No, I have not left before." Eames always gives him simple answers, Arthur wonders if it is possible for anyone here to look beyond the surface of a question, to see the questions that he isn't asking. If anyone does they haven't let on about it yet. This world is so concerned with the way things are, with the way things have been, no one stops to consider anything else.
"What about the forest?" Arthur asks. "Is there anything there?"
"We don't go into the forest, it's not safe."
"But why?"
"There are animals in the forest." Arthur frowns though, it doesn't make sense. The town built the wall to protect itself, but why allow the forest that resides right beside the town to dwell within that same protective sphere they'd built up to protect themselves if there is still danger there. "It is not safe."
"No one goes into the forest?"
"There are a few people; they live there, close to the edge - where it is safest. Those without families." Eames explains while Arthur tries to make sense of it. Though there doesn't appear to be any logic to be found in it.
"It's not safe." Eames says again, and Arthur nods. It is something he will explore later, something he'll try to figure out like everything else about this place.
It should have been a simple job - or as simple a job as inception ever got. For all they'd accomplished with the Fischer job, all the acclaim and rumor that had surrounded the successful completion of that impossible job - Inception still wasn't something people just did.
There were still too many risks involved. And knowing that if you did end up dead in the dream you'd find yourself in Limbo made it a less than appealing idea for most dream share teams. Arthur didn't really blame them, after all the fuck ups they'd dealt with, and all the insanity of the Fischer job, rushing into another inception job was not something that was high on his list of priorities.
But this wasn't Robert Fischer. This wasn't a man who had been trained to keep his mind safe. This was Terence Covey.
This was Terence Covey, a man used to being safe, used to feeling like he was better than everyone else. It would be a simple job, in and down three layers and then back up and they'd be done. It would be simple. They'd gone over the plan again and again, dealt with the man's motivations, with the catalyst for the job.
It would work.
"He is selling trade secrets to the highest bidder." Saito had told Arthur when they met in New York, giving him more specific details about the job than he had when he'd made the initial call.
"Can't you just fire him?" Arthur asked.
"I could, but the information would still be his to share. I need him to be loyal to this company." For all that Saito had seemed just like a small business man concerned for the wellbeing of his company, working with him over the last few years had revealed him to be far more ruthless than he appeared at first glance.
So that was their starting point. Loyalty to the company, to Saito, erase the desire to sell his secrets in the first place. They broke it down into its simplest parts, created a plan from that just like they had done with the Fischer job, they created each level to help them make their point and have the idea stick the way they needed it to.
"We have five hours." Arthur announced one week before the job would be completed. "We shouldn't need that long so long as everything runs according to plan, but let's not get cocky." He warned them. They didn't need anyone getting killed because they were too sure of themselves. But with the exception of Eames who never appeared as though anything were bothering him, they were all focused on their jobs entirely - Ariadne was far too professional for anything less, and Yusuf, well he loved mixing his blends of the somnacin drug so it was easy for him to get caught up in his work.
Arthur didn't let himself think about that night with Eames, didn't let the memories of what he'd said push their way into his mind, not when he was working. At the end of the day though, when he was alone in his room (thankfully Eames had not barged into his solitude again since that night) Arthur couldn't help the way his mind wandered, the way his thoughts always returned to Eames. To the idea that perhaps this all hadn't been one long cruel joke, but that the forger actually felt something more for him than what he let on.
Rio had changed things between them, it had reminded Arthur of the reason why letting himself be involved with Eames as anything other than a professional was a bad idea.
They'd tumbled into bed without even making an attempt at getting drunk before hand, fully aware of what they were doing Arthur had gone into that evening hungry for Eames' hands on his skin, the taste of him in his mouth, and the warm full weight of being filled by him.
He'd been on his knees, face pressed into the lush sheets, while Eames' worked a hard fast pace, just the right side of painful. Arthur keened into the bed, reaching back for Eames' thigh pulling him as close as he could, wanting more anything, despite the way Eames was plastered along the curve of his spine, arm wrapped around his chest. If they were any closer they would be one.
"There, god Eames, there fuck." Arthur gasped the words out, frankly amazed he had the presence of mind to even form words at all by that point.
"Arthur, gods Arthur." Eames' breath was hot against his ear, filling his thoughts, pushing out everything else until there was nothing but pleasure left, nothing but the roar of his own orgasm as he came into the sheets and Eames' hand.
"I love you." Arthur still didn't know who had said it, he couldn't be sure, and that alone scared him more than anything. Eames was gone in the morning, the same as he always was. Pills, a glass of water, several bruises, and a ring that Arthur doesn't recognize are Arthur's only mementoes of the night before.
He tucked the ring into the inside pocket of his suit coat as he left that morning. If he moved just right he could feel it there against his chest.
He didn't let himself think of that night when they got off the plane in LAX, didn't let himself consider it as he hailed the first taxi he could after the Fischer job, and he certainly didn't let himself think of it now. Not with Eames' words from the other night still fresh in his head.
It was stupid. And Arthur knew it. But he couldn't stop himself.
"Let's just get in and do this and get out as quickly as possible, no mistakes." Arthur reminded them all that morning. They'd paid off the hospital staff and gotten the time they needed to complete the job - now all that was left was actually running it. Putting their plans into action, and trusting that they had done enough work to make the plan into a successful reality.
And they really had done their work. The first two levels of the dream went perfectly, text book, and if Arthur hadn't been so caught up in everything, in how well they were doing, getting ahead of himself, thinking about what he might do when they'd finished before they'd even gotten to the end of the job - before they'd finished the third level, then he might have realized dreams never went this smoothly. Even the easy jobs.
There was always something that tripped them up, it could be something small, something that didn't make a difference in the long run, but dreams were never textbook. Dreams were never predictable; you couldn't predict the subconscious of any person, no matter how well you thought you knew them, no matter what you planned for.
Maybe if Arthur hadn't been distracted he would have remembered that, but his thoughts wandered. He let himself think about Eames. About this Eames, the man who was completely focused on the job, the one who was calm and collected and wasn't constantly driving him up the wall or nearly begging to be shot in the face. But an Eames who could be responsible.
He would have seen the projection, would have noticed the way he was being watched as he made his way through the dream level, seeking out information about just who Covey had been selling secrets to while Eames watched Covey - to make sure the idea was going to be firmly planted in his mind. He should have seen it, should haven noticed the movement behind him, but he was caught up in opening the safe, in working through the combination and reading the documents Covey kept hidden there, in the deepest part of his mind.
But he didn't notice it, and he wasn't paying attention, and Arthur didn't even have time to turn before the blade slid across his throat. He had time to panic though, to have that sick well of desperation suddenly flood his stomach as he knew what was coming - knew what waited for him. And no one would know.
He'd be lost and no one would know.
"Arthur!" The projection crumpled at his side, the near silent sound of a shot drowned out by the wet sick gasping sounds of Arthur struggling for breath. "Arthur, damn it, Arthur." Eames was there, kneeling beside him on the floor, right there hands red with blood. Frantic in a way Arthur had never seen him before.
Why was Eames there? He was supposed to be with Covey, Arthur didn't understand.
This wasn't the calm man he'd seen earlier, not the one focused on the job, not the man who knew what they were here to do. He didn't know what to do with this Eames, how to fit him into the box and form he'd long ago created for the man.
"Arthur stay with me, stay here with me." Eames implored him, eyes wide trying to do anything to stop the bleeding, but the world was going grey at the edges in familiar ways. Though Mal didn't stand over him this time, there was no calm easy smile watching as he bled out. No, Eames didn't look hungry for his death the way Mal always had.
Arthur tried to move his lips, to form words, though he wasn't sure what he wanted to say - or if it would even matter. He knew what was waiting for him as soon as the last of life slipped from him. He wouldn't be coming back from this, not the way he normally did.
"Arthur." Eames squeezed his hand tight, pulling him up from the ground and pressing Arthur to his chest. And Arthur gave into it, closed his eyes, and let himself feel Eames' arms around him, the scent of him filling his nose, the warmth all around him even as the rest of the world went cold and dark.
And he stayed just like that until there was nothing.
"You're going into the forest aren't you?" Eames voice is even as they walk together in the dark.
Arthur had been replaying their conversation about the forest and what lay beyond the trees that curled around the town. He had been warned not to go there, by everyone, and yet he felt drawn to them all the same. There is something out there, something waiting for him.
Maybe answers.
"Yes." He doesn't try to deny it, doesn't even think about telling Eames not to spread it around. He doesn't know what they will do to him if they know, but he needs to go out there.
"It's not safe there."
"I know."
"Will you come back?" This is the question that is harder for Arthur to answer; he hears the worry in Eames' voice, the hurt that Arthur might not want to stay there in the town where things are good, that Arthur might not want to stay there with him – though perhaps that is simply a wistful thought on Arthur's part.
"I don't know." Arthur can't lie to him, as much as he wants to tell Eames of course he'd be back, of course. He is just going into the forest to look around and then he would be back. He knows the words would be a lie, and he won't lie to Eames.
"You'll need what the gatekeeper took from you."
Arthur doesn't understand, why would he need those few things he left with Saito, how could they help him now? They had seemed so inconsequential at the time, and now thinking about the possessions he'd had with him when he came to the town Arthur can't imagine any reason he might need any of it again.
"They'll help you to understand."
Arthur replays the conversation in his mind again and again as he goes to the gate, the one entrance and exit from the town - the place that ought to be his escape, and yet he knows that true escape - what he's really looking for, doesn't lie outside the walls of the town. He would be just as lost out there as he is in here.
Saito is making inspections of the gate, large hands running over the weather-worn wood of the gate, checking for weaknesses and damage. He makes this inspection every day, without fail. Arthur has watched him do this before, sitting just inside the gate while Saito moves around both sides of the massive doors that close the town off from the rest of the world.
They talked then, the way they always did when Arthur visits Saito. Apart from Eames, Saito is the only other person Arthur has shared so much of himself with. He questioned the man endlessly, pushed and looked for any bit of information he could get, and at the same time Saito was there taking what he could from Arthur as well.
He only waits long enough to make sure Saito is completely focused on his inspection and ducks into the little house where he lives. It's easy to find the box filled with the things he'd had with him when he arrived; it's got his name on it. Inside Arthur finds his few belongings, the gun (which he tucks into the back of his pants, unsure of what else to do with it), the ring (it slides easily onto a finger, like it was meant to be there), and the die. It's the die that is the hardest to understand. What purpose does it have? The gun and the ring, they're easier to ignore, things people might carry if only he could remember his life before the town, but the die? Who carries something like that?
He holds it between two fingers examining the small red cube, turning it over to see each face. It's heavier than it looks, and he's surprised by the weight of it. Like it was made for something more than games, but what he's not sure.
He pockets the cube and ducks out of the house before Saito is finished with his inspection, putting things back to right in hopes his theft will remain unnoticed - at least until he's far enough away that he will not have to worry about whatever retribution might befall him for this particular crime.
The die is a constant weight in his pocket, and continually draws his attention as he makes his way through winding side streets and between buildings as he moves back through the town toward the forest that rise up over it.
He ducks around corners, checking to make sure no one sees him as he treks through narrow alleyways - the actions feel familiar, like he's done this before.
It's a short run between cover of the buildings to the cover of trees and brush, and Arthur takes it at a run, making it into the darkened light of the forest without being seen. He looks back toward the town, sees the place that has been home for months now - where there are people he knows, even one he likes, but nothing is right there. For all its rules and all its safety the town is wrong.
It should have been easy to stay there with Yusuf, to spend his days with Eames, and Ariadne, and Cobb, even Saito. But there is something off about all of them, like he's known them before, better and more vibrant than they are now. They do more than worry and work, they were people once, real whole people, Arthur knows that and yet he can't remember it no matter how hard he tries.
His hand slips into his pocket almost unnoticed, long fingers wrapping around the red cube he finds there. It's like comfort, and reassurance, and truth all at once.
He's still moving quickly, pushing his way through the untamed life of the forest as he creeps up around him, cutting off what little view of the town had remained with each step he takes deeper toward the center. The growing vegetation slows him over time, moving in to cut off his path and pushing him in different directions, like it's guiding him.
A clearing opens up in front of him, branches parting like this place has been waiting for him, like this was where he was supposed to be from the moment he'd stepped into the town. His fingers itch, like they want to toss the die across the grass and see how it lands. Like it will hold some answer for him.
"What are you doing here?" Mal asks, she steps further into the clearing, moving so easily that if Arthur hadn't really been paying attention he wouldn't have noticed the movement at all.
"My name -" He knows who she is, it was obvious from the moment he saw her and there is never even a question in his mind that this is the woman Cobb is always looking for, the one who misses her children each day. It seems only right that she know him as well - but…
"I know who you are." She cuts him off. "What are you doing here?" How? How did she know him? Had someone told her? But if no one went into the forest then how would they tell her? She shouldn't know him, and yet it seems strange that there could have ever been a time when he didn't know her.
"I - I'm just trying to understand." He has a reason for coming out here, that much he knows. He's looking for something. An answer, trying to understand this place, the people in it - all the questions that have gone unanswered since his arrival
"How can you understand? Do you know what it is to be a lover? To be half of a whole?"
"No" But he should, he knows he should. There is something missing; that hole in his memory, the gap between where he had been to where he is now, he could see it, more real than he ever had before. And Eames, Eames was there, but he wasn't like the librarian. Not soft spoken and polite, no he was loud, and pushy, and perfect. He was perfect.
Eames is red, red and frantic and worried and Arthur doesn't understand why. Eames shouldn't look at him like that, Eames is supposed to laugh, and push, and drive him insane with the most meaningless comments possible, he's not supposed to have blood dripping from his hands, he's not supposed to be holding Arthur close, clinging to him the way Arthur suddenly remembers him.
"I'll tell you a riddle. You're waiting for a train, a train that will take you far away," She's moving, and Arthur knows he should leave. Mal is the reason they told him to stay out of the forest, it wasn't wild animals, it isn't something stealing the children, it is her - it has always been her. This woman. But he can't move, his feet are planted to the ground more firmly than any of the trees that surround them, casting dark shadows on the grassy floor of the forest.
"You know where you hope this train will take you, but you don't know for sure. But it doesn't matter, how can it not matter to you where the train will take you?"
Oh god, Eames.
This isn't right; Arthur isn't supposed to be out here, not with Mal. Not with her pacing toward him like a hunter stalking it's prey. He shouldn't feel so trapped, he should be able to run, to do something, anything, but stand there and wait. It's like he's bleeding out all ready, like he's clinging to his last dying breath without hope for anything more than oblivion.
It's only then that he sees the glint of silver in her hand, only then that he takes a step back and at the same time drops the die from his hand. It falls through the air and lands without a sound, rolling before it settles, the second face tilted up toward the sky, and suddenly everything comes rushing back. The projection's blade that slid across his throat - splitting him open, his fall into limbo, Eames and his stupid perfect face, the Covey job, Hong Kong, Saito, New York, Eames, Rio, the dream - all of it. It hits him like a bullet and yet the realization of where he is, the final piece of the puzzle slotting into place isn't enough to save him.
The blade slides in easily between a pair of ribs, catching a few vital organs in the process, and he topples to the ground clutching at the wound.
Mal stands over him, watching his face sadly, and wiping the red sticky blade on her dress. He's seen that look on her face before, watched her stand over him - it's not quite the same though. She's not looking at him like he's some masterpiece laid out for her amusement, no she watches him with longing in her eyes. She can never go back, not to Cobb or her children. Mal won't be coming back from this.
"Because y-you'll be together." The words are hard to get out; he never tried to talk to Mal before, not after she'd killed him. He hadn't seen the point. But now, this time, there are words.
Epilogue
Arthur has always had an affinity for Paris, with its streets rich with history and stories long forgotten. Just being back in the city is enough to have Arthur breathing just a bit easier - things were always right when he was in Paris. It was a simple fact, Paris was home in all the ways that Ohio had never been, in the way London had never been, in the way no other place could ever be. Paris held his heart in so many ways and Arthur was relieved to be back again.
He had an apartment there. It was small - a shit hole really - but it was his and it looked out over the Arc de Triomphe and that was all that mattered when he'd laid down the money to make it his.
He had more than enough money to afford something better now, something with a better view, something with finished floors and painted walls. Something that would fit more with the idea people have of him. And yet Arthur had never felt the need to upgrade. This place was home long before Arthur could afford to be a man of leisure and that wasn't something that would be easily changed.
"This is …" Eames trailed off, and Arthur closed his eyes waiting for the inevitable critique – he knew the apartment was hardly what anyone would expect from him, but it was his for all its faults, and he was letting Eames into this part of his life despite all reasonable logic reminding him that it was an absolutely terrible idea.
"-unexpected." Eames finished.
Arthur turned then, quirking a single eyebrow at Eames, not entirely sure if he would ever be able to take anything the man said seriously.
"If you are making some backhanded insult to my apartment you might as well leave now." He warned.
"Arthur," Eames' voice was slow and sweet, and Arthur still has not gotten used to it, the tone putting him on guard, just waiting for this entire thing to be revealed as some huge joke. And then he really would have to give in to that urge to shoot Eames in the face and find some way to make it up to Saito when he got the news. And he'd really rather not have to deal with that today. He hadn't been home in years, moving from one job to the next, experimenting with his life of leisure, and occasionally on the run. He wanted to enjoy being home for at least a day before he had to deal with cleaning blood from the walls. "Not everything I say is an insult. I'm just surprised."
"I hardly think one statement of surprise is enough to overturn years of experience." Arthur replied wryly, though the knot of tension at the base of his spine slowly began to loosen.
Maybe this wouldn't all be such a terrible thing after all. Maybe this all would work out.
Things with Eames could never be so simple though.
Just having him there in his space made Arthur itch, made his fingers eager for something to do, something to keep himself busy. Something to distract himself from the fact that he had Eames, of all people, in his home.
"Do you want-" Eames caught him off guard, framing Arthur's face with his hands again so he could capture his lips in a bruising, stupidly hungry kiss – the kind of kiss that Arthur would have loved to say was just the lust talking, but it was clear it was so much more than that. And for all that he didn't understand this, he was trying.
Then Eames' clever fingers start their wandering, pushing into his hair, mussing it in ways that he knew Eames loved – if only to drive Arthur mad – and over his shoulders and down his back pulling him in tight and unrelenting. And only when he had Arthur tucked in close did Eames let his hands continue their journey pulling, and tugging at the fabric of Arthur's shirt until he could get his hands under the crisp white linen and pushed up his shirt, wrinkling it impossibly, (Eames got far too much satisfaction at ruining Arthur in as many ways as possible) and started to propel them toward the bedroom at the same time.
"Wait, slow down," Arthur protested just before Eames could rip his shirt off of him completely and toss it who knows where on their meandering way toward his bedroom.
"What?"
"We're not teenagers," Arthur said slowly, taking just a moment to remove his cufflinks, pocketing them to save them from being lost forever with the way Eames was pulling at his clothes. "I'm not going anywhere, just slow down."
"All right, all right."
And amazingly Eames listened to him; he slowed down, stopped rushing to rip each piece of clothing from Arthur's body, and instead kissed him. Long lingering, biting kisses that left Arthur's toes curling and reminded him that all of this wasn't just about the sex – it wasn't about unwinding after a job, it was about them. And as strange as that was to even consider, it was something they were going to try.
Then time slowed as they finally made it into the bed, clothes discarded along the way and just looked at each other, breathing heavily, and Eames swallowed like he had suddenly realized just what the hell they were doing. This wasn't some fuck in a hotel after a job, or even like that one memorable time in the warehouse. They were in Arthur's bed; they were in Arthur's home. It was right about the same time the realization of all of that struck Arthur as well. He had Eames in his bed, skin and muscles and eyebrow and that stupid smirk, and that endlessly infuriating attitude. And he was welcoming all of that into his bed – willingly.
So he kissed him, just because he could, because he wanted to know what it was like to have Eames in his bed and kiss him and know that he would be there in the morning. He wouldn't wake up to a glass of water and two pills like he had in the past. He kissed Eames hungrily, biting into his open mouth, rubbing their tongues together slowly, and then started in on his neck. So fucking perfect, with his pulse so close to the skin, right under Arthur's tongue – he thought about all the times he'd wanted to kill Eames, to shoot him, or break his neck or just punch him until he would leave him alone, and now here was Eames offering himself up and for the first time Arthur didn't want him dead.
When Arthur sank his teeth into the taut skin, Eames bucked his hips. "Arthur…"
"Hmm?" Arthur breathed against his skin and scraped the points of his teeth down the long line of Eames' throat, soothing his tongue over reddened skin just moments later.
"I've never done this before." Eames' hands clench and unclench at Arthur's shoulders, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to pull Arthur in for more or push him away.
"I know." Arthur was still moving lower, biting and licking and kissing, teeth bared over the hard line of Eames' collar bone. There would be so many marks the next morning, and it was that thought that had Arthur biting marks into Eames' skin every few inches. He wanted a reminder of all of this the next day, his own personal totem in Eames' skin.
"I don't know how it all works." Arthur shifted a little with every kiss until suddenly his legs were around Eames, a knee on either side of Eames' hips, his back bowed as he continued the downward path he'd started.
"Eames-" Arthur had moved lower, lips and tongue circling a nipple, pausing to bite there before he lifted his head. "If I expected you to have all the answers we wouldn't be here." It was a little mean, and a little unjustified. Eames, for all his little annoyances, was not stupid – but it seemed here, in this, he just didn't know when to shut up.
But then that was Eames.
"Arthur-" He didn't want to talk though, he didn't want to hear Eames' try to think up excuses before he even needed them. He just wanted this right now, he wanted Eames and he wanted this to work, for all its impossibilities. He wanted Eames.
"I swear to god if you don't shut the fuck up, I will gag you." Arthur warned, he moved then, pulling himself away from the open expanse of Eames' chest, from exploring tattoos and marks the way he might like to in order to reach toward the night stand. He was back in just a moment though, pressing a bottle and a foil square into Eames' palm. And then Arthur began to work his way back up, laving attention on the opposite nipple and marking his way back up to Eames' lips again.
"Don't make promises you don't intend to keep."
Arthur would have replied, there had been words on the tip of his tongue, but Eames was no longer content to lie back and let Arthur have his way with him. Before the words could even take their shape on his lips, Eames flipped them, pressing Arthur down into the mattress and settling in the space between his open thighs.
One hand next to Arthur's head, supporting himself with careful balance, Eames leaned down and kissed Arthur – putting away his need to correct and doubt and worry far more than either one of them needed to at the moment – and just kissed him. Hard and rough and not without a small bit of tenderness for all of that. It took a bit of work, but Eames managed to shift just enough so there was enough space between them to slide one slick finger into Arthur.
"Fuck," The word rang loud in the quiet of the room, filled with nothing more than the labored sound of their breathing, and Arthur wasn't sure which of them had uttered it.
This they could do, this they had done before and it was easy for Eames to set up a rhythm, to kiss Arthur and slide his finger in and out with the same deliberate movement of his tongue until he added a second finger.
It was easy after that, moving together, the slick slide of fingers in and out of him, first one and then a second and they barely make it to three before Arthur was nearly ready to beg for it. Though Eames spared him that. Eames' hands were far less in control now than they were when Arthur first found himself on his back, but Eames made it eventually, once Arthur wrapped his fingers around Eames' wrist and stilled him. He kissed him once and everything fell into place.
The feeling of being split open, of Eames pressing into him, was something Arthur reveled in, wrapping his legs around Eames and drawing him in deeper, urging him on until Eames' hips meet his own. Arthur couldn't hold back the moan that had been threatening to slip out from the moment the thick blunt head of Eames' cock pressed against him.
As much as he'd like to stay there like that, and let himself really feel that satisfying nearly overwhelming burn of being filled, Arthur knew that was an impossibility. They were both far too close to drag this out much longer.
"This," Arthur managed to get the word out, forcing his tongue to work, though every shallow thrust of Eames' hips was enough to send the words he tried to hold so tight to skittering off to be gathered up one again. "This is how it's supposed to be, this – fuck, there, god Eames – this is how it works." Arthur gritted his teeth and pulled Eames in, forcing him to still his hips as he held him tight.
"Don't worry about the rest, we can figure it out, this –" Arthur pressed his hand to Eames' chest, fingers pressing on a mark that had all ready bloomed dark against Eames' skin, "- this is what you need to listen to, nothing else."
Eames pulled back then, pulling himself out of the grip of Arthur's legs only to drive himself forward again. There was a smirk on his face, finally something familiar and right in all of this. "Talk later, pet."
Eames grinned at him, so wide it was almost stupid on his face, and yet Arthur knew he was doing the same damn thing, though the momentary glee faded quickly when Eames began to move again. And Arthur moved right with him, hips stuttering arching rocking right up into Eames – to urge Eames on. They found a rhythm quickly, easily, something that worked for the both of them, something that fit that wasn't forced or awkward the way Arthur had feared from the beginning. They just fit.
Eames has one hand curled at the back of Arthur's neck, pulling him up to bite kisses along the line of his jaw, his other hitching Arthur's leg higher, pulling it against him, high and tight against his body splitting Arthur open and driving into him more deeply with each thrust.
That he even had the presence of mind to do anything more than just lay there and let Eames take was a miracle in and of itself, but Arthur had always been gifted. He wrapped his fingers around his cock, stroking himself hard and fast right there with the rhythm of Eames' hips – and just as unforgiving. Eames swore and pressed his forehead to Arthur's shoulder, his breath was hot and humid against Arthur's skin and yet it was perfect.
Arthur wanted this to last, wanted to spend the rest of the day with Eames just like this, joined perfectly, spiraling closer and closer to that edge of bliss, but the pull was inevitable. And despite his best efforts not even Arthur could resist it.
"Fuck, Arthur, gods, I'm close. I can't –"
It seemed though that Eames would beat him to it, Arthur pushed the fingers of his free hand into Eames' hair, pulling his head back so he can look at him. "Shut up, Eames. Come for me; don't hold back on me now." Arthur demanded.
"Oh god," It would be the one time that Eames actually did exactly what he was told, and that knowledge alone was enough to have Arthur chasing that bittersweet sharp edge right along with Eames until he fell over as well. Eames' name on his tongue and holding him tight against his body as he gave up everything he'd been holding on to so tightly for so long until there was nothing left.
It was autumn now, the leaves on the trees slowly fading from their usual rich green to golden reds and yellows. The colors seeping into every part of the city, drowning daily life in their deep saturated colors The season taking over Paris the way it does every year, Arthur had never let himself stay in one place for so long. There was always some job to do, some source to get in touch with, some new competition to check out. And yet he'd been there in Paris for nearly a year and he hadn't been anywhere near the airport.
Saito hasn't had need of their services in some time, though Arthur wondered on occasion if that was perhaps due to some outside influence. He never let himself think about it for long though. It was unimportant. There were so many other things that filled his mind now.
The leaves were changing now, falling to the ground in droves, while other still clung with the last of their strength to branches that wanted nothing more to do with them for the rest of the year. They would be replaced next year, new bright young green leaves springing up to take their place and holding tight to their tree for as long as they could before the process was started all over again.
Arthur watched the leaves every day, making note of the colors and the variations as they changed and pulled them toward the winter months. It was a slow process, and if he wasn't actually looking for it he might not even have noticed the changes until the leaves were giving up the battle and had blanketed the ground with their deep colors.
Still it's not the change that is important, not really. It was the passage of time, time spent with a man who could often times make Arthur want to throw up his hands and forgo the entire thing, and yet the same man had the uncanny ability to make Arthur stay, to have him forget about everything else in the world and just stay.