(no subject)

[rocketfalls]

It's a small thing, in passing moments, and if anyone else has noticed they've been kind enough not to comment. --- fffffffffffffffffffffffff --- see other txt file --- "Do you hate me?" "Well?" And Arthur answers, "Not as much as I'd like." Eames laughs, slowly untangling their fingers as he pulls away, and Arthur almost smiles. can't get this to work properly also see other text file --- Later, when Arthur is flipping off the lights of the warehouse, someone comes up behind him and wraps an arm around his waist. DAMN IT --- Eames asks him about it once, and only once, and Arthur supposes it's perfectly on purpose that he always does these things at the worst possible time. it's hard to think clearly when Eames's mouth pressed against his chest, his fingers dragging up along the inside of his thigh, when they're pressed chest-to-chest and heart-to-heart and almost sharing oxygen. He tells him to shut the fuck up and ask him again later, and Eames pushes him back into the mattress and fucks him hard enough that he sees stars when he comes, grinding back against his hips until Eames is buried too deep but not enough inside of him and spots of color explode behind his eyes. And in the morning, with the sheets tangled around their legs and Eames's arms draped over his own, he hears him ask it again, to himself, wondered aloud in the quiet of the morning, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over Arthur's shoulders. It's nine in the morning, and SEE THE OTHER DAMN TEXT FILE He pretends to stay asleep, but it's hard to lie, to Eames. --- < Arthur's almost surprised Cobb hadn't said anything earlier, but it doesn't stop him from fucking freezing when he does. He answers reflexively, truthfully, because it's even harder to lie to Cobb. Cobb takes it -- well, and in his stride, just points out that they've at the very least been able to stay focused, and he'd just wanted to get this out of the way before they actually start on their job, tomorrow. Arthur answers with a smile that only his oldest friend ever gets, a quirk at the corner of his lips and something about how he's perfectly capable of being professional, thanks, and Cobb has other things that he's much better off worrying about ( the problematic issue of the mark's defensive training, for example, or the ever-present possibility that wide-eyed look that Nash gets sometimes, the kind that mistakes are made of ). It's later when Cobb asks, out of the blue, where Arthur would be headed after this. He isn't sure, but Arthur says he's considering keeping his head low somewhere in the maze of streets in Rio, and Cobb nods, says he's headed to Seoul, but there's something waiting for him in Japan, and he just might pick it up. As always, he promises that Arthur would be the first man he calls once details are settled, and Arthur nods just once, in acknowledgment, because they've done this too many times before. But a while later, "Is Eames headed back to Monaco again?" "I'm not sure. He's been talking about Germany." "But you'll be in Brazil?" Arthur has no answer for him, and Cobb doesn't ask him again. --- some dramatic thing about arthur being the FUCKING COMMITMENT PHOBE in this relationship. --- Months later, Cobb calls him up, and within a few days, Arthur's sharing a table with him in a restaurant in Kyoto explaining that no, Brazil isn't quite as preoccupied with yams as some people think, but they certainly don't shy away from it. It's another job, trivial in nature but a little riskier in context -- Cobol was a big name to be working for, their mark an even bigger name to be after. Arthur's job is to point that out, and the high possibility of not just training but high-caliber training, and Cobb's is to insist that they can do it and that all they need is the right people. As always, Arthur trusts in Cobb's capabilities, admitting that the job itself, a simple extraction, was well within their capability. Cobb outlines his ideas, simple and efficient but all hinging on key aspects that he trusts on Arthur to find, and he mentions Nash and about how he would probably be meeting with the man somewhere out of Japan, at first, to enlist his help. He talks about a local kid he's found ( Cobb enjoys picking up proteges, Arthur's learned, even for just a few weeks -- it must be the teacher in him ) who doesn't really speak English but is a tiny little genius, and that having someone unexpected like that on their side might just be the bonus they need -- he hates having to keep Arthur outside the dream to watch the PASIV when he'd be much more useful inside it. "I'll introduce you in the morning," Cobb says, setting his chopsticks down on the table. "I want you to get a read on him, too, but I think Eames can tell us if he can be trusted or not. Was he in Monte -- ?" "Kenya," Arthur answers, without hesitation, looking up from his plate. "He's always told you that Nash is too anxious, and a liability for it." "Nash is young, and he'll grow into it. Not everyone takes to this like you do. This kid, he's good, but he's on Cobol's payroll, I just want Eames's opinion, and yours. It's a simple job, but high-risk; I don't want to lose it because Cobol's playing tricks." "It is a simple job. If you think you can trust him, Cobb, it's probably good enough for me, but I'll check on how he ties to Cobol." "Good." Conversation fades back into silence, for a moment, and the thing with Cobb is that he's known Arthur so long that he knows when something's wrong, even if he's trying so hard to hide it that Arthur doesn't realize it himself. Cobb only speaks again after the dolled-up waitress asks them in fragmented, accented English if they'd like any deserts, and Arthur politely declines "It's a simple job." "Yeah?" Arthur knows that. He doesn't see his point. "We don't need a forger, we could do without." And this silence is a lot more uncomfortable, stretches for too long, and Arthur finds his throat tightening, his eyes lowering to his plate, because he understands what Cobb is offering, what he's asking. "Sounds good," Arthur says, eventually, and Cobb nods and asks for the bill. --- Arthur supposes that it's nothing short of ironic that one of the few times they decide to go without Eames, everything goes to shit because of the guy he'd warned them about years ago. Mal, too, but it's not like Eames hadn't pointed her out, either. ( And Arthur's known Cobb longer than Eames has, but Eames has been working with him longer. He remembers the first day he saw him, on Arthur's first real large-scale job, remembers watching him step into the room an hour late and shrug his jacket off his shoulders while talking loudly about how he cares nothing for the lack of manners of a New York crowd in rush hour. He'd looked around and asked where Nash was -- in the back room, Arthur had said, working on his designs, and Eames, without looking at him, had snapped, "Good, good, the nervous little sod's hard to work around, really, Cobb, he'd do you in one day, if that woman of yours doesn't." There had been a pause, when Arthur wasn't sure what to think of this man other than the fact that his shirt was more than a litle goddamn tacky, but then he was turning to face them, brushing off some sharp response from Cobb. Arthur remembers noticing his mouth, his lips, the stubble across the shape of his jaw, and he remembers being surprised at how soft and honey-smooth Eames's voice sounded, as compared to before. "And this is the point man you've told me so much about?" "Arthur," he'd answered, coolly, and there was something about his eyes that made him distinctly uncomfortable, because Arthur is the kind of man who's careful about what he shows and what he puts across but Eames felt like the kind of man who'd see right through all of that and laugh at it. Cobb says something that Arthur can't remember, about how he trusts Arthur, how he trusts Eames, and they can have more time for introduction later -- Arthur remembers Cobb warning him, Eames is a good man, if you're willing to overlook a few things, but trying to get a read on you will be the first thing he does, but that's not really on his mind when Eames offers his hand. "A pleasure, I'm sure" he'd said, and Arthur takes his hand, of course, to be polite. It's only when he doesn't drop it away when Arthur remembers he's probably being tested, but still he hesitates, his eyes flicking up across the other man's face, but then he's pulling away firmly, turning around and reaching for a folder on the desk. "If you don't mind, Mr. Eames," Arthur had said, holding it out to him without looking back up from the piles of papers spread across the table. "There's a good amount of material for you to work through today. I've done a general search, but let me know when you need something specific." There'd been a pause, just a split-second in time, before Eames had laughed, taking the folder with a mocking of course, dear and pulling up a chair for himself, peering at it's contents. Arthur remembers having difficulty deciding if the man was tolerable or not, remembers glancing up at him from his work once, twice, thrice until the one time Eames looked up at the same time and met his eye with a half-smile hovering across his lips. And then he'd decided, no. He actually quite hates him. ) Too many years ago, and Arthur is both surprised at how much he remembers and not surprised at all. He finds Cobb in the hotel where they'd arranged to meet, and of course, Nash isn't there, but they aren't about to wait for him with their ride waiting on the roof, Arthur asks him where Cobb is headed, and he says to Argentina. Arthur had been planning to head to somewhere in the Pacific, maybe New Zealand, he has some arrangements in Dunedin, but when Cobb asks him where he's going, he answers that he's headed back to the States, and in his mind he's charting out some new plans that he'll have to finalize later. --- Arthur never does make it to New York. --- They're in Paris, and Arthur feels more and more uneasy about this job the more he digs up about the mark. Regardless of his faith in Cobb, he's been a little more quiet about his plans, and Arthur figures it has something to do with Mal. Arthur doesn't hold it against him. He doesn't hold it against her, either. Inception, though, is something that Arthur is trying to force himself to accept the possibility of -- it doesn't work. Simple logic tells him it's impossible, there's simply no way to do it without a trace. The problem is that the more about Fischer he tries to find, the less there is -- he chases down every possible lead and leaves absolutely nothing unchecked, but what he comes up with is -- minimal. They'd need more, but maybe they wouldn't be able to get it. Ariadne, Arthur quite likes. She's intelligent, well-spoken, and a welcome relief from the constant mutual paranoia that comes from co-workers in an industry built around deceit -- he spends a lot of time with her, guiding her through the dream process only to find that she figures most of it out on her own, anyway, and he's usually left a step or two behind with a fond almost-half-smile, watching as she wanders ahead and tests her own limits. It's -- a little depressing, how genuine she is, because you can't be, in this work, not if you want to survive, but Arthur thinks he just might fall for her if he let himself. But then Cobb says something about going to find Eames, one day, and oh, and Arthur feels a lump in grow in his throat, instinctively, he's already replying, Mombasa's too risky, Cobb, you shouldn't, and there are plenty of good thieves. "We need a forger." Arthur doesn't argue. --- It's almost like nothing's ever happened. Eames still wears the same fucking shirts and greets him with the same fucking smile. Arthur thought he felt his heart drop down through his chest to the floor the first time he saw him again, and he tries to stop himself from staring at him, out of the corner of his eye. He knows Eames is watching him, because he always is, and -- he's not sure what he expected, but this wasn't it. He'd been dreading Eames's arrival in Paris, because he's tried not to think about Eames, over the months and years, but he's always there, lingering on the edge of his thoughts, when he's alone in his bedroom with his face pressed into his pillow, fingers twisting into his sheets. It ached, sometimes. Arthur expected it to hurt worse. But it doesn't, and it's almost like the pain ebbs away. Because Eames is no different than he was years ago, and Arthur himself -- never changes. He doesn't even realize how they fall back into that same pattern because it happened so smoothly, so naturally, Eames peering over his shoulder at his work and dragging a glossy black-and-white photograph towards him, Arthur snatching at back and telling him, coldly, that he has his own copies in his own folders. Eames would laugh, his arm brushing against Arthur's as he leans back, turning back to his own table, and Arthur would always not? T way that voice somehow seems to roll and rumble yet stay honey-smooth, the way his tongue catches against his teeth when he calls him darling. Everything is exactly the same, from the way Eames pays him a touch more attention than the rest to the way he finds means to make Arthur's life fucking miserable, volunteering him when Yusuf needed to test his sedative and hovering nearby, laughing, whenever he falls and jerks awake. He's forgotten that ache, that longing, because Eames is right there, and he almost doesn't remember why he'd been afraid, to begin with. It's only one night when he's staying behind to lock up, again, well fuckies --- BRICK WALL BRICK WALL BRICK WALL BRICK WALL BRICK WALL BRICK WALL BRICK WALL BRICK WALL BRICK WALL BRICK WALL --- It's been years, and Arthur doesn't have Cobb anymore. You don't make friends in this line of work, just people that you could ( hopefully ) trust for fleeting weeks at a time to not --- He meets him once, by chance, in London. --- SO MUCH BRICK WALL THIS FOUND IN ANOTHER TXT FILE: Arthur is the kind of man who lives by certain rules. He prioritizes his work, above all else, and that's fucking common sense, really, just part and parcel of being a professional. He's never careless, never indulgent, never lets anything personal get in the way, and people tend to get him wrong. He comes off sometimes as distant and cold, but it's not that he's at all emotionless -- he's just careful, controlled, and in this work, you always leave yourself at the door. There's no room for feelings, for morals and ethics, when you make your living off something that was fundamentally wrong, risking not just lives but minds. It's unecessary. But this -- isn't -- work. ( just a little, it won't go too far ) This is just himself, alone, when the rest of the team is long gone, when it's just him left to put everything away and make sure everything is ready for tomorrow. This is himself, alone, with nothing but his mind, his dream, what he's making for himself, and yeah, it's a little indulgent, maybe, a little bit of something he wouldn't normally do, but Arthur knows that sometimes you have to bend the rules. It's empty, dark. The room is wide, plain, almost unfurnished, Eames asks, "Do you hate me?" And Arthur answers, "Not as much as I'd like."