loadedparadox | Risking everything he never knew he had

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Risking everything he never knew he had - For eamesofdreams

It was like a dream collapsing around you after the dreamer woke up. It was all falling apart before Arthur had ever really had a chance to know what he had. He hadn't wanted to leave Ariadne, holding that petite form to his with a hope that it would just all go away. Except it wouldn't and she was right. She deserved to know everything, to make an informed decision. Deep down he knew it was all hers to make. It always had been.

He cheated in tracking down Eames. An hour earlier and he'd have looked in every bar and hole in the wall dive near the warehouse. Instead he used the GPS in Eames' phone, figuring the other man hadn't known Arthur had turned it on one day after realizing just how close Eames and Ariadne were. He had to look out for her, now, then, always.

In the time between leaving her place and arriving at the bar, he had pulled himself together. Pushing open the door, standing there lit by pulsating neon and dim behind the bar lights, Arthur wasn't thinking of the image he presented. Stony face with his jaw tight and dark eyes narrowed, his suit impeccable and probably costing more than the cars some of the people drove. He didn't care about anything but tracking down Eames and doing what he'd promised. Finding out just where things stood.

And if he got angry enough over the replaying image in his head - the one of Eames smiling as he shot himself - then he had no qualms about settling this with a hard right other than words.

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"I'll take this as my cue to leave, boys." Eames announces to the small table he's been perched at, laying down his cards and giving Arthur the barest of looks as he stands. They protest slightly, the game is in full swing and the bar crowded, but Eames only shrugs on his jacket, avoiding the cellophane wrapped around the top of his arm. A new tattoo that can only be hours old at least.

He's been drinking for a while, liquor thrumming through his system as he moves away, towards Arthur because there's no point running, no point if Arthur can find him halfway across the city in the dingiest of pubs. When they draw level with each other, Eames' face is masked, hard and lacking all sorts of the gentle teasing, tone of voice too clipped and cut off to be anything other than a series of vowels locking the real emotion behind it,

"Should we take this outside, Arthur?" he asks, brushing past him into the night. He throws a smile over his shoulder but it's not pleasant, not at all, "Wouldn't want to cause a scene."

Arthur didn't move, didn't so much as an inch a he watched Eames leave the table. He noted everything though. The new ink work covered, the way the other man moved and what it said. Again came the thought of telling him off in so many words, telling Ariadne there was nothing there and closing himself back off to his work and dreams. It had served him well this far into his life, after all.

He wished he'd had another drink, hadn't had any at all, and as Eames brushed against him, Arthur's back went rigid, unwilling to give an inch as the anger he'd felt in those last moments of the dream resurfaced.

Turning on heel in Eames' wake, part of him expected a sucker punch the moment the door closed.

"There's no scene to be made," he said, voice hard as stone. "I came to tell you if you ever do something like that again, I swear to God I will break you in ways you can't imagine. That said, it will be a moot point because I won't press the issue after tonight. Let it be dead and buried with the only person who actually thought this..." He vaguely gestured between them. "Could work."

Eames is careful, almost too still apart from the slight sway of his body, like he's keeping himself so rigid, so straight and yet he still can't quite hide how much he's put away. He keeps his expression blank, eyes a little too disinterested, hands at his side, not fidgeting, not moving like he usually is.

"Thank you for clearing that up for me, Arthur. I promise it won't happen again," he replies flatly, looking across the street when someone laughs, "You won't have to deal with it again."

The way he says it is so final, like it's complete fact, like there wouldn't ever be any other time when he would.

Maybe it wasn't what he expected, except that Arthur hadn't left a window for anything more. It was for the best, that was what he told himself, yet he couldn't keep himself entirely quiet, because one thing needled him and it made no sense.

"Promise... What won't happen? Me drunkenly hitting on you because I couldn't hide that I still have feelings for you," he demanded to know, a hint of the coldness cracking in his voice. He didn't turn away, partially because he still expected this to turn into a fight, and partially to watch Eames' face.

"I'll tell Ariadne then that I was, as I said, being a fool and whatever I thought was entirely one sided and I upset her and broke up whatever we had for nothing." His hand smoothed over his tie, straightening his jacket, trying to keep himself pulled together. "Don't be gone long. She's already worried about you going." And like that he'd ruined everything good in his life. It was a new sensation and one that didn't sit well with him.

"It doesn't matter," Eames snaps out, fingers clenching at his waist, leaning back against the cool damp of the wall as he breathes for a moment. Arthur's comment has just the barest of flinches, just the slightest hints of hurt and want and need before it's closed back up and Eames isn't looking at him again, "Is that everything, darling? Only I can't stop to chat."

The way he says it is slow, light, like someone who barely knows the person they're talking to and is on their way somewhere.

It would be easy enough to say that was all and walk away. They would likely never see Eames again, and Arthur would likely eventually disappear into the ether.

"No, that's not all." Digging into his suit pocket he pulled out his wallet, fingers plucking out an older, folded identification card. "This, for the record, is how much I don't care," he pointed out, holding it out under Eames' nose. Arthur Darling was the legend printed on it.

"That, so you know, is just how much I apparently don't care that you're about to walk out of my life, and how much I regretted walking out of yours when Mal died. And I told Ariadne that I have feelings for you because she deserved to know and..." And he was going to sound like a fool. "And because Mal told me to tell you."

He backed up a step them though. "But hey, I'm listening to my dreams so of course it was wishful thinking and not actually anything real." He huffed out a breath. "So much for me knowing everything, hmm? Because I was obviously entirely wrong about you, me and that talk we had the other evening. I..." He shook his head. "I guess that's everything." He held out the card soon. "Might as well keep it. I won't use that one again."

Edited 2011-01-08 20:41 (UTC)

Taking the card, Eames runs his thumb over the embossed name, still not looking up at Arthur, still not actually meeting his gaze, "I don't know what you're trying to tell me, Arthur."

"I'm saying..." Arthur paused, trying to think of what he was saying, what he wanted to say. "If I hadn't left, would you taken Mal's advice or was she wrong? Am I wrong now thinking that you..." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Don't leave. I'm asking you not to leave."

His head jerks up, gaze angry and a little bit just tired, still drunk and focused all on Arthur. The card dents in his fingers like he's gripping on to something, anything with all of his might, holding on to it for dear life and when he speaks his voice is quiet, simmering underneath.

"Do you even bloody know me at all, Arthur? For christ sake, I would have followed you to the end of the sodding earth. You were -" and he sucks in a breath, pushing away from the wall, away from Arthur, movements a little unco-ordinated and sloppy like he's trying to put distance between them both while still drunk, still feeling too much all at once, "My plane leaves in four hours. I -"

He runs a hand through his hair, keeping his back to the other man, "Mal was never wrong, she knew me better than I did. She knew just how I felt, but she didn't understand why I just couldn't -- You terrified me."

"Four hours. Okay. That means I have three to convince you not to go." Yet as Eames moved away, he moved with him, not letting the other man put distance between them.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't know you. Maybe I've spent a lot of years putting so much distance between myself and others that I was blind." His words were rough, almost stilted as he spoke of things he never opened up about and knew he only did now because a girl who was perfection in miniature had gotten under his defenses and now it was all surfacing.

"If you leave, I'll never know. The other night, why didn't you come get me. I gave you enough of an opening. If you don't care and want to get on that plane and never come back, why not do it?"

"Because I wasn't about to bloody take advantage," Eames snarls, rounding on him, "I wasn't going to press you for a cheap sodding fuck Arthur. You mean more to me than that."

With a last ditch effort, he moves away, shoving his hands roughly in his pockets and heading to the mouth of the alleyway. He knows Arthur can still hear him, "I made a promise to Mal before she died, Arthur. I told her I'd make sure you were happy and you left and I couldn't keep it. So just - let me fucking go. I won't come back and you and Ariadne can get on with your lives."

"Exactly. Why I thanked you. And I spent all night thinking about that, about you." It was odd, unfamiliar. He hadn't a clue how to do this, and suddenly it seemed damned important he did.

Screw it. He launched himself after Eames, attempting to slam him back against the wall of the building overshadowing the alley. "So you'll do what? Let Mal down? Because last time I left time and you had no control over that. This time you do. Ariadne sent me to find out. I've already broken her heart today. Don't you dare do it againby leaving her too."

Too. Because Arthur wasn't sure he was going back. Not if this all fell apart.

It's testament to how drunk and fucked up he is right now that he lets Arthur get the drop of him, lets himself be pushed back with a slight grunt of noise and a look of actual concern. He pushes, slams his palms into Arthur's shoulder and away from the wall, narrowing his eyes.

"What do you want me to do, Arthur? Do you want me to fucking stick around and deal with the fact that I am breaking everything I touch?"

Fists balled, Eames lets out a growl, angry, impossibly so and he just wants to get out, to go because if he stays it'll shatter open in front of all of them and he can't do that.

"I will lay down my life for you and Ariadne, you have to know that. You're the only two people on this whole bloody planet that I give a shit about. But I cannot stay here and infect you, you can't ask me to."

Arthur went a step back but it didn't stop him. He moved in, slamming his hands against Eames shoulders.

"I'm asking. Don't make me chase you down." Like he realized he'd hoped Eames had all those years ago. "Don't leave Ariadne and make me take in that damn cat I know you have so it doesn't eat Helios." His voice started out rough, hard, but it softened. "Don't go."

"Mr. Bond wouldn't like you," Eames replies, awkward and very clearly unhappy about the whole thing, "She's got better taste than I ever did."

"Don't -" and there was just the tiniest bit of hurt in his voice, fear too, like he can't quite mask it, "If you make me stay than I get to watch the only family I have turn against me, Arthur. I can't do that again, I can't - I need to leave now so she doesn't end up hating me, so you don't hate me even more than you do. Don't you understand? I can't bear to watch the losing you play out. If I go now I don't have to."

"So liking me is a sign of bad taste?" He tried to make it a joke though his hands pushed harder against Eames' shoulders. His fingers curled in, digging in against those broad shoulders.

"You think I hate you," he asked, browing arching but there was a cold fissure that ran up his spine. "And you accused me of not knowing you? Eames, if you leave, you've already lost me, haven't you? You'll never lose her, and she will always adore you." That was the word she'd used and he'd seen the light in her eyes, and the pain when he'd told her about his feelings. "And if none of that makes it clear, I never hated you. Ever. I was just..." And he realized he hadn't asked. "Why were you terrified of me? Of me hating you and losing me?" But that fear made him realize Mal had been right. So had Ariadne.

"You made me fucking care-" He drags his gaze away, breath rucked and a little wild and he just can't look at Arthur, can't bring his eyeline back to the other man, "Back then. You made me want to be better. I was trying to impress you all the bloody time. Arthur, I'm - I'm not a good person, I never will be, and I've come to terms with that fact. I know I'm wicked on the inside. I know I fuck with everything I get near and that's why I don't, not anymore. I shouldn't have stuck around, I shouldn't have stayed."

Arthur stared at Eames for a long time, listening to his words and realizing how he felt. Taking a breath, he stepped back. Straightening, pulling himself together. "I was with the syndicate for years," he admitted in a rush of air. "There's a reason I'm good at what I do."

He'd never told anyone that. Not anyone who hadn't known him then. "So let's talk about who is bad within Eames. Tell me what a good man I am in everything you've seen me do."

He blinks, stupid and slow because that's - Eames had always wondered, had never asked and he knows that's bad, of course it is, but somehow - "Oh fuck you, darling. You wouldn't be here if you weren't a good person under all of that prickle."

He rubs a hand over his face and then just sort of shifts, sliding down the wall to sit on the damp ground because he can't keep standing and he knows he should be using this, pushing back at the other man and escaping. "There's no job in Morocco. Christ, I wish I hadn't dumped all my cigarettes."

Arthur squated before Eames, hell bent on not actually touching the ground. He was working on changing but that was one he wasn't giving up. He was not touching a dirty alley if he could help it.

"And if you weren't a good man you wouldn't be running from us. You wouldn't have quit smoking. You wouldn't be trying to save me from you."

"Couldn't you have just left me to fucking up my liver in peace, hm? You could train a new forger into being as good, I'm sure. We'd all have gone home happy."

It's a lie but he figures not the worst he's said lately and he closes his eyes as he leans back against the wall, skull a dull thump against brick, "I hate you just about as much as I'm in love with you, just so you fucking know, you arsehole."

"It - " a sigh, still not opening his eyes, "The other night. I wanted to come and find you. I was almost out the door. I just - I wanted to talk to you. Tell you the stuff I can't tell you when you'd remember. I wanted to explain, and I just couldn't because I knew the minute I saw you, I'd crack. I'm not exactly in the right mindset right now, Arthur. I don't know what I'm doing."

"This isn't about a forger, you ass," he growled, shaking his head. "And you wouldn't be happy, would you?" But could any of them at this point? He wasn't sure if he ever could, but suddenly he had the feeling that if he let Eames leave, everything would fall apart.

"That makes you a better man than me, wouldn't it then? Because I'm willing to take advantage of your drunken state. "Tell me then. Tell me what you wanted to say. I'm asking, and my other answer is to show you I saved that damn picture and demand you take me to burn that hat."

He felt so worn, worse than he had the morning after, and still not sure what Eames was going to do in three hours.

"Stop talking about the fucking hat," Eames shot back, narrowing his eyes a little and fixing his gaze on Arthur, it's still hazy, still a little like it wants to break off and like he still wants to just escape but he's not moving, "It was stupid, Arthur. Everything was stupid. And then you were angry on my behalf and I just - I would've told you I was glad. That you were back in my bloody life. How fucking pathetic is that? How fucking pathetic am I?"

He crosses his arm over his knee, drawing them up so he can tap a rhythm on his knee. "The thing is - the thing is that everyone's right. I do care, I care too much. It's - I don't even fucking mind, you know? I don't want anything from you. This isn't - I just. Your fucking shoes Arthur, you ruined your shoes. They were nice shoes."

"Why? It is really and truly a horrid hat," he murmured softly, that stony expression softening as Eames went on. He sighed, reaching out and catching Eames' wrist with his hand, thumb running over that spot where the cuff sat from the PASIV.

"You quit smoking because I ruined my shoes," he asked, not even trying to hide the surprise in his voice. God, you're a fool," he laughed, shaking his head slightly. "You're more important than a pair of shoe, Eames. Even if you don't get that."

"Couldn't be tempted to keep fucking doing it, you'd run out of footwear and make my life a misery, mm?" Instead of looking up, he looks down, at Arthur's hand on his wrist, the part where they're connected and it's fitting, somehow.

"Years ago my mother went into hospital on Christmas Eve, she didn't come back out again. The anniversary - " Eames sighs, soft and a little bit still frayed out at the edges, "It's in a couple of weeks. I didn't expect you or Ariadne to notice the fact that I turn into a lunatic at this time of the year and then you did and -. Usually I go somewhere nobody knows me, I drink for the whole sodding month, smoke myself dry, fuck up, and then get over it."

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