Inception - Grace Under Pressure (10/10)

[osaki_nana_707]

Title: Grace Under Pressure (10/10)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: ~4,700
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Yusuf
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: mentions of underage, language, mentions of past drug abuse, currently un-betaed
Summary: AU. Sequel to Bite Hard. Arthur reunites with Eames. By the next day, they're living together. Still, with the two of them, there's always the opportunity for things to get complicated.



Part Ten

Arthur opened the door to his apartment to find a dark living room.

"Eames?" he called out hesitantly and took a step inside to find it stuck there from half-dried paint. He found the light switch and flipped it on. There were tubes and cans of paint spilled everywhere, splattered across every fresh canvas Eames had had against the wall. The painting he'd done of the two of them had fallen off of its hanging place above the fireplace and now had a fresh splash of black across both of their faces.

Arthur toed off of his shoes and lightly stepped around the mess, and he could hear Yusuf quietly breathing from the foyer. He turned back and mouthed a silent, "Wait here." Yusuf didn't seem to be interested in going anywhere.

"Eames?" Arthur said again, pushing open the bathroom door. There was no one inside, but his nail kit lay open on the floor, revealing a burned spoon, a lighter, a hypodermic needle, and a partially used dime bag of heroin. It was as if he'd thrown it down, unable to look at it without disgust.

Arthur's heart started to race a little, and he pulled back the shower curtain just to make sure Eames wasn't there. He wasn't.

"Fuck," He whispered, lightly treading across the floor again until he opened the bedroom door.

Eames sat in the middle of Arthur's bed, covered in paint and with his head on his knees. The sheets were covered in paint handprints and paint footprints.

"Eames," Arthur said quietly. "Eames, what happened here?"

Eames lifted his head from his knees to reveal streams of tears mixed with the paint on his face. "I was trying to change…" Eames said tonelessly. "I kept trying to paint over myself, but it never worked, and I got upset… and I made a mess… I misbehaved. I'm sorry." He buried his face again.

"It's okay," Arthur said, swallowing heavily. His heart was pounding against his chest, but he tried to ignore it.

"No it isn't," Eames said, voice as expressionless as before. "It's not all right. You're going to be mad at me and send me away because I'm such a selfish pathetic loser."

"That's not true, Eames," Arthur said slowly, taking a few steps towards the bed and reaching out to grab one of the arms Eames had grasped around his knees. As he pulled it away, a razor blade fell from between his fingers, and Arthur realized that where he was holding Eames's sleeve it was sticky and not from paint. "Eames… Eames, did you cut yourself again?"

"You're better off if I'm dead," Eames mumbled into his jeans. "I'm no good. I don't deserve happiness. I don't deserve to live."

Arthur felt panic surging up the back of his spine, but he reminded himself that he needed to try to stay calm. He had a feeling that blowing up at Eames would only aggravate the situation, even though he sort of wanted.

"What's that in your other hand there, Eames?" he asked.

Arthur recognized it almost immediately after he'd said it.

It was the photograph he'd taken of Eames five years ago, the one he had hidden in the frame behind the drawing Eames had done. He looked over to where he'd left the framed drawing to find it on the floor, separated from the paint-smudged, cracked frame.

"Let me see your arm, Eames," Arthur whispered. "Give me the picture and show me your arm, okay?"

Eames didn't fight him when he pulled his arms away from his knees. The picture fluttered free of his grasp, bloody fingerprints smirching the corners, and fell to the bedspread. Arthur pushed up the blood-soaked sleeve of his right arm to find five bright red cuts crookedly dragged across the old scars there.

"Why'd you hurt yourself?" Arthur asked, and his voice hitched in the middle.

"You're better off if I'm dead," Eames repeated. "I'm nothing but a liar and a dirty loser, and I don't deserve you. I don't deserve happiness."

"Who told you that?"

"Roxanne."

"Eames… Roxanne is dead," Arthur reminded, pressing hard on the cuts to try and stop the bleeding. They were fresh but fortunately they didn't look too deep. He'd apparently been shaking too much.

"I know, but before that, she-she told me that I don't… and she was right… Look at what I've done… I can't even be that person in the picture. You don't even know who I am. How can you love someone like that?"

"I do know you," Arthur tried, and he was focusing on counting his breaths. Stay calm, he told himself. Just stay calm.

He hoped Yusuf would get impatient and come help him; he was too afraid of what Eames would do if he knew he was standing out there waiting.

"You don't," Eames mumbled, shaking his head before dropping it to Arthur's shoulder. "I'm such a selfish bastard… I should have just left you alone in that coffee shop, should have never said anything to you. You were so beautiful and perfect… you were always so beautiful and perfect, and I smeared it and shit all over it. I've ruined you…"

Arthur pressed Eames's bloody arm against his chest to get more pressure on it, not caring about the blood he was surely getting on his jacket and shirt. "Stop talking like that because it's bullshit."

Eames pulled his arm away, pulled his whole body away from Arthur and curled up on the bed. "I don't expect you to understand…"

"Eames," Arthur said, forcing himself to be sterner because the calm voice wasn't working. "I know about the drugs. I've known about them for a while now. It's not exactly a big secret. I didn't have any proof, so I didn't say anything, but I knew."

Eames said nothing, so Arthur continued. "I knew, okay? I was trying to find proof so that we could talk about it. I didn't want to be wrong and upset you… I… yeah, I was upset about it, but-I don't want to yell at you, and I don't want you to die. I want to help you, Eames. I love you, and I want to help you."

"You don't love me… Nobody ever loved me…" Eames whimpered, cradling his arm against his chest. "I don't deserve the help. I deserve to suffer and die because I'm so fucking worthless…"

Arthur couldn't take it anymore. He stood from the mattress and stamped his foot. "Eames," he barked, "Look at me."

Eames did, slowly and hesitantly.

"Have you really been holding onto this idea that you're unlovable all of this time? Is this why you self-destruct? Have you been trying to make me angry so I'd go away?"

"I don't know," Eames mumbled in a way that confirmed it for Arthur. He may not have been doing it consciously, but he was.

"Well, it's not going to work," Arthur told him, and he realized that he was no longer trembling or having to count his breaths. Somewhere in his words he'd found some sort of strength and resolve. He realized that he needed to be strong and hold himself together for Eames since clearly Eames was in no state to be strong.

It was a little bizarre, actually, being the strong one. He'd always leaned on Eames for support, but now Eames needed him.

He owed him more than that, but it would have to do.

"Why do you stay?" Eames asked, eyes wide and brokenhearted. "Don't you see how stupid you're being? Look at me! I'm a bloody drug addict, and I can't do anything. I can't even paint… You can't love me. I'm a horrible human being, and you deserve something better than… this."

Arthur shrugged. "I don't know, Eames. I don't. If I was a third party in all this, I'd probably agree with you, say I was being an idiot and clearly I don't know what I'm doing, but it's not the same. I'm here, and I'm not running away from this because you need to understand something about me and something about you too."

"What's that?"

"That I love you, and that you deserve happiness."

"No, I don't-"

"Yes, you do," Arthur said, and his voice was kinder than he'd ever heard out of himself, a smile finding its way to his lips despite the state of his apartment and of his boyfriend. "Eames, you're a great person… You're kind, and you're always worried about everyone else, and you're creative and talented and charming. When you hold me or say my name, it makes me feel like I'm the only person on the planet, that I'm more important than anyone else. Even though we've kissed a million times, my toes still curl when you do it, and I still tingle. Eames… don't you remember? All those years ago how fucked up I was? How lonely and awkward I was?... You made me not feel so alone. You saw me. You saved me, Eames, and I will never ever stop loving you because of that.

"You're not useless, Eames. You're not pathetic. You're not a loser. You think I'm this amazing perfect thing, but… I wouldn't have been this if it weren't for you. You mean everything to me. I remember everything we've done together as clear as a bell. They're my most precious memories… They make me happy. You make me happy."

"I make you miserable."

"Of course we have our moments, but I know that the good outweighs the bad. You can't change my mind, Eames. I'm a stubborn little bitch."

Eames rose up off of the bed, sitting on his knees, still cradling his arm, and he looked devastated and confused. "You're an idiot."

"You've been telling me that since the day we met. We're both pretty dumb, actually, so I guess we're perfect for each other. Eames… You deserve to be happy. You're the best guy I know, and don't let something that one person said a long time ago make you think otherwise. She's not here, Eames… but I am. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm not walking away from this, even if it's the biggest mistake of my life, because I know… I know in my heart that this is what I want. Maybe it's selfish for you to want to be with me, but can't we both be selfish and just be with each other? I don't care about any of your faults because you certainly looked through mine. We'll get through this, but you have to let me help you, Eames."

"You don't know me… how can you love someone you don't know?"

"I do know you, Eames. You're the one who doesn't know yourself… Please… try looking at you through my eyes. A wise person told me once that all I needed… was a different perspective."

Eames burst into tears and flung his arms around Arthur's neck in unabashed loud sobs, and Arthur held onto him for dear life, stroking a hand through his hair.

"Fuck… Arthur… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" he whimpered.

"It's okay, Eames. It's going to be okay… Roxanne was wrong about you. She was always wrong about you. She was blinded by drugs and hate… I'm going to take care of you, and we're going to get you better, okay?"

"I've ruined your apartment-"

"It's just stuff, Eames. You're more important to me than that."

Eames sniffed, pulling his face away from Arthur's shoulder to look into his eyes. "God, I love you," he said.

Arthur kissed him lightly. "I love you too."

"I'm fucked up, Arthur. I've done some things I'll forever regret-"

"It was the drugs, Eames. I know what stuff like that does to people. I forgive you for everything, even the things you haven't told me. I understand."

Eames kissed him again and cradled himself against Arthur's neck as if he was a child seeking comfort from his mother. "Please help me, Arthur."

Arthur pulled away from his hug and took his hand, leading him back into the living room where Yusuf was still waiting, although he'd come further into the room, kicking things out of the way.

"Yusuf," Eames said, "What are you doing here?"

"Making up for being a shitty friend," Yusuf replied. "I'll drive."

Arthur had ripped off the sleeve from his shirt and used it as a makeshift bandage for Eames's wounds and sat in the backseat with Eames's head in his lap while Yusuf carted them off to the hospital.

Arthur stroked a hand through Eames's hair and started quietly singing to keep him peaceful. "I've fallen out of favor, and I've fallen from grace; fallen out of trees, and I've fallen on my face; fallen out of taxis, out of windows too; fell in your opinion when I fell in love with you…"

"Oh, darling," Eames whispered, eyelids drooping a little.

"I told you I remembered," Arthur said quietly, letting his hand fall from Eames's hair to his lips, tracing the top one and then the bottom with a fingertip.

"I believed you… I remember too."

"Eames… let's not keep any secrets from each other from now on, all right?"

"I'll do anything you want… I'd cut my legs off for you right now if you asked me to. I'm sorry…"

"Eames. You should never apologize for feeling trapped. You should never apologize for things that aren't your fault."

"You really bloody do remember," Eames said, smiling ruefully, shutting his eyes and letting a tears slip out of the corner of his eye.

"Some things just stick with you, I guess," Arthur replied, leaned down, and kissed his temple.

"I suppose this means you remember what you said to me that night before we ended everything then, about how you wanted to be as beautiful as I was always saying…"

"I do remember that."

"You were that beautiful then. You're even more beautiful now."

Arthur just placed his palm against Eames's chest, where his heart was. "I still have your sunglasses."

"I still have the paintings of you. They're still at your place, aren't they, Yusuf?"

"My wife hung them up in the guest bathroom," Yusuf said flatly.

"At least your wife appreciates my art."

"She doesn't even know you."

"She doesn't have to."

"When you get out, I'll give them back to you, but only if you're a success story," Yusuf said, turning a corner. "I don't ever want to have to deal with this again, got it? You're my dear friend, but I can only take so much. Arthur's stronger than I am."

"I understand," Eames said. "Thanks, Yusuf."

"Don't thank me. You're probably going to hate me when you detox and go through withdrawal."

"No, I won't," Eames said. "I won't."

Arthur believed him, and somehow, by the way Yusuf smiled lightly, he believed him too.

Arthur wasn't allowed to see Eames while he was in rehab, so he buried himself in schoolwork and hoped for the best.

He'd told his mother about what had happened and Robert too (albeit hesitantly). His mother had been unbelievably supportive, telling him all about the counseling she'd gone through when she quit drinking. Robert had not said anything about it, which Arthur was grateful for.

Thankfully, the STD test results had come back negative, and Arthur felt stupid for panicking over them in the first place. Even though he wasn't having sex, he still continued to get himself tested just to make sure there was no sign of HIV making itself known. He wasn't terribly concerned about it.

Arthur started going to therapy.

He figured Eames was doing it in his rehab, so he decided to do the same. He wasn't necessarily mentally unstable by any means, but it felt good to vent out his frustrations to someone, to talk about his father and even some issues still lingering about his mother that he hadn't brought out of the surface. He talked mostly about Eames though, and his therapist listened openly and honestly, letting him talk and finish before supplying him with advice. It felt nice to be able to know that he could say things behind closed doors about everything going on in his life. It also felt nice to be told he had a good head on his shoulders on days when he was feeling particularly frazzled.

He kept in touch with Yusuf as well who was relieved more than anyone that Eames had finally accepted going to a rehab center. According to Yusuf, he had just stopped cold turkey the first time which was probably why it was so easy for him to go back to it again in a weak moment. Arthur and he talked in Starbucks every Sunday afternoon, and Yusuf even invited him over for dinner a few times. Arthur got along remarkably well with Yusuf's wife, Uma, which seemed to bother Yusuf, being that Arthur always seemed to get along with his love interests better than he did (he spent the evening mumbling about Ariadne).

It was three months before Arthur saw Eames again. Three long months of school and waiting and waiting and school…

…and then came a phone call.

"Hello?" Arthur asked, rubbing blearily at his eye. It was Saturday and barely seven in the morning.

"Hello darling."

"Eames," Arthur said, nearly dropping the phone. "Jesus, they're letting you call me? Awesome!"

"Actually, I need you to come pick me up. I was trying to let you know in advance, but I couldn't remember your phone number. I got it from Yusuf."

"Ah… yeah, yeah, I'll be there in like… forty-five minutes. Let me just shower and get dressed and shit, ah-"

"I'll be waiting on baited breath, my love."

Arthur nearly leaped out of bed, fully awake now, and clambered into the shower.

He'd gotten his apartment cleaned up and redecorated since most of his furniture had been ruined by paint, and he did manage to convince himself to make up the bed before heading out the door.

The air was warm, being that it was nearly April, so Arthur didn't even dry his hair (he'd cut it in February and tried to keep it somewhat short for the time being) when he bolted out the door. He only realized when he checked his reflection in his rearview mirror that he'd forgotten to shave.

"Oh, well," he said, pulling out of the parking lot and starting for the rehabilitation center.

Arthur hadn't realized how much he'd missed Eames until he saw him.

He saw him with his bags sitting on the curb, hair long and messy like it had been five years ago, heavier and more awake and with a smudge of paint on his shirt but nothing more than a smudge.

He saw him with a smile on his face and left the car idling while he ran and threw himself around his neck, wrapped his legs around his waist, and kissed his whole face.

"Nice to see you too," Eames chuckled, and Arthur had to wipe a few tears away out of embarrassment.

"Fuck, I missed you-Fuck!"

"Clearly."

Arthur detached himself from Eames's body and just stood in the breeze, touching his face. "So…"

"They said I can come home as long as I go to meetings every week," Eames said, pressing his forehead to Arthur's. "I would so like to come home… if you still want me, that is."

"Don't be a dumbass," Arthur said, tugging at his neck so that he could finally kiss him. "Jeez. I told you before that I love you and I want you and that wasn't going to change."

"I've broken a lot of promises in my life, so forgive me for being afraid," Eames said quietly.

"It's okay to be afraid sometimes," Arthur said, ducking his head into the curve of Eames's neck and kissing there lightly. "Just don't go running back to the drugs when you get scared, okay?"

"Who needs heroin when I have you?" Eames asked.

"I wish you'd come to that conclusion earlier."

"So do I."

Arthur tossed Eames's bags into the backseat. "Let's get the hell out of here," Arthur said.

"One moment," Eames said. "I've got some paintings to go get."

"You're painting again?" Arthur asked, and he was sure his eyes sparkled a little.

"I did it for therapy… and you know, I had some trouble before, but my muse actually isn't dead. I actually found it again."

Arthur shouldn't have been surprised to find that all of Eames's paintings were of him, but it made his heart flutter a little like it had the first time. His paintings were more beautiful than they had ever been, but when Arthur tried to tell him so, Eames humbly declined the compliment. "You're beautiful," he said. "I'm just attempting to capture it."

"You got the eyes right," Arthur supplied, smiling.

"I'll keep practicing," Eames said.

They fucked three times: once against the wall, once in the bed, and once in the shower. While Arthur shaved, Eames wrapped his arms around his waist and hummed into his shoulder.

"How does it feel to be clean and sober?" Arthur asked, tilting his chin back to get the hairs on his neck.

"It'd be scarier if I were here by myself."

Arthur put the razor down and turned around so that he and Eames were pressed chest to chest. "Are you still scared?"

"A little," Eames admitted. "Are you?"

"Kind of, but… I'm not worried. I believe in us. I believe in you."

"Then I suppose I should believe in me too, right?"

"I suppose so."

They kissed.

"Also," Eames said when he pulled away, "if I ever get back on that stuff, I give you permission to kick my ass, kill me, do what you have to."

"You'd better not," Arthur said, nipping at his bottom lip.

"I don't think that I will," Eames said, leaning against Arthur and letting him gently rock him side to side. "The group meetings and all of that jazz helped me, but really you were the one who helped me the most… The whole time I was in there, I had these moments where I started getting down on myself and badmouthing myself, but then I'd remember what you said to me. I'm ah-I'm sorry about your apartment by the way. I'm really sorry I-"

"You're doing it again," Arthur said.

"Oh, fuck off!" Eames laughed and covered him in kisses.

Arthur was curled up against Eames on the couch, snoring lightly, while Eames was sifting channels on Arthur's television set. He was perfectly content just being in a place he could call home, even if he did still feel a little bit guilty about all of the new furniture and the missing painting over the mantle. He'd definitely have to paint another one.

Eames sighed, mumbling, "Maybe he has a movie or something…" and hit the button to turn on the DVD player.

Christmas flashed onto the screen… specifically, Cobb's cabin at Christmas with all of them a mere few months ago, and yet it felt like eons. He was a little disgusted by his own appearance there now that he wasn't blinded by denial, and he wondered how anyone thought he was normal at that point.

"Are you really going to stop smoking?" Eames asked, laughing.

Arthur looked at the camera, polishing off his fourth glass of wine and said, "Yes, yes-I'm going to stop. This is proof and documentati-docu… this is proof."

Eames snorted, slipping a hand into Arthur's hair and playing with it. He wondered if Arthur had kept the promise. The apartment certainly didn't smell like cigarettes anymore.

He watched while Arthur lightly kissed him and then Eames laid one on him and then Arthur snogged him, all to the howling sounds of laughter in the background (most predominantly Olivia's since she was holding the camera; she and Arthur laughed the exact same way).

After falling down, Arthur started laughing and Eames pulled him back up, and then he saw something on the tape he hadn't noticed because he was talking to Cobb.

Arthur leaned against his chest to stay standing and looked over at the camera, giving it a shit-eating grin. He traced a heart there on Eames's chest and pressed a kiss right in the middle before pressing the palm of his hand over it to make sure it stayed. It was so cheesy, and he wouldn't have done it had he been sober, but Eames was touched by it.

He looked down at Arthur, sleeping, with his hand on Eames's chest in the exact same place as the video, and maybe he would have done it sober after all.

Eames pulled the dog tags out from the inside of his shirt and rolled them around in his palm. The chain had been broken at the rehab center but one of the workers there had given him two new ones. He pulled the one with his own name off of his neck and gently slipped it around Arthur's, drawing a heart on his chest with his finger and pressing his palm there.

"I love you," he said quietly.

He figured it was some kind of token of a promise. It was a promise that he'd never let Arthur down again as long as he lived (if he could help it), and he would do cheesy lovey-dovey things loudly in public places if it made Arthur happy, and he would kiss away his pain and be there to hear him complain about school or cry when things were bad. It was a promise that he would simply be with him. Forever.

He would tell Arthur about it later when he was awake.

…and they might not have been wedding rings or anything like that, but surely it was close enough.

(Grace under pressure, cooling palm across my brow, eyes of an angel lay me down...

We still believe in love so fuck you.)

OMG, you guys, it's actually finished. Thanks for sticking with me through all of the melodrama. Thanks to musicnanimelova for your tumblr rants that make me feel special. I hope this ending satisfies your screaming rantyness. :P