fic: close your eyes, replay these days (1/3)
Title: close your eyes, replay these days
Fandoms: Inception / (500) Days of Summer
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 21188
Summary: (500) Days of Summer crossover of sorts. This is a story of self-discovery, of running from love and of waking up. But you should know up front: this is a love story.
Quick review: This is Paul & this is McKenzie. The fic picks up in the final scene of (500) Days of Summer, when Tom meets Autumn.
Notes: This fic would not have happened if not for reinventweather. Thanks as always, dear. ♥
Sometimes, the days get jumbled up in Tom's head, like he knows what order they should've gone but he lived them out of order.
When he meets Autumn, something seems to slide into place. Not that he thinks she's the girl of his dreams necessarily, but as they go for coffee after the interview, everything feels like it's about to change.
"So how did your interview go?"
"Not too well, actually," Autumn says, twirling her tea bag around in her cup. "I think they considered my ideas just a bit too outlandish."
"Outlandish," Tom repeats as he holds out her chair. "Like how?" He takes his seat across the table, giving her his full attention.
"Like penrose steps and mobius sidewalks," she says, staring intently at the reflective wall to Tom's left. He follows her gaze, taking in their reflection, but when he looks back, in her place there is an unhappy-looking man of a rather stocky build. "Honestly, Arthur. Just when I thought I had you pegged," he says with a British accent.
"What - what did you just-?"
The café falls silent and people turn to stare, but Tom barely notices.
The man looks around the café, worried. "Bloody hell. Cobb was always better at this than me," he mumbles.
"Cobb?" he repeats. The name rings a bell for some reason.
"Look at me, Arthur," the man says, leaning forward and grabbing Tom's wrist. "You know my face."
"Who the hell is Arthur? And what did you do with Autumn?"
"This is worse than we thought," he says, mostly to himself. "Listen, we might be here for a while, so I need you to concentrate. Remember me. I look familiar, right?"
He does, which is the only reason Tom hasn't gotten up and walked out of the café. An eerie quiet still fills the café, and he wishes it would dissipate so he could think properly. "Are you one of Summer's friends?"
The man rolls his eyes and releases Tom's wrist, sitting back in his chair. "Summer is a cold-hearted bitch, and I can't believe she's what you came up with for yourself. She's not even that pretty, and her voice is annoyingly monotonous."
"Yeah, well of course you'd say that," Arthur snaps. His eyes widen, and suddenly a cacophony of noise fills the room as people turn back to their lives. Or maybe all the noise is in Arthur's head as memories overwhelm him. Real memories, replacing his world entirely, and he doesn't realize he's slipping from his chair until Eames is there to steady him.
"There he is," Eames says, smirking. Arthur jerks his arm away and glares at Eames until he goes back to his seat.
Arthur reaches into his pocket and pulls out the loaded die, turning it over in his palm and wondering how he could have carried it with him for so long without paying it any attention. He resists the urge to roll it, understanding now that he's within his own dream. "So what happened?"
Eames sits up straight and looks at Arthur intently. "How much do you remember?" Arthur glares, knowing 'I asked you first' is childish but wanting to say it anyway. Eames shoots him a look and adds, "I need to know how much your memory was affected this deep."
"We were trying out a new sedative," Arthur recalls. The sedative was meant to make the dreams more natural... In effect, the dreamer and the subject were one and the same. They'd have less control over the setting but the dreamer's guard would be down. Unfortunately that backfired and this deep at least, the dreamer wasn't even himself, didn't have proper access to his memories. "Something must have gone wrong. This won't work as a method of extraction if the mark doesn't even remember who he is." Eames confirms his thoughts with a nod. "So why send you in? Why not just wait for me to wake up?"
"That was the original plan, but you're sedated. If something were to happen to you down here, you would end up in limbo. That wasn't a chance we could take." Eames pauses, and Arthur wonders who else constitutes the 'we' in his statement; Yusuf, perhaps, maybe Cobb if he was called in. "Of course we didn't know this dream would be hipster metro life. I imagine the only threat to you here would be from self-harm."
Arthur's mouth quirks into a frown. "It's not as if I have any control over what happened here. Clearly the drug isn't very stable. What was the last dream level like?"
Eames' face scrunches up in concentration. Arthur waits, studying his expression, until Eames finally says, "No, it's no good. I can't remember, nothing more than unintelligible flashes. Yusuf mentioned something... an amnesiac quality of the somnacin. I don't remember anything concrete from the past two levels."
"Neither can I," Arthur responds, staring hard at the table, willing himself to remember. "Not even a glimmer, like a normal dream. I remember the scene clearly where Yusuf was starting the device, and the next thing was... Summer." He instantly regrets voicing this out loud. He knew the days felt out of sync; he should have pieced it together.
"Ah, Summer," Eames says with a smirk. "I knew you had a destructive streak in you, Arthur, but wasn't that taking it a bit far?"
"She wasn't that bad," Arthur says automatically.
Eames shakes his head, taking a sip of his drink. "That's just Tom Hansen talking. He was a bit lovesick, don't you think?"
Arthur crosses his arms and looks out the window. He resents Tom instantly, because Tom hadn't learned from any of Arthur's past mistakes.
The more he thinks about it, the more Arthur realizes that every little thing about Summer that Tom had fixated upon had come from somewhere. Jenny Beckman, who often licked her lips before she talked. Will Anders, who had a heart-shaped birthmark on his neck. And the way she looked when she slept, well... Arthur's not going to think about that right now. Summer, he realizes now, was an amalgamation of every past or potential failed relationship of Arthur's.
As for Tom, he had been the Arthur of ten years ago, before he learned to avoid self-destructive relationships, before he accepted that he would never be a skilled architect and traded it in for a much more successful career option, before he packaged up his emotions and hid them away for his own protection. Now that Arthur has a full range of perspective, he thinks Tom deserves what Summer did to him, for being so careless as to let his defenses down. For being so careless as to fall in love.
He composes his thoughts and turns back to his coffee, focusing on more important matters. "Sedation means I can't force myself out of the dream. Any chance of a kick?"
Eames shakes his head as if he expected the question. "Too risky. Even if I exited the dream successfully, there's every chance that I wouldn't remember the reason I left, and then you'd be left defenseless."
Something in Arthur flares up at that, and he sits up straighter in his chair. "I can take care of myself."
Eames uses his typical soft, patronizing tone when he says, "Of course you can, Arthur, but who's going to watch your back?"
******
Arthur had first discovered Eames' history as a thief when on a job in their first year of working together. The mark was supposed to be away all day, and Eames had brought Arthur with him to break into his house. Arthur had had more than a few problems with this once he realized what was going on, but he had to play it cool at least until they got inside so as not to draw attention.
As soon as the door was closed behind them, Eames had toed off his shoes and motioned for Arthur to do the same. "I take it from the speed with which you picked the lock that this isn't your first time breaking into someone's home," Arthur had said coolly, removing his shoes.
"Your deductive skills are improving, Arthur, I'm impressed."
"This is a bad idea," Arthur had remarked as he padded after Eames in his socks. "This isn't the way I work."
Eames sighed. "The mark is a photographer. A photographer that works solely in film. The only way to grasp the way he truly sees his wife is to take a look at the way he photographs her."
"And you had to drag me into the breaking and entering because...?" he asked, moving into the living room. He eyed the arch of the entryway, noting the precise way the structure made the room seem more inviting.
"Who else is going to watch my back?" Eames was suddenly at Arthur's side, stopping his reach toward the fireplace mantle. "I would advise against touching anything."
Arthur blinked, taking a moment to process Eames' proximity before snatching his wrist away. "How do you propose to dig out his photos without touching anything?"
Eames shook his head, looking disappointed. He pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket, flipping them outside in as they slid over his hands. "Believe it or not, I do know what I'm doing." Arthur rolled his eyes. Of course Eames was a thief; it explained so much about him. He'd made another mental note under his running list of reasons Eames should not be trusted.
But then he spent the next hour watching Eames work precisely to ensure their presence would not be detectable, and begrudgingly added a note to his "proof of Eames' competence" list. Leave it to Eames to earn Arthur's respect for something so unfavorable as burglary.
When it was time for the job, Eames' forgery had managed to convey the same exact mood Arthur had seen in the photographs. Arthur had cursed and added another note to the 'competence' column.
******
Arthur pushes away the memory with a slight scowl. "How many more days then?"
Eames unearths a moleskine - not unlike the one Arthur usually carries around topside - from his pocket and turns it to a page with the corner turned down. "48 days," he says with confidence. He flips the book around to show Arthur his calculations, and Arthur raises an eyebrow.
"I thought you hated math." He eyes the precision of Eames' handwriting, the scribbled out portions of the page where Eames had decided to start over. He can see through a quick skim of the notes that Eames has been here nearly six months already.
Eames opens his mouth to respond, but he's interrupted by someone walking up to their table.
"Tom!" the girl says cheerily. Arthur recognizes her from days past in the coffee shop. "I haven't seen you in a while. How have you been?"
Arthur's eyebrows draw together. The projections are still treating him like Tom, which is unexpected. "I'm not--"
Eames clears his throat loudly and says, "Hello, my dear. I don't believe we've been introduced. Eames," he adds, offering his hand. "I'm an old friend of Tom's, from our college days."
Arthur goes along with the act, making small talk for a polite number of minutes before Sally goes off. "What was that about?" Arthur asks once she's exited the building.
"You need to be more careful," Eames says with some disapproval. "This isn't a normal dream, and if you don't keep up appearances as Tom, your projections might turn on you."
Arthur wants to argue with him, but everything he knows about dreamsharing and the nature of the sedatives and chemicals he's used in the past supports the theory.
"The cover of me as a mate of yours from college works perfectly. Your projections shouldn't think twice about my staying with you."
"Oh, so you're inviting yourself into my apartment? Anything else you want to impose on me?" He holds out his coffee cup toward Eames. "Would you like to take my coffee as well?"
Eames pulls a face and pushes Arthur's coffee away. "Come now, Arthur. You know me better than that."
Arthur looks at the string of the tea bag hanging into Eames' cup and thinks yeah, unfortunately, he does.
******
When Paul walks into the apartment the next morning - no knock, no greeting - he sees Eames brushing his teeth in the bathroom, shirtless, and his eyebrows shoot up halfway across his forehead.
"Good morning, Paul. Please, come in," Arthur says sarcastically.
"Yeah, hi," he says, shooting Arthur a confused look before glancing back at Eames.
Arthur shakes his head slightly and combines it with a look to convey that no, he's not sleeping with this man. "You ready for breakfast?" he asks, reaching for his portfolio.
He wants to get far away from the apartment before Paul forces him to talk about Eames, so he works carefully to center the conversation around Paul. It doesn't take much effort, in the end, since he loves to be the center of attention. They're at the diner, food already on the table, before Paul remembers to ask.
"So, what? You're into dudes now?" Arthur shoots him an unamused look over his waffles. "Hey, no, no judgment from this side of the booth. I'm cool with anyone as long as her name doesn't rhyme with bummer."
Arthur laughs. Truthfully, he'll miss Paul when he wakes up. "I actually met this one girl, yesterday. I thought something might come of it."
"Sure you did," Paul says around a forkful of eggs. "What was her name?"
"Autumn," he says, then feels his face reddening. He really hopes Eames isn't hiding, disguised as one of the people sitting around the diner.
"You're messing with me, right?" Paul says in a flat tone. "You got over Summer, so now you're into Autumn. Stuff like that doesn't happen in real life, Tom."
Arthur snorts. "No kidding."
"Was she hot?"
Without meaning to, Arthur thinks at once of Eames' full lips, which have been the subject of quite a few unaided dreams of his from before this dream began. He flushes deeper. At least his subconscious was kind enough to keep that idea out of this dream.
"Really," Paul says, taking Arthur's blush to be an answer. "I take it from the buff dude in pajama pants that the night didn't continue on from there."
Arthur's mind gets too many ideas from that statement, and he firmly quiets them all, at least for now. "She wasn't who I hoped she would be," he finally answers. "And Eames is just a guy. An old friend. From college."
"And you told him to lock up when he leaves because...?"
"He's staying with me for a couple weeks," he says, working hard not to scowl at his food. But then a smile starts to spread over his face as he thinks about his next move. "His wife kicked him out. Apparently he's a terrible fuck."
Paul huffs out a laugh. "I don't think that dude's ever had a wife," he says, shaking his head. "And if he told you he's a terrible fuck, it was probably only because he was hoping you'd test the theory."
Arthur sighs. "Can we talk about something else?" he asks, shoveling a full bite of waffle into his mouth.
Paul smirks like he knows something (he doesn't) and says, "Sure."
******
That night, in the privacy of Tom's bedroom, Arthur recalls what Paul had said during breakfast. The night didn't continue on from there. But what if it had? Eames had been hanging around behind nameless faces for a while at that point, what if he'd held up the façade for just one more night?
Arthur jerks himself slowly to the thought of fucking Autumn. He imagines her breasts fitting perfectly in his hands, his fingers twisting and making her moan as he fucked her. She would clench around him, unable to hold off after wanting this for so long, and he would push in deep and pin her against the mattress when he came.
His hand moves roughly over his cock as he imagines it, but it's the image of Eames smirking smugly up at him, in place of Autumn, that makes him gasp and spill out over his hand.
******
A week later, McKenzie decides Tom needs to find himself a new girlfriend, and he has just the place to do it. Arthur really shouldn't be surprised when the cab pulls up at The Mill, but Eames is thrilled, saying he hasn't done karaoke in years.
The evening starts off well enough, until McKenzie makes on off-hand statement about how gay the current karaoke singer's scarf makes him look. Even though Tom let that kind of thing go every time without fail, Arthur finds himself snapping, "I wish you'd stop using that word as an insult."
Paul shoots him a knowing look which he ignores, while Eames shoots him a wary one. Arthur wants to explain that there's no reason to worry; Tom snaps at McKenzie all the time, really.
"Since when?" McKenzie counters, hiccupping a bit. Arthur eyes the bottle of beer in front of his friend in disdain. He's not cleaning up after him this time; it's Paul's turn.
"I've been known to play for both teams myself," Eames says, eyes dancing. He takes a gulp of his drink obscenely and leers at McKenzie, who edges away a bit. Eames laughs and continues, "Don't worry, mate. You're not my type."
Paul nudges Arthur under the table. Arthur glares at him, then opts for changing the subject. "Who's going first for karaoke?"
"Come on, bro," Paul says to McKenzie, pulling him up from his side of the booth. "Let's do a duet."
Arthur sighs and takes a sip of his beer. "Before you remind me not to rock the boat--"
Eames makes a dismissive noise. "By all means, tip the boat over if it puts that bloke in his place. It seems he's prepared to deal with any manner of abuse from you. Though I still don't understand why these are the people you chose to associate yourself with."
"We've been through this, Eames. When the dream started, these were already my friends. Summer was already here. I had no more control over it than you do in a natural dream."
Eames hums, not agreeing or disagreeing, and keeps his eyes on the stage. Arthur's mind wanders to Eames' statement about "both teams", wondering if that was just for McKenzie's benefit or if it had some truth in it. He keeps silent though, watching as his friends choose a song.
Arthur smiles when he recognizes the opening notes of "Anything You Can Do (I Can Do Better)". Paul hams it up as the female singer, while McKenzie acts macho as he sings the guy's part.
Arthur laughs loudly at Paul's falsetto, then catches Eames staring at him. "What?"
"Nothing," Eames says, smiling to himself and continuing to watch the two of them. Arthur raises his eyebrows and waits, and eventually Eames adds, "Just, you seem to smile a lot more, here."
"That's just Tom Hansen," Arthur says, repeating Eames' words from last week. He bites the inside of his mouth and glares into the distance. He tries to ignore Eames' statement and enjoy the rest of the song, but his laugh doesn't feel quite right anymore. He downs the rest of his beer and says, "I'm going to get another drink."
He takes his time at the bar, reminding himself that Eames' opinion shouldn't matter to him anymore. He's spent a long time cultivating a shield to hide behind when Eames is around; it's just harder to keep up his defense when they're surrounded by a world his subconscious built.
When he gets back to the booth, Eames is recounting a made-up story from his college days with Tom. Arthur quickly discovers that the story is an adapted version of a story from their actual past.
Arthur recalls the memory well. They'd been in a dream, and Arthur had both wanted to distract himself from Eames and needed to distract the mark. An elegant dance with the prettiest girl in the room seemed the natural solution.
The way Eames tells it, they were at a costume party and Eames' full-body costume had matched that of Arthur's girlfriend, but that almost sounds even more far-fetched than the truth: at the time, unbeknownst to Arthur, Eames had been the prettiest girl in the room.
"Why didn't you just tell him that you weren't a chick?" McKenzie asks, looking torn between amusement at Tom's mistake and his usual disdain for Eames.
"Where would be the fun in that? Lucky for me I'm ever the adapter, and I pulled off the lady's part of the dance flawlessly."
Arthur remembers the dance well. It was sensual and heated, a perfect tango accomplishing just the distraction Arthur needed. Arthur found himself wishing she was more than a projection just as she gave him an all-too-familiar smirk and spoke up with an unmasked, unmistakenly male voice. "Where'd you learn to dance like that?"
Cobb hadn't understood why Arthur was so upset after that job. In his eyes, Arthur and Eames had teamed up to provide a distraction, which had worked. The extraction had gone off without a hitch. To him, Eames' unplanned forgery had been a stroke of genius rather than an unwelcome breach of protocol.
"My girlfriend had been less than understanding," Arthur says, playing along with the story.
"I don't blame her. It was quite the tango," Eames says, eyes dancing.
"Ugh, if you two are gonna make eyes at each other, I'm gonna hurl," McKenzie says.
Eames announces that it's his turn to sing, making his way up to the stage and shooting Arthur a cheeky grin. He sings a rather ridiculous rendition of Toto's "Africa", and Arthur finds himself smiling back through the whole song.
After Eames comes back, they hang out for a bit, watching other people make fools of themselves on stage. Finally, Paul tilts his head at Arthur and says, "I think it's Tom's turn to sing."
This is apparently one thing McKenzie and Eames can agree on (though Eames expresses his disbelief that he'll do it), so Arthur goes to pick out a song, but not before scowling at Paul for the suggestion.
The only thing on his mind when he goes to make his selection is that he wants to take Eames by surprise, so when he spots Queen's "Good Old-Fashioned Loverboy" on the song list, he goes for it. He keeps his eyes on Eames for most of the song, encouraged by his wide smile.
After he returns to the booth, some girl comes by and gives him her number. McKenzie is thrilled, Paul isn't, and Eames seems unaffected. Arthur puts the napkin on the table with no intention of calling her, but he isn't impolite about it.
They shoot the breeze for a while until Paul draws the short straw on McKenzie duty and heads off to take him home.
Arthur and Eames stumble drunkenly out of the cab at his apartment, hands on each other's backs, and then laugh about nothing for an hour before Arthur makes himself get off the couch and go to bed. Arthur dreams of a dramatic waltz with Eames and wakes up with a headache.
******
One day, Arthur comes out of his room to discover Eames watching Lifetime. When he laughs, Eames just scoffs and says, "Don't mock me for having a proper appreciation for other subcultures. Besides, this is your dream; I wouldn't be able to get this channel if you'd never watched it before."
Arthur rolls his eyes. "My aunt never gave me any choice. If you want to appreciate other subcultures, go out to one of the museums. Tom was pretty fond of them before he went away."
Eames chuckles to himself. "Oh, I know all about what Tom was fond of," he says, glancing at the mirror.
Arthur blanches when he looks back and instead of Eames, Summer is sitting on the couch. He immediately shuts down and says, "That's not funny."
Eames-as-Summer gives him a wide-eyed look and says, "But Tom, don't you have anything to say to me?"
Arthur grits his teeth and says, "Don't. Do. That."
Eames glances back at the mirror and changes back into himself. He sounds reticent when he says, "Sorry, love. I didn't think you actually cared."
Something about Eames' use of the endearment makes it all the more painful, and Arthur snaps at him before stomping his way back to his bedroom.
He hates the casual way Eames sinks under his skin, finding just the right trigger and setting him off. He knows that Eames spends just as long analyzing him as he does everyone else, and Arthur gives it right back, keeping tabs on Eames even when they have no plans to work together in the foreseeable future. But here, they are surrounded by manifestations of Arthur's subconscious, and it hardly seems fair for Eames to use it against him.
Even though it becomes clear that Eames is really going to leave him alone, Arthur still can't get his mind off Tom's relationship with Summer. He sits at his desk, scribbling away at a schematic as he recalls their days together. Upon closer inspection, he begins to see similarities between Tom and Summer's relationship and how Arthur pictures the failure of any potential relationship he might have with Eames.
Because there are times, now and again, that Arthur thinks maybe, just maybe Eames really is interested. Something shifts in their usual teasing banter and the tone Arthur always hears as patronizing seems to change shape almost undetectably. Inevitably, though, his next statement will be just as distant as always, and Arthur always puts those rare moments down to wishful thinking.
Besides, even if he's wrong, even if Arthur could climb on top of Eames and receive an enthusiastic response, he knows better than to take the risk. Unlike Tom, he knows the marks of person who will certainly let him down. Eames is a man that Arthur has learned to trust to an extent on the job, but he remains, as ever, a thief at heart. And Arthur has never been capable of going into a relationship halfway. With Eames, it has to be all or nothing, so Arthur silences every consideration and reminds himself of Summer. Summer, who had claimed not to believe in love, but then made a Tom-shaped space in her life. Summer, who had reshaped that space as easily as Arthur could reshape the dream now, if it wouldn't bring about his immediate demise. Summer, who turned around and found the love she didn't believe in as soon as Tom was out of sight. He doesn't expect things would go exactly that way with Eames, but Arthur has had his heart stomped over too many times to make the same mistake again. Tom is merely further proof.
Arthur stays shut in his room for most of the afternoon. When he sees Eames again, they both pretend that nothing happened.
******
Eames spends most days hanging around the apartment, though he has days where he disappears to places unknown for hours at a time. Arthur alternates, going off for job interviews occasionally to keep up appearances. He brings his worst sketches on the interviews; with only a little over a month left in the dream, he has no interest in actually finding a job.
He goes out with his friends some days, for lunch or otherwise. Luckily, Eames doesn't invite himself along on such occasions. He claims to be there to watch Arthur's back, but he gives Arthur his space, a consideration for which Arthur is grateful.
Of course, within the walls of his apartment is an entirely different story. The one place Arthur can mostly be himself, of course Eames starts sticking his nose into Arthur's business.
Today, he's set up in front of his drafting table, sketching out some buildings that have been in his head for ages. He's completely immersed in his work when Eames says, "What's all this?" and traces a finger down the edge of the page.
Arthur jumps, then immediately curses himself for it. He snatches the paper away from Eames' hand, shooting a glare his way.
Eames holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "No need to get your knickers in a twist. I didn't mean anything by it." He moves his hands to his pockets and takes a half-step back. "Let me start again. Arthur! You seem awfully caught up in something. What are you working on?"
Feeling a bit like he overreacted, Arthur smooths out the sketch and lays his pencil aside. "It's a sketch for the new Bank of America building downtown. They still haven't decided a design for it."
Eames hums his comprehension, leaning over Arthur to study the drawing. Arthur fights the impulse to cover it up, or to lean away - or maybe to lean closer, he's not sure which. "This is really good," Eames says, straightening up. "I'm no expert on modern architecture, mind, but it's a building I would have no issue seeing go up into the skyline."
"I don't think the building even exists in the real world, but it was one of Tom's dreams," he explains. He says nothing of his own dreams.
Eames smiles and rests a hand on Arthur's shoulder briefly. "Well by all means, let the boy pursue his dreams."
He says it in the same quiet, mocking tone he uses constantly up above. As he walks away, Arthur scowls at the sketch and pushes it aside to work on something else. He can't quite bring himself to tear it up, but he's certainly not going to leave it out for Eames to mock.
******
When Arthur had first joined the military, he was anxious to do as much as he could to move up in the ranks. So when his superior interrupted him working on a draft of a combat building on a rainy day in November, he was ready to do whatever the man said.
When his instructions for Arthur were to stop constructing and start participating, Arthur had eagerly accepted the change. Even better, he thrived on the battlefield, being placed on point after only a couple of months, and his success drove him to continue in the role even after his stint in the military ended. He hadn't even considered going back to architecture since. Not seriously anyway. He thrived far too much in his current role to go back to being an amateur architect. His college dreams were misguided by lack of information, that was all.
And yet now, as he sits down at a drafting table, he can feel the same thrill of creation that initially drove him into the field of architecture. He joined the military not so he could fight, but so his creations would have a greater use. When he discovered he would be building people's dreams, it was all the more surreal and amazing. He'd never thought of his promotion in terms of giving anything up, but in retrospect, that's exactly what happened.
******
"You're being kind of a jackass lately," McKenzie says at lunch the following Tuesday.
"Your mom's a jackass," Arthur says, cuffing him on the back of the head.
"He's got a point," Paul says, regarding Arthur with a measuring look. "You've been taking everything as an insult, lashing out, and that poor guy you're living with seems to be taking the brunt of it."
"I'm nice to Eames," Arthur says defensively.
"Whatever, that dude deserves it," McKenzie says with a sneer.
"Shut up, no one asked your opinion," Paul says, cuffing him on the other side of his head. His 'ow!' of protest goes unnoticed.
Paul continues to stare at Arthur like he's a book to be read, and Arthur just glares back challengingly.
"Well I see that the two of you have decided to move this conversation to a telepathic level, so if you'll excuse me," McKenzie slides underneath the table and emerges on the open side, "I have a date to get ready for. I'll see you losers later."
"See ya, McKenzie," they both say in unison.
"So," Paul says, leaning forward, "Eames."
Arthur curses Tom once again for being an open book. He scowls and says, "Why do I eat with you?"
"Because I'm a joy to be around," Paul says solemnly. "Also because I give good advice, now spill."
Arthur sighs in defeat. "It's kind of complicated." Paul opens his arms to say 'I've got time,' so Arthur continues.
Before long, he finds himself spilling his guts about their "college days" and how he never quite got over that initial attraction. It's embarrassing to admit, even just to a projection, but it does make him feel better.
"So why don't you just go for it? If he's leaving in a month anyway, hey, no strings attached!"
The problem is that Arthur does want strings attached. That's always been the problem. "Because there's also the simple truth that he can't stand me. He makes fun of everything I do. He's only staying with me now because he's got nowhere else to go."
Paul arches an eyebrow. "Have you heard yourself around him?" Arthur scowls. "I bet if you made an effort to be nicer to him, he'd be a lot more receptive."
"Or he'd use my kindness against me."
"Don't know until you try. Either way it's only a month. Isn't it worth a shot?"
******
"Being nice" to Eames is easier said than done. It's not like Arthur can just flip a switch and suddenly react to him differently. But he's getting there, and even the smallest of gestures has Eames pleasantly surprised and receptive. By Friday night, when Arthur makes them dinner (nothing special, just pasta), Arthur can see a discernible difference. Paul's going to be insufferable about this.
The change in attitude also comes with an upshift in flirting, a possibility Arthur had not been prepared for. Eames has always specialized in subtle flirtation, a statement or two sliding through his sarcasm and making Arthur wonder, but this is impossible to misinterpret: lingering touches on Arthur's wrist, smirks directed at him, Eames' eyes following him wherever he goes. It makes Arthur feel strange in his own skin, and he should probably call him on it, except he's loving every second of it.
Still, Arthur reminds himself that this is just a dream, and Eames is probably operating with the knowledge that whatever might happen here, they'll both forget it when they wake up. That alone holds Arthur back.
And if he spends a few extra nights locking himself in his bedroom for it, well, that's nobody's business but his own.
******
The next time Arthur chooses to spend his morning sketching, he purposely waits until Eames goes out for his daily run. But then he gets carried away and is still immersed in his work when Eames comes pounding in, sweaty and breathing heavily. Arthur has an easier time ignoring him today, mainly because he's actually interested in what he's drawing.
He feels Eames hovering, and his hand stills. Eames immediately backs off as Arthur turns, and he smiles widely. "Don't mind me. I'm just going to pop in the shower."
Arthur's mind gets a bit preoccupied with that mental image as Eames closes the bathroom door, but after a moment he goes back to his work.
Arthur glances at the clock when Eames comes out of the bathroom and realizes 40 minutes have passed. "Are you just now getting out of the shower? Tom has bills to pay, you know."
"Mm, maybe I was hoping you'd look in to see if I'd drowned." Arthur glances at him then, towel slung around his waist and a sinful smirk on his face. Something flips in his chest. "I see you haven't moved. Working on Bank of America again?"
Arthur shakes his head. "This is an entirely new concept." He motions for Eames to come closer. "This entryway is designed to appear completely open, but you can see here how it actually conceals this entire area. It would be perfect for a dreamscape. All we'd have to do would be to flip this piece here," he says, outlining it with his finger, "into a curled shape that could be perceived differently until you were standing on it. Paradox."
Eames listens to him ramble for a while, nodding in all the right places. When Arthur finally pauses for breath, Eames says, "With all this vision, I find it hard to believe Tom is unable to find a job."
Arthur smirks a bit. "Maybe he's not trying hard enough."
"What about this bit here?" Eames asks, reaching out his arm to point to a particular part of the drawing.
Arthur reaches out to grab Eames' wrist. "Don't. You'll drip all over it."
Eames smirks and moves almost entirely behind Arthur. He leans in close to Arthur's ear, his body close, and quietly says, "That bit up there in the corner." His hand appears in Arthur's peripheral, just far enough away from the table to prevent ruining the sketch. "With the S-shape. What's that meant to do?"
Arthur swallows thickly. He explains the reason for that particular structure, and then pauses. When Eames doesn't say anything for a long moment, Arthur adds, "You're dripping on me now."
Arthur can feel Eames' breath as he laughs. "I'm just appreciating your work," he says against Arthur's ear before straightening. His fingers linger on the back of Arthur's neck for a moment before he moves away entirely.
When he comes back to himself, Arthur says, "It's Tom Hansen's work." But Eames has already left the room.
******
Part Two
Fandoms: Inception / (500) Days of Summer
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 21188
Summary: (500) Days of Summer crossover of sorts. This is a story of self-discovery, of running from love and of waking up. But you should know up front: this is a love story.
Quick review: This is Paul & this is McKenzie. The fic picks up in the final scene of (500) Days of Summer, when Tom meets Autumn.
Notes: This fic would not have happened if not for reinventweather. Thanks as always, dear. ♥
Sometimes, the days get jumbled up in Tom's head, like he knows what order they should've gone but he lived them out of order.
When he meets Autumn, something seems to slide into place. Not that he thinks she's the girl of his dreams necessarily, but as they go for coffee after the interview, everything feels like it's about to change.
"So how did your interview go?"
"Not too well, actually," Autumn says, twirling her tea bag around in her cup. "I think they considered my ideas just a bit too outlandish."
"Outlandish," Tom repeats as he holds out her chair. "Like how?" He takes his seat across the table, giving her his full attention.
"Like penrose steps and mobius sidewalks," she says, staring intently at the reflective wall to Tom's left. He follows her gaze, taking in their reflection, but when he looks back, in her place there is an unhappy-looking man of a rather stocky build. "Honestly, Arthur. Just when I thought I had you pegged," he says with a British accent.
"What - what did you just-?"
The café falls silent and people turn to stare, but Tom barely notices.
The man looks around the café, worried. "Bloody hell. Cobb was always better at this than me," he mumbles.
"Cobb?" he repeats. The name rings a bell for some reason.
"Look at me, Arthur," the man says, leaning forward and grabbing Tom's wrist. "You know my face."
"Who the hell is Arthur? And what did you do with Autumn?"
"This is worse than we thought," he says, mostly to himself. "Listen, we might be here for a while, so I need you to concentrate. Remember me. I look familiar, right?"
He does, which is the only reason Tom hasn't gotten up and walked out of the café. An eerie quiet still fills the café, and he wishes it would dissipate so he could think properly. "Are you one of Summer's friends?"
The man rolls his eyes and releases Tom's wrist, sitting back in his chair. "Summer is a cold-hearted bitch, and I can't believe she's what you came up with for yourself. She's not even that pretty, and her voice is annoyingly monotonous."
"Yeah, well of course you'd say that," Arthur snaps. His eyes widen, and suddenly a cacophony of noise fills the room as people turn back to their lives. Or maybe all the noise is in Arthur's head as memories overwhelm him. Real memories, replacing his world entirely, and he doesn't realize he's slipping from his chair until Eames is there to steady him.
"There he is," Eames says, smirking. Arthur jerks his arm away and glares at Eames until he goes back to his seat.
Arthur reaches into his pocket and pulls out the loaded die, turning it over in his palm and wondering how he could have carried it with him for so long without paying it any attention. He resists the urge to roll it, understanding now that he's within his own dream. "So what happened?"
Eames sits up straight and looks at Arthur intently. "How much do you remember?" Arthur glares, knowing 'I asked you first' is childish but wanting to say it anyway. Eames shoots him a look and adds, "I need to know how much your memory was affected this deep."
"We were trying out a new sedative," Arthur recalls. The sedative was meant to make the dreams more natural... In effect, the dreamer and the subject were one and the same. They'd have less control over the setting but the dreamer's guard would be down. Unfortunately that backfired and this deep at least, the dreamer wasn't even himself, didn't have proper access to his memories. "Something must have gone wrong. This won't work as a method of extraction if the mark doesn't even remember who he is." Eames confirms his thoughts with a nod. "So why send you in? Why not just wait for me to wake up?"
"That was the original plan, but you're sedated. If something were to happen to you down here, you would end up in limbo. That wasn't a chance we could take." Eames pauses, and Arthur wonders who else constitutes the 'we' in his statement; Yusuf, perhaps, maybe Cobb if he was called in. "Of course we didn't know this dream would be hipster metro life. I imagine the only threat to you here would be from self-harm."
Arthur's mouth quirks into a frown. "It's not as if I have any control over what happened here. Clearly the drug isn't very stable. What was the last dream level like?"
Eames' face scrunches up in concentration. Arthur waits, studying his expression, until Eames finally says, "No, it's no good. I can't remember, nothing more than unintelligible flashes. Yusuf mentioned something... an amnesiac quality of the somnacin. I don't remember anything concrete from the past two levels."
"Neither can I," Arthur responds, staring hard at the table, willing himself to remember. "Not even a glimmer, like a normal dream. I remember the scene clearly where Yusuf was starting the device, and the next thing was... Summer." He instantly regrets voicing this out loud. He knew the days felt out of sync; he should have pieced it together.
"Ah, Summer," Eames says with a smirk. "I knew you had a destructive streak in you, Arthur, but wasn't that taking it a bit far?"
"She wasn't that bad," Arthur says automatically.
Eames shakes his head, taking a sip of his drink. "That's just Tom Hansen talking. He was a bit lovesick, don't you think?"
Arthur crosses his arms and looks out the window. He resents Tom instantly, because Tom hadn't learned from any of Arthur's past mistakes.
The more he thinks about it, the more Arthur realizes that every little thing about Summer that Tom had fixated upon had come from somewhere. Jenny Beckman, who often licked her lips before she talked. Will Anders, who had a heart-shaped birthmark on his neck. And the way she looked when she slept, well... Arthur's not going to think about that right now. Summer, he realizes now, was an amalgamation of every past or potential failed relationship of Arthur's.
As for Tom, he had been the Arthur of ten years ago, before he learned to avoid self-destructive relationships, before he accepted that he would never be a skilled architect and traded it in for a much more successful career option, before he packaged up his emotions and hid them away for his own protection. Now that Arthur has a full range of perspective, he thinks Tom deserves what Summer did to him, for being so careless as to let his defenses down. For being so careless as to fall in love.
He composes his thoughts and turns back to his coffee, focusing on more important matters. "Sedation means I can't force myself out of the dream. Any chance of a kick?"
Eames shakes his head as if he expected the question. "Too risky. Even if I exited the dream successfully, there's every chance that I wouldn't remember the reason I left, and then you'd be left defenseless."
Something in Arthur flares up at that, and he sits up straighter in his chair. "I can take care of myself."
Eames uses his typical soft, patronizing tone when he says, "Of course you can, Arthur, but who's going to watch your back?"
******
Arthur had first discovered Eames' history as a thief when on a job in their first year of working together. The mark was supposed to be away all day, and Eames had brought Arthur with him to break into his house. Arthur had had more than a few problems with this once he realized what was going on, but he had to play it cool at least until they got inside so as not to draw attention.
As soon as the door was closed behind them, Eames had toed off his shoes and motioned for Arthur to do the same. "I take it from the speed with which you picked the lock that this isn't your first time breaking into someone's home," Arthur had said coolly, removing his shoes.
"Your deductive skills are improving, Arthur, I'm impressed."
"This is a bad idea," Arthur had remarked as he padded after Eames in his socks. "This isn't the way I work."
Eames sighed. "The mark is a photographer. A photographer that works solely in film. The only way to grasp the way he truly sees his wife is to take a look at the way he photographs her."
"And you had to drag me into the breaking and entering because...?" he asked, moving into the living room. He eyed the arch of the entryway, noting the precise way the structure made the room seem more inviting.
"Who else is going to watch my back?" Eames was suddenly at Arthur's side, stopping his reach toward the fireplace mantle. "I would advise against touching anything."
Arthur blinked, taking a moment to process Eames' proximity before snatching his wrist away. "How do you propose to dig out his photos without touching anything?"
Eames shook his head, looking disappointed. He pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket, flipping them outside in as they slid over his hands. "Believe it or not, I do know what I'm doing." Arthur rolled his eyes. Of course Eames was a thief; it explained so much about him. He'd made another mental note under his running list of reasons Eames should not be trusted.
But then he spent the next hour watching Eames work precisely to ensure their presence would not be detectable, and begrudgingly added a note to his "proof of Eames' competence" list. Leave it to Eames to earn Arthur's respect for something so unfavorable as burglary.
When it was time for the job, Eames' forgery had managed to convey the same exact mood Arthur had seen in the photographs. Arthur had cursed and added another note to the 'competence' column.
******
Arthur pushes away the memory with a slight scowl. "How many more days then?"
Eames unearths a moleskine - not unlike the one Arthur usually carries around topside - from his pocket and turns it to a page with the corner turned down. "48 days," he says with confidence. He flips the book around to show Arthur his calculations, and Arthur raises an eyebrow.
"I thought you hated math." He eyes the precision of Eames' handwriting, the scribbled out portions of the page where Eames had decided to start over. He can see through a quick skim of the notes that Eames has been here nearly six months already.
Eames opens his mouth to respond, but he's interrupted by someone walking up to their table.
"Tom!" the girl says cheerily. Arthur recognizes her from days past in the coffee shop. "I haven't seen you in a while. How have you been?"
Arthur's eyebrows draw together. The projections are still treating him like Tom, which is unexpected. "I'm not--"
Eames clears his throat loudly and says, "Hello, my dear. I don't believe we've been introduced. Eames," he adds, offering his hand. "I'm an old friend of Tom's, from our college days."
Arthur goes along with the act, making small talk for a polite number of minutes before Sally goes off. "What was that about?" Arthur asks once she's exited the building.
"You need to be more careful," Eames says with some disapproval. "This isn't a normal dream, and if you don't keep up appearances as Tom, your projections might turn on you."
Arthur wants to argue with him, but everything he knows about dreamsharing and the nature of the sedatives and chemicals he's used in the past supports the theory.
"The cover of me as a mate of yours from college works perfectly. Your projections shouldn't think twice about my staying with you."
"Oh, so you're inviting yourself into my apartment? Anything else you want to impose on me?" He holds out his coffee cup toward Eames. "Would you like to take my coffee as well?"
Eames pulls a face and pushes Arthur's coffee away. "Come now, Arthur. You know me better than that."
Arthur looks at the string of the tea bag hanging into Eames' cup and thinks yeah, unfortunately, he does.
******
When Paul walks into the apartment the next morning - no knock, no greeting - he sees Eames brushing his teeth in the bathroom, shirtless, and his eyebrows shoot up halfway across his forehead.
"Good morning, Paul. Please, come in," Arthur says sarcastically.
"Yeah, hi," he says, shooting Arthur a confused look before glancing back at Eames.
Arthur shakes his head slightly and combines it with a look to convey that no, he's not sleeping with this man. "You ready for breakfast?" he asks, reaching for his portfolio.
He wants to get far away from the apartment before Paul forces him to talk about Eames, so he works carefully to center the conversation around Paul. It doesn't take much effort, in the end, since he loves to be the center of attention. They're at the diner, food already on the table, before Paul remembers to ask.
"So, what? You're into dudes now?" Arthur shoots him an unamused look over his waffles. "Hey, no, no judgment from this side of the booth. I'm cool with anyone as long as her name doesn't rhyme with bummer."
Arthur laughs. Truthfully, he'll miss Paul when he wakes up. "I actually met this one girl, yesterday. I thought something might come of it."
"Sure you did," Paul says around a forkful of eggs. "What was her name?"
"Autumn," he says, then feels his face reddening. He really hopes Eames isn't hiding, disguised as one of the people sitting around the diner.
"You're messing with me, right?" Paul says in a flat tone. "You got over Summer, so now you're into Autumn. Stuff like that doesn't happen in real life, Tom."
Arthur snorts. "No kidding."
"Was she hot?"
Without meaning to, Arthur thinks at once of Eames' full lips, which have been the subject of quite a few unaided dreams of his from before this dream began. He flushes deeper. At least his subconscious was kind enough to keep that idea out of this dream.
"Really," Paul says, taking Arthur's blush to be an answer. "I take it from the buff dude in pajama pants that the night didn't continue on from there."
Arthur's mind gets too many ideas from that statement, and he firmly quiets them all, at least for now. "She wasn't who I hoped she would be," he finally answers. "And Eames is just a guy. An old friend. From college."
"And you told him to lock up when he leaves because...?"
"He's staying with me for a couple weeks," he says, working hard not to scowl at his food. But then a smile starts to spread over his face as he thinks about his next move. "His wife kicked him out. Apparently he's a terrible fuck."
Paul huffs out a laugh. "I don't think that dude's ever had a wife," he says, shaking his head. "And if he told you he's a terrible fuck, it was probably only because he was hoping you'd test the theory."
Arthur sighs. "Can we talk about something else?" he asks, shoveling a full bite of waffle into his mouth.
Paul smirks like he knows something (he doesn't) and says, "Sure."
******
That night, in the privacy of Tom's bedroom, Arthur recalls what Paul had said during breakfast. The night didn't continue on from there. But what if it had? Eames had been hanging around behind nameless faces for a while at that point, what if he'd held up the façade for just one more night?
Arthur jerks himself slowly to the thought of fucking Autumn. He imagines her breasts fitting perfectly in his hands, his fingers twisting and making her moan as he fucked her. She would clench around him, unable to hold off after wanting this for so long, and he would push in deep and pin her against the mattress when he came.
His hand moves roughly over his cock as he imagines it, but it's the image of Eames smirking smugly up at him, in place of Autumn, that makes him gasp and spill out over his hand.
******
A week later, McKenzie decides Tom needs to find himself a new girlfriend, and he has just the place to do it. Arthur really shouldn't be surprised when the cab pulls up at The Mill, but Eames is thrilled, saying he hasn't done karaoke in years.
The evening starts off well enough, until McKenzie makes on off-hand statement about how gay the current karaoke singer's scarf makes him look. Even though Tom let that kind of thing go every time without fail, Arthur finds himself snapping, "I wish you'd stop using that word as an insult."
Paul shoots him a knowing look which he ignores, while Eames shoots him a wary one. Arthur wants to explain that there's no reason to worry; Tom snaps at McKenzie all the time, really.
"Since when?" McKenzie counters, hiccupping a bit. Arthur eyes the bottle of beer in front of his friend in disdain. He's not cleaning up after him this time; it's Paul's turn.
"I've been known to play for both teams myself," Eames says, eyes dancing. He takes a gulp of his drink obscenely and leers at McKenzie, who edges away a bit. Eames laughs and continues, "Don't worry, mate. You're not my type."
Paul nudges Arthur under the table. Arthur glares at him, then opts for changing the subject. "Who's going first for karaoke?"
"Come on, bro," Paul says to McKenzie, pulling him up from his side of the booth. "Let's do a duet."
Arthur sighs and takes a sip of his beer. "Before you remind me not to rock the boat--"
Eames makes a dismissive noise. "By all means, tip the boat over if it puts that bloke in his place. It seems he's prepared to deal with any manner of abuse from you. Though I still don't understand why these are the people you chose to associate yourself with."
"We've been through this, Eames. When the dream started, these were already my friends. Summer was already here. I had no more control over it than you do in a natural dream."
Eames hums, not agreeing or disagreeing, and keeps his eyes on the stage. Arthur's mind wanders to Eames' statement about "both teams", wondering if that was just for McKenzie's benefit or if it had some truth in it. He keeps silent though, watching as his friends choose a song.
Arthur smiles when he recognizes the opening notes of "Anything You Can Do (I Can Do Better)". Paul hams it up as the female singer, while McKenzie acts macho as he sings the guy's part.
Arthur laughs loudly at Paul's falsetto, then catches Eames staring at him. "What?"
"Nothing," Eames says, smiling to himself and continuing to watch the two of them. Arthur raises his eyebrows and waits, and eventually Eames adds, "Just, you seem to smile a lot more, here."
"That's just Tom Hansen," Arthur says, repeating Eames' words from last week. He bites the inside of his mouth and glares into the distance. He tries to ignore Eames' statement and enjoy the rest of the song, but his laugh doesn't feel quite right anymore. He downs the rest of his beer and says, "I'm going to get another drink."
He takes his time at the bar, reminding himself that Eames' opinion shouldn't matter to him anymore. He's spent a long time cultivating a shield to hide behind when Eames is around; it's just harder to keep up his defense when they're surrounded by a world his subconscious built.
When he gets back to the booth, Eames is recounting a made-up story from his college days with Tom. Arthur quickly discovers that the story is an adapted version of a story from their actual past.
Arthur recalls the memory well. They'd been in a dream, and Arthur had both wanted to distract himself from Eames and needed to distract the mark. An elegant dance with the prettiest girl in the room seemed the natural solution.
The way Eames tells it, they were at a costume party and Eames' full-body costume had matched that of Arthur's girlfriend, but that almost sounds even more far-fetched than the truth: at the time, unbeknownst to Arthur, Eames had been the prettiest girl in the room.
"Why didn't you just tell him that you weren't a chick?" McKenzie asks, looking torn between amusement at Tom's mistake and his usual disdain for Eames.
"Where would be the fun in that? Lucky for me I'm ever the adapter, and I pulled off the lady's part of the dance flawlessly."
Arthur remembers the dance well. It was sensual and heated, a perfect tango accomplishing just the distraction Arthur needed. Arthur found himself wishing she was more than a projection just as she gave him an all-too-familiar smirk and spoke up with an unmasked, unmistakenly male voice. "Where'd you learn to dance like that?"
Cobb hadn't understood why Arthur was so upset after that job. In his eyes, Arthur and Eames had teamed up to provide a distraction, which had worked. The extraction had gone off without a hitch. To him, Eames' unplanned forgery had been a stroke of genius rather than an unwelcome breach of protocol.
"My girlfriend had been less than understanding," Arthur says, playing along with the story.
"I don't blame her. It was quite the tango," Eames says, eyes dancing.
"Ugh, if you two are gonna make eyes at each other, I'm gonna hurl," McKenzie says.
Eames announces that it's his turn to sing, making his way up to the stage and shooting Arthur a cheeky grin. He sings a rather ridiculous rendition of Toto's "Africa", and Arthur finds himself smiling back through the whole song.
After Eames comes back, they hang out for a bit, watching other people make fools of themselves on stage. Finally, Paul tilts his head at Arthur and says, "I think it's Tom's turn to sing."
This is apparently one thing McKenzie and Eames can agree on (though Eames expresses his disbelief that he'll do it), so Arthur goes to pick out a song, but not before scowling at Paul for the suggestion.
The only thing on his mind when he goes to make his selection is that he wants to take Eames by surprise, so when he spots Queen's "Good Old-Fashioned Loverboy" on the song list, he goes for it. He keeps his eyes on Eames for most of the song, encouraged by his wide smile.
After he returns to the booth, some girl comes by and gives him her number. McKenzie is thrilled, Paul isn't, and Eames seems unaffected. Arthur puts the napkin on the table with no intention of calling her, but he isn't impolite about it.
They shoot the breeze for a while until Paul draws the short straw on McKenzie duty and heads off to take him home.
Arthur and Eames stumble drunkenly out of the cab at his apartment, hands on each other's backs, and then laugh about nothing for an hour before Arthur makes himself get off the couch and go to bed. Arthur dreams of a dramatic waltz with Eames and wakes up with a headache.
******
One day, Arthur comes out of his room to discover Eames watching Lifetime. When he laughs, Eames just scoffs and says, "Don't mock me for having a proper appreciation for other subcultures. Besides, this is your dream; I wouldn't be able to get this channel if you'd never watched it before."
Arthur rolls his eyes. "My aunt never gave me any choice. If you want to appreciate other subcultures, go out to one of the museums. Tom was pretty fond of them before he went away."
Eames chuckles to himself. "Oh, I know all about what Tom was fond of," he says, glancing at the mirror.
Arthur blanches when he looks back and instead of Eames, Summer is sitting on the couch. He immediately shuts down and says, "That's not funny."
Eames-as-Summer gives him a wide-eyed look and says, "But Tom, don't you have anything to say to me?"
Arthur grits his teeth and says, "Don't. Do. That."
Eames glances back at the mirror and changes back into himself. He sounds reticent when he says, "Sorry, love. I didn't think you actually cared."
Something about Eames' use of the endearment makes it all the more painful, and Arthur snaps at him before stomping his way back to his bedroom.
He hates the casual way Eames sinks under his skin, finding just the right trigger and setting him off. He knows that Eames spends just as long analyzing him as he does everyone else, and Arthur gives it right back, keeping tabs on Eames even when they have no plans to work together in the foreseeable future. But here, they are surrounded by manifestations of Arthur's subconscious, and it hardly seems fair for Eames to use it against him.
Even though it becomes clear that Eames is really going to leave him alone, Arthur still can't get his mind off Tom's relationship with Summer. He sits at his desk, scribbling away at a schematic as he recalls their days together. Upon closer inspection, he begins to see similarities between Tom and Summer's relationship and how Arthur pictures the failure of any potential relationship he might have with Eames.
Because there are times, now and again, that Arthur thinks maybe, just maybe Eames really is interested. Something shifts in their usual teasing banter and the tone Arthur always hears as patronizing seems to change shape almost undetectably. Inevitably, though, his next statement will be just as distant as always, and Arthur always puts those rare moments down to wishful thinking.
Besides, even if he's wrong, even if Arthur could climb on top of Eames and receive an enthusiastic response, he knows better than to take the risk. Unlike Tom, he knows the marks of person who will certainly let him down. Eames is a man that Arthur has learned to trust to an extent on the job, but he remains, as ever, a thief at heart. And Arthur has never been capable of going into a relationship halfway. With Eames, it has to be all or nothing, so Arthur silences every consideration and reminds himself of Summer. Summer, who had claimed not to believe in love, but then made a Tom-shaped space in her life. Summer, who had reshaped that space as easily as Arthur could reshape the dream now, if it wouldn't bring about his immediate demise. Summer, who turned around and found the love she didn't believe in as soon as Tom was out of sight. He doesn't expect things would go exactly that way with Eames, but Arthur has had his heart stomped over too many times to make the same mistake again. Tom is merely further proof.
Arthur stays shut in his room for most of the afternoon. When he sees Eames again, they both pretend that nothing happened.
******
Eames spends most days hanging around the apartment, though he has days where he disappears to places unknown for hours at a time. Arthur alternates, going off for job interviews occasionally to keep up appearances. He brings his worst sketches on the interviews; with only a little over a month left in the dream, he has no interest in actually finding a job.
He goes out with his friends some days, for lunch or otherwise. Luckily, Eames doesn't invite himself along on such occasions. He claims to be there to watch Arthur's back, but he gives Arthur his space, a consideration for which Arthur is grateful.
Of course, within the walls of his apartment is an entirely different story. The one place Arthur can mostly be himself, of course Eames starts sticking his nose into Arthur's business.
Today, he's set up in front of his drafting table, sketching out some buildings that have been in his head for ages. He's completely immersed in his work when Eames says, "What's all this?" and traces a finger down the edge of the page.
Arthur jumps, then immediately curses himself for it. He snatches the paper away from Eames' hand, shooting a glare his way.
Eames holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "No need to get your knickers in a twist. I didn't mean anything by it." He moves his hands to his pockets and takes a half-step back. "Let me start again. Arthur! You seem awfully caught up in something. What are you working on?"
Feeling a bit like he overreacted, Arthur smooths out the sketch and lays his pencil aside. "It's a sketch for the new Bank of America building downtown. They still haven't decided a design for it."
Eames hums his comprehension, leaning over Arthur to study the drawing. Arthur fights the impulse to cover it up, or to lean away - or maybe to lean closer, he's not sure which. "This is really good," Eames says, straightening up. "I'm no expert on modern architecture, mind, but it's a building I would have no issue seeing go up into the skyline."
"I don't think the building even exists in the real world, but it was one of Tom's dreams," he explains. He says nothing of his own dreams.
Eames smiles and rests a hand on Arthur's shoulder briefly. "Well by all means, let the boy pursue his dreams."
He says it in the same quiet, mocking tone he uses constantly up above. As he walks away, Arthur scowls at the sketch and pushes it aside to work on something else. He can't quite bring himself to tear it up, but he's certainly not going to leave it out for Eames to mock.
******
When Arthur had first joined the military, he was anxious to do as much as he could to move up in the ranks. So when his superior interrupted him working on a draft of a combat building on a rainy day in November, he was ready to do whatever the man said.
When his instructions for Arthur were to stop constructing and start participating, Arthur had eagerly accepted the change. Even better, he thrived on the battlefield, being placed on point after only a couple of months, and his success drove him to continue in the role even after his stint in the military ended. He hadn't even considered going back to architecture since. Not seriously anyway. He thrived far too much in his current role to go back to being an amateur architect. His college dreams were misguided by lack of information, that was all.
And yet now, as he sits down at a drafting table, he can feel the same thrill of creation that initially drove him into the field of architecture. He joined the military not so he could fight, but so his creations would have a greater use. When he discovered he would be building people's dreams, it was all the more surreal and amazing. He'd never thought of his promotion in terms of giving anything up, but in retrospect, that's exactly what happened.
******
"You're being kind of a jackass lately," McKenzie says at lunch the following Tuesday.
"Your mom's a jackass," Arthur says, cuffing him on the back of the head.
"He's got a point," Paul says, regarding Arthur with a measuring look. "You've been taking everything as an insult, lashing out, and that poor guy you're living with seems to be taking the brunt of it."
"I'm nice to Eames," Arthur says defensively.
"Whatever, that dude deserves it," McKenzie says with a sneer.
"Shut up, no one asked your opinion," Paul says, cuffing him on the other side of his head. His 'ow!' of protest goes unnoticed.
Paul continues to stare at Arthur like he's a book to be read, and Arthur just glares back challengingly.
"Well I see that the two of you have decided to move this conversation to a telepathic level, so if you'll excuse me," McKenzie slides underneath the table and emerges on the open side, "I have a date to get ready for. I'll see you losers later."
"See ya, McKenzie," they both say in unison.
"So," Paul says, leaning forward, "Eames."
Arthur curses Tom once again for being an open book. He scowls and says, "Why do I eat with you?"
"Because I'm a joy to be around," Paul says solemnly. "Also because I give good advice, now spill."
Arthur sighs in defeat. "It's kind of complicated." Paul opens his arms to say 'I've got time,' so Arthur continues.
Before long, he finds himself spilling his guts about their "college days" and how he never quite got over that initial attraction. It's embarrassing to admit, even just to a projection, but it does make him feel better.
"So why don't you just go for it? If he's leaving in a month anyway, hey, no strings attached!"
The problem is that Arthur does want strings attached. That's always been the problem. "Because there's also the simple truth that he can't stand me. He makes fun of everything I do. He's only staying with me now because he's got nowhere else to go."
Paul arches an eyebrow. "Have you heard yourself around him?" Arthur scowls. "I bet if you made an effort to be nicer to him, he'd be a lot more receptive."
"Or he'd use my kindness against me."
"Don't know until you try. Either way it's only a month. Isn't it worth a shot?"
******
"Being nice" to Eames is easier said than done. It's not like Arthur can just flip a switch and suddenly react to him differently. But he's getting there, and even the smallest of gestures has Eames pleasantly surprised and receptive. By Friday night, when Arthur makes them dinner (nothing special, just pasta), Arthur can see a discernible difference. Paul's going to be insufferable about this.
The change in attitude also comes with an upshift in flirting, a possibility Arthur had not been prepared for. Eames has always specialized in subtle flirtation, a statement or two sliding through his sarcasm and making Arthur wonder, but this is impossible to misinterpret: lingering touches on Arthur's wrist, smirks directed at him, Eames' eyes following him wherever he goes. It makes Arthur feel strange in his own skin, and he should probably call him on it, except he's loving every second of it.
Still, Arthur reminds himself that this is just a dream, and Eames is probably operating with the knowledge that whatever might happen here, they'll both forget it when they wake up. That alone holds Arthur back.
And if he spends a few extra nights locking himself in his bedroom for it, well, that's nobody's business but his own.
******
The next time Arthur chooses to spend his morning sketching, he purposely waits until Eames goes out for his daily run. But then he gets carried away and is still immersed in his work when Eames comes pounding in, sweaty and breathing heavily. Arthur has an easier time ignoring him today, mainly because he's actually interested in what he's drawing.
He feels Eames hovering, and his hand stills. Eames immediately backs off as Arthur turns, and he smiles widely. "Don't mind me. I'm just going to pop in the shower."
Arthur's mind gets a bit preoccupied with that mental image as Eames closes the bathroom door, but after a moment he goes back to his work.
Arthur glances at the clock when Eames comes out of the bathroom and realizes 40 minutes have passed. "Are you just now getting out of the shower? Tom has bills to pay, you know."
"Mm, maybe I was hoping you'd look in to see if I'd drowned." Arthur glances at him then, towel slung around his waist and a sinful smirk on his face. Something flips in his chest. "I see you haven't moved. Working on Bank of America again?"
Arthur shakes his head. "This is an entirely new concept." He motions for Eames to come closer. "This entryway is designed to appear completely open, but you can see here how it actually conceals this entire area. It would be perfect for a dreamscape. All we'd have to do would be to flip this piece here," he says, outlining it with his finger, "into a curled shape that could be perceived differently until you were standing on it. Paradox."
Eames listens to him ramble for a while, nodding in all the right places. When Arthur finally pauses for breath, Eames says, "With all this vision, I find it hard to believe Tom is unable to find a job."
Arthur smirks a bit. "Maybe he's not trying hard enough."
"What about this bit here?" Eames asks, reaching out his arm to point to a particular part of the drawing.
Arthur reaches out to grab Eames' wrist. "Don't. You'll drip all over it."
Eames smirks and moves almost entirely behind Arthur. He leans in close to Arthur's ear, his body close, and quietly says, "That bit up there in the corner." His hand appears in Arthur's peripheral, just far enough away from the table to prevent ruining the sketch. "With the S-shape. What's that meant to do?"
Arthur swallows thickly. He explains the reason for that particular structure, and then pauses. When Eames doesn't say anything for a long moment, Arthur adds, "You're dripping on me now."
Arthur can feel Eames' breath as he laughs. "I'm just appreciating your work," he says against Arthur's ear before straightening. His fingers linger on the back of Arthur's neck for a moment before he moves away entirely.
When he comes back to himself, Arthur says, "It's Tom Hansen's work." But Eames has already left the room.
******
Part Two