[FIC] Rescued
Title: Rescued.
Author: crazyeverafter
Rating: PG for language.
Word Count: 2288.
Disclaimer: Nolan owns, I'm just playing in the sandbox dreamscape.
Spoilers/Warnings: No warnings, unless you need to be warned against angst.
Summary: They know this dance by heart. They fight, they fuck, and then enjoy the calm in the eye of the storm. Soon, though, they fight again. The vicious cycle perpetuates until Arthur finally has had enough. Or has he?
Notes: Bold lyrics are from the Jack's Mannequin song "Rescued". ♥
Two to one.
Static to the sound of
You and I undone
For the last time.
And don't you think I wish that I could stay?
Your lips give you away.
They stand a few feet apart, facing one another, hands in pockets and feet squared on the red brick of their patio. They cast their stretched shadows onto the bottom of a swimming pool littered with leaves and emptied of its water. Leaves that have been caught in the easy breeze drift slowly to the ground around them, and the bare tree branches sway. Though the sun is shining brightly, the wind leaves the day blissfully cool, and it is a perfect day for visiting a park or simply sitting outside and enjoying the weather. The scene is picturesque, but the beauty of such a perfectly autumnal hour is wasted here, here where nothing is as it should be.
Arthur is the first to break the heavy silence that has anchored its unwelcome claws into the day. After all, he has been asked a question, a basic "Why?" that should be so much simpler to answer than it actually is, and he has to find a way to answer.
"I can't do this anymore, Sean. I just can't. It's…," he takes a deep breath before continuing; "It isn't healthy, not for either of us."
Still, even now, he cannot bring himself to look Eames in the eyes. He does not want to see the hurt there, the betrayal hiding in those sleepy eyes that he knows every pigment of. So, he stares instead at Eames's mouth, and therefore can't miss the small tremor that passes through the man's bottom lip. With this sudden glimpse of something so real, Arthur stops feeling so alone. However, the feeling passes quickly, and it is as though it was never there.
"And since when did you start caring about how healthy this relationship is, Arthur? Honestly."
Eames has not looked away from him until now. He stares at the ground, and it is only now that Arthur finds he can lift his gaze. The forger follows suit a second later, and they finally lock eyes as Arthur answers,
"Honestly? I still haven't started to care. That's the problem, Eames. That's the fucking problem."
Two to none.
Roads that lead away from this.
I'm following myself, just this once.
I got spun, and it appears you're spun as well.
It happens when you pay attention.
But this could take all year.
It has been weeks since Arthur moved out, weeks since he has seen the forger or spoken with him. It has been only a few moments, though, since Arthur last missed him. Twice already, he has reached for his phone and started to dial the number that will lead him back to that oh-so-familiar accented lilt. Twice already, he has stopped himself in the nick of time, just before pressing that send key. Twice already, he has sat in confusion, wondering if he has done the right thing. Twice already, he has reminded himself that it is too late, regardless. He knows cannot stay, not like this, but he wishes that he could. He wishes that this volatile… thing that they have been stuck in time and time again (not merely by choice, but by an inexplicable necessity), that this thing would stop tearing them apart, slowly but surely.
So, he sits amongst the handful of small cardboard boxes littering his new living room, and waits for the urge to make contact to strike him again. He knows not how many times he can do this, how many times he can walk away before he crawls back. It usually does not take very long; Arthur and Eames each know this dance by heart. It all starts with something small. Forced chatter slowly turns into tense silences, which come to a head days later. They fight, they fuck, and after they fuck, they enjoy the calm in the eye of the storm. Then, something small comes around again, and the vicious cycle perpetuates. Before, it has never gone this far. Before, there has been no end in sight. They have never been over, not until now. Arthur has to chuckle as he mentally corrects himself, though: it still is not over, not for him at least. And that, perhaps, is the worst part.
But, at the same time, it is also the best part. Just like the relationship itself, nothing is simply black and white. The men are each multifaceted shades of grey, blending and clashing simultaneously, in the ways that only they can.
Arthur's phone rings, and he starts at the unexpected loudness of the sound. His heart, already racing from the startling noise, makes no effort to slow as he turns the phone to look at the screen. He lets out a breath he was not aware of holding as he realizes that his new landlord is calling, not Eames. Whether he feels relief or disappointment is something he vaguely ponders. Then, though, he takes the call, and the conflict disappears amid talk of rent payments and leaky bathroom faucets.
Jettisoned to the center of the storm.
I'm thinking I'd prefer not to be rescued.
I'm finally numb,
So, please, don't get me rescued.
Arthur explains to Ariadne how totems work, and hopes she understands the importance of creating a unique object. He cannot tell whether he has succeeded; she has been shaken by her first experience in shared dreaming, and that seems to be the only thing on her mind. Arthur almost feels bad for the girl, almost wants to tell her to walk away and not look back, but he knows that such a thing will be impossible for her, now. Besides, dream work has made all the difference in his life, good and bad, and he cannot deny Ariadne the chance to make something for herself. Any decisions she makes from this moment forward must be her own, through and through. Therefore, Arthur says nothing of her outburst, and just watches calmly as she storms away. Cobb returns after she has left and explains that Arthur has to teach her the ins and outs of dreamscape architecture as soon as she gets back, which she will.
"Where're you gonna be?" Arthur asks. He has nothing against teaching the new girl a few tricks, but when Cobb disappears, there is always an interesting reason.
"I've gotta go visit Eames."
"Eames?" Arthur cannot hide the shock in his voice, but he quickly recovers. "Oh, he's in Mombasa. That's Cobol's backyard." Arthur wonders briefly if he is giving himself away by somehow knowing all of this, but decides that there are plenty of legitimate reasons he could know Eames's whereabouts. "There's plenty of good thieves," he adds. Plenty of good thieves that are most definitely not Sean Eames. Plenty of good thieves that….
"We don't just need a thief. We need a forger," Cobb cuts Arthur's thoughts short with these words.
And, though not for lack of effort to prove otherwise, those words are indisputable. Arthur knows that Eames is the best, and he also knows that the team cannot afford to settle for mediocrity, not on a job like this one. Still, his heart threatens to ache at the thought of seeing the man again. He is finally, and just barely, at the point where he can think of the forger without getting either sad or angry, and he knows that seeing Sean now will only unravel a skin that has taken months and months (very nearly an entire year) to fortify. He knows that nothing good possibly can or will come of this situation, of this reunion. He has learned to stop expecting otherwise.
And it's unclear, but this may be my last song.
Oh, say you'll miss me one last time,
And I'll be strong.
Whatever you do, don't get me rescued.
It has been weeks since Ariadne came on the scene, weeks that Arthur and Eames have managed to tread the fine line between hate and tolerance. It has been only moments since the completion of inception, however. The job does not go off without a hitch, as hoped. In fact, there are quite a few hitches along the way, even a few moments where Arthur truly and completely believes that he will never again see real light of day. But, then, somehow, everything works. No one dies. No one is trapped in limbo, not permanently. They all wake up on the plane as it begins its descent into sunny California. They are each shaken to the core, of course, but essentially all right. And although he has never really believed in much of anything, Arthur sends a few prayers skyward, knowing it can't hurt. Then, he mentally files this experience away as one to never again take part in (even though he knows he will not be able to resist).
Arthur walks off the plane as a stranger, no connections to his fellow passengers. He plays his part well, but probably because he is not even thinking of it. He is simply another face, glad to be alive, glad to be awake. As he enters the terminal and begins walking towards customs, the fact that Cobb can really go home now settles in. With the realization, he lets loose a breath that feels like it has been holding him, instead of the other way around. Things always seem to fall into place at the most unexpected times.
"Arthur."
Everything in him tenses reflexively, and the grin on his face dissolves as he turns to face Eames.
Things fall into place at the most unexpected times, and they fall apart just as easily.
"Arthur," the voice repeats, and Arthur watches as those familiar lips squeeze around the accented syllable of his name. He raises his eyes slightly to meet the blue-green ones a meter away.
"It was good seeing you," Eames says, and Arthur can only stare as the man reaches out a hand. For some reason, Arthur continues to stare until Eames begins to drop his hand. At the last second, Arthur grabs it and shakes it, consummately professional even now, even here. A sad smile ghosts Eames's lips, and there is a faint look in his eyes that seems to say, 'I'll miss you'. For Arthur, it is enough. He drops Eames's hand and walks away, never once looking back.
Because I'm feeling like I might need to be near you,
And I feel alright, so please don't get me rescued.
Arthur sits at his piano, the gorgeous creature whose size renders his dining room useless for its intended purpose, not that he cares. It has been months since the Fischer/Saito job, and only now is he finally financially stable enough to settle down and lay low for a while. It is only now that he finally has a home, rather than an endless string of cheap hotel rooms. It is only now that he can pull his piano out of storage and give her a dust-free place of her own.
For the last few minutes, he has been playing any small musical snippet that he can remember from his younger years just to become reacquainted with the feel of smooth ivory beneath his slightly calloused fingers. He plays the classics, but switches midway through Beethoven and dives into a Billy Joel tune. Arthur begins to sing the chorus of "Say Goodbye to Hollywood", feeling lighter than he has in a while. Then, though, his phone begins to ring, and he ends the song mid-chorus with a random thrashing of lower octave notes. It sounds like the score to a horror movie, and the thought makes him laugh as he reaches for his phone. He has seen things in real life that make slasher flicks look like cartoon shows, and there has never been a single threatening violin playing in the background.
Unknown caller, the screen reads. Underneath, a number is displayed. The area code seems familiar, but Arthur cannot quite place its location, and the number itself is not one he recognizes at all. Normally, calls like these lead to jobs, and employment is the last thing on Arthur's mind recently. For some reason, though, he presses 'ACCEPT' and brings the phone to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Hello, darling."
Arthur closes his eyes as the voice slides over him like warm honey, both comforting him and smothering him.
"Eames," he manages, voice as level as possible, which is not so level at all.
"I'm in town; thought you might want to meet up, grab a drink. For old times' sake and all."
"Eames," Arthur says again, but now with a desperately exhausted edge that he does not even attempt to hide. He pauses, taking a moment to orient himself. "I don't know what town you're in, but I am almost positive that I'm not there."
"Arthur, I'm standing outside the Plaza as we speak. I can see your bloody curtains rustling."
Arthur sighs and shakes his head as a small sad smile plays out on his lips.
"Well, I don't know whose window you're staring into, but the light that's shining there isn't mine. Not anymore."
Eames is silent, and Arthur senses the understanding as it sinks into the forger's bones.
"You really meant it this time, didn't you, darling?" Eames asks quietly.
"I always do, Sean," Arthur replies. He ends the call after a moment's silence and slides the phone back into the pocket of his slacks.
"I always do," he murmurs again, but this time to the piano.
He brushes his fingers back along the keys, and begins to play once more.
Author: crazyeverafter
Rating: PG for language.
Word Count: 2288.
Disclaimer: Nolan owns, I'm just playing in the sandbox dreamscape.
Spoilers/Warnings: No warnings, unless you need to be warned against angst.
Summary: They know this dance by heart. They fight, they fuck, and then enjoy the calm in the eye of the storm. Soon, though, they fight again. The vicious cycle perpetuates until Arthur finally has had enough. Or has he?
Notes: Bold lyrics are from the Jack's Mannequin song "Rescued". ♥
Two to one.
Static to the sound of
You and I undone
For the last time.
And don't you think I wish that I could stay?
Your lips give you away.
They stand a few feet apart, facing one another, hands in pockets and feet squared on the red brick of their patio. They cast their stretched shadows onto the bottom of a swimming pool littered with leaves and emptied of its water. Leaves that have been caught in the easy breeze drift slowly to the ground around them, and the bare tree branches sway. Though the sun is shining brightly, the wind leaves the day blissfully cool, and it is a perfect day for visiting a park or simply sitting outside and enjoying the weather. The scene is picturesque, but the beauty of such a perfectly autumnal hour is wasted here, here where nothing is as it should be.
Arthur is the first to break the heavy silence that has anchored its unwelcome claws into the day. After all, he has been asked a question, a basic "Why?" that should be so much simpler to answer than it actually is, and he has to find a way to answer.
"I can't do this anymore, Sean. I just can't. It's…," he takes a deep breath before continuing; "It isn't healthy, not for either of us."
Still, even now, he cannot bring himself to look Eames in the eyes. He does not want to see the hurt there, the betrayal hiding in those sleepy eyes that he knows every pigment of. So, he stares instead at Eames's mouth, and therefore can't miss the small tremor that passes through the man's bottom lip. With this sudden glimpse of something so real, Arthur stops feeling so alone. However, the feeling passes quickly, and it is as though it was never there.
"And since when did you start caring about how healthy this relationship is, Arthur? Honestly."
Eames has not looked away from him until now. He stares at the ground, and it is only now that Arthur finds he can lift his gaze. The forger follows suit a second later, and they finally lock eyes as Arthur answers,
"Honestly? I still haven't started to care. That's the problem, Eames. That's the fucking problem."
Two to none.
Roads that lead away from this.
I'm following myself, just this once.
I got spun, and it appears you're spun as well.
It happens when you pay attention.
But this could take all year.
It has been weeks since Arthur moved out, weeks since he has seen the forger or spoken with him. It has been only a few moments, though, since Arthur last missed him. Twice already, he has reached for his phone and started to dial the number that will lead him back to that oh-so-familiar accented lilt. Twice already, he has stopped himself in the nick of time, just before pressing that send key. Twice already, he has sat in confusion, wondering if he has done the right thing. Twice already, he has reminded himself that it is too late, regardless. He knows cannot stay, not like this, but he wishes that he could. He wishes that this volatile… thing that they have been stuck in time and time again (not merely by choice, but by an inexplicable necessity), that this thing would stop tearing them apart, slowly but surely.
So, he sits amongst the handful of small cardboard boxes littering his new living room, and waits for the urge to make contact to strike him again. He knows not how many times he can do this, how many times he can walk away before he crawls back. It usually does not take very long; Arthur and Eames each know this dance by heart. It all starts with something small. Forced chatter slowly turns into tense silences, which come to a head days later. They fight, they fuck, and after they fuck, they enjoy the calm in the eye of the storm. Then, something small comes around again, and the vicious cycle perpetuates. Before, it has never gone this far. Before, there has been no end in sight. They have never been over, not until now. Arthur has to chuckle as he mentally corrects himself, though: it still is not over, not for him at least. And that, perhaps, is the worst part.
But, at the same time, it is also the best part. Just like the relationship itself, nothing is simply black and white. The men are each multifaceted shades of grey, blending and clashing simultaneously, in the ways that only they can.
Arthur's phone rings, and he starts at the unexpected loudness of the sound. His heart, already racing from the startling noise, makes no effort to slow as he turns the phone to look at the screen. He lets out a breath he was not aware of holding as he realizes that his new landlord is calling, not Eames. Whether he feels relief or disappointment is something he vaguely ponders. Then, though, he takes the call, and the conflict disappears amid talk of rent payments and leaky bathroom faucets.
Jettisoned to the center of the storm.
I'm thinking I'd prefer not to be rescued.
I'm finally numb,
So, please, don't get me rescued.
Arthur explains to Ariadne how totems work, and hopes she understands the importance of creating a unique object. He cannot tell whether he has succeeded; she has been shaken by her first experience in shared dreaming, and that seems to be the only thing on her mind. Arthur almost feels bad for the girl, almost wants to tell her to walk away and not look back, but he knows that such a thing will be impossible for her, now. Besides, dream work has made all the difference in his life, good and bad, and he cannot deny Ariadne the chance to make something for herself. Any decisions she makes from this moment forward must be her own, through and through. Therefore, Arthur says nothing of her outburst, and just watches calmly as she storms away. Cobb returns after she has left and explains that Arthur has to teach her the ins and outs of dreamscape architecture as soon as she gets back, which she will.
"Where're you gonna be?" Arthur asks. He has nothing against teaching the new girl a few tricks, but when Cobb disappears, there is always an interesting reason.
"I've gotta go visit Eames."
"Eames?" Arthur cannot hide the shock in his voice, but he quickly recovers. "Oh, he's in Mombasa. That's Cobol's backyard." Arthur wonders briefly if he is giving himself away by somehow knowing all of this, but decides that there are plenty of legitimate reasons he could know Eames's whereabouts. "There's plenty of good thieves," he adds. Plenty of good thieves that are most definitely not Sean Eames. Plenty of good thieves that….
"We don't just need a thief. We need a forger," Cobb cuts Arthur's thoughts short with these words.
And, though not for lack of effort to prove otherwise, those words are indisputable. Arthur knows that Eames is the best, and he also knows that the team cannot afford to settle for mediocrity, not on a job like this one. Still, his heart threatens to ache at the thought of seeing the man again. He is finally, and just barely, at the point where he can think of the forger without getting either sad or angry, and he knows that seeing Sean now will only unravel a skin that has taken months and months (very nearly an entire year) to fortify. He knows that nothing good possibly can or will come of this situation, of this reunion. He has learned to stop expecting otherwise.
And it's unclear, but this may be my last song.
Oh, say you'll miss me one last time,
And I'll be strong.
Whatever you do, don't get me rescued.
It has been weeks since Ariadne came on the scene, weeks that Arthur and Eames have managed to tread the fine line between hate and tolerance. It has been only moments since the completion of inception, however. The job does not go off without a hitch, as hoped. In fact, there are quite a few hitches along the way, even a few moments where Arthur truly and completely believes that he will never again see real light of day. But, then, somehow, everything works. No one dies. No one is trapped in limbo, not permanently. They all wake up on the plane as it begins its descent into sunny California. They are each shaken to the core, of course, but essentially all right. And although he has never really believed in much of anything, Arthur sends a few prayers skyward, knowing it can't hurt. Then, he mentally files this experience away as one to never again take part in (even though he knows he will not be able to resist).
Arthur walks off the plane as a stranger, no connections to his fellow passengers. He plays his part well, but probably because he is not even thinking of it. He is simply another face, glad to be alive, glad to be awake. As he enters the terminal and begins walking towards customs, the fact that Cobb can really go home now settles in. With the realization, he lets loose a breath that feels like it has been holding him, instead of the other way around. Things always seem to fall into place at the most unexpected times.
"Arthur."
Everything in him tenses reflexively, and the grin on his face dissolves as he turns to face Eames.
Things fall into place at the most unexpected times, and they fall apart just as easily.
"Arthur," the voice repeats, and Arthur watches as those familiar lips squeeze around the accented syllable of his name. He raises his eyes slightly to meet the blue-green ones a meter away.
"It was good seeing you," Eames says, and Arthur can only stare as the man reaches out a hand. For some reason, Arthur continues to stare until Eames begins to drop his hand. At the last second, Arthur grabs it and shakes it, consummately professional even now, even here. A sad smile ghosts Eames's lips, and there is a faint look in his eyes that seems to say, 'I'll miss you'. For Arthur, it is enough. He drops Eames's hand and walks away, never once looking back.
Because I'm feeling like I might need to be near you,
And I feel alright, so please don't get me rescued.
Arthur sits at his piano, the gorgeous creature whose size renders his dining room useless for its intended purpose, not that he cares. It has been months since the Fischer/Saito job, and only now is he finally financially stable enough to settle down and lay low for a while. It is only now that he finally has a home, rather than an endless string of cheap hotel rooms. It is only now that he can pull his piano out of storage and give her a dust-free place of her own.
For the last few minutes, he has been playing any small musical snippet that he can remember from his younger years just to become reacquainted with the feel of smooth ivory beneath his slightly calloused fingers. He plays the classics, but switches midway through Beethoven and dives into a Billy Joel tune. Arthur begins to sing the chorus of "Say Goodbye to Hollywood", feeling lighter than he has in a while. Then, though, his phone begins to ring, and he ends the song mid-chorus with a random thrashing of lower octave notes. It sounds like the score to a horror movie, and the thought makes him laugh as he reaches for his phone. He has seen things in real life that make slasher flicks look like cartoon shows, and there has never been a single threatening violin playing in the background.
Unknown caller, the screen reads. Underneath, a number is displayed. The area code seems familiar, but Arthur cannot quite place its location, and the number itself is not one he recognizes at all. Normally, calls like these lead to jobs, and employment is the last thing on Arthur's mind recently. For some reason, though, he presses 'ACCEPT' and brings the phone to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Hello, darling."
Arthur closes his eyes as the voice slides over him like warm honey, both comforting him and smothering him.
"Eames," he manages, voice as level as possible, which is not so level at all.
"I'm in town; thought you might want to meet up, grab a drink. For old times' sake and all."
"Eames," Arthur says again, but now with a desperately exhausted edge that he does not even attempt to hide. He pauses, taking a moment to orient himself. "I don't know what town you're in, but I am almost positive that I'm not there."
"Arthur, I'm standing outside the Plaza as we speak. I can see your bloody curtains rustling."
Arthur sighs and shakes his head as a small sad smile plays out on his lips.
"Well, I don't know whose window you're staring into, but the light that's shining there isn't mine. Not anymore."
Eames is silent, and Arthur senses the understanding as it sinks into the forger's bones.
"You really meant it this time, didn't you, darling?" Eames asks quietly.
"I always do, Sean," Arthur replies. He ends the call after a moment's silence and slides the phone back into the pocket of his slacks.
"I always do," he murmurs again, but this time to the piano.
He brushes his fingers back along the keys, and begins to play once more.