Inception/Brick - Burn (part 3 of 3)
Title: Burn
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Inception, crossover with Brick
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, hints of AriadnexThe Brain
Rating: PG-13
Warnings:language, character death, currently un-betaed
Summary: Arthur stood there in complete silence before crouching down and running a hand over his hair, releasing a few strands into his eyes. “Brain was right,” he said, right as Eames thought he was going to have to leave or throw up or both because of the smell. “Someone’s trying to send me a message.”
So, this is probably more of an epilogue than anything, and you don't really have to read this, but I wanted to tie up some loose ends, so thus, this part. Also, this is so fluffy and cheesy that I'm almost embarrassed.
Part Three
Arthur was too banged up to do much of anything, so it was Eames who sent the anonymous tip to the bulls that Laura was in the tunnel. It was Eames who stayed up all night watching the news and the police reports that the Brain kept hacking into to see if anyone made it out of the explosion alive. So far, there hadn't been any reports, but Eames still avoided going out…
…not that he would have gone out anyway, with Arthur holed up in the hotel bed, refusing to go to the hospital. It wasn't like Eames could completely blame him; The Brain was plenty competent at taking care of him because he'd read medical texts for fun.
Still, when Laura's obituary showed up in the paper, Eames made a decision to go to the funeral, not just because he felt sorry for her, but because he'd heard Arthur call out her name in one of his drug-induced sleeps. He waited until he was in another one of those drug-induced sleeps before he left him in the more than capable hands of the Brain.
…and it was sad… It was just so pathetically sad that there were nine people there other than him. Three girls who had gone to high school with her showed up only because they knew who she was, and they didn't even get out of their skinny jeans and high heels. Another guy, a Brad Bramish, showed up because she'd been his girlfriend at one time apparently (he wouldn't stop talking about it or referring to himself in the third person) but seemed more interested in using the supposedly sympathetic story to pick up the chicks. Eames couldn't understand how someone so stupid could win them over so easily until he realized that they must have been just as stupid.
The four other people who crowded on the other end of the room were clearly Laura's family because her mother, who was shaking her head dejectedly like she had seen this coming, looked like an older version of her, and her father unabashedly cried. What could only be her younger sister stared off into the distance as if she wasn't present. A toddler mewled against Laura's mother's shoulder, clearly mixed race and beautiful.
…and the little boy holding to his grandfather's hand looked eerily like Arthur, but Eames didn't say anything about it.
Arthur eventually healed up and, while he still had a nasty bruise where his nose had indeed been broken, Eames and he went back to work. They signed onto a job in Amsterdam that was a roaring success, Arthur proclaiming that he could have done the research in his sleep and then laughed heartily at the idea of it because that was sort of what they were doing.
Arthur seemed almost like a different person, smiling and laughing and joking around a bit more, opening himself up just a little bit to the world around him perhaps. Ariadne fussed over the bruise on his nose until he showed her the scar where he'd been stabbed with a piece of glass, and then she fussed over that too, and then Arthur started calling her 'Mom' and she nearly quit entirely.
It was when the job was nearly over that Eames had mentioned that he still owed Arthur a drink and planned on taking care of the promise as soon as the job was done. Unfortunately, Ariadne happened to be in the vicinity and ended up getting invited too.
Eames had pouted on the inside and thought he'd kept it inside but later that day Arthur had patted his shoulder and said, "Don't worry. Jesus, you're such a baby."
Arthur was calling him a baby and not just baby, but Eames would take what he could get.
When they got to the bar, Arthur waited outside, claiming he was waiting for someone, and Eames just raised his eyebrows and said, "Who?"
"My girlfriend," Arthur replied blankly but started laughing when he saw the look on Eames's face.
"Seriously, who?" Eames asked again, grumbling.
Arthur dug out his new cell phone, holding it up to his ear but saying nothing.
After a long moment of silence, apparently the person on the other line said something, and then Arthur told the person the street name and the bar's address. "You can figure that much out, can't you? I know you don't have a mental map of this place, but seriously."
And Eames knew who they were waiting for.
The Brain showed up in the bar looking uncomfortable and lost and out of his element and that alone was funny enough for Eames.
"I can't believe you flew me out here on a private jet just to drink with you," he said to Arthur as he finally made his way to their table. "How rich are you? Really?"
"I thought you might have wanted to get out of San Clemente for a stretch," Arthur said, tilting his beer towards him. "I owe you for all your help over the years. I'll send you wherever you want to go."
"He just wants to go under on the PASIV," Eames replied, smirking.
The Brain blushed sheepishly, like some big secret had been revealed.
"How did he even know about it, Eames?" Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows.
"I plead the fifth," Eames said.
Ariadne huffed from beside Eames, agitated, and then held out her hand, "I'll excuse their rudeness for just pretending I'm not here. I'm Ariadne, the magical third wheel on their date, apparently."
"People just call me the Brain," the Brain said, returning her handshake.
"Maybe if we pump him full of alcohol he'll tell us his real name," Ariadne said, grinning at Eames and Arthur, "and you too, Eames."
"I will never get that drunk, my dear Ariadne," Eames said.
"I already know both of their names," Arthur said.
Eames knew that he knew it but still cursed himself inside his head. Arthur just smirked like he could read Eames's mind, and Eames refrained from saying oh, bollocks, is it that bloody obvious?
A few drinks later, everyone was laughing and conversing too loudly and overall just enjoying themselves. The Brain's and Arthur's slang got worse when they were tipsy, but Eames was the only one who seemed to be unable to understand it. When he shook his head at Ariadne, gesturing to the other two men, she just laughed. "It's forties slang, Eames. Like the kind of stuff they say in film noir."
Eames blinked. "Okay… I hate myself for not knowing that considering I like film noir, but how do you know that?"
"I took a class in film studies," Ariadne replied with a shrug.
"For the record, I can't understand half of the things you say either," the Brain told Eames, pointing at him needlessly. "Bollocks, bugger, and blast it."
"Do not belittle my people, you rat bastard," Eames said with a grin.
The Brain snorted into his drink and then proceeded to down the rest of it. "This is fun, bumping gums and dipping bills with you guys. I never go out. Don't let me go over the edge with the rams though, all right Brendan?"
"I think it's a bit late for that," Arthur said.
"Brendan?" Ariadne questioned.
"Arthur's first name," Eames explained.
"Your first… what's your full name?" Ariadne asked, pushing herself up from the table to observe Arthur more closely.
"Brendan Arthur Michael Frye," the Brain said instead, leaning his cheek on his fist.
"And your name is Clarence," Arthur spat back without remorse.
Eames howled with laughter while the Brain turned red from ear to ear.
"Brendan Arthur Michael Frye," Ariadne repeated. "Wow, so you really are a BAMF."
"I don't even know what that means," Arthur said, furrowing his brows.
"How do any of us talk to one another, really?" Eames asked and no one really had an answer.
Several drinks later, Eames decided, since he clearly held his alcohol better than everyone else, that he should start asking questions just to see what the answers would be. It was a game he played with anyone he went drinking with.
"So, Clare-"
"Don't say it," the Brain demanded.
"Brain," Eames corrected himself, leaning his cheek on his fist. "You've proclaimed yourself as asexual, correct? Does that make you a virgin?"
"No," Arthur slurred suddenly, "I fucked him once."
"Dude!" Brain shouted in horror.
Arthur laughed until his head found its way to the table and just stayed there for a little while.
"Is that true?" Ariadne squealed, covering her mouth with her hand.
"It was… it was his idea, and we were drunk," the Brain mumbled, sinking into his seat. "Forgive me for feeling sorry for him."
"Why did you feel sorry for him?" Ariadne asked innocently unaware of anything that had taken place between them.
"His girl had just dumped him," the Brain explained because he was trashed to the point that he wasn't watching what he was saying anymore, or… and it was only Eames's theory… because he was caught up in Ariadne's doe eyes. Either way, everyone including the Brain realized he shouldn't have said it as soon as it escaped his mouth.
Arthur didn't move for a full minute, and Eames thought maybe he'd passed out on the table before it had been said and there was nothing to worry about, but when he pressed his palm against Arthur's shoulder, he raised his head from his arms just enough to look at Eames. His eyes were dry but spilled out more sadness than any tears could.
"Excuse us," Eames mumbled, snagging Arthur by the elbow and dragging him away before more regretful things were said.
The cool night air seemed to sober Arthur up slightly, but he didn't look up from the ground. "Is it true?" Eames asked him as carefully as possible.
Arthur nodded but didn't lift his eyes.
Eames brushed his thumb on Arthur's cheekbone. "Darling," he said quietly, "why…?"
"Because, I…" he started, stopped, swallowed, and continued, "because I wanted to feel… wanted."
He sounded absolutely ashamed of it.
"You…" Eames started but then couldn't come up with anything else. God, he was so pathetic lately, he thought.
"It's just… Em was the only thing in the world that I… cared about. When she left me, I thought I'd just lost the only thing that mattered… Brain was my only friend, and even we weren't all that close. He was actually pissed at me for spending so much time with Emily, but I… loved her… or maybe I just loved the idea of her being in love with me, and when she decided I wasn't worth it, I…"
He sighed dejectedly, like the conversation was wearing him out, even though he never once raised his voice. "She wanted to be with other people. I didn't allow myself to be with anyone, but I still didn't want to be alone. I never have been the easiest person to understand."
"That's true," Eames managed pitifully.
"Is it really so bad though?... to want someone all to yourself, to love you and only you? When I was with her, I didn't feel like just some… weird kid that ate lunch by himself behind the school. I didn't feel like I was drowning in monotony… I didn't feel… misunderstood. I just wanted to take care of her and keep her safe, and when she left me, I couldn't do that, and she wound up dead… and I just used other people to make me feel better. I let Laura in, even though I didn't trust her, just because I didn't want to feel completely…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Fuck… I'm such a bastard. I let so many fucking people die just so I wouldn't feel burned."
"You bloody imbecile."
Arthur finally looked at him then, eyes wide and brows knitted together.
"You're still blaming yourself for all the things that happened, you daft fool. How can you possibly think that it's your fault?"
"I started everything," Arthur said, suddenly angry. "I'm the reason Laura was killed. I'm the one who got Jerr locked up because I was fucking jealous. I'm the one who smothered Emily until she left and then let her die because I was too stupid to figure things out in time! I let her die, and I let…"
"Let what?" Eames asked, but Arthur shook his head. Apparently there were some secrets he wasn't ready to share yet.
"I'm such a motherfucker," Arthur mumbled, pressing his hands against his eyes.
"Perhaps," Eames said, shoving his hands in his pockets, "but none of that is your fault. Things happen. Life happens. You can't go blaming yourself for everything that went wrong in everyone else's lives. You can't use your job on point feed into your addiction of never letting anything go wrong. What you need to do is realize that what your dear Emily did was her decision and not yours, and if she got killed for it, then that's how it is."
Arthur dropped his hands and just stared at Eames like he had grown a second head. "But…"
"That is why you became a point man, correct? You wanted to make sure that you never allowed anything to ever go wrong again, right? So, how is that working for you?"
"Mal jumped, Cobb momentarily lost his mind, and I almost got us stuck in Limbo because I didn't figure out that Fischer's subconscious was militarized," Arthur replied grimly with a feeble smile. "I guess it's not working out so well."
Eames nodded, shrugging. "Even science leaves room for human error, love. You can't control what everybody does or what everybody feels. We're going to fuck up, make mistakes, we're going to do all kinds of ridiculous things that'll make us look back and say 'why the bloody hell did I do that?' but… That's how life is, Arthur. The most we can do from day to day is be grateful for what we do have and hope not to piss all our money away at the tables. We may be dealt some pretty shitty cards, but it's how we make them work that makes us win. If you spend all your time blaming yourself for sitting down and playing the game, you're not going to get any enjoyment out of it. You've got to learn to let things go."
Arthur's gaze wavered slightly. "How do you feel?" he asked.
It wasn't the question Eames had expected, but it wasn't like he didn't know how to work under pressure. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it? Wouldn't I have cut my ties and run when I had the chance if it were otherwise?"
"But… I don't understand…"
"That's because you're too full of self-loathing to see what a cracking bloke you are, you ignorant git."
"Wh…" Arthur managed to get out, shaking his head in confusion.
"Oh, come now, it's fucking blatant. Do I have to spell it out for you?"
"No, I-"
He only managed that much before Eames slammed him against the wall and kissed him. When he pulled away, Arthur's eyes were wide, pupils blown, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath.
"I knew that," he finally said when he could talk. "I just don't think that I'm really the best choice of-"
Eames kissed him again to shut him up and then said, "It doesn't matter if you think that or not. I told you that you can't help how people feel and I'm just barmy over you, love."
"Okay…" Arthur said, unsure, and Eames just pulled him to him.
"The past is the past. Please don't spend your time dwelling on it, and I'll let you keep me all to your damn self if it helps."
Arthur just breathed into Eames's shoulder, saying nothing. Eames could hear him loud and clear anyway.
When they walked back into the bar, the Brain was being not so asexual with his lips on Ariadne's, only jumping away when Eames banged his fist on the table and gleefully shouted, "We're back!"
"This is embarrassing for you, Brain," Arthur said, seemingly recovered from his previous change in mood, "what with you claiming to be uninterested in romance."
"I don't know, Arthur, darling. I think Ariadne, clearly, has the more embarrassing reveal in that she was just caught kissing a man named Clarence."
"Oh, go fuck yourselves," the Brain grumbled but was barely heard over the sounds of the other two men's laughter. Ariadne quickly excused herself to go to the bathroom.
When Arthur's laughter tapered off, he asked, "How did that even happen? We were only gone for like… ten minutes…"
"I… I don't know. She just started talking about architecture, and Jesus Christ, she's so smart!"
"You should see her in dreams," Eames said.
"Well, she uh-she already promised me that she'd show me how she builds. I was just fascinated by the process and-"
"Maybe she'll build a bedroom," Eames suggested. "I wonder how asexual you would be then?"
"I never said I was asexual! I said that romance always leads to trouble so I stay out of it. I neither confirm nor deny your convoluted theories. Leave me alone, you big palooka…" He crossed his arms and sank further into his seat, and Eames and Arthur decided to leave it at that.
It proved how good a friend the Brain could be because, despite their teasings, he never once mentioned Eames's hand on Arthur's knee or how perfectly timed it was when Arthur drank too much and fell asleep on Eames's shoulder right when the juke box kicked up with "Put Your Head on My Shoulder."
Eames formed his hands into a heart and smiled when Ariadne took a picture on her cell phone. If it ends up being the wallpaper on Eames's cell phone, Arthur didn't need to know.
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Inception, crossover with Brick
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, hints of AriadnexThe Brain
Rating: PG-13
Warnings:language, character death, currently un-betaed
Summary: Arthur stood there in complete silence before crouching down and running a hand over his hair, releasing a few strands into his eyes. “Brain was right,” he said, right as Eames thought he was going to have to leave or throw up or both because of the smell. “Someone’s trying to send me a message.”
So, this is probably more of an epilogue than anything, and you don't really have to read this, but I wanted to tie up some loose ends, so thus, this part. Also, this is so fluffy and cheesy that I'm almost embarrassed.
Part Three
Arthur was too banged up to do much of anything, so it was Eames who sent the anonymous tip to the bulls that Laura was in the tunnel. It was Eames who stayed up all night watching the news and the police reports that the Brain kept hacking into to see if anyone made it out of the explosion alive. So far, there hadn't been any reports, but Eames still avoided going out…
…not that he would have gone out anyway, with Arthur holed up in the hotel bed, refusing to go to the hospital. It wasn't like Eames could completely blame him; The Brain was plenty competent at taking care of him because he'd read medical texts for fun.
Still, when Laura's obituary showed up in the paper, Eames made a decision to go to the funeral, not just because he felt sorry for her, but because he'd heard Arthur call out her name in one of his drug-induced sleeps. He waited until he was in another one of those drug-induced sleeps before he left him in the more than capable hands of the Brain.
…and it was sad… It was just so pathetically sad that there were nine people there other than him. Three girls who had gone to high school with her showed up only because they knew who she was, and they didn't even get out of their skinny jeans and high heels. Another guy, a Brad Bramish, showed up because she'd been his girlfriend at one time apparently (he wouldn't stop talking about it or referring to himself in the third person) but seemed more interested in using the supposedly sympathetic story to pick up the chicks. Eames couldn't understand how someone so stupid could win them over so easily until he realized that they must have been just as stupid.
The four other people who crowded on the other end of the room were clearly Laura's family because her mother, who was shaking her head dejectedly like she had seen this coming, looked like an older version of her, and her father unabashedly cried. What could only be her younger sister stared off into the distance as if she wasn't present. A toddler mewled against Laura's mother's shoulder, clearly mixed race and beautiful.
…and the little boy holding to his grandfather's hand looked eerily like Arthur, but Eames didn't say anything about it.
Arthur eventually healed up and, while he still had a nasty bruise where his nose had indeed been broken, Eames and he went back to work. They signed onto a job in Amsterdam that was a roaring success, Arthur proclaiming that he could have done the research in his sleep and then laughed heartily at the idea of it because that was sort of what they were doing.
Arthur seemed almost like a different person, smiling and laughing and joking around a bit more, opening himself up just a little bit to the world around him perhaps. Ariadne fussed over the bruise on his nose until he showed her the scar where he'd been stabbed with a piece of glass, and then she fussed over that too, and then Arthur started calling her 'Mom' and she nearly quit entirely.
It was when the job was nearly over that Eames had mentioned that he still owed Arthur a drink and planned on taking care of the promise as soon as the job was done. Unfortunately, Ariadne happened to be in the vicinity and ended up getting invited too.
Eames had pouted on the inside and thought he'd kept it inside but later that day Arthur had patted his shoulder and said, "Don't worry. Jesus, you're such a baby."
Arthur was calling him a baby and not just baby, but Eames would take what he could get.
When they got to the bar, Arthur waited outside, claiming he was waiting for someone, and Eames just raised his eyebrows and said, "Who?"
"My girlfriend," Arthur replied blankly but started laughing when he saw the look on Eames's face.
"Seriously, who?" Eames asked again, grumbling.
Arthur dug out his new cell phone, holding it up to his ear but saying nothing.
After a long moment of silence, apparently the person on the other line said something, and then Arthur told the person the street name and the bar's address. "You can figure that much out, can't you? I know you don't have a mental map of this place, but seriously."
And Eames knew who they were waiting for.
The Brain showed up in the bar looking uncomfortable and lost and out of his element and that alone was funny enough for Eames.
"I can't believe you flew me out here on a private jet just to drink with you," he said to Arthur as he finally made his way to their table. "How rich are you? Really?"
"I thought you might have wanted to get out of San Clemente for a stretch," Arthur said, tilting his beer towards him. "I owe you for all your help over the years. I'll send you wherever you want to go."
"He just wants to go under on the PASIV," Eames replied, smirking.
The Brain blushed sheepishly, like some big secret had been revealed.
"How did he even know about it, Eames?" Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows.
"I plead the fifth," Eames said.
Ariadne huffed from beside Eames, agitated, and then held out her hand, "I'll excuse their rudeness for just pretending I'm not here. I'm Ariadne, the magical third wheel on their date, apparently."
"People just call me the Brain," the Brain said, returning her handshake.
"Maybe if we pump him full of alcohol he'll tell us his real name," Ariadne said, grinning at Eames and Arthur, "and you too, Eames."
"I will never get that drunk, my dear Ariadne," Eames said.
"I already know both of their names," Arthur said.
Eames knew that he knew it but still cursed himself inside his head. Arthur just smirked like he could read Eames's mind, and Eames refrained from saying oh, bollocks, is it that bloody obvious?
A few drinks later, everyone was laughing and conversing too loudly and overall just enjoying themselves. The Brain's and Arthur's slang got worse when they were tipsy, but Eames was the only one who seemed to be unable to understand it. When he shook his head at Ariadne, gesturing to the other two men, she just laughed. "It's forties slang, Eames. Like the kind of stuff they say in film noir."
Eames blinked. "Okay… I hate myself for not knowing that considering I like film noir, but how do you know that?"
"I took a class in film studies," Ariadne replied with a shrug.
"For the record, I can't understand half of the things you say either," the Brain told Eames, pointing at him needlessly. "Bollocks, bugger, and blast it."
"Do not belittle my people, you rat bastard," Eames said with a grin.
The Brain snorted into his drink and then proceeded to down the rest of it. "This is fun, bumping gums and dipping bills with you guys. I never go out. Don't let me go over the edge with the rams though, all right Brendan?"
"I think it's a bit late for that," Arthur said.
"Brendan?" Ariadne questioned.
"Arthur's first name," Eames explained.
"Your first… what's your full name?" Ariadne asked, pushing herself up from the table to observe Arthur more closely.
"Brendan Arthur Michael Frye," the Brain said instead, leaning his cheek on his fist.
"And your name is Clarence," Arthur spat back without remorse.
Eames howled with laughter while the Brain turned red from ear to ear.
"Brendan Arthur Michael Frye," Ariadne repeated. "Wow, so you really are a BAMF."
"I don't even know what that means," Arthur said, furrowing his brows.
"How do any of us talk to one another, really?" Eames asked and no one really had an answer.
Several drinks later, Eames decided, since he clearly held his alcohol better than everyone else, that he should start asking questions just to see what the answers would be. It was a game he played with anyone he went drinking with.
"So, Clare-"
"Don't say it," the Brain demanded.
"Brain," Eames corrected himself, leaning his cheek on his fist. "You've proclaimed yourself as asexual, correct? Does that make you a virgin?"
"No," Arthur slurred suddenly, "I fucked him once."
"Dude!" Brain shouted in horror.
Arthur laughed until his head found its way to the table and just stayed there for a little while.
"Is that true?" Ariadne squealed, covering her mouth with her hand.
"It was… it was his idea, and we were drunk," the Brain mumbled, sinking into his seat. "Forgive me for feeling sorry for him."
"Why did you feel sorry for him?" Ariadne asked innocently unaware of anything that had taken place between them.
"His girl had just dumped him," the Brain explained because he was trashed to the point that he wasn't watching what he was saying anymore, or… and it was only Eames's theory… because he was caught up in Ariadne's doe eyes. Either way, everyone including the Brain realized he shouldn't have said it as soon as it escaped his mouth.
Arthur didn't move for a full minute, and Eames thought maybe he'd passed out on the table before it had been said and there was nothing to worry about, but when he pressed his palm against Arthur's shoulder, he raised his head from his arms just enough to look at Eames. His eyes were dry but spilled out more sadness than any tears could.
"Excuse us," Eames mumbled, snagging Arthur by the elbow and dragging him away before more regretful things were said.
The cool night air seemed to sober Arthur up slightly, but he didn't look up from the ground. "Is it true?" Eames asked him as carefully as possible.
Arthur nodded but didn't lift his eyes.
Eames brushed his thumb on Arthur's cheekbone. "Darling," he said quietly, "why…?"
"Because, I…" he started, stopped, swallowed, and continued, "because I wanted to feel… wanted."
He sounded absolutely ashamed of it.
"You…" Eames started but then couldn't come up with anything else. God, he was so pathetic lately, he thought.
"It's just… Em was the only thing in the world that I… cared about. When she left me, I thought I'd just lost the only thing that mattered… Brain was my only friend, and even we weren't all that close. He was actually pissed at me for spending so much time with Emily, but I… loved her… or maybe I just loved the idea of her being in love with me, and when she decided I wasn't worth it, I…"
He sighed dejectedly, like the conversation was wearing him out, even though he never once raised his voice. "She wanted to be with other people. I didn't allow myself to be with anyone, but I still didn't want to be alone. I never have been the easiest person to understand."
"That's true," Eames managed pitifully.
"Is it really so bad though?... to want someone all to yourself, to love you and only you? When I was with her, I didn't feel like just some… weird kid that ate lunch by himself behind the school. I didn't feel like I was drowning in monotony… I didn't feel… misunderstood. I just wanted to take care of her and keep her safe, and when she left me, I couldn't do that, and she wound up dead… and I just used other people to make me feel better. I let Laura in, even though I didn't trust her, just because I didn't want to feel completely…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Fuck… I'm such a bastard. I let so many fucking people die just so I wouldn't feel burned."
"You bloody imbecile."
Arthur finally looked at him then, eyes wide and brows knitted together.
"You're still blaming yourself for all the things that happened, you daft fool. How can you possibly think that it's your fault?"
"I started everything," Arthur said, suddenly angry. "I'm the reason Laura was killed. I'm the one who got Jerr locked up because I was fucking jealous. I'm the one who smothered Emily until she left and then let her die because I was too stupid to figure things out in time! I let her die, and I let…"
"Let what?" Eames asked, but Arthur shook his head. Apparently there were some secrets he wasn't ready to share yet.
"I'm such a motherfucker," Arthur mumbled, pressing his hands against his eyes.
"Perhaps," Eames said, shoving his hands in his pockets, "but none of that is your fault. Things happen. Life happens. You can't go blaming yourself for everything that went wrong in everyone else's lives. You can't use your job on point feed into your addiction of never letting anything go wrong. What you need to do is realize that what your dear Emily did was her decision and not yours, and if she got killed for it, then that's how it is."
Arthur dropped his hands and just stared at Eames like he had grown a second head. "But…"
"That is why you became a point man, correct? You wanted to make sure that you never allowed anything to ever go wrong again, right? So, how is that working for you?"
"Mal jumped, Cobb momentarily lost his mind, and I almost got us stuck in Limbo because I didn't figure out that Fischer's subconscious was militarized," Arthur replied grimly with a feeble smile. "I guess it's not working out so well."
Eames nodded, shrugging. "Even science leaves room for human error, love. You can't control what everybody does or what everybody feels. We're going to fuck up, make mistakes, we're going to do all kinds of ridiculous things that'll make us look back and say 'why the bloody hell did I do that?' but… That's how life is, Arthur. The most we can do from day to day is be grateful for what we do have and hope not to piss all our money away at the tables. We may be dealt some pretty shitty cards, but it's how we make them work that makes us win. If you spend all your time blaming yourself for sitting down and playing the game, you're not going to get any enjoyment out of it. You've got to learn to let things go."
Arthur's gaze wavered slightly. "How do you feel?" he asked.
It wasn't the question Eames had expected, but it wasn't like he didn't know how to work under pressure. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it? Wouldn't I have cut my ties and run when I had the chance if it were otherwise?"
"But… I don't understand…"
"That's because you're too full of self-loathing to see what a cracking bloke you are, you ignorant git."
"Wh…" Arthur managed to get out, shaking his head in confusion.
"Oh, come now, it's fucking blatant. Do I have to spell it out for you?"
"No, I-"
He only managed that much before Eames slammed him against the wall and kissed him. When he pulled away, Arthur's eyes were wide, pupils blown, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath.
"I knew that," he finally said when he could talk. "I just don't think that I'm really the best choice of-"
Eames kissed him again to shut him up and then said, "It doesn't matter if you think that or not. I told you that you can't help how people feel and I'm just barmy over you, love."
"Okay…" Arthur said, unsure, and Eames just pulled him to him.
"The past is the past. Please don't spend your time dwelling on it, and I'll let you keep me all to your damn self if it helps."
Arthur just breathed into Eames's shoulder, saying nothing. Eames could hear him loud and clear anyway.
When they walked back into the bar, the Brain was being not so asexual with his lips on Ariadne's, only jumping away when Eames banged his fist on the table and gleefully shouted, "We're back!"
"This is embarrassing for you, Brain," Arthur said, seemingly recovered from his previous change in mood, "what with you claiming to be uninterested in romance."
"I don't know, Arthur, darling. I think Ariadne, clearly, has the more embarrassing reveal in that she was just caught kissing a man named Clarence."
"Oh, go fuck yourselves," the Brain grumbled but was barely heard over the sounds of the other two men's laughter. Ariadne quickly excused herself to go to the bathroom.
When Arthur's laughter tapered off, he asked, "How did that even happen? We were only gone for like… ten minutes…"
"I… I don't know. She just started talking about architecture, and Jesus Christ, she's so smart!"
"You should see her in dreams," Eames said.
"Well, she uh-she already promised me that she'd show me how she builds. I was just fascinated by the process and-"
"Maybe she'll build a bedroom," Eames suggested. "I wonder how asexual you would be then?"
"I never said I was asexual! I said that romance always leads to trouble so I stay out of it. I neither confirm nor deny your convoluted theories. Leave me alone, you big palooka…" He crossed his arms and sank further into his seat, and Eames and Arthur decided to leave it at that.
It proved how good a friend the Brain could be because, despite their teasings, he never once mentioned Eames's hand on Arthur's knee or how perfectly timed it was when Arthur drank too much and fell asleep on Eames's shoulder right when the juke box kicked up with "Put Your Head on My Shoulder."
Eames formed his hands into a heart and smiled when Ariadne took a picture on her cell phone. If it ends up being the wallpaper on Eames's cell phone, Arthur didn't need to know.