Inception - Quiet In My Town (3/6)
Title: Quiet In My Town (3/6)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word Count: 4,005
Pairings/Character: ArthurxEames, OC
Rating: R (this part)
Warnings: language, mentions of death, mentions of sex
Summary: When Arthur falls off the grid, Eames finds him taking care of a teenage boy that apparently is his brother.
3.
Owen didn't come out of his room for the rest of the day, and Arthur didn't seem to mind in the slightest, burying himself in his work until he was looking more strung-out and frazzled than he ever had. At five in the evening, Eames forced him to take a break by slamming his laptop shut and asking, "Have you eaten at all today?"
"I…" Arthur said, pushing his glasses up on his nose as if trying to remember.
"Coffee doesn't count, darling," Eames said. Arthur had been downing cup after cup of coffee and chain smoking in between each one. Arthur's stomach growled in response, and he blushed out of embarrassment.
"I guess I forgot," Arthur said.
Eames rolled his eyes and decided to order Chinese take-out.
"Owen," he said, knocking on the door to his room. "I'm ordering Chinese. Do you want anything?"
Arthur, at his side, tensed as if he was waiting for something to go crashing against the door, but instead the door just opened.
"You like noodles, or pot stickers, or what?" Eames asked.
Owen looked down at his feet. "…I don't know…" he mumbled. "Whatever is fine…"
"I'll just order a bunch of things and you can pick at what you like, all right?" Eames offered, and Owen nodded weakly.
Eames then brushed his hand on Arthur's shoulder to signal that they should take their leave, but surprisingly Owen followed them into the kitchen where Arthur sat down to go back to work and Eames went to make the order. He sat on the couch flipping channels until Eames was done with the call and then peeked over the top of the cushions like a gopher from a hole.
"I'm sorry about earlier," he said awkwardly.
Eames shrugged. Arthur just stared at him in confusion over the top of his laptop, like he didn't remember what had happened (and maybe he hadn't).
"I uh… didn't mean to imply that you two were um… you know…" Owen said, making an obscene gesture with his hands. Arthur's ears turned red and he hastily looked back down at his laptop.
Eames was wheezing he was laughing so hard. He had to clutch the counter to keep from falling to the floor.
Owen, fueled by Eames's laughter, turned to Arthur then with a smile and informed him, "but he does want to fuck you, by the way."
Eames managed to subdue his laughter more or less, giggling like a child who'd just heard a curse word, wiping at his eyes with both hands.
And then Arthur said, never looking up from his work, "Oh. Yeah. I know that. I've always known that."
Eames was silent.
Owen was howling.
…and then Arthur did something Eames hadn't seen him do since he'd gotten there.
He truly, genuinely smiled… and really, Eames couldn't even be offended or feel betrayed when Arthur was smiling like that.
…but he didn't let Owen see the smile, ducking back into his work when the boy poked his head back over the edge of the couch as his laughing fit subsided.
They most definitely had the same smile.
Eames picked his dignity up off of the floor and put in The Shining, and he and Owen (and Arthur, though he pretended he wasn't) watched, Eames only pausing it thirty minutes in to get the Chinese from the door and pay the man.
It was about an hour into the movie, with Owen staring in horror at the events taking place on the screen, noodles hanging out of his mouth, that Eames looked over at Arthur who ducked his head down to pretend he was working again. "Arthur," Eames said, chuckling. "Just come and watch the film with us, love. You can take a little time off from that."
"No, Eames, I really can't," Arthur replied.
"Did he just call you love?" Owen asked, never peeling his eyes from the screen.
"It's a British thing," Arthur said in response without hesitation.
Eames smirked. "Arthur, seriously, come and sit and watch the rest of the film. It's only got forty-five minutes or so left in it. You can stop working for forty-five minutes."
"No, Eames, I can't-this work needs to be ready by tomorrow morning, and-"
"Don't make me come get you and carry you over here."
Arthur huffed, smirking, "You wouldn't fucking dare."
"Was that a challenge?"
Eames always did enjoy a challenge. He'd already warned Arthur about that.
"No!" Arthur shouted, slamming his laptop shut and making a sprint for his room, but Eames had already leaped over the back of the couch and caught him around the waist before he even reached the hallway. Arthur scrambled in his arms, somehow managing to still hold onto his laptop, but Eames wasn't about to let go, even if he was laughing to the point that he couldn't breathe. "This isn't-this isn't funny, Eames! Let me go! Put-Put me down!"
Eames didn't let go and carried him kicking and screaming back to the couch before he sat him down between himself and Owen. Arthur harrumphed.
"I don't even like this movie," Arthur grumbled.
"How do you not like The Shining?" Eames asked, planting a hand on his shoulder as if to warn him that he would grab him again should he try to escape. Arthur didn't answer, instead choosing to put on his bitch-face, and Eames knew what that meant. "Does it frighten you? Do you have bad dreams about Jack Nicholson?"
"I don't like horror movies," Arthur grumbled. "I just think they're dumb."
"You're dumb!" Eames complained. Admittedly, it was the most childish argument he'd made all night.
Still, Arthur sat and continued to watch, clearly growing progressively uncomfortable. He didn't shout, but he definitely grabbed Eames's bicep when Jack Nicholson's character hacked his way through the door and shouted the famous, "Here's Johnny!"
"Don't piss on yourself," Eames whispered.
"I'm not scared," Arthur hissed, but his voice cracked in the middle.
"Then you're out of your mind," Owen mumbled, entranced and clearly frightened.
"It takes a bigger man to admit when he's afraid you know," Eames said.
"Guess that means I'm more of a man than you, huh," Owen said, shoving a mouthful of noodles into his mouth.
Arthur refrained from snarling at him, but he still glared. Owen just grinned.
Well, Eames thought, this is… domestic.
The thought wasn't nearly as disturbing as it should have been. He also shouldn't have been enjoying the white-knuckled grip Arthur was giving his arm as much as he was, but he couldn't help but remember how Arthur clung to him when they'd fucked. He couldn't help it. He just couldn't. It seemed that everything Arthur did reckoned back to those two nights of drunken moans and whispered nothings, of sweat and the sound of skin against skin, of brown eyes glittering in the dim light of the hotel room and red, swollen lips, of tongue and fingers and curling toes, of soft touches and rough scratches and…
"Um… excuse me," Eames said, pulling himself free from Arthur's grip and making a beeline for the bathroom.
"No, don't leave-" Arthur cried out, clearly scared, but Eames knew he could handle himself. It was just a movie. He wasn't about to go and make things extremely awkward. He didn't want Owen to think he got off on psychopaths with axes. He also didn't want Owen (or Arthur) to think he got off on Arthur (even if he already assumed such).
He locked the door and jerked himself off, biting down on a towel to keep his sounds silenced. He was so sick of having to fuck his own hand; he wondered if Arthur would let him call over a prostitute.
Yeah, right.
Though… it wasn't as if he didn't have the ability to fuck other people since Arthur... He just… hadn't.
Now that was a troubling thought. What the fuck did that mean?
No, no, it wasn't that he just hadn't. It was just that he'd been too busy. He'd been too busy to screw around with anyone. He'd just been too caught up with work-
Bloody hell, now he was even starting to sound like Arthur.
He came all over his hand and cleaned himself up, but he couldn't wipe away the shame that always came with jacking off in someone else's home and trying to keep it a secret or the pride he lost when he was reminded that he had been his only sexual partner in several months.
Just as he flushed, there was a knock on the door.
"Just a moment," Eames said, washing his hands before opening the door. "That Chinese food didn't agree with me."
Owen pointed to the couch. "The movie's over."
"Where's Arthur?" Eames asked.
"He went to his room as soon as it ended," Owen replied with a shrug. "I don't know how to work the DVD player."
"Right… right, I've got it," Eames mumbled and went to turn off the DVD player and replace the DVD in its box. Owen sat curled up in his spot on the couch while Eames did it, watching with mild curiosity. "So, um… you're speaking to Arthur now. That's a development."
Owen blushed a little bit out of embarrassment. "Uh… yeah… I uh… I thought about what you said, and I thought that I would um… try to be… better. It's hard though… I'm not very good with people."
"Funny, your brother said the same thing," Eames mumbled, but Owen didn't hear him say it. "He's really not so bad, now, is he?"
"He's… okay… he's not really a very fun guy. He's still kind of a twat."
"Yeah," Eames admitted, tossing the box on the table and digging out a cigarette from his pocket, "I'll give you that one… but I think he's making an effort too, so good for you guys. I might not have to move in and referee after all."
"It's not even so much the things he says that gets me so angry," Owen said then, staring at the floor, and Eames's attention was piqued. "I mean… sometimes, he doesn't even say anything, but I just look at him, and I get so mad that I just… panic. Then he gets mad, and I panic even more."
"Panicking isn't a reaction to anger," Eames said around his cigarette. "It's a reaction to fear."
Owen looked up at Eames, hugging his knees to his chest, and didn't say anything.
"Owen…" Eames said slowly, pulling the cigarette from his lips and exhaling smoke. "Are you… afraid of Arthur?"
"No!" Owen yelped, and for a moment, Eames thought he must have been lying, but then he said, "I'm afraid of… of someone else…"
"Who are you afraid of?" Eames asked.
He thought Owen would tell him, but he didn't. Instead, he just shook his head and laid it down on top of his knees. Eames knew better than to attempt to ring the answer out of him at the moment.
"All right then," Eames shrugged and made his way down the hall to find Arthur.
Arthur was in his room, just as Owen said. What Eames hadn't expected was that Arthur would be continuing to work in his room underneath the covers, like he was in some kind of blanket fort that would protect him from axe-wielding maniacs. Eames thought for a moment about impersonating Jack Nicholson and scaring the bejeezus out of him, but he refrained because that was just unfair. Instead, he took hold of one of the corners of the blankets and lifted it up to peek inside at Arthur, hunched over his laptop, inside his blanket cocoon.
"There are scary monsters out in the cupboard. Can I hide under here with you?" Eames asked, grinning playfully.
"I am not hiding from monsters," Arthur complained. "The glare on the screen was bad. That's all."
"Then why didn't you just turn out the light?" Eames asked.
Arthur opened his mouth to reply only to realize that he didn't have one.
Eames chuckled, shoving Arthur in the chest until he was sprawled onto his back and pulled the covers off of him. "I didn't know it would frighten you so badly," Eames said. "Do you want me to stay in here and make sure he doesn't come after you?"
"Stop fucking around, Eames. I have work to do," Arthur grumbled. He was clearly not amused by Eames's teasing, but then he very seldom was.
"You work too hard, Arthur," Eames said then, and he was a bit alarmed by the sweetness that crept into his voice. Arthur seemed a bit vexed by it too. "Well, you do," Eames added for emphasis, as if he needed to keep the two of them on subject.
Maybe he couldn't help himself because he was sitting on Arthur's waist. Yeah, that was probably a mistake… but Arthur hadn't shoved him off yet.
"I can handle myself just fine," Arthur said.
"Then why did you let me stay?" Eames asked.
"It's Owen I can't handle on my own," Arthur admitted, and Eames saw a hint of vulnerability at Arthur's edges.
Oh, that reminded him… "You know, Owen is sort of afraid of you," Eames said. "That's why he does the things he does."
Arthur didn't seem surprised by this answer, but he didn't say why. It worried Eames a little bit.
"Could you uh…" Arthur said awkwardly. "Could you not smoke in my bed? It gets the ashes all over the sheets."
It was the nicest way Arthur had ever told him to back off, and Eames couldn't help but think maybe their relationship had made a little progress too.
Whoa, wait, relationship?
It hit Eames like a frying pan to the face (and he knew what that felt like-it had happened once).
All the constant thinking about, the sweetness in his voice, the fucking longing…
Was he in love with Arthur?
That was ridiculous! How could that be possible? Eames hadn't been 'in love' since his school days, and that hadn't even been real love. That had been hormones at their best. So really, Eames had never been in love before, and Arthur wasn't exactly the kind of person that was easy to fall in love with. He was kind of an asshole, and he was pretty cold to most people, and he was too focused on his work. Sure, he was handsome, and he smelled nice, and when he smiled it was like the whole room lit up, but being attractive does not a relationship make… Yeah, he had his moments where he might reveal a little this or that about himself, and moments when he actually let people in were surprisingly more memorable and important because he didn't just do that, and he was so talented at pretty much everything he set out to do. He could actually be quite entertaining when they had the time to actually sit and talk, and he was just precious when he was a little tipsy or relaxed. Underneath the icy exterior, he was actually quite the beautiful person and-
Fuck.
"Oh… sorry," Eames said, crawling off of him and stabbing the cigarette into the ashtray on the bedside table.
"Uh, no-no problem," Arthur stammered (he was stammering?), swallowing thickly. "Just uh… yeah… I don't like having to wash them all the time… Uh… did you need anything else?"
Eames shook his head. "Nope, nope, I'll just ah-I'll just go then. Um… don't overwork yourself. Try to get in bed on time, all right?"
Arthur snorted, "Thanks, mom."
Oh, dear, Eames thought, he was screwed.
Owen started screaming around two-thirty that morning.
Eames came into his room, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, and hugged him to his chest, shushing him and reminding him that it was only a nightmare, that he was safe. It didn't work quite as easily as it had the first time.
Arthur was in the doorway, and Eames noticed that he was still dressed, meaning he hadn't even gone to sleep yet, but when he tried to come into the room to see if he could help, Owen shrieked and tried to claw his way away from Arthur.
Owen was definitely afraid of him.
It took an hour and a half to get him to calm down and another half-hour before he fell asleep, cheeks still wet with tears.
Eames found Arthur in the living room again, an ashtray full of cigarettes in front of him, and his laptop open to pages upon pages of notes.
"Is he okay?" Arthur asked quietly, never looking and yet knowing Eames was there.
"He's asleep now," Eames said, "if that's what you mean."
Arthur sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands. "You don't have to get up and do that every time he screams."
"Well, sure I do," Eames said, sitting down next to him and taking his cigarette away from him. "Somebody needs to. Go to bed, Arthur. It's four-thirty in the morning."
"I just… I need to-"
"Go to bed, Arthur."
Arthur looked at Eames, and for a second Eames thought his lip was quivering, and Arthur said, "What if he starts screaming again?"
"If he does, I'll take care of it," Eames said, and he was brushing his cheek with his thumb before he realized it. "Get some sleep."
"I have to finish this first."
"How many jobs are you even working?" Eames asked, trying to ignore the fact that Arthur had shut his eyes and leaned into Eames's touch, unable to help himself.
"Three… Four, if you count the one you want me to do."
"Jesus, Arthur," Eames whispered. "That's so fucking dangerous."
"I can handle it."
Eames was beginning to wonder if either of them believed that.
The next day, Owen and Eames went grocery shopping together.
When they returned, they found Arthur sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by tipped over paperwork, unconscious.
"Shit!" Eames shouted, slamming the bags of groceries onto the table and pulling Arthur into his arms.
"What happened?" Owen asked, sounding too afraid to come inside, still standing in the doorway.
Eames checked for bullets and blood and fortunately didn't find anything. He did notice however that Arthur was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and that he probably hadn't slept. He wasn't unconscious at all. He was just asleep.
"Mr. Eames?" Owen asked awkwardly.
"It's all right," Eames said, hoisting Arthur into his arms and carrying him over to the couch. "He's just an idiot is all."
Arthur mumbled something incoherent and opened his eyes. "M'not an idiot," he slurred.
"I told you that you were working too hard," Eames scolded. "You've got to make up for that loss of sleep sometime, and your body chose now."
"I… I don't know what happened. My head was just hurting so bad, and I went to go get some medicine or something, and I just… I just woke up right here."
"Stop being such a bloody perfectionist and sleep, you bastard. Why did you even take on so much?"
"I needed… something to focus on…" he mumbled, eyelids drooping. "My head hurts…"
Eames ventured a glance at Owen only to find that he wasn't there. As if on cue, the door to his bedroom slammed shut.
Something was wrong with both of them apparently. Eames just didn't know what it was.
"Come on," Eames said, pulling Arthur's arm around his shoulder because when conscious he was sure Arthur wouldn't let him carry him. "I'm putting you to bed, and you are going to sleep until you're functioning regularly, and if I have to tie you to the bed to keep you there, I will."
"All right… fine… I get it… fuck…" Arthur grumbled, but he was too sleepy to put much of a bite into it. "I finally finished what I was trying to do anyway. I was having trouble focusing."
"I can't imagine why that is," Eames said sarcastically, but he couldn't really be mad at him when he was looking so defenseless.
It seemed that as soon as Arthur's head hit the pillow he was out like a light, but Eames still sat on the edge of the bed, combing loose strands of hair behind his ear for a long while.
It was only about an hour later when Arthur awakened looking terrified that Eames realized that perhaps Owen wasn't the only one who was suffering from nightmares.
The next morning, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Arthur was already up, showered and shaved, and he was already digging up information on the sheik while corresponding with the other extractors he'd just finished working with in order to make sure everything went smoothly. Only Arthur could manage such incredible feats on such little sleep (for a man who worked in dreams, he sure didn't get a lot of rest).
"No problems?" Eames asked, fixing himself some tea (he'd made sure to buy some while they were at the market the day before).
"Not so far. Only one of the jobs was a moderate risk anyway, so I'll just have to keep my eye on the mark and make sure they haven't caught onto anything," Arthur replied, sipping at his coffee.
Owen came shuffling in then, making a beeline for the cupboard to grab a glass for milk or orange juice.
"Morning, Owen," Arthur said, looking over his coffee cup at him.
A look washed over Owen, like he was somewhere else, and all of a sudden…
He was screaming.
Owen was screaming and throwing glasses at Arthur, eyes wild, and Arthur was ducking down under the table to avoid the crash of glass against the wall behind him.
"FUCK YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!" Owen shrieked, only managing to stop throwing things when Eames grabbed him by both wrists and held his arms behind his back. "JUST FUCKING DIE!"
"What the hell is the matter with you?" Eames asked in horror, struggling to hold his grip.
Owen kicked and thrashed against Eames's grasp, slamming his head into Eames's shoulder with a useless attempt to knock it out of socket. "LET ME GO! GET ME AWAY FROM HIM! FUCK YOU! I HATE YOU, AND I WANT YOU TO DIE! JUST DIE! JUST FUCKING DIE! DAMN IT!"
Arthur was on his feet in an instant, and before Eames could make any attempt to stop him, he smacked Owen so hard his head turned to the side.
It did shut him up at least, for what it was worth.
Arthur was shaking from adrenaline, and Owen was gasping for air like he'd just run a marathon. Eames was caught somewhere in the middle, unsure if Arthur made a wise decision but also unwilling to let go of Owen for fear of what he would do. Nobody said anything for what felt like hours, even though it couldn't have been minutes.
…and then Owen started to cry.
He crumpled to his knees and probably would have fallen to the floor completely if Eames didn't have a hold of him, and he sobbed and sobbed until he was purple in the face and choking on air, and Eames looked to Arthur for some kind of answer to why it was happening. Arthur just stared back at him, definitely looking like he was about to cry too… but Arthur never cried.
"…somebody… help me…" Owen whimpered, and Eames realized that the boy still didn't seem to know where he was. He was lost somewhere in his memories, but Eames couldn't know what was going on there. "Please, stop… fuck you…"
Eames knelt down, lifting the boy into his arms, and he clung to him with all the strength he could still muster (which admittedly wasn't much). "What are you so afraid of? What's wrong?" Eames asked him, but Owen didn't answer.
In fact, he didn't talk for the next three days.
I'm actually kind of embarrassed to admit that I haven't actually seen The Shining... I don't like horror movies.
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word Count: 4,005
Pairings/Character: ArthurxEames, OC
Rating: R (this part)
Warnings: language, mentions of death, mentions of sex
Summary: When Arthur falls off the grid, Eames finds him taking care of a teenage boy that apparently is his brother.
3.
Owen didn't come out of his room for the rest of the day, and Arthur didn't seem to mind in the slightest, burying himself in his work until he was looking more strung-out and frazzled than he ever had. At five in the evening, Eames forced him to take a break by slamming his laptop shut and asking, "Have you eaten at all today?"
"I…" Arthur said, pushing his glasses up on his nose as if trying to remember.
"Coffee doesn't count, darling," Eames said. Arthur had been downing cup after cup of coffee and chain smoking in between each one. Arthur's stomach growled in response, and he blushed out of embarrassment.
"I guess I forgot," Arthur said.
Eames rolled his eyes and decided to order Chinese take-out.
"Owen," he said, knocking on the door to his room. "I'm ordering Chinese. Do you want anything?"
Arthur, at his side, tensed as if he was waiting for something to go crashing against the door, but instead the door just opened.
"You like noodles, or pot stickers, or what?" Eames asked.
Owen looked down at his feet. "…I don't know…" he mumbled. "Whatever is fine…"
"I'll just order a bunch of things and you can pick at what you like, all right?" Eames offered, and Owen nodded weakly.
Eames then brushed his hand on Arthur's shoulder to signal that they should take their leave, but surprisingly Owen followed them into the kitchen where Arthur sat down to go back to work and Eames went to make the order. He sat on the couch flipping channels until Eames was done with the call and then peeked over the top of the cushions like a gopher from a hole.
"I'm sorry about earlier," he said awkwardly.
Eames shrugged. Arthur just stared at him in confusion over the top of his laptop, like he didn't remember what had happened (and maybe he hadn't).
"I uh… didn't mean to imply that you two were um… you know…" Owen said, making an obscene gesture with his hands. Arthur's ears turned red and he hastily looked back down at his laptop.
Eames was wheezing he was laughing so hard. He had to clutch the counter to keep from falling to the floor.
Owen, fueled by Eames's laughter, turned to Arthur then with a smile and informed him, "but he does want to fuck you, by the way."
Eames managed to subdue his laughter more or less, giggling like a child who'd just heard a curse word, wiping at his eyes with both hands.
And then Arthur said, never looking up from his work, "Oh. Yeah. I know that. I've always known that."
Eames was silent.
Owen was howling.
…and then Arthur did something Eames hadn't seen him do since he'd gotten there.
He truly, genuinely smiled… and really, Eames couldn't even be offended or feel betrayed when Arthur was smiling like that.
…but he didn't let Owen see the smile, ducking back into his work when the boy poked his head back over the edge of the couch as his laughing fit subsided.
They most definitely had the same smile.
Eames picked his dignity up off of the floor and put in The Shining, and he and Owen (and Arthur, though he pretended he wasn't) watched, Eames only pausing it thirty minutes in to get the Chinese from the door and pay the man.
It was about an hour into the movie, with Owen staring in horror at the events taking place on the screen, noodles hanging out of his mouth, that Eames looked over at Arthur who ducked his head down to pretend he was working again. "Arthur," Eames said, chuckling. "Just come and watch the film with us, love. You can take a little time off from that."
"No, Eames, I really can't," Arthur replied.
"Did he just call you love?" Owen asked, never peeling his eyes from the screen.
"It's a British thing," Arthur said in response without hesitation.
Eames smirked. "Arthur, seriously, come and sit and watch the rest of the film. It's only got forty-five minutes or so left in it. You can stop working for forty-five minutes."
"No, Eames, I can't-this work needs to be ready by tomorrow morning, and-"
"Don't make me come get you and carry you over here."
Arthur huffed, smirking, "You wouldn't fucking dare."
"Was that a challenge?"
Eames always did enjoy a challenge. He'd already warned Arthur about that.
"No!" Arthur shouted, slamming his laptop shut and making a sprint for his room, but Eames had already leaped over the back of the couch and caught him around the waist before he even reached the hallway. Arthur scrambled in his arms, somehow managing to still hold onto his laptop, but Eames wasn't about to let go, even if he was laughing to the point that he couldn't breathe. "This isn't-this isn't funny, Eames! Let me go! Put-Put me down!"
Eames didn't let go and carried him kicking and screaming back to the couch before he sat him down between himself and Owen. Arthur harrumphed.
"I don't even like this movie," Arthur grumbled.
"How do you not like The Shining?" Eames asked, planting a hand on his shoulder as if to warn him that he would grab him again should he try to escape. Arthur didn't answer, instead choosing to put on his bitch-face, and Eames knew what that meant. "Does it frighten you? Do you have bad dreams about Jack Nicholson?"
"I don't like horror movies," Arthur grumbled. "I just think they're dumb."
"You're dumb!" Eames complained. Admittedly, it was the most childish argument he'd made all night.
Still, Arthur sat and continued to watch, clearly growing progressively uncomfortable. He didn't shout, but he definitely grabbed Eames's bicep when Jack Nicholson's character hacked his way through the door and shouted the famous, "Here's Johnny!"
"Don't piss on yourself," Eames whispered.
"I'm not scared," Arthur hissed, but his voice cracked in the middle.
"Then you're out of your mind," Owen mumbled, entranced and clearly frightened.
"It takes a bigger man to admit when he's afraid you know," Eames said.
"Guess that means I'm more of a man than you, huh," Owen said, shoving a mouthful of noodles into his mouth.
Arthur refrained from snarling at him, but he still glared. Owen just grinned.
Well, Eames thought, this is… domestic.
The thought wasn't nearly as disturbing as it should have been. He also shouldn't have been enjoying the white-knuckled grip Arthur was giving his arm as much as he was, but he couldn't help but remember how Arthur clung to him when they'd fucked. He couldn't help it. He just couldn't. It seemed that everything Arthur did reckoned back to those two nights of drunken moans and whispered nothings, of sweat and the sound of skin against skin, of brown eyes glittering in the dim light of the hotel room and red, swollen lips, of tongue and fingers and curling toes, of soft touches and rough scratches and…
"Um… excuse me," Eames said, pulling himself free from Arthur's grip and making a beeline for the bathroom.
"No, don't leave-" Arthur cried out, clearly scared, but Eames knew he could handle himself. It was just a movie. He wasn't about to go and make things extremely awkward. He didn't want Owen to think he got off on psychopaths with axes. He also didn't want Owen (or Arthur) to think he got off on Arthur (even if he already assumed such).
He locked the door and jerked himself off, biting down on a towel to keep his sounds silenced. He was so sick of having to fuck his own hand; he wondered if Arthur would let him call over a prostitute.
Yeah, right.
Though… it wasn't as if he didn't have the ability to fuck other people since Arthur... He just… hadn't.
Now that was a troubling thought. What the fuck did that mean?
No, no, it wasn't that he just hadn't. It was just that he'd been too busy. He'd been too busy to screw around with anyone. He'd just been too caught up with work-
Bloody hell, now he was even starting to sound like Arthur.
He came all over his hand and cleaned himself up, but he couldn't wipe away the shame that always came with jacking off in someone else's home and trying to keep it a secret or the pride he lost when he was reminded that he had been his only sexual partner in several months.
Just as he flushed, there was a knock on the door.
"Just a moment," Eames said, washing his hands before opening the door. "That Chinese food didn't agree with me."
Owen pointed to the couch. "The movie's over."
"Where's Arthur?" Eames asked.
"He went to his room as soon as it ended," Owen replied with a shrug. "I don't know how to work the DVD player."
"Right… right, I've got it," Eames mumbled and went to turn off the DVD player and replace the DVD in its box. Owen sat curled up in his spot on the couch while Eames did it, watching with mild curiosity. "So, um… you're speaking to Arthur now. That's a development."
Owen blushed a little bit out of embarrassment. "Uh… yeah… I uh… I thought about what you said, and I thought that I would um… try to be… better. It's hard though… I'm not very good with people."
"Funny, your brother said the same thing," Eames mumbled, but Owen didn't hear him say it. "He's really not so bad, now, is he?"
"He's… okay… he's not really a very fun guy. He's still kind of a twat."
"Yeah," Eames admitted, tossing the box on the table and digging out a cigarette from his pocket, "I'll give you that one… but I think he's making an effort too, so good for you guys. I might not have to move in and referee after all."
"It's not even so much the things he says that gets me so angry," Owen said then, staring at the floor, and Eames's attention was piqued. "I mean… sometimes, he doesn't even say anything, but I just look at him, and I get so mad that I just… panic. Then he gets mad, and I panic even more."
"Panicking isn't a reaction to anger," Eames said around his cigarette. "It's a reaction to fear."
Owen looked up at Eames, hugging his knees to his chest, and didn't say anything.
"Owen…" Eames said slowly, pulling the cigarette from his lips and exhaling smoke. "Are you… afraid of Arthur?"
"No!" Owen yelped, and for a moment, Eames thought he must have been lying, but then he said, "I'm afraid of… of someone else…"
"Who are you afraid of?" Eames asked.
He thought Owen would tell him, but he didn't. Instead, he just shook his head and laid it down on top of his knees. Eames knew better than to attempt to ring the answer out of him at the moment.
"All right then," Eames shrugged and made his way down the hall to find Arthur.
Arthur was in his room, just as Owen said. What Eames hadn't expected was that Arthur would be continuing to work in his room underneath the covers, like he was in some kind of blanket fort that would protect him from axe-wielding maniacs. Eames thought for a moment about impersonating Jack Nicholson and scaring the bejeezus out of him, but he refrained because that was just unfair. Instead, he took hold of one of the corners of the blankets and lifted it up to peek inside at Arthur, hunched over his laptop, inside his blanket cocoon.
"There are scary monsters out in the cupboard. Can I hide under here with you?" Eames asked, grinning playfully.
"I am not hiding from monsters," Arthur complained. "The glare on the screen was bad. That's all."
"Then why didn't you just turn out the light?" Eames asked.
Arthur opened his mouth to reply only to realize that he didn't have one.
Eames chuckled, shoving Arthur in the chest until he was sprawled onto his back and pulled the covers off of him. "I didn't know it would frighten you so badly," Eames said. "Do you want me to stay in here and make sure he doesn't come after you?"
"Stop fucking around, Eames. I have work to do," Arthur grumbled. He was clearly not amused by Eames's teasing, but then he very seldom was.
"You work too hard, Arthur," Eames said then, and he was a bit alarmed by the sweetness that crept into his voice. Arthur seemed a bit vexed by it too. "Well, you do," Eames added for emphasis, as if he needed to keep the two of them on subject.
Maybe he couldn't help himself because he was sitting on Arthur's waist. Yeah, that was probably a mistake… but Arthur hadn't shoved him off yet.
"I can handle myself just fine," Arthur said.
"Then why did you let me stay?" Eames asked.
"It's Owen I can't handle on my own," Arthur admitted, and Eames saw a hint of vulnerability at Arthur's edges.
Oh, that reminded him… "You know, Owen is sort of afraid of you," Eames said. "That's why he does the things he does."
Arthur didn't seem surprised by this answer, but he didn't say why. It worried Eames a little bit.
"Could you uh…" Arthur said awkwardly. "Could you not smoke in my bed? It gets the ashes all over the sheets."
It was the nicest way Arthur had ever told him to back off, and Eames couldn't help but think maybe their relationship had made a little progress too.
Whoa, wait, relationship?
It hit Eames like a frying pan to the face (and he knew what that felt like-it had happened once).
All the constant thinking about, the sweetness in his voice, the fucking longing…
Was he in love with Arthur?
That was ridiculous! How could that be possible? Eames hadn't been 'in love' since his school days, and that hadn't even been real love. That had been hormones at their best. So really, Eames had never been in love before, and Arthur wasn't exactly the kind of person that was easy to fall in love with. He was kind of an asshole, and he was pretty cold to most people, and he was too focused on his work. Sure, he was handsome, and he smelled nice, and when he smiled it was like the whole room lit up, but being attractive does not a relationship make… Yeah, he had his moments where he might reveal a little this or that about himself, and moments when he actually let people in were surprisingly more memorable and important because he didn't just do that, and he was so talented at pretty much everything he set out to do. He could actually be quite entertaining when they had the time to actually sit and talk, and he was just precious when he was a little tipsy or relaxed. Underneath the icy exterior, he was actually quite the beautiful person and-
Fuck.
"Oh… sorry," Eames said, crawling off of him and stabbing the cigarette into the ashtray on the bedside table.
"Uh, no-no problem," Arthur stammered (he was stammering?), swallowing thickly. "Just uh… yeah… I don't like having to wash them all the time… Uh… did you need anything else?"
Eames shook his head. "Nope, nope, I'll just ah-I'll just go then. Um… don't overwork yourself. Try to get in bed on time, all right?"
Arthur snorted, "Thanks, mom."
Oh, dear, Eames thought, he was screwed.
Owen started screaming around two-thirty that morning.
Eames came into his room, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, and hugged him to his chest, shushing him and reminding him that it was only a nightmare, that he was safe. It didn't work quite as easily as it had the first time.
Arthur was in the doorway, and Eames noticed that he was still dressed, meaning he hadn't even gone to sleep yet, but when he tried to come into the room to see if he could help, Owen shrieked and tried to claw his way away from Arthur.
Owen was definitely afraid of him.
It took an hour and a half to get him to calm down and another half-hour before he fell asleep, cheeks still wet with tears.
Eames found Arthur in the living room again, an ashtray full of cigarettes in front of him, and his laptop open to pages upon pages of notes.
"Is he okay?" Arthur asked quietly, never looking and yet knowing Eames was there.
"He's asleep now," Eames said, "if that's what you mean."
Arthur sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands. "You don't have to get up and do that every time he screams."
"Well, sure I do," Eames said, sitting down next to him and taking his cigarette away from him. "Somebody needs to. Go to bed, Arthur. It's four-thirty in the morning."
"I just… I need to-"
"Go to bed, Arthur."
Arthur looked at Eames, and for a second Eames thought his lip was quivering, and Arthur said, "What if he starts screaming again?"
"If he does, I'll take care of it," Eames said, and he was brushing his cheek with his thumb before he realized it. "Get some sleep."
"I have to finish this first."
"How many jobs are you even working?" Eames asked, trying to ignore the fact that Arthur had shut his eyes and leaned into Eames's touch, unable to help himself.
"Three… Four, if you count the one you want me to do."
"Jesus, Arthur," Eames whispered. "That's so fucking dangerous."
"I can handle it."
Eames was beginning to wonder if either of them believed that.
The next day, Owen and Eames went grocery shopping together.
When they returned, they found Arthur sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by tipped over paperwork, unconscious.
"Shit!" Eames shouted, slamming the bags of groceries onto the table and pulling Arthur into his arms.
"What happened?" Owen asked, sounding too afraid to come inside, still standing in the doorway.
Eames checked for bullets and blood and fortunately didn't find anything. He did notice however that Arthur was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and that he probably hadn't slept. He wasn't unconscious at all. He was just asleep.
"Mr. Eames?" Owen asked awkwardly.
"It's all right," Eames said, hoisting Arthur into his arms and carrying him over to the couch. "He's just an idiot is all."
Arthur mumbled something incoherent and opened his eyes. "M'not an idiot," he slurred.
"I told you that you were working too hard," Eames scolded. "You've got to make up for that loss of sleep sometime, and your body chose now."
"I… I don't know what happened. My head was just hurting so bad, and I went to go get some medicine or something, and I just… I just woke up right here."
"Stop being such a bloody perfectionist and sleep, you bastard. Why did you even take on so much?"
"I needed… something to focus on…" he mumbled, eyelids drooping. "My head hurts…"
Eames ventured a glance at Owen only to find that he wasn't there. As if on cue, the door to his bedroom slammed shut.
Something was wrong with both of them apparently. Eames just didn't know what it was.
"Come on," Eames said, pulling Arthur's arm around his shoulder because when conscious he was sure Arthur wouldn't let him carry him. "I'm putting you to bed, and you are going to sleep until you're functioning regularly, and if I have to tie you to the bed to keep you there, I will."
"All right… fine… I get it… fuck…" Arthur grumbled, but he was too sleepy to put much of a bite into it. "I finally finished what I was trying to do anyway. I was having trouble focusing."
"I can't imagine why that is," Eames said sarcastically, but he couldn't really be mad at him when he was looking so defenseless.
It seemed that as soon as Arthur's head hit the pillow he was out like a light, but Eames still sat on the edge of the bed, combing loose strands of hair behind his ear for a long while.
It was only about an hour later when Arthur awakened looking terrified that Eames realized that perhaps Owen wasn't the only one who was suffering from nightmares.
The next morning, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Arthur was already up, showered and shaved, and he was already digging up information on the sheik while corresponding with the other extractors he'd just finished working with in order to make sure everything went smoothly. Only Arthur could manage such incredible feats on such little sleep (for a man who worked in dreams, he sure didn't get a lot of rest).
"No problems?" Eames asked, fixing himself some tea (he'd made sure to buy some while they were at the market the day before).
"Not so far. Only one of the jobs was a moderate risk anyway, so I'll just have to keep my eye on the mark and make sure they haven't caught onto anything," Arthur replied, sipping at his coffee.
Owen came shuffling in then, making a beeline for the cupboard to grab a glass for milk or orange juice.
"Morning, Owen," Arthur said, looking over his coffee cup at him.
A look washed over Owen, like he was somewhere else, and all of a sudden…
He was screaming.
Owen was screaming and throwing glasses at Arthur, eyes wild, and Arthur was ducking down under the table to avoid the crash of glass against the wall behind him.
"FUCK YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!" Owen shrieked, only managing to stop throwing things when Eames grabbed him by both wrists and held his arms behind his back. "JUST FUCKING DIE!"
"What the hell is the matter with you?" Eames asked in horror, struggling to hold his grip.
Owen kicked and thrashed against Eames's grasp, slamming his head into Eames's shoulder with a useless attempt to knock it out of socket. "LET ME GO! GET ME AWAY FROM HIM! FUCK YOU! I HATE YOU, AND I WANT YOU TO DIE! JUST DIE! JUST FUCKING DIE! DAMN IT!"
Arthur was on his feet in an instant, and before Eames could make any attempt to stop him, he smacked Owen so hard his head turned to the side.
It did shut him up at least, for what it was worth.
Arthur was shaking from adrenaline, and Owen was gasping for air like he'd just run a marathon. Eames was caught somewhere in the middle, unsure if Arthur made a wise decision but also unwilling to let go of Owen for fear of what he would do. Nobody said anything for what felt like hours, even though it couldn't have been minutes.
…and then Owen started to cry.
He crumpled to his knees and probably would have fallen to the floor completely if Eames didn't have a hold of him, and he sobbed and sobbed until he was purple in the face and choking on air, and Eames looked to Arthur for some kind of answer to why it was happening. Arthur just stared back at him, definitely looking like he was about to cry too… but Arthur never cried.
"…somebody… help me…" Owen whimpered, and Eames realized that the boy still didn't seem to know where he was. He was lost somewhere in his memories, but Eames couldn't know what was going on there. "Please, stop… fuck you…"
Eames knelt down, lifting the boy into his arms, and he clung to him with all the strength he could still muster (which admittedly wasn't much). "What are you so afraid of? What's wrong?" Eames asked him, but Owen didn't answer.
In fact, he didn't talk for the next three days.
I'm actually kind of embarrassed to admit that I haven't actually seen The Shining... I don't like horror movies.