Fic: "How to Know," Inception, Mature (3/3)
Title: How to Know
Fandom: Inception
Characters/Pairing: Arthur/Cobb
Rating: Mature/R (sex, language)
Word count: 22000
Summary: Arthur builds a relationship with Cobb, which begins as casual sex between friends and gradually becomes more. But as it does so, Arthur's lack of confidence in Cobb weighs on him.
Notes: Written for the following inception_kink prompt: "Arthur notices that Cobb still wears his wedding ring when they're dreaming." I posted it there anonymously, and now I've cleaned it up a bit and am reposting. Not sure how it got to be this long!
Arthur hasn’t answered his phone in a long time. He checks for messages every day, but he seldom returns them.
He's sure by now he's missed out on several jobs. Worthwhile ones, probably not. He doesn't lose sleep over it.
When his sister calls, he waits until he thinks she'll be at work to call back so he can leave a message. He learned a long time ago the minimum he needs to do to convince people he's alive and well.
One afternoon, he's on the bed reading a magazine when his phone rings. Like always, he takes it out to look at the display. But this time, when he sees the name, he pushes the green "answer" button.
It's Ariadne.
"Hey," she says when he answers. "Haven't heard from you in a while."
"What can I say? I've been busy."
"Working?"
He pauses. "Not that much." After a second of thought, he adds, "I've been staying with Cobb."
Now she pauses.
"How is he?" she asks.
"Good. He's great. So, what to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I've come across a job. Thought you might be interested."
He sits up and props a pillow behind his back. "Yeah? Tell me about it."
"It's . . . standard corporate espionage. I'm in Chicago."
Chicago. That's not a bad trip to make.
"How many on the team?"
"Three, if you come."
She tells him about the extractor she's hooked up with. It's not someone Arthur knows, but the business changes so damn fast, he's not too surprised.
He tries not to rush a decision, but there's no actual reason to turn the offer down. He's told himself for months now that he'd take an offer from someone he trusts.
Then Ariadne's voice grows serious. "I'd like it if you joined in. Sometimes I feel like I barely know what I'm doing."
That cinches it. Maybe it's a sign he's getting older, but he likes the thought of being the voice of experience. Of mentoring someone, even.
The first thing he does after saying goodbye to Ariadne is get on his laptop to book plane tickets. Then he sits back and thinks about how he's going to approach the next step.
Finally, he goes outside to tell Cobb.
Cobb is in the backyard swimming pool, trying to teach the kids to swim. The kids seem more interested in floating in their brightly-colored inner tubes and whacking each other with large foam noodles. Arthur steps inside the fenced-in enclosure and crouches by the side of the pool.
"What is it?" Cobb asks. Phillipa splashes him, and he wipes his eyes.
"I've got to go to Chicago for a week or two. Job opportunity."
"Oh yeah? Who with?"
"Ariadne."
Cobb blinks, either from surprise or from the chlorine in his eyes. "I didn't know she decided to go into the business."
Maybe Arthur should have told him about that. Ariadne was his find, after all. He's not sure why he didn't.
"I guess she has."
"Did she tell you what the job is?"
Arthur shrugs. "A little bit. But you know me: I don't like doing business on the phone."
Cobb rests his arms on the edge of the pool. He gazes past Arthur with a preoccupied look in his eye. Arthur sees something in his expression that looks like professional curiosity. It reminds him of the old days.
"When do you fly out?" Cobb asks.
"Tomorrow."
For a moment, Arthur imagines Cobb is going to come with him, join the job. He knows it's unrealistic. He knows there's no way they could possibly find someone to stay with the kids on such short notice. He knows Cobb is still technically retired. But when he looks at that curiosity in Cobb's eyes, he's sure it'll happen.
"I'll give you a ride to the airport."
Arthur nods, but he feels like his stomach sinks. He tells himself he didn't really expect anything more.
He does most of his packing that evening. Cobb watches with his arms crossed, but doesn't offer to help.
"Are you doing this to help Ariadne, or because you want to?"
Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Can't it be both?"
Cobb shrugs. "Well, yeah . . . ."
Arthur is a folding a shirt. After he places it in his luggage, he looks up at Cobb. "What are you trying to say? That you don't think I should take the job?"
"No. You should do whatever you want."
"Thank you," Arthur says, more harshly than he intended. "I will."
"What I meant," Cobb says, rolling his eyes, "is that I've gotten the impression you're feeling disenchanted these days. And I wouldn't blame you. Half the people in the business are criminals who don't know what they're doing. The other half actually cares about dream sharing but would rather be doing legitimate work in it. After a while, it gets old. Believe me, I should know."
"C'mon. You know it's not that polarized. There are talented criminals out there."
"Okay, fine. You have people like Eames-"
"And us."
Cobb hesitates. For all he likes to present himself as the innocent family man, the law-abiding architect who was forced into a life of crime, he's too dishonest and manipulative not to have an inherent criminal nature.
Arthur isn't judging. He likes Cobb just fine the way he is. Though maybe part of him thinks that if Cobb were how he presents himself, then Cobb would be too good for him.
"Sure," Cobb says, finally, "like us. That's why we stuck together, remember? Compatibility."
Arthur keeps packing.
* * *
Arthur arranges to meet Ariadne and the extractor in the hotel restaurant after he gets checked in. When he walks in, his legs are still tired from sitting on the plane. He doesn't see Ariadne, so he waits at the bar and orders a scotch.
The place is packed, mostly with people in suits and business casual attire. Arthur leans on the counter and says to the bartender, "Busy tonight, isn't it?"
The bartender is a woman about his age. She smiles and says, "There are a lot of people here for a convention."
Arthur suspected as much. There are signs in the lobby welcoming some manufacturer of auto parts. They seem to have reserved a large portion of the hotel.
Ariadne finally shows up with the extractor in tow. He's wearing a crisp but unassuming suit, and he's older than Arthur expected: He has salt-and-pepper hair and his face, while not old, has lines around the eyes and mouth that add maturity.
He introduces himself as Marcus. Arthur wants to like him, but he never knows how to feel about people who don't meet his expectations.
Arthur would like to make a good impression, but it's hard to be upbeat when he's just flown into town, is starving, and wants to know more about the job. After dinner, they agree to go up to Ariadne's room to discuss it. But first, Marcus goes outside for a cigarette, and Arthur tags along.
It's quiet outside. It's a warm night, but not stifling like the crowded restaurant. Arthur gets a light from Marcus and looks up at the clear, dark sky. The stars are starting to come out.
"People are saying you and Ariadne performed inception," Marcus says.
He doesn't beat around the bush. Arthur likes that, but he doesn't confirm or deny. He has no idea how word of the Fischer job got out, but this isn't the first time it's been mentioned to him. Like always, he's not sure how he feels about it.
Initially, he was pretty proud of himself for pulling it off. Now . . . he supposes he's still proud. Just not as much as he thought he would be. Mostly, he feels weary.
"If you're hoping I'll do it for you," Arthur says, "you're out of luck."
Marcus chuckles. "I'm not that ambitious. I was just complimenting your skill. It's not easy to find good people. I'm sure you're aware."
"Yes, I am aware."
Marcus flicks his cigarette into an ashtray and heads for the entrance to the hotel. Arthur snuffs out his own cigarette and follows, accompanying Marcus up to the sixth floor, to Ariadne's room.
Ariadne spreads papers and photographs out on her bed. Arthur kneels on the floor to look at them and Marcus leans against the wall, not really paying attention. The rundown Ariadne gives about the job is clearly just for Arthur's benefit, to catch him up.
The job itself is simple enough. The mark is in town for the convention downstairs, and Ariadne has already secured a maid's help so they can get access to his room. All they need is to do is find some blueprints and report on what's in them.
When hears the amount they're being paid for this, he raises an eyebrow. "Really? I've done harder jobs for less."
Marcus shrugs. "Our employer has no previous experience with extraction. He was inclined to over-pay, and I wasn't going to stop him."
Arthur is no better than Marcus in this regard. Looking over everything, at all the work that's already been done, he can't imagine he'll lend much value to this job. He's only here because Ariadne wanted him, and perhaps because Marcus wants to work with people who are good enough to perform inception. But Arthur will gladly take a paycheck, regardless.
At a quarter to eleven, Marcus pointedly looks at his watch and excuses himself. He promises Arthur that they'll speak more tomorrow, and then leaves him and Ariadne alone.
Glad for a chance to talk to her, Arthur says, "So, you graduated, huh? Congratulations."
She smiles. "Thanks. And you're with Cobb?"
She doesn't need to clarify what she means. Arthur's first instinct is to lie, probably because when he and Cobb were working together, they agreed to be discreet. Realizing that would serve no purpose now, and that denial would only imply shame, he says, "I am."
"I guess I'm not surprised. Eames said you and Cobb were together."
"He did?" Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow. "When?"
Ariadne shrugs and smiles awkwardly. "When we were preparing for the Fischer job."
Well, so much for "discreet." He doesn't even ask how Eames figured it out.
"He just mentioned it," she continues, as though she can tell Arthur is curious. "It's not like we were talking behind your back. He also thought you were gay, but I didn't believe him."
"I am gay, actually."
Ariadne shoots him a look. "I was willing to believe that after you kissed me. It was like I was your sister or something."
"You should explain that to Cobb. He thinks a willingness to try something is the same thing as being a natural at it."
Ariadne starts to gather the folders into a neat pile, but stops. "Are you guys happy?"
"Yeah, I guess we are."
She looks like she's about to say something, but she hesitates. Arthur knows, whatever it is, it isn't going to be good.
Finally, she says, "I learned some things about Cobb when we were working together. About him and Mal and . . . what happened in Limbo."
Arthur's stomach tightens. "You learned he incepted her."
Ariadne looks up at him, meeting his eyes in a way that makes him feel uncomfortable. "You knew?"
He didn't, actually, but he's suspected it for a long time. Now he does know. He's surprised at how little he feels.
Ariadne sits back on the floor and curls her legs under her. "Did he tell you?"
He shakes his head. "No. But I've been his friend for a long time, and he's not as good a liar as he thinks he is. I know enough."
"I don't know if you do. I think I should tell you exactly what I saw."
"No. You don't need to tell me." His legs are cramping from kneeling on the floor, but he's frozen in place, as though staying physically still will keep his mind and voice calm as well.
"Yes, I do. You need to-"
"I don't," he says, firmly. "Trust me, you never want to know what's going on in the head of someone you like."
She leans forward, pressing her hands against the bed. Her eyes flash with defiance. "But if you don't know what's going on in his head, how can you trust him?"
There's no way he can explain it to her. He's too kind to say, "Why do you think he hasn't kept in touch with you?" But that's the crux of it, isn't it? Cobb isn't the sort of man who can let people see his weaknesses and failures, and he's racked up enough of those that he can't let people get close at all. He'll push them away, like he did with Ariadne after the Fischer job. Arthur can turn a blind eye, and resist the urge to pick away at Cobb's defense mechanisms. In return, he gets Cobb.
Arthur is very pragmatic about what he does and does not have.
* * *
When Arthur returns to LA a week later, Cobb is waiting for him at the airport. It isn't necessary - Arthur could have gotten a cab like he usually does. But still, this is nice. As they walk out together, Arthur realizes this is the first time in years that he's had someone waiting when he got off a plane.
"So, tell me about the job," Cobb says, once they're in the car.
It's been a long, rushed day, but Arthur does his best. He's practically been off the grid these past few months, and while it's been a good break, it's nice to have done something. He's been looking forward to telling Cobb about it.
"Honestly, it was pretty straightforward. I wouldn't mind doing two or three jobs like that in a year. I could live pretty comfortably."
Arthur looks out the passenger window. At first, the surroundings are only vaguely familiar, but as they drive on, the streets and buildings and trees they pass are not only familiar but comfortable in a strange way.
Arthur realizes it's because it's been a long time since he returned to place he's familiar with.
He plans to rest when he gets in. But when Cobb pulls the car into the driveway, Arthur sees the kids peeking out one of the front windows from behind a curtain. When he steps in the door, they ambush him before he can even put down his bag.
He hadn’t imagined they would miss him, but James wraps himself around his leg like a ball and chain, and Phillipa bounces on the balls of her feet, saying, “You’re back! Did you bring us anything?”
Cobb frowns. “C’mon, what did I tell you about asking things like that?”
But Arthur is prepared. He smiles and says, “I did, actually. And if you let me get into my bag, I’ll show you.”
James releases him immediately, and Arthur sets his bag down on the hall table. The kids are watching him eagerly, and he wishes he’d found the time to get them something nice. But when he hands them the postcards from the hotel gift shop, their faces brighten and they clutch them in their small hands, admiring the glossy pictures of Chicago.
Arthur could get used to this sort of ego boost.
* * *
The next day, Cobb recruits Arthur to take Phillipa to her violin lesson.
"You don't have to do anything," Cobb assures him. "You just have to drive her there, wait during the lesson, and drive her home."
Arthur stares him down, but Cobb just says, "Just this once, all right?"
Right. Arthur suspects this is just the start of a regular thing. By the end of the year, he'll be doing kindergarten runs. But it's not like he does much of importance around the house. More importantly, he's never denied Cobb anything.
During the drive home, Phillipa asks, "Do you think I'm good at the violin?"
"Yeah," he says automatically, "you're great. The best in your class."
The thing about Phillipa, that he's still learning, is that as good as she is at lying, she's also good at seeing through other peoples' lies. She's hard to convince, even at her age.
"No I'm not," she says. "And I don't like it. I'd rather take karate."
Maybe he should encourage her to stick with the violin. Perseverance is good for kids, right? Then again, he hated it when his parents tried to get him to do stuff he didn't like.
"That could be fun," he says. "You should talk to your dad about that."
It's beginning to get dark. They're only a few blocks from home, but Arthur wonders if he should call Cobb to find out if he should pick up some dinner.
"Are you Daddy's boyfriend?"
The question, coming out of nowhere, stuns him. Instead of answering, he asks, "What makes you think that?"
"My friend Sarah says you are," Phillipa says, her voice firm as though she's caught him at something.
"I don't even know your friend Sarah. How can she know anything about me?"
He glances at her in the rearview mirror. Phillipa is staring back at him.
"This is something you should ask your dad about," he says.
"He won't tell me," she says, sullenly. "He never tells me anything."
Arthur can believe that. But what can he say?
That night, when he's getting ready for bed, the conversation is still at the forefront of his mind. He's in the master bathroom, brushing his teeth, and he can't help glancing at Cobb, who's at the other sink.
He spits out his toothpaste, rinses his mouth, and turns to Cobb, who's washing his face.
"Has Phillipa spoken to you at all?"
Cobb turns off the water and picks up a towel off the counter to dry his facewith. "No. Not about anything particular. Why?"
"She asked me if I'm your boyfriend."
Cobb freezes with the towel in his hands. "What did you tell her?" he asks, staring at the floor.
"That she needed to talk to you."
"Good," Cobb says, nodding. "That's probably best."
Arthur watches out of the corner of his eye while Cobb continues about his routine. He lets it go on for a minute before asking, "Well? What are you gonna do?"
"I'll talk to them."
"Mind letting me know what you plan to say? I'd like to know the party line for the next time this happens."
"The truth. I'll tell them the truth. No reason we can't be honest, right?"
Right. Of course not. Arthur bites his tongue to keep from asking what the truth is, exactly, because he can think of a few different versions of it.
"You go on to bed," Cobb says. "I think I'll do some more work first."
"Since when do you stay up late to work? Thought you were a morning person."
Cobb smiles. "Just not tired yet. Must have been that coffee I drank. I'll be in a few."
The bigger question is what the hell kind of work Cobb is doing when he holes himself up in his study. It's not like he has a job. Perhaps he's got the PASIV stashed away in there.
But Arthur is being paranoid now. He's not going to become someone who worries about betrayal when no promises have been made, and sulks about going to bed alone.
Sometimes he misses the days when their relationship was just that of two friends who fucked each other. Arthur has always been partial to no-strings-attached sex, and he thinks he could have been happy for a long time, maybe forever.
He can tell himself nothing has changed, but that obviously isn't true. The truth is, this has turned into the type of relationship where it might matter if Cobb doesn't come to bed with him, choosing instead to lock himself up in a fantasy of someone else. Arthur's pretty sure this sort of thing is why his parents got divorced.
He always promised himself he'd have more success.
* * *
One night, Arthur is watching TV with his stocking feet on the coffee table when Cobb comes in from putting the kids to bed.
Cobb sits in an armchair across from Arthur. He breathes a tired sigh and shakes his head.
"Kids give you trouble?" Arthur asks with a smirk.
"You know how difficult James is about brushing his teeth lately."
Arthur is watching some news program, and he turns down the volume when he realizes Cobb is going to stick around to talk.
“The kids’ grandparents are probably coming to visit for Christmas,” Cobb says. “I know that’s a while off, but I thought I’d let you know. They'll probably be in town for a week or two.”
Arthur nods and swallows back guilt. Cobb obviously takes for granted that he'll be there for Christmas, as well.
“Actually,” he says with a sigh, “I think I need to leave.”
Cobb narrows his eyes in confusion. “For the holidays, you mean?”
“No, I mean leave. I can visit, if you want. I just don’t think I should live here anymore."
He isn't prepared for this discussion -- he was going to wait until a good time came up, maybe when the kids are out visiting friends. Part of him has fantasized about simply not bringing it up at all, but sneaking out in the middle of the night or going away on a job and not coming back. He hates himself when he thinks like that.
It’s probably better to have gotten it out, but Arthur doesn’t feel any relief. Instead, dread squeezes his stomach like a vise. He wishes he could rewind time and keep his mouth shut.
Cobb stares at him for a long time, and Arthur avoids his gaze. Finally, Cobb says, “Do I get to know why?” He doesn’t sound angry, but his voice is cold, and the confusion in it almost makes Arthur wince.
Arthur wishes he has an answer planned, but he doesn't. He doesn't know how to vocalize these things. “I don’t know," he says.
“Is it getting too serious? Is that it?”
Arthur shifts on the sofa. He doesn’t want to face the TV, and he doesn’t want to face Cobb. He settles for something in between, and keeps his eyes focused on his knees.
“Getting serious is probably inevitable, if we keep this up.”
“And that’s a problem? If it is, just say so.”
Cobb sounds pretty certain that's the issue, and it's like a punch in the gut. Because Arthur has been serious. He's the one who's moved in, had his stuff shipped from across the country. When Arthur's gone, Cobb will still have his kids. Arthur won't have anyone except for parents he hasn't seen in years and siblings whose calls he won't answer.
Arthur sighs. “Look, I always figured I’d settle down eventually, and I like this. I like Phillipa and James. But this is your family. And I know you still love Mal, that no one will compare to her. I get that.”
“Arthur --”
“No, listen. If it was just us, I’d probably stay. But your kids are getting used to having me around. The longer I stay, the more disruptive it’ll be if I leave. They deserve some stability.”
He feels good, like like he's justified things adequately. But Cobb frowns.
“You think I haven’t considered all this? You think I would have let you move in if I thought it’d hurt them?”
“Frankly, I have no idea what's going on in your head. But okay, I believe you. That still leaves us. Maybe I don’t want to wake up one morning and realize I’ve wasted my life with someone who isn’t that committed to me.”
Cobb starts to say something, but he stops and his expression hardens.
“Fine," he says, finally, "If you’re worried about wasting your life with me, maybe you should leave.”
He stands up and walks out of the room before Arthur can formulate a response.
Arthur stares at the muted TV, not even trying to pay attention to the news segment that’s playing. This should be good, he thinks. This should be easy. Cobb isn’t going to fight for him - he can leave without fuss.
Isn't that just what he wants?
But then Arthur realizes something he wasn't positive of before, that he could only realize by letting this play out: he doesn’t want to leave.
Standing, he storms over to the study, where he assumes Cobb has holed himself up. He opens the door without knocking, and finds Cobb sitting at the desk, going through some papers but not really looking at them, doing something just to occupy himself. He looks up when Arthur comes in, and Arthur can see him frown in the dim light.
“Can we talk about this?” Arthur asks.
“I think you made your point.”
“No, I haven't.”
Cobb scrunches his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay, then tell me, Arthur: what the hell am I supposed to do? What'll convince you that I'm committed to this? Because I've let you move in. I trust you with my kids. If you can't see the seriousness in that, I don't know what else I can do. So tell me, please."
"You haven't done anything wrong," Arthur says, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. He realizes, somewhat to his surprise, that he believes it. "But I know this isn't what you would have chosen. You'll always wish I was her. I don't think I can handle that in the long run."
Cobb drops the papers on the desk and stands up. "Do you have any idea how unfair that is?"
Arthur can tell he's trying to keep his voice low, probably so as not to wake the kids, but it doesn't stop him from finally sounding upset. It's almost good to hear, preferable to the coldness.
"In case you haven't noticed," Cobb says, jabbing a finger at Arthur. "I don't have the option of choosing Mal over you. You can make all sorts of assumptions about how things could be different. But you can't make decisions based on a bunch of what-ifs that are never going to happen. That's not fair. I bet I can think of a thousand things you'd choose over me if you got the chance. But no, this is how things are. We've chosen this. We're together. That's what matters."
"Right," Arthur says, not swayed. "I know you go under when you think I'm asleep. I know what you've been doing."
Cobb's silence is damning. He closes his eyes and swallows.
"Again," Arthur says, "I'm not blaming you. It's just . . . it is what it is." He crosses his arms across his chest like armor.
"How long have you known?"
"A long time."
Cobb shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made it look like I was hiding something from you."
"Just made it look like it?" Arthur's voice rises without him intending it. "Are you kidding me?"
Cobb glares at him. "I was trying to get some time to myself. I thought you'd get suspicious or insulted if you knew. Obviously, I should have handled it better."
"Obviously," Arthur says with a scoff. "Look, I can guess what you've been up to."
"I don't see her, if that's what you're implying."
Arthur doesn't believe him. If this isn't what Cobb's doing, then why hide it? Arthur isn't clingy. It's not like he can't respect why someone might want to go under by themselves. But he knows "suspicious" when he sees it.
"Don't lie to me," he says. "Whatever you do, just don't."
He thinks he can handle anything but that. Secrecy, detachment, those he can accept. Outright dishonesty is his limit. He deserves better, and has more than proved himself worthy of it.
Cobb sits back down in the desk chair in a dejected slump and runs his hands through his hair.
"I don't see her," he repeats.
"Then what's the big deal?" Arthur challenges.
"Because I wish I did. And sometimes I try to see her." This time, his voice is sad in a way that sounds . . . real. Arthur frowns.
"What? You're saying you can't?"
Cobb shakes his head.
"Still not seeing the problem."
"That's what you don't realize about letting go," Cobb says, looking at the floor. "It's harder than living with whatever it is you need to be rid of. And a part of you is always going to want to hang on."
It's the most Cobb has told him about his feelings, and the most Arthur expects to ever hear.
The only real experience Arthur has in letting go of someone is this, right now, and he knows it isn't comparable to what Cobb has lost. Still, Arthur supposes Cobb is right, because he knows, deep down, that he wants to be with Cobb even if it hurts. He doesn't know if this is love, or stupidity. He hasn't loved enough, or made enough mistakes, to feel sure of the difference. How can he know?
Cobb continues. "I can't have you in my head right now. If she shows up again . . . I can't deal with that if you're there."
Arthur nods. He leans against the wall and looks around the room. This space, more than any other in the house, is Cobb's. Perhaps this is why Arthur so seldom comes in here, and why he hesitated when Cobb offered it up as a safe place for Arthur's valuables. Even now, Arthur's record collection, sitting in the corner, looks foreign among the old architecture textbooks and swimming medals. If the room were alive, it would probably attack Arthur's belongings as though they were a virus.
"You feel guilty, being with me."
He says it like it's a revelation, but it isn't. It isn't exactly hard to see that Cobb has guilt issues, and when Mal shot him in the knee, well, it wasn't hard for Arthur to see some significance in it.
Cobb won't look at him. "Arthur-"
"I know. I'm saying I understand. I'd probably feel guilty, too."
"It doesn't mean I don't care about you. I want this to work."
"But I need more. I need to know. I need a guarantee."
Cobb shakes his head. "I can't give you that. Nobody can."
"Bullshit. You've done it before."
"No. If there's anything I've learned, it's that there are no guarantees. All I can promise is that . . . I can't imagine ever not wanting to be with you."
Maybe Cobb is right. Maybe there's no way to avoid taking a risk. Arthur could very well be screwed no matter what he does. Strangely, rather than making things worse, the thought is almost freeing.
Arthur spends the night on the sofa, not sleeping. He spends a vague block of time watching sitcom reruns, and then the infomercials that come on after. Time seems to pass both fast and slow; this is what he's always imagined Limbo must feel like.
When he wakes up, he isn't even aware of having been asleep. He doesn't feel like he's slept, but light is starting to stream in through the curtains and there's a new infomercial on. He's been resting his head on the arm of the sofa, and now when he tries to move, his neck aches. He starts to rub it.
"You're awake. I thought I heard you moving."
Arthur sits up and sees Cobb standing in the doorway. Cobb is still wearing his clothes from yesterday, which are now rumpled. He doesn't look like he's slept.
Cobb tentatively sits beside him on the sofa. When he isn't rebuffed, he slides closer and places his right hand on Arthur's neck, pushing Arthur's hand away and taking over the job of massaging the sore muscles. Arthur closes his eyes and allows it, because Cobb is good at this and his hand is warm and consoling.
"Are you still going to leave?" Cobb asks, softly.
"Do you want me to?"
"You know that I don't." Cobb swallows audibly and adds, "But if you know you don't want to stay, then you shouldn't. You should be happy. But if you give me a chance, I'll make it worth it."
"Then I'd rather try to stay, if that's all right."
Cobb kisses his shoulder through his shirt sleeve.
Arthur reaches for the remote and switches the TV off. They sit together in silence for a few minutes, while the rising sun brightens the room around them.
"This is hard for me, too," Cobb says. "I know how easy it is to lose someone. It's hard to know that and still want to try. But I can't imagine not having you here. So I'm sorry if I screwed it up."
Arthur shakes his head. "It's not just you. I've never been good at this. I've never had anything this serious before, where I had to take a risk on it. But if you'll try, I will."
He turns to look at Cobb. Cobb's eyes are bloodshot and he looks like hell.
"You should get some rest," Arthur says.
Cobb groans. "I can't. I promised the kids I'd take them out for breakfast. They won't have forgotten that."
Arthur smiles and shakes his head. "You spoil those kids, you know."
"I know. They're worth it."
Later, when Arthur emerges after showering and dressing, Cobb has the kids ready to go. Arthur doesn't actually know if he's invited, too, but the kids grin when they see him and he ends up in the car with them. He's glad they don’t seem to sense anything amiss.
The restaurant has only just opened when they get there. The good thing about eating with the kids is that they command a lot of attention, and there isn't much pressure to talk. He thinks he's reached his quota for discussing stuff with Cobb, at least for the day.
Arthur spends most of the meal helping James cut up his pancakes into bite-sized chunks.
Afterward, while Cobb goes up to the front counter to pay the bill, the kids beg Arthur for change so they can play some car racing arcade game in the corner. He hands them a few quarters, and keeps drinking his coffee until they come back a few minutes later, pouting and pleading for assistance.
When Cobb returns, Phillipa exclaims, "Look! Arthur's helping us play!"
Arthur isn't helping. He's playing the game for them while they watch. He shoots the grinning Cobb a glare, but he doesn't actually mind.
Cobb just pats him on the back.
* * *
"If my dad is going to have a boyfriend, I guess you're okay."
Phillipa is leaning on the dining room table, watching Arthur while he checks his email on his laptop.
"Yeah?" he says, glancing in her direction.
It helps, he supposes, that the kids know him. That, and he is blatantly trying not to parent them. He doesn't know how that strategy will work in the future, but he chooses not to worry about it.
She nods solemnly. Then she asks, "Can I have some gum?"
"No." On reflex, he grabs the pack she's pointing at, pulling it out of reach. "It's for adults."
She narrows her eyes at him, skeptical. "Why?"
"It's supposed to help me stop smoking, that's why."
She appears to consider this for a moment. "Does it work?"
"Not as well as I'd like."
He sticks the pack in his front shirt pocket, deciding it best not to leave it lying out. If Cobb finds out Arthur's trying to quit, he'll think it's due to his influence and his ego will be insufferable.
But then, Arthur doesn't mind as much as he pretends to.
Cobb pokes his head in then, and calls Phillipa over. To Arthur he says, "I'm just going to walk them down the street. I'll be right back."
Arthur nods. He remembers something about the kids visiting a neighborhood friend this afternoon.
Cobb lingers awkwardly for a second, like he might say something more. But then he leaves and Arthur hears him hustling the kids out the front door. Arthur returns to his email.
The past few weeks have been good. The future holds promise. If he wants to, he can probably land another job before the end of the year. And Cobb is . . . trying.
The things Cobb does these days, Arthur doesn't need. He doesn't need an arm around his shoulders while he watches TV. He doesn't need a kiss and a smile when he wakes up in the morning. He doesn't need someone to make him breakfast on Sunday mornings. But he supposes Cobb is trying to demonstrate something.
Cobb returns a few minutes later. He comes directly to the dining room and leans in the doorway.
"There's something I wanted to tell you," he says. "I got a call this morning. I got the job at Pierce."
Arthur closes his laptop and turns to face Cobb. "That was the interview last week, right? The one you really wanted?"
Cobb nods. "That's the one."
"Congratulations. I'm happy for you."
Cobb rubs the back of his neck. "I'm glad to hear that. You know I've always trusted your judgment."
"No, I'm happy."
And he is, even if the thought of Cobb going back to designing buildings after years of designing dreams rankles somewhat. Arthur doesn't think he'll ever not miss working with Cobb. From Cobb's demeanor now, his ambivalence must have shown.
"I think I'll be able to work from home a lot. This guy I'll be working for is flexible about that." Cobb hesitates and adds, "He knows Miles, actually."
Arthur hears the doubt, like Cobb is worried that's the only reason he got the job. Hell, maybe it is. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten hired somewhere if he didn't enlist his father-in-law's help. If Arthur didn't think it'd embarrass Cobb to acknowledge it, he'd assure him it doesn't matter, that he's worth something regardless. Instead, he huffs and says, "It's all politics and networking, you know. Why do you think I've rejected legitimate, tax-paying careers?"
Cobb smiles. "Yeah, I guess you're right."
Arthur closes his laptop and pushes his chair back. "We should celebrate," he says.
"Well . . . ." Cobb looks at his watch. "I said I'd pick the kids up at five, so that gives us about three hours. I think we have time for some celebration." When he says "celebration," his eyes dart to Arthur's crotch.
Arthur shifts in his chair. They haven't had sex in a week, and as a good as Arthur is at taking care of his own needs, he's aching for Cobb's hand on his cock and more.
They waste no time in going to the bedroom. Cobb pulls Arthur close and tugs roughly at his shirt buttons, huffing in frustration when they don't give as easily as he wants.
Arthur grabs Cobb's head between his hands and kisses him. Cobb's stubble scrapes his face, and his tongue slips between Arthur's lips. Cobb pulls back and starts to fumble out of his clothes, rushing to pull off his jeans and button-down shirt. Then he sits on the bed to watch Arthur undress.
Once Arthur has tugged his underwear down over his erection and kicked them off on the floor, Cobb pulls him on top of him on the bed, grunting when Arthur's weight lands on him. Cobb pushes Arthur up and rolls over on him, pinning him on his back. He presses his cock against Arthur's thigh while he strokes Arthur.
Arthur grinds against Cobb's hand. When Arthur feels himself getting close, he wonders for a second if he should try to put it off, tell Cobb to lighten up. Instead, he gives in to it, closing his eyes and losing himself.
"Fuck," he says, "Dom, that feels -"
Cobb doesn't react to the use of his name.
After Arthur comes, Cobb keeps grinding against him until Arthur feels a warm, wet spurt on his skin.
They lie beside each other on the bed, catching their breath. Cobb reaches over and pushes a sweaty lock of hair out of Arthur's eyes. The sweat cools on Arthur's skin, making goose bumps on his arms and legs.
Arthur looks at his watch and realizes, to his dismay, that it's only been a half hour. Now, he wishes they had dragged it out longer, taken advantage of the full opportunity awarded them. Maybe he should have jerked off in the shower this morning. He can last longer if he's jerked off beforehand.
Still, this is nice, just lying together in the quiet house. There are worst ways to spend their scarce time alone.
Cobb gets up and walks into the master bath. He returns a minute later with a damp washcloth, which he tosses to Arthur.
"So you think you'll be happy?" Arthur asks. "Working as an architect."
Cobb doesn't answer for a beat, suggesting maybe he's weighed this more than Arthur has given him credit for.
"Yeah," he says. "I think so." He flops down on the bed and props himself up on an elbow. He looks down at Arthur. "I know it's not as exciting, but I don't think I want exciting right now. Maybe someday."
Arthur murmurs in assent. He can understand this, certainly. If he hadn't needed a break, he doesn't know if he would have come here when Cobb e-mailed him. But he says, "I think I need it. I guess I can't imagine doing anything I like better."
Cobb nods. He trails a finger down Arthur's stomach, making Arthur twitch. "I know. I just . . . I want you to stay safe, okay?"
Arthur grins at him. "You know I'm careful. You can count on me."
"I know I can." He hesitates and adds, "I guess I get more than I deserve from you. I know you have a hard time trusting me."
Arthur frowns. He doesn't deny it, because Arthur isn't one for dishonesty. But he's not actually sure how it is. If he feels like being cynical, he can say that, no, he doesn't trust Cobb, just like he doesn't really trust anyone.
But more accurately, he trusts Cobb on certain measures. He trusts that if Cobb misleads him, it's unintentional and self-deluding as opposed to deliberate and cruel. He trusts that Cobb wants him, at least right now. Hopefully always.
And when it comes down to it, he trusts Cobb more than anyone else.
"I want us to do something," Cobb says.
Cobb gets up again. He pulls his boxers and pants on, and heads into the closet. Arthur knows what he's going to get even before he collects the PASIV from the safe.
This isn't at all unwelcome: they're overdue for going under together, as well, and Arthur hasn't gone under solo in days. He's starting to feel the effects of Somnacin withdrawal, again.
"I want to show you something. I want to show you what I work on sometimes, when I go under."
"You want to take me in your dream?" Arthur shakes his head. "I never asked you for that."
"I know," Cobb says, softly. "But I'd like it."
Arthur doesn't. In admitting he knew of Cobb's secret use of the PASIV, he never meant to issue an ultimatum. He never implied he wanted access to Cobb's secrets. And the last thing he wants is for Cobb's desire to prove something to get him shot in the knee again.
But then he looks at the hopeful and tentative look in Cobb's eyes, and thinks he should give Cobb some credit and a chance. So he gets up and gets dressed while Cobb sets the PASIV on the floor by the bed and starts preparing the doses of Somnacin. He lies back down and offers an arm for Cobb to swab with alcohol and stick the IV in. He closes his eyes.
When he opens them again, he's sitting in a bright, unfamiliar living room. Cobb is sitting across from him on a beige sofa. Arthur turns his head toward the window, and sees a broad cityscape. Between buildings, he can make out the glow of the sun setting on the horizon.
"I'd love to design a building like this," Cobb says.
Arthur stands and walks to the window. He looks down, and the street, if there is one, isn't even visible.
"I don't think you can make skyscrapers this tall." Arthur glances over his shoulder long enough to see Cobb smile sheepishly.
"Well, it's a dream."
Arthur smiles and shakes his head. "And you have the nerve to lecture me on unrealistic dream architecture." He hears Cobb stand up behind him, and walk closer. "So, this is what you do with yourself at night? Build impossible skyscrapers?"
"Among other things." Cobb's voice is right behind him. Arthur can feel his breath on the back of his neck. "I've been practicing control."
"Of the dream?" Arthur frowns.
"Of everything in the dream, yes."
"But you can't. If you change too much, actively control too many things, the subject's projections will sense it. Or the dream can get too unstable."
"But if you practice, and you pace yourself . . . look."
The sun sets fast like a time-lapse photo. The sky darkens to deep purple and then almost black. Stars dot the sky.
Arthur snorts. "Now I know this is a dream. You never see stars in the city like this."
Cobb snakes his arms around Arthur's waist.
"You always said not to change dreams much," Arthur continues.
"I know what I've said. You know me better than to listen to what I say. This is important to me. It's important to know I'm in control of myself. That I'm in control of my life."
"Just promise me you won't get carried away."
He doesn't need stress the importance of that. With Cobb telling him that this is what he's been getting up to, Arthur can't help but be relieved. But another part of him knows, at least through observation, how dream experimentation can spiral out of control.
Cobb kisses the back of his neck. "I promise. That's what I've got you for. To keep me in line, right?"
"Damn right." Arthur smiles. "But I'd like to see what you can do."
Arthur turns and takes Cobb's hand in his. He feels the metal wedding band and freezes. Cobb looks down at his own hand. A look of surprise crosses his face.
"I didn't even notice ."
"You always have it," Arthur says. He immediately regrets it: he's told Cobb that he has noticed.
"I won't do it anymore."
There's a hint of sadness in Cobb's voice, but it doesn't match the pang Arthur feels in his gut. This isn't what he wants at all; he would never possess Cobb at the expense of what makes Cobb who he is.
"No," he says softly.
"I can. This is what I'm working on. Controlling the subconscious. Controlling the dream."
"No," he says again. He kisses Cobb on the mouth. "I don't want you to."
The ease with which this comes to him is the closest he'll get to feeling sure. He realizes that knowing, being sure, isn't a guarantee but something he has to trust in, that he has to feel in his gut. Right now, the past doesn't matter to him, even though it will always be there. So maybe, maybe, they can keep this up for the long run.
He smiles.
"What?" Cobb asks, smiling carefully. "What is it?"
"I don't know," Arthur says. He chuckles and shakes his head. "It's nothing."
He kisses Cobb and turns to look at the city stretched out before them.
Part 1
Part 2
Fandom: Inception
Characters/Pairing: Arthur/Cobb
Rating: Mature/R (sex, language)
Word count: 22000
Summary: Arthur builds a relationship with Cobb, which begins as casual sex between friends and gradually becomes more. But as it does so, Arthur's lack of confidence in Cobb weighs on him.
Notes: Written for the following inception_kink prompt: "Arthur notices that Cobb still wears his wedding ring when they're dreaming." I posted it there anonymously, and now I've cleaned it up a bit and am reposting. Not sure how it got to be this long!
Arthur hasn’t answered his phone in a long time. He checks for messages every day, but he seldom returns them.
He's sure by now he's missed out on several jobs. Worthwhile ones, probably not. He doesn't lose sleep over it.
When his sister calls, he waits until he thinks she'll be at work to call back so he can leave a message. He learned a long time ago the minimum he needs to do to convince people he's alive and well.
One afternoon, he's on the bed reading a magazine when his phone rings. Like always, he takes it out to look at the display. But this time, when he sees the name, he pushes the green "answer" button.
It's Ariadne.
"Hey," she says when he answers. "Haven't heard from you in a while."
"What can I say? I've been busy."
"Working?"
He pauses. "Not that much." After a second of thought, he adds, "I've been staying with Cobb."
Now she pauses.
"How is he?" she asks.
"Good. He's great. So, what to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I've come across a job. Thought you might be interested."
He sits up and props a pillow behind his back. "Yeah? Tell me about it."
"It's . . . standard corporate espionage. I'm in Chicago."
Chicago. That's not a bad trip to make.
"How many on the team?"
"Three, if you come."
She tells him about the extractor she's hooked up with. It's not someone Arthur knows, but the business changes so damn fast, he's not too surprised.
He tries not to rush a decision, but there's no actual reason to turn the offer down. He's told himself for months now that he'd take an offer from someone he trusts.
Then Ariadne's voice grows serious. "I'd like it if you joined in. Sometimes I feel like I barely know what I'm doing."
That cinches it. Maybe it's a sign he's getting older, but he likes the thought of being the voice of experience. Of mentoring someone, even.
The first thing he does after saying goodbye to Ariadne is get on his laptop to book plane tickets. Then he sits back and thinks about how he's going to approach the next step.
Finally, he goes outside to tell Cobb.
Cobb is in the backyard swimming pool, trying to teach the kids to swim. The kids seem more interested in floating in their brightly-colored inner tubes and whacking each other with large foam noodles. Arthur steps inside the fenced-in enclosure and crouches by the side of the pool.
"What is it?" Cobb asks. Phillipa splashes him, and he wipes his eyes.
"I've got to go to Chicago for a week or two. Job opportunity."
"Oh yeah? Who with?"
"Ariadne."
Cobb blinks, either from surprise or from the chlorine in his eyes. "I didn't know she decided to go into the business."
Maybe Arthur should have told him about that. Ariadne was his find, after all. He's not sure why he didn't.
"I guess she has."
"Did she tell you what the job is?"
Arthur shrugs. "A little bit. But you know me: I don't like doing business on the phone."
Cobb rests his arms on the edge of the pool. He gazes past Arthur with a preoccupied look in his eye. Arthur sees something in his expression that looks like professional curiosity. It reminds him of the old days.
"When do you fly out?" Cobb asks.
"Tomorrow."
For a moment, Arthur imagines Cobb is going to come with him, join the job. He knows it's unrealistic. He knows there's no way they could possibly find someone to stay with the kids on such short notice. He knows Cobb is still technically retired. But when he looks at that curiosity in Cobb's eyes, he's sure it'll happen.
"I'll give you a ride to the airport."
Arthur nods, but he feels like his stomach sinks. He tells himself he didn't really expect anything more.
He does most of his packing that evening. Cobb watches with his arms crossed, but doesn't offer to help.
"Are you doing this to help Ariadne, or because you want to?"
Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Can't it be both?"
Cobb shrugs. "Well, yeah . . . ."
Arthur is a folding a shirt. After he places it in his luggage, he looks up at Cobb. "What are you trying to say? That you don't think I should take the job?"
"No. You should do whatever you want."
"Thank you," Arthur says, more harshly than he intended. "I will."
"What I meant," Cobb says, rolling his eyes, "is that I've gotten the impression you're feeling disenchanted these days. And I wouldn't blame you. Half the people in the business are criminals who don't know what they're doing. The other half actually cares about dream sharing but would rather be doing legitimate work in it. After a while, it gets old. Believe me, I should know."
"C'mon. You know it's not that polarized. There are talented criminals out there."
"Okay, fine. You have people like Eames-"
"And us."
Cobb hesitates. For all he likes to present himself as the innocent family man, the law-abiding architect who was forced into a life of crime, he's too dishonest and manipulative not to have an inherent criminal nature.
Arthur isn't judging. He likes Cobb just fine the way he is. Though maybe part of him thinks that if Cobb were how he presents himself, then Cobb would be too good for him.
"Sure," Cobb says, finally, "like us. That's why we stuck together, remember? Compatibility."
Arthur keeps packing.
* * *
Arthur arranges to meet Ariadne and the extractor in the hotel restaurant after he gets checked in. When he walks in, his legs are still tired from sitting on the plane. He doesn't see Ariadne, so he waits at the bar and orders a scotch.
The place is packed, mostly with people in suits and business casual attire. Arthur leans on the counter and says to the bartender, "Busy tonight, isn't it?"
The bartender is a woman about his age. She smiles and says, "There are a lot of people here for a convention."
Arthur suspected as much. There are signs in the lobby welcoming some manufacturer of auto parts. They seem to have reserved a large portion of the hotel.
Ariadne finally shows up with the extractor in tow. He's wearing a crisp but unassuming suit, and he's older than Arthur expected: He has salt-and-pepper hair and his face, while not old, has lines around the eyes and mouth that add maturity.
He introduces himself as Marcus. Arthur wants to like him, but he never knows how to feel about people who don't meet his expectations.
Arthur would like to make a good impression, but it's hard to be upbeat when he's just flown into town, is starving, and wants to know more about the job. After dinner, they agree to go up to Ariadne's room to discuss it. But first, Marcus goes outside for a cigarette, and Arthur tags along.
It's quiet outside. It's a warm night, but not stifling like the crowded restaurant. Arthur gets a light from Marcus and looks up at the clear, dark sky. The stars are starting to come out.
"People are saying you and Ariadne performed inception," Marcus says.
He doesn't beat around the bush. Arthur likes that, but he doesn't confirm or deny. He has no idea how word of the Fischer job got out, but this isn't the first time it's been mentioned to him. Like always, he's not sure how he feels about it.
Initially, he was pretty proud of himself for pulling it off. Now . . . he supposes he's still proud. Just not as much as he thought he would be. Mostly, he feels weary.
"If you're hoping I'll do it for you," Arthur says, "you're out of luck."
Marcus chuckles. "I'm not that ambitious. I was just complimenting your skill. It's not easy to find good people. I'm sure you're aware."
"Yes, I am aware."
Marcus flicks his cigarette into an ashtray and heads for the entrance to the hotel. Arthur snuffs out his own cigarette and follows, accompanying Marcus up to the sixth floor, to Ariadne's room.
Ariadne spreads papers and photographs out on her bed. Arthur kneels on the floor to look at them and Marcus leans against the wall, not really paying attention. The rundown Ariadne gives about the job is clearly just for Arthur's benefit, to catch him up.
The job itself is simple enough. The mark is in town for the convention downstairs, and Ariadne has already secured a maid's help so they can get access to his room. All they need is to do is find some blueprints and report on what's in them.
When hears the amount they're being paid for this, he raises an eyebrow. "Really? I've done harder jobs for less."
Marcus shrugs. "Our employer has no previous experience with extraction. He was inclined to over-pay, and I wasn't going to stop him."
Arthur is no better than Marcus in this regard. Looking over everything, at all the work that's already been done, he can't imagine he'll lend much value to this job. He's only here because Ariadne wanted him, and perhaps because Marcus wants to work with people who are good enough to perform inception. But Arthur will gladly take a paycheck, regardless.
At a quarter to eleven, Marcus pointedly looks at his watch and excuses himself. He promises Arthur that they'll speak more tomorrow, and then leaves him and Ariadne alone.
Glad for a chance to talk to her, Arthur says, "So, you graduated, huh? Congratulations."
She smiles. "Thanks. And you're with Cobb?"
She doesn't need to clarify what she means. Arthur's first instinct is to lie, probably because when he and Cobb were working together, they agreed to be discreet. Realizing that would serve no purpose now, and that denial would only imply shame, he says, "I am."
"I guess I'm not surprised. Eames said you and Cobb were together."
"He did?" Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow. "When?"
Ariadne shrugs and smiles awkwardly. "When we were preparing for the Fischer job."
Well, so much for "discreet." He doesn't even ask how Eames figured it out.
"He just mentioned it," she continues, as though she can tell Arthur is curious. "It's not like we were talking behind your back. He also thought you were gay, but I didn't believe him."
"I am gay, actually."
Ariadne shoots him a look. "I was willing to believe that after you kissed me. It was like I was your sister or something."
"You should explain that to Cobb. He thinks a willingness to try something is the same thing as being a natural at it."
Ariadne starts to gather the folders into a neat pile, but stops. "Are you guys happy?"
"Yeah, I guess we are."
She looks like she's about to say something, but she hesitates. Arthur knows, whatever it is, it isn't going to be good.
Finally, she says, "I learned some things about Cobb when we were working together. About him and Mal and . . . what happened in Limbo."
Arthur's stomach tightens. "You learned he incepted her."
Ariadne looks up at him, meeting his eyes in a way that makes him feel uncomfortable. "You knew?"
He didn't, actually, but he's suspected it for a long time. Now he does know. He's surprised at how little he feels.
Ariadne sits back on the floor and curls her legs under her. "Did he tell you?"
He shakes his head. "No. But I've been his friend for a long time, and he's not as good a liar as he thinks he is. I know enough."
"I don't know if you do. I think I should tell you exactly what I saw."
"No. You don't need to tell me." His legs are cramping from kneeling on the floor, but he's frozen in place, as though staying physically still will keep his mind and voice calm as well.
"Yes, I do. You need to-"
"I don't," he says, firmly. "Trust me, you never want to know what's going on in the head of someone you like."
She leans forward, pressing her hands against the bed. Her eyes flash with defiance. "But if you don't know what's going on in his head, how can you trust him?"
There's no way he can explain it to her. He's too kind to say, "Why do you think he hasn't kept in touch with you?" But that's the crux of it, isn't it? Cobb isn't the sort of man who can let people see his weaknesses and failures, and he's racked up enough of those that he can't let people get close at all. He'll push them away, like he did with Ariadne after the Fischer job. Arthur can turn a blind eye, and resist the urge to pick away at Cobb's defense mechanisms. In return, he gets Cobb.
Arthur is very pragmatic about what he does and does not have.
* * *
When Arthur returns to LA a week later, Cobb is waiting for him at the airport. It isn't necessary - Arthur could have gotten a cab like he usually does. But still, this is nice. As they walk out together, Arthur realizes this is the first time in years that he's had someone waiting when he got off a plane.
"So, tell me about the job," Cobb says, once they're in the car.
It's been a long, rushed day, but Arthur does his best. He's practically been off the grid these past few months, and while it's been a good break, it's nice to have done something. He's been looking forward to telling Cobb about it.
"Honestly, it was pretty straightforward. I wouldn't mind doing two or three jobs like that in a year. I could live pretty comfortably."
Arthur looks out the passenger window. At first, the surroundings are only vaguely familiar, but as they drive on, the streets and buildings and trees they pass are not only familiar but comfortable in a strange way.
Arthur realizes it's because it's been a long time since he returned to place he's familiar with.
He plans to rest when he gets in. But when Cobb pulls the car into the driveway, Arthur sees the kids peeking out one of the front windows from behind a curtain. When he steps in the door, they ambush him before he can even put down his bag.
He hadn’t imagined they would miss him, but James wraps himself around his leg like a ball and chain, and Phillipa bounces on the balls of her feet, saying, “You’re back! Did you bring us anything?”
Cobb frowns. “C’mon, what did I tell you about asking things like that?”
But Arthur is prepared. He smiles and says, “I did, actually. And if you let me get into my bag, I’ll show you.”
James releases him immediately, and Arthur sets his bag down on the hall table. The kids are watching him eagerly, and he wishes he’d found the time to get them something nice. But when he hands them the postcards from the hotel gift shop, their faces brighten and they clutch them in their small hands, admiring the glossy pictures of Chicago.
Arthur could get used to this sort of ego boost.
* * *
The next day, Cobb recruits Arthur to take Phillipa to her violin lesson.
"You don't have to do anything," Cobb assures him. "You just have to drive her there, wait during the lesson, and drive her home."
Arthur stares him down, but Cobb just says, "Just this once, all right?"
Right. Arthur suspects this is just the start of a regular thing. By the end of the year, he'll be doing kindergarten runs. But it's not like he does much of importance around the house. More importantly, he's never denied Cobb anything.
During the drive home, Phillipa asks, "Do you think I'm good at the violin?"
"Yeah," he says automatically, "you're great. The best in your class."
The thing about Phillipa, that he's still learning, is that as good as she is at lying, she's also good at seeing through other peoples' lies. She's hard to convince, even at her age.
"No I'm not," she says. "And I don't like it. I'd rather take karate."
Maybe he should encourage her to stick with the violin. Perseverance is good for kids, right? Then again, he hated it when his parents tried to get him to do stuff he didn't like.
"That could be fun," he says. "You should talk to your dad about that."
It's beginning to get dark. They're only a few blocks from home, but Arthur wonders if he should call Cobb to find out if he should pick up some dinner.
"Are you Daddy's boyfriend?"
The question, coming out of nowhere, stuns him. Instead of answering, he asks, "What makes you think that?"
"My friend Sarah says you are," Phillipa says, her voice firm as though she's caught him at something.
"I don't even know your friend Sarah. How can she know anything about me?"
He glances at her in the rearview mirror. Phillipa is staring back at him.
"This is something you should ask your dad about," he says.
"He won't tell me," she says, sullenly. "He never tells me anything."
Arthur can believe that. But what can he say?
That night, when he's getting ready for bed, the conversation is still at the forefront of his mind. He's in the master bathroom, brushing his teeth, and he can't help glancing at Cobb, who's at the other sink.
He spits out his toothpaste, rinses his mouth, and turns to Cobb, who's washing his face.
"Has Phillipa spoken to you at all?"
Cobb turns off the water and picks up a towel off the counter to dry his facewith. "No. Not about anything particular. Why?"
"She asked me if I'm your boyfriend."
Cobb freezes with the towel in his hands. "What did you tell her?" he asks, staring at the floor.
"That she needed to talk to you."
"Good," Cobb says, nodding. "That's probably best."
Arthur watches out of the corner of his eye while Cobb continues about his routine. He lets it go on for a minute before asking, "Well? What are you gonna do?"
"I'll talk to them."
"Mind letting me know what you plan to say? I'd like to know the party line for the next time this happens."
"The truth. I'll tell them the truth. No reason we can't be honest, right?"
Right. Of course not. Arthur bites his tongue to keep from asking what the truth is, exactly, because he can think of a few different versions of it.
"You go on to bed," Cobb says. "I think I'll do some more work first."
"Since when do you stay up late to work? Thought you were a morning person."
Cobb smiles. "Just not tired yet. Must have been that coffee I drank. I'll be in a few."
The bigger question is what the hell kind of work Cobb is doing when he holes himself up in his study. It's not like he has a job. Perhaps he's got the PASIV stashed away in there.
But Arthur is being paranoid now. He's not going to become someone who worries about betrayal when no promises have been made, and sulks about going to bed alone.
Sometimes he misses the days when their relationship was just that of two friends who fucked each other. Arthur has always been partial to no-strings-attached sex, and he thinks he could have been happy for a long time, maybe forever.
He can tell himself nothing has changed, but that obviously isn't true. The truth is, this has turned into the type of relationship where it might matter if Cobb doesn't come to bed with him, choosing instead to lock himself up in a fantasy of someone else. Arthur's pretty sure this sort of thing is why his parents got divorced.
He always promised himself he'd have more success.
* * *
One night, Arthur is watching TV with his stocking feet on the coffee table when Cobb comes in from putting the kids to bed.
Cobb sits in an armchair across from Arthur. He breathes a tired sigh and shakes his head.
"Kids give you trouble?" Arthur asks with a smirk.
"You know how difficult James is about brushing his teeth lately."
Arthur is watching some news program, and he turns down the volume when he realizes Cobb is going to stick around to talk.
“The kids’ grandparents are probably coming to visit for Christmas,” Cobb says. “I know that’s a while off, but I thought I’d let you know. They'll probably be in town for a week or two.”
Arthur nods and swallows back guilt. Cobb obviously takes for granted that he'll be there for Christmas, as well.
“Actually,” he says with a sigh, “I think I need to leave.”
Cobb narrows his eyes in confusion. “For the holidays, you mean?”
“No, I mean leave. I can visit, if you want. I just don’t think I should live here anymore."
He isn't prepared for this discussion -- he was going to wait until a good time came up, maybe when the kids are out visiting friends. Part of him has fantasized about simply not bringing it up at all, but sneaking out in the middle of the night or going away on a job and not coming back. He hates himself when he thinks like that.
It’s probably better to have gotten it out, but Arthur doesn’t feel any relief. Instead, dread squeezes his stomach like a vise. He wishes he could rewind time and keep his mouth shut.
Cobb stares at him for a long time, and Arthur avoids his gaze. Finally, Cobb says, “Do I get to know why?” He doesn’t sound angry, but his voice is cold, and the confusion in it almost makes Arthur wince.
Arthur wishes he has an answer planned, but he doesn't. He doesn't know how to vocalize these things. “I don’t know," he says.
“Is it getting too serious? Is that it?”
Arthur shifts on the sofa. He doesn’t want to face the TV, and he doesn’t want to face Cobb. He settles for something in between, and keeps his eyes focused on his knees.
“Getting serious is probably inevitable, if we keep this up.”
“And that’s a problem? If it is, just say so.”
Cobb sounds pretty certain that's the issue, and it's like a punch in the gut. Because Arthur has been serious. He's the one who's moved in, had his stuff shipped from across the country. When Arthur's gone, Cobb will still have his kids. Arthur won't have anyone except for parents he hasn't seen in years and siblings whose calls he won't answer.
Arthur sighs. “Look, I always figured I’d settle down eventually, and I like this. I like Phillipa and James. But this is your family. And I know you still love Mal, that no one will compare to her. I get that.”
“Arthur --”
“No, listen. If it was just us, I’d probably stay. But your kids are getting used to having me around. The longer I stay, the more disruptive it’ll be if I leave. They deserve some stability.”
He feels good, like like he's justified things adequately. But Cobb frowns.
“You think I haven’t considered all this? You think I would have let you move in if I thought it’d hurt them?”
“Frankly, I have no idea what's going on in your head. But okay, I believe you. That still leaves us. Maybe I don’t want to wake up one morning and realize I’ve wasted my life with someone who isn’t that committed to me.”
Cobb starts to say something, but he stops and his expression hardens.
“Fine," he says, finally, "If you’re worried about wasting your life with me, maybe you should leave.”
He stands up and walks out of the room before Arthur can formulate a response.
Arthur stares at the muted TV, not even trying to pay attention to the news segment that’s playing. This should be good, he thinks. This should be easy. Cobb isn’t going to fight for him - he can leave without fuss.
Isn't that just what he wants?
But then Arthur realizes something he wasn't positive of before, that he could only realize by letting this play out: he doesn’t want to leave.
Standing, he storms over to the study, where he assumes Cobb has holed himself up. He opens the door without knocking, and finds Cobb sitting at the desk, going through some papers but not really looking at them, doing something just to occupy himself. He looks up when Arthur comes in, and Arthur can see him frown in the dim light.
“Can we talk about this?” Arthur asks.
“I think you made your point.”
“No, I haven't.”
Cobb scrunches his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay, then tell me, Arthur: what the hell am I supposed to do? What'll convince you that I'm committed to this? Because I've let you move in. I trust you with my kids. If you can't see the seriousness in that, I don't know what else I can do. So tell me, please."
"You haven't done anything wrong," Arthur says, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. He realizes, somewhat to his surprise, that he believes it. "But I know this isn't what you would have chosen. You'll always wish I was her. I don't think I can handle that in the long run."
Cobb drops the papers on the desk and stands up. "Do you have any idea how unfair that is?"
Arthur can tell he's trying to keep his voice low, probably so as not to wake the kids, but it doesn't stop him from finally sounding upset. It's almost good to hear, preferable to the coldness.
"In case you haven't noticed," Cobb says, jabbing a finger at Arthur. "I don't have the option of choosing Mal over you. You can make all sorts of assumptions about how things could be different. But you can't make decisions based on a bunch of what-ifs that are never going to happen. That's not fair. I bet I can think of a thousand things you'd choose over me if you got the chance. But no, this is how things are. We've chosen this. We're together. That's what matters."
"Right," Arthur says, not swayed. "I know you go under when you think I'm asleep. I know what you've been doing."
Cobb's silence is damning. He closes his eyes and swallows.
"Again," Arthur says, "I'm not blaming you. It's just . . . it is what it is." He crosses his arms across his chest like armor.
"How long have you known?"
"A long time."
Cobb shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made it look like I was hiding something from you."
"Just made it look like it?" Arthur's voice rises without him intending it. "Are you kidding me?"
Cobb glares at him. "I was trying to get some time to myself. I thought you'd get suspicious or insulted if you knew. Obviously, I should have handled it better."
"Obviously," Arthur says with a scoff. "Look, I can guess what you've been up to."
"I don't see her, if that's what you're implying."
Arthur doesn't believe him. If this isn't what Cobb's doing, then why hide it? Arthur isn't clingy. It's not like he can't respect why someone might want to go under by themselves. But he knows "suspicious" when he sees it.
"Don't lie to me," he says. "Whatever you do, just don't."
He thinks he can handle anything but that. Secrecy, detachment, those he can accept. Outright dishonesty is his limit. He deserves better, and has more than proved himself worthy of it.
Cobb sits back down in the desk chair in a dejected slump and runs his hands through his hair.
"I don't see her," he repeats.
"Then what's the big deal?" Arthur challenges.
"Because I wish I did. And sometimes I try to see her." This time, his voice is sad in a way that sounds . . . real. Arthur frowns.
"What? You're saying you can't?"
Cobb shakes his head.
"Still not seeing the problem."
"That's what you don't realize about letting go," Cobb says, looking at the floor. "It's harder than living with whatever it is you need to be rid of. And a part of you is always going to want to hang on."
It's the most Cobb has told him about his feelings, and the most Arthur expects to ever hear.
The only real experience Arthur has in letting go of someone is this, right now, and he knows it isn't comparable to what Cobb has lost. Still, Arthur supposes Cobb is right, because he knows, deep down, that he wants to be with Cobb even if it hurts. He doesn't know if this is love, or stupidity. He hasn't loved enough, or made enough mistakes, to feel sure of the difference. How can he know?
Cobb continues. "I can't have you in my head right now. If she shows up again . . . I can't deal with that if you're there."
Arthur nods. He leans against the wall and looks around the room. This space, more than any other in the house, is Cobb's. Perhaps this is why Arthur so seldom comes in here, and why he hesitated when Cobb offered it up as a safe place for Arthur's valuables. Even now, Arthur's record collection, sitting in the corner, looks foreign among the old architecture textbooks and swimming medals. If the room were alive, it would probably attack Arthur's belongings as though they were a virus.
"You feel guilty, being with me."
He says it like it's a revelation, but it isn't. It isn't exactly hard to see that Cobb has guilt issues, and when Mal shot him in the knee, well, it wasn't hard for Arthur to see some significance in it.
Cobb won't look at him. "Arthur-"
"I know. I'm saying I understand. I'd probably feel guilty, too."
"It doesn't mean I don't care about you. I want this to work."
"But I need more. I need to know. I need a guarantee."
Cobb shakes his head. "I can't give you that. Nobody can."
"Bullshit. You've done it before."
"No. If there's anything I've learned, it's that there are no guarantees. All I can promise is that . . . I can't imagine ever not wanting to be with you."
Maybe Cobb is right. Maybe there's no way to avoid taking a risk. Arthur could very well be screwed no matter what he does. Strangely, rather than making things worse, the thought is almost freeing.
Arthur spends the night on the sofa, not sleeping. He spends a vague block of time watching sitcom reruns, and then the infomercials that come on after. Time seems to pass both fast and slow; this is what he's always imagined Limbo must feel like.
When he wakes up, he isn't even aware of having been asleep. He doesn't feel like he's slept, but light is starting to stream in through the curtains and there's a new infomercial on. He's been resting his head on the arm of the sofa, and now when he tries to move, his neck aches. He starts to rub it.
"You're awake. I thought I heard you moving."
Arthur sits up and sees Cobb standing in the doorway. Cobb is still wearing his clothes from yesterday, which are now rumpled. He doesn't look like he's slept.
Cobb tentatively sits beside him on the sofa. When he isn't rebuffed, he slides closer and places his right hand on Arthur's neck, pushing Arthur's hand away and taking over the job of massaging the sore muscles. Arthur closes his eyes and allows it, because Cobb is good at this and his hand is warm and consoling.
"Are you still going to leave?" Cobb asks, softly.
"Do you want me to?"
"You know that I don't." Cobb swallows audibly and adds, "But if you know you don't want to stay, then you shouldn't. You should be happy. But if you give me a chance, I'll make it worth it."
"Then I'd rather try to stay, if that's all right."
Cobb kisses his shoulder through his shirt sleeve.
Arthur reaches for the remote and switches the TV off. They sit together in silence for a few minutes, while the rising sun brightens the room around them.
"This is hard for me, too," Cobb says. "I know how easy it is to lose someone. It's hard to know that and still want to try. But I can't imagine not having you here. So I'm sorry if I screwed it up."
Arthur shakes his head. "It's not just you. I've never been good at this. I've never had anything this serious before, where I had to take a risk on it. But if you'll try, I will."
He turns to look at Cobb. Cobb's eyes are bloodshot and he looks like hell.
"You should get some rest," Arthur says.
Cobb groans. "I can't. I promised the kids I'd take them out for breakfast. They won't have forgotten that."
Arthur smiles and shakes his head. "You spoil those kids, you know."
"I know. They're worth it."
Later, when Arthur emerges after showering and dressing, Cobb has the kids ready to go. Arthur doesn't actually know if he's invited, too, but the kids grin when they see him and he ends up in the car with them. He's glad they don’t seem to sense anything amiss.
The restaurant has only just opened when they get there. The good thing about eating with the kids is that they command a lot of attention, and there isn't much pressure to talk. He thinks he's reached his quota for discussing stuff with Cobb, at least for the day.
Arthur spends most of the meal helping James cut up his pancakes into bite-sized chunks.
Afterward, while Cobb goes up to the front counter to pay the bill, the kids beg Arthur for change so they can play some car racing arcade game in the corner. He hands them a few quarters, and keeps drinking his coffee until they come back a few minutes later, pouting and pleading for assistance.
When Cobb returns, Phillipa exclaims, "Look! Arthur's helping us play!"
Arthur isn't helping. He's playing the game for them while they watch. He shoots the grinning Cobb a glare, but he doesn't actually mind.
Cobb just pats him on the back.
* * *
"If my dad is going to have a boyfriend, I guess you're okay."
Phillipa is leaning on the dining room table, watching Arthur while he checks his email on his laptop.
"Yeah?" he says, glancing in her direction.
It helps, he supposes, that the kids know him. That, and he is blatantly trying not to parent them. He doesn't know how that strategy will work in the future, but he chooses not to worry about it.
She nods solemnly. Then she asks, "Can I have some gum?"
"No." On reflex, he grabs the pack she's pointing at, pulling it out of reach. "It's for adults."
She narrows her eyes at him, skeptical. "Why?"
"It's supposed to help me stop smoking, that's why."
She appears to consider this for a moment. "Does it work?"
"Not as well as I'd like."
He sticks the pack in his front shirt pocket, deciding it best not to leave it lying out. If Cobb finds out Arthur's trying to quit, he'll think it's due to his influence and his ego will be insufferable.
But then, Arthur doesn't mind as much as he pretends to.
Cobb pokes his head in then, and calls Phillipa over. To Arthur he says, "I'm just going to walk them down the street. I'll be right back."
Arthur nods. He remembers something about the kids visiting a neighborhood friend this afternoon.
Cobb lingers awkwardly for a second, like he might say something more. But then he leaves and Arthur hears him hustling the kids out the front door. Arthur returns to his email.
The past few weeks have been good. The future holds promise. If he wants to, he can probably land another job before the end of the year. And Cobb is . . . trying.
The things Cobb does these days, Arthur doesn't need. He doesn't need an arm around his shoulders while he watches TV. He doesn't need a kiss and a smile when he wakes up in the morning. He doesn't need someone to make him breakfast on Sunday mornings. But he supposes Cobb is trying to demonstrate something.
Cobb returns a few minutes later. He comes directly to the dining room and leans in the doorway.
"There's something I wanted to tell you," he says. "I got a call this morning. I got the job at Pierce."
Arthur closes his laptop and turns to face Cobb. "That was the interview last week, right? The one you really wanted?"
Cobb nods. "That's the one."
"Congratulations. I'm happy for you."
Cobb rubs the back of his neck. "I'm glad to hear that. You know I've always trusted your judgment."
"No, I'm happy."
And he is, even if the thought of Cobb going back to designing buildings after years of designing dreams rankles somewhat. Arthur doesn't think he'll ever not miss working with Cobb. From Cobb's demeanor now, his ambivalence must have shown.
"I think I'll be able to work from home a lot. This guy I'll be working for is flexible about that." Cobb hesitates and adds, "He knows Miles, actually."
Arthur hears the doubt, like Cobb is worried that's the only reason he got the job. Hell, maybe it is. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten hired somewhere if he didn't enlist his father-in-law's help. If Arthur didn't think it'd embarrass Cobb to acknowledge it, he'd assure him it doesn't matter, that he's worth something regardless. Instead, he huffs and says, "It's all politics and networking, you know. Why do you think I've rejected legitimate, tax-paying careers?"
Cobb smiles. "Yeah, I guess you're right."
Arthur closes his laptop and pushes his chair back. "We should celebrate," he says.
"Well . . . ." Cobb looks at his watch. "I said I'd pick the kids up at five, so that gives us about three hours. I think we have time for some celebration." When he says "celebration," his eyes dart to Arthur's crotch.
Arthur shifts in his chair. They haven't had sex in a week, and as a good as Arthur is at taking care of his own needs, he's aching for Cobb's hand on his cock and more.
They waste no time in going to the bedroom. Cobb pulls Arthur close and tugs roughly at his shirt buttons, huffing in frustration when they don't give as easily as he wants.
Arthur grabs Cobb's head between his hands and kisses him. Cobb's stubble scrapes his face, and his tongue slips between Arthur's lips. Cobb pulls back and starts to fumble out of his clothes, rushing to pull off his jeans and button-down shirt. Then he sits on the bed to watch Arthur undress.
Once Arthur has tugged his underwear down over his erection and kicked them off on the floor, Cobb pulls him on top of him on the bed, grunting when Arthur's weight lands on him. Cobb pushes Arthur up and rolls over on him, pinning him on his back. He presses his cock against Arthur's thigh while he strokes Arthur.
Arthur grinds against Cobb's hand. When Arthur feels himself getting close, he wonders for a second if he should try to put it off, tell Cobb to lighten up. Instead, he gives in to it, closing his eyes and losing himself.
"Fuck," he says, "Dom, that feels -"
Cobb doesn't react to the use of his name.
After Arthur comes, Cobb keeps grinding against him until Arthur feels a warm, wet spurt on his skin.
They lie beside each other on the bed, catching their breath. Cobb reaches over and pushes a sweaty lock of hair out of Arthur's eyes. The sweat cools on Arthur's skin, making goose bumps on his arms and legs.
Arthur looks at his watch and realizes, to his dismay, that it's only been a half hour. Now, he wishes they had dragged it out longer, taken advantage of the full opportunity awarded them. Maybe he should have jerked off in the shower this morning. He can last longer if he's jerked off beforehand.
Still, this is nice, just lying together in the quiet house. There are worst ways to spend their scarce time alone.
Cobb gets up and walks into the master bath. He returns a minute later with a damp washcloth, which he tosses to Arthur.
"So you think you'll be happy?" Arthur asks. "Working as an architect."
Cobb doesn't answer for a beat, suggesting maybe he's weighed this more than Arthur has given him credit for.
"Yeah," he says. "I think so." He flops down on the bed and props himself up on an elbow. He looks down at Arthur. "I know it's not as exciting, but I don't think I want exciting right now. Maybe someday."
Arthur murmurs in assent. He can understand this, certainly. If he hadn't needed a break, he doesn't know if he would have come here when Cobb e-mailed him. But he says, "I think I need it. I guess I can't imagine doing anything I like better."
Cobb nods. He trails a finger down Arthur's stomach, making Arthur twitch. "I know. I just . . . I want you to stay safe, okay?"
Arthur grins at him. "You know I'm careful. You can count on me."
"I know I can." He hesitates and adds, "I guess I get more than I deserve from you. I know you have a hard time trusting me."
Arthur frowns. He doesn't deny it, because Arthur isn't one for dishonesty. But he's not actually sure how it is. If he feels like being cynical, he can say that, no, he doesn't trust Cobb, just like he doesn't really trust anyone.
But more accurately, he trusts Cobb on certain measures. He trusts that if Cobb misleads him, it's unintentional and self-deluding as opposed to deliberate and cruel. He trusts that Cobb wants him, at least right now. Hopefully always.
And when it comes down to it, he trusts Cobb more than anyone else.
"I want us to do something," Cobb says.
Cobb gets up again. He pulls his boxers and pants on, and heads into the closet. Arthur knows what he's going to get even before he collects the PASIV from the safe.
This isn't at all unwelcome: they're overdue for going under together, as well, and Arthur hasn't gone under solo in days. He's starting to feel the effects of Somnacin withdrawal, again.
"I want to show you something. I want to show you what I work on sometimes, when I go under."
"You want to take me in your dream?" Arthur shakes his head. "I never asked you for that."
"I know," Cobb says, softly. "But I'd like it."
Arthur doesn't. In admitting he knew of Cobb's secret use of the PASIV, he never meant to issue an ultimatum. He never implied he wanted access to Cobb's secrets. And the last thing he wants is for Cobb's desire to prove something to get him shot in the knee again.
But then he looks at the hopeful and tentative look in Cobb's eyes, and thinks he should give Cobb some credit and a chance. So he gets up and gets dressed while Cobb sets the PASIV on the floor by the bed and starts preparing the doses of Somnacin. He lies back down and offers an arm for Cobb to swab with alcohol and stick the IV in. He closes his eyes.
When he opens them again, he's sitting in a bright, unfamiliar living room. Cobb is sitting across from him on a beige sofa. Arthur turns his head toward the window, and sees a broad cityscape. Between buildings, he can make out the glow of the sun setting on the horizon.
"I'd love to design a building like this," Cobb says.
Arthur stands and walks to the window. He looks down, and the street, if there is one, isn't even visible.
"I don't think you can make skyscrapers this tall." Arthur glances over his shoulder long enough to see Cobb smile sheepishly.
"Well, it's a dream."
Arthur smiles and shakes his head. "And you have the nerve to lecture me on unrealistic dream architecture." He hears Cobb stand up behind him, and walk closer. "So, this is what you do with yourself at night? Build impossible skyscrapers?"
"Among other things." Cobb's voice is right behind him. Arthur can feel his breath on the back of his neck. "I've been practicing control."
"Of the dream?" Arthur frowns.
"Of everything in the dream, yes."
"But you can't. If you change too much, actively control too many things, the subject's projections will sense it. Or the dream can get too unstable."
"But if you practice, and you pace yourself . . . look."
The sun sets fast like a time-lapse photo. The sky darkens to deep purple and then almost black. Stars dot the sky.
Arthur snorts. "Now I know this is a dream. You never see stars in the city like this."
Cobb snakes his arms around Arthur's waist.
"You always said not to change dreams much," Arthur continues.
"I know what I've said. You know me better than to listen to what I say. This is important to me. It's important to know I'm in control of myself. That I'm in control of my life."
"Just promise me you won't get carried away."
He doesn't need stress the importance of that. With Cobb telling him that this is what he's been getting up to, Arthur can't help but be relieved. But another part of him knows, at least through observation, how dream experimentation can spiral out of control.
Cobb kisses the back of his neck. "I promise. That's what I've got you for. To keep me in line, right?"
"Damn right." Arthur smiles. "But I'd like to see what you can do."
Arthur turns and takes Cobb's hand in his. He feels the metal wedding band and freezes. Cobb looks down at his own hand. A look of surprise crosses his face.
"I didn't even notice ."
"You always have it," Arthur says. He immediately regrets it: he's told Cobb that he has noticed.
"I won't do it anymore."
There's a hint of sadness in Cobb's voice, but it doesn't match the pang Arthur feels in his gut. This isn't what he wants at all; he would never possess Cobb at the expense of what makes Cobb who he is.
"No," he says softly.
"I can. This is what I'm working on. Controlling the subconscious. Controlling the dream."
"No," he says again. He kisses Cobb on the mouth. "I don't want you to."
The ease with which this comes to him is the closest he'll get to feeling sure. He realizes that knowing, being sure, isn't a guarantee but something he has to trust in, that he has to feel in his gut. Right now, the past doesn't matter to him, even though it will always be there. So maybe, maybe, they can keep this up for the long run.
He smiles.
"What?" Cobb asks, smiling carefully. "What is it?"
"I don't know," Arthur says. He chuckles and shakes his head. "It's nothing."
He kisses Cobb and turns to look at the city stretched out before them.
Part 1
Part 2