A Source of Little Visible Delight (parts 9-10)
Title: A Source of Little Visible Delight (parts 9-10)
Characters: Arthur, Eames, OCs
Pairing: pre-slash Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 2100
Rating: PG
Summary: Arthur attempts to go on vacation. Mild angst and much introspection ensues. It’s an Arthur character study and appreciation fic!
Originally posted on the kink meme in 12 parts as a response to sho_no_tabi ’s awesome prompt.
~
A disembodied female voice tells Arthur that he has “one. hundred. and. twelve. new. messages.” in the same frustratingly unsympathetic tone that a doctor once used to tell Arthur, “That’s about as tall as you’re gonna get, son.”
Arthur presses 1 on the inexpensive and entirely adequate phone that Cadence went out and bought for him the previous day. He opens up his moleskin, presses his pen to the page and starts writing, pausing occasionally to shake the cramp out of wrist and scratch his now sixteen-day-old whiskers.
The formerly throbbing pain in his right thigh has receded to a dull ache, the skin over the wound beginning to heal and itch. He’s sitting on top of his sheets, his torso bent over the mobile food tray that he’s using as a makeshift desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His pale blue hospital gown falls forward and nearly off of his shoulders exposing the knobs of his spine, the small of his back, the top of his bum.
He’s fully aware that anyone who walks by will be able to see his near-nakedness through the floor-length windows that are the walls of his room. He couldn’t care less if he tried. He’s sick of lying on his back. The already pale skin there has become clammy, nearly shriveled from ten days of immobility. He sighs with pleasure when a breeze blows in through the window and over his exposed parts.
Forty minutes have passed, and he’s still on the phone, when he hears the rumble of familiar wheels skating over tile. Cadence bursts into the room, pulling Arthur’s suitcase behind her and babbling furiously. “Motherfucker almost got us killed!” She pushes Arthur’s suitcase up against the chair that has now become her second home, and spins around to face him. Her mouth is open and about to let loose another rant on the subject of Genovese cab drivers when she sees that Arthur is on the phone. “Oh shit. Sorry,” she whispers.
Arthur turns to her, smiles and raises his eyebrows in delight. “Perfect timing,” he says. He takes the phone away from his ear and presses the ‘speaker’ button. A tinny version of Cadence’s voice comes warbling out of the phone. “...must be nice if you’ve been there for four days. However, I couldn’t help but notice that your cell phone has stopped giving off a signal...”
Cadence’s throws herself into her chair, her face scrunched in disgust. “Ugh. Do I really sound like that?”
Arthur tosses the phone onto the bed and turns his attention back to his moleskin. “I caught wind of a job that I thought might interest you. Mexico City. Elite escort service.” Arthur’s eyes flinch slightly. “They also want a forger. Someone who isn’t too... squeamish. And someone who doesn’t mind forging women.” He laughs shortly. On a blank page in his moleskin he writes Eames.
Cadence brings her knees up to her chest and begins to nibble on her lip ring as per usual. “So, are you interested?”
“Depends on what you mean by ‘elite escort service’.”
“It’s run out of a gentlemens’ club owned by a man named Ezekiel Vargas.” Arthur scribbles the name in his moleskin. “The club caters to... more moneyed clientele. As well as offering escort services they’ve also begun to offer hourly rates in dreams with their girls.”
Arthur’s jaw clenches slightly, worry in his eyes. “And how’s that working out for them?”
“That’s what they want you for. They need someone who knows what they’re doing to show them how to properly use the technology. The party that introduced Mr. Vargas to shared dreaming, and the people he’s been getting his compounds from only have second-hand knowledge of it. They got a bad batch a few weeks ago that nearly killed a couple of their girls and their clients.”
“Fucking idiots.” Arthur is pressing his pen so hard into the paper that he’s embossing it. “Are we talking about professional sex workers here? Or are these thirteen year old orphans?”
“Professional sex workers.” Candace says definitively.
“Are you positive?” Arthur’s authoritative tone fills the room. “Because if I get there and find out it’s the latter, I’m getting myself and whoever I bring with me the fuck out of there immediately.”
“I’m positive. I’ve confirmed it with several sources.”
Arthur goes quiet in thought. “And what would the forger be needed for?”
Cadence leans forward out of her chair and plants her feet on the ground. “Mr. Vargas wants to get a leg up on the competition. He wants to see if his girls could learn how to forge if taught by a professional.”
Arthur stares at the name that he’s written and underlined in his notebook. Eames. The forger would probably relish the opportunity to do something so unorthodox. But an unidentifiable worry nibbles on Arthur’s brain and into his certainty that Eames would be the perfect man for the job.
Cadence stares at the side of his face searchingly. “Do you have a forger in mind?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Who?”
Cadence cuts to the heart of the matter without realizing it. Arthur opens his mouth to say Eames’s name and finds himself unable to do so. He can’t speak his name around the heavy memory of the man that is lodged in his chest.
This is Arthur’s need to possess. This is Arthur’s fear that speaking Eames’s name aloud would make him real. Would turn him from a perfectly-preserved memory that he could keep for himself into a flesh and blood human being. Something that belongs to the world, not just him.
This is what Cadence was giving Arthur shit about just a few days ago.
Arthur breaths deeply and speaks aloud the name that has lived on the inside of his lips for the past three years. “Eames.”
~
Cadence is striding purposefully through Genoa’s Stazione Principe, her eyes forward and her hands shoved into the pockets of her brown leather jacket. Her orange stilettos beat out an aggressive rhythm on the marble floor of the atrium. Arthur is limping behind her, a medical cane bearing some of the weight that his right leg is not yet able to. His progress is made even slower by the satchel slung across his chest and the suitcase that he trails behind him.
Arthur has refused three offers of assistance from Cadence. That’s probably why she’s walking so quickly right now. Just to spite his stubborn ass. Arthur smiles softly at her back as he ambles through the atrium, taking his time.
He feels fucking fantastic. He can walk again. He can piss standing up again. Best of all, he’s out of that sad, soiled hospital gown and back in his wool and silk. He’s wearing his favorite gray trousers, a pink shirt rolled up at the sleeves and a blue stripped tie that he’s had forever. He’s pretty sure he wore it to his father’s funeral. He’s shaved, but he still hasn’t decided what to do with his hair. The beginnings of curls tickle the nape of his neck.
He allows his gaze to wander the walls and ceilings of the train station through which he’s limping. Industrial iron arches projecting out of soft marble walls. An endless series of skylights framed in wood paneling. He turns his face up, and a soft, white light glides over him. He sighs in contentment, lets the planes of his face relax into a quiet smile.
Once they’ve reached the platform and found someplace to lean that’s not covered in soot, Arthur hands Cadence his satchel. “Hold this for a second.” He opens it up and reaches into a side pocket to grab his moleskin. He flips through it, skims the scribbles on the pages, then grabs a quarter-inch-thick bundle of them and rips them out of the notebook. He hands the stack to Cadence. “For you.”
“What’s this?”
“This is me sharing the burden.”
Cadence flips through the stack of pages, her brows climbing up towards her hairline as she realizes what she’s looking at. Finally, she says with absolute certainty, “You’re an asshole.”
Arthur smiles so wide that he dimples.
“Arthur, are these all of the messages that you got while you didn’t have a phone?”
“That’s about three quarters of them. It shouldn’t take you too long to get through them. Most of their problems have probably been resolved by now.”
Cadence looks up at him with a mild look of panic in her eyes. “Arthur. You’re not... quitting, are you?”
“No. I’m demoting myself. Sort of...” Arthur turns away from Cadence to look out onto the train platform. He leans his back against the wall. “About a third of the messages I received were regarding extractions. Percentage wise, I’d say that’s one hundred percent more than I was receiving a couple of months ago. The demand for it is growing pretty rapidly.”
“Of course it is. It’s the perfect opportunity for obscenely rich motherfuckers to play games with each other... and make themselves even richer. But the number of extractors is also growing, right?”
“Of course it is. As are the number of architects willing to help them out. Who wouldn’t want to get paid six figures to dream? The problem is that in order to perform extraction properly, you also need a point man. You need someone who knows the in-and-outs of the business. Someone who digs for information without having to be asked. Someone who makes everyone on their team work harder with their constant needling. The last person in and the last person out. The person who puts themselves directly in harms way for the sake of their teammates. The problem with the growing number of extractions is that the number of people willing to be on point is not growing. It’s an unglamorous job with few immediate rewards. But it also requires the most dedication to the business.”
Cadence smiles broadly. “Sounds like the perfect job for you.”
Arthur smiles back. “And you.”
Cadence’s lip ring disappears into her mouth and her brow crinkles. “You think so?”
“I know so. Cadence, I’m still not sure how you managed to find me. The only direct information you had was from a dead phone signal. But somehow you showed up next to my bed in the ICU of a Genovese hospital.”
Cadence looks pleased with herself. “So is this a job offer?”
“It’s just something to consider. I don’t have any jobs to offer you yet. But I will be sending people your way. You’re perfectly capable of answering a lot of the questions I get asked and of referring people to each other.”
“So, you’re giving up your position as The Brain.” Cadence almost looks proud of him. “What are you gonna do instead? You also gonna be a point man?”
Arthur levels her with a positively bombastic smile. “No. I’m not going to be a point man. I’m going to be The Point Man.”
Cadence chuckles at Arthur’s rare self-indulgence. “I see you’re not stepping down from your pedestal just yet.”
“Nope. You’re gonna have to fight me for that position.”
Just then Arthur’s train comes into view. They both watch in silence as it crawls up to the platform and grinds to a halt.
Arthur picks up his bags and turns to Cadence. She holds out her hand for him to shake. He pauses for a moment before dropping his bags and snatching her up into a tight hug. Her feet dangle a couple inches off the ground. “Thank you, Cadence,” he breaths.
“Don’t mention it.” She smiles over his shoulder.
Arthur sets her down gently and picks up his bags. “Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.”
“Arthur, get the fuck on that train.”
Arthur grins and turns to limp across the platform. He gets only a couple of steps away before he stops and turns back around to ask Cadence, “Who won the bet?”
“What?”
“The bet. The one that you and Jin made.”
“Oh. I did.”
“So you guessed how I got into dreamsharing without me having to tell you?”
“Actually, I lied. The bet wasn’t regarding how you got into dreamsharing. It was regarding how long your vacation would last. Jin bet that you’d call off your vacation within a couple of days. I bet that you would destroy your phone first. I won.”
Arthur’s lithe frame shakes, and then the laughter comes pouring out of his mouth. And for a moment he looks incredibly young. He is young. He’s only twenty-six years old. But for a moment he doesn’t look like a man who has seen too much in too few years. He’s just another kid with a satchel slung across his chest and hair that's a bit too long, laughing in the face of his uncertain future.
MORE
Characters: Arthur, Eames, OCs
Pairing: pre-slash Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 2100
Rating: PG
Summary: Arthur attempts to go on vacation. Mild angst and much introspection ensues. It’s an Arthur character study and appreciation fic!
Originally posted on the kink meme in 12 parts as a response to sho_no_tabi ’s awesome prompt.
~
A disembodied female voice tells Arthur that he has “one. hundred. and. twelve. new. messages.” in the same frustratingly unsympathetic tone that a doctor once used to tell Arthur, “That’s about as tall as you’re gonna get, son.”
Arthur presses 1 on the inexpensive and entirely adequate phone that Cadence went out and bought for him the previous day. He opens up his moleskin, presses his pen to the page and starts writing, pausing occasionally to shake the cramp out of wrist and scratch his now sixteen-day-old whiskers.
The formerly throbbing pain in his right thigh has receded to a dull ache, the skin over the wound beginning to heal and itch. He’s sitting on top of his sheets, his torso bent over the mobile food tray that he’s using as a makeshift desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His pale blue hospital gown falls forward and nearly off of his shoulders exposing the knobs of his spine, the small of his back, the top of his bum.
He’s fully aware that anyone who walks by will be able to see his near-nakedness through the floor-length windows that are the walls of his room. He couldn’t care less if he tried. He’s sick of lying on his back. The already pale skin there has become clammy, nearly shriveled from ten days of immobility. He sighs with pleasure when a breeze blows in through the window and over his exposed parts.
Forty minutes have passed, and he’s still on the phone, when he hears the rumble of familiar wheels skating over tile. Cadence bursts into the room, pulling Arthur’s suitcase behind her and babbling furiously. “Motherfucker almost got us killed!” She pushes Arthur’s suitcase up against the chair that has now become her second home, and spins around to face him. Her mouth is open and about to let loose another rant on the subject of Genovese cab drivers when she sees that Arthur is on the phone. “Oh shit. Sorry,” she whispers.
Arthur turns to her, smiles and raises his eyebrows in delight. “Perfect timing,” he says. He takes the phone away from his ear and presses the ‘speaker’ button. A tinny version of Cadence’s voice comes warbling out of the phone. “...must be nice if you’ve been there for four days. However, I couldn’t help but notice that your cell phone has stopped giving off a signal...”
Cadence’s throws herself into her chair, her face scrunched in disgust. “Ugh. Do I really sound like that?”
Arthur tosses the phone onto the bed and turns his attention back to his moleskin. “I caught wind of a job that I thought might interest you. Mexico City. Elite escort service.” Arthur’s eyes flinch slightly. “They also want a forger. Someone who isn’t too... squeamish. And someone who doesn’t mind forging women.” He laughs shortly. On a blank page in his moleskin he writes Eames.
Cadence brings her knees up to her chest and begins to nibble on her lip ring as per usual. “So, are you interested?”
“Depends on what you mean by ‘elite escort service’.”
“It’s run out of a gentlemens’ club owned by a man named Ezekiel Vargas.” Arthur scribbles the name in his moleskin. “The club caters to... more moneyed clientele. As well as offering escort services they’ve also begun to offer hourly rates in dreams with their girls.”
Arthur’s jaw clenches slightly, worry in his eyes. “And how’s that working out for them?”
“That’s what they want you for. They need someone who knows what they’re doing to show them how to properly use the technology. The party that introduced Mr. Vargas to shared dreaming, and the people he’s been getting his compounds from only have second-hand knowledge of it. They got a bad batch a few weeks ago that nearly killed a couple of their girls and their clients.”
“Fucking idiots.” Arthur is pressing his pen so hard into the paper that he’s embossing it. “Are we talking about professional sex workers here? Or are these thirteen year old orphans?”
“Professional sex workers.” Candace says definitively.
“Are you positive?” Arthur’s authoritative tone fills the room. “Because if I get there and find out it’s the latter, I’m getting myself and whoever I bring with me the fuck out of there immediately.”
“I’m positive. I’ve confirmed it with several sources.”
Arthur goes quiet in thought. “And what would the forger be needed for?”
Cadence leans forward out of her chair and plants her feet on the ground. “Mr. Vargas wants to get a leg up on the competition. He wants to see if his girls could learn how to forge if taught by a professional.”
Arthur stares at the name that he’s written and underlined in his notebook. Eames. The forger would probably relish the opportunity to do something so unorthodox. But an unidentifiable worry nibbles on Arthur’s brain and into his certainty that Eames would be the perfect man for the job.
Cadence stares at the side of his face searchingly. “Do you have a forger in mind?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Who?”
Cadence cuts to the heart of the matter without realizing it. Arthur opens his mouth to say Eames’s name and finds himself unable to do so. He can’t speak his name around the heavy memory of the man that is lodged in his chest.
This is Arthur’s need to possess. This is Arthur’s fear that speaking Eames’s name aloud would make him real. Would turn him from a perfectly-preserved memory that he could keep for himself into a flesh and blood human being. Something that belongs to the world, not just him.
This is what Cadence was giving Arthur shit about just a few days ago.
Arthur breaths deeply and speaks aloud the name that has lived on the inside of his lips for the past three years. “Eames.”
~
Cadence is striding purposefully through Genoa’s Stazione Principe, her eyes forward and her hands shoved into the pockets of her brown leather jacket. Her orange stilettos beat out an aggressive rhythm on the marble floor of the atrium. Arthur is limping behind her, a medical cane bearing some of the weight that his right leg is not yet able to. His progress is made even slower by the satchel slung across his chest and the suitcase that he trails behind him.
Arthur has refused three offers of assistance from Cadence. That’s probably why she’s walking so quickly right now. Just to spite his stubborn ass. Arthur smiles softly at her back as he ambles through the atrium, taking his time.
He feels fucking fantastic. He can walk again. He can piss standing up again. Best of all, he’s out of that sad, soiled hospital gown and back in his wool and silk. He’s wearing his favorite gray trousers, a pink shirt rolled up at the sleeves and a blue stripped tie that he’s had forever. He’s pretty sure he wore it to his father’s funeral. He’s shaved, but he still hasn’t decided what to do with his hair. The beginnings of curls tickle the nape of his neck.
He allows his gaze to wander the walls and ceilings of the train station through which he’s limping. Industrial iron arches projecting out of soft marble walls. An endless series of skylights framed in wood paneling. He turns his face up, and a soft, white light glides over him. He sighs in contentment, lets the planes of his face relax into a quiet smile.
Once they’ve reached the platform and found someplace to lean that’s not covered in soot, Arthur hands Cadence his satchel. “Hold this for a second.” He opens it up and reaches into a side pocket to grab his moleskin. He flips through it, skims the scribbles on the pages, then grabs a quarter-inch-thick bundle of them and rips them out of the notebook. He hands the stack to Cadence. “For you.”
“What’s this?”
“This is me sharing the burden.”
Cadence flips through the stack of pages, her brows climbing up towards her hairline as she realizes what she’s looking at. Finally, she says with absolute certainty, “You’re an asshole.”
Arthur smiles so wide that he dimples.
“Arthur, are these all of the messages that you got while you didn’t have a phone?”
“That’s about three quarters of them. It shouldn’t take you too long to get through them. Most of their problems have probably been resolved by now.”
Cadence looks up at him with a mild look of panic in her eyes. “Arthur. You’re not... quitting, are you?”
“No. I’m demoting myself. Sort of...” Arthur turns away from Cadence to look out onto the train platform. He leans his back against the wall. “About a third of the messages I received were regarding extractions. Percentage wise, I’d say that’s one hundred percent more than I was receiving a couple of months ago. The demand for it is growing pretty rapidly.”
“Of course it is. It’s the perfect opportunity for obscenely rich motherfuckers to play games with each other... and make themselves even richer. But the number of extractors is also growing, right?”
“Of course it is. As are the number of architects willing to help them out. Who wouldn’t want to get paid six figures to dream? The problem is that in order to perform extraction properly, you also need a point man. You need someone who knows the in-and-outs of the business. Someone who digs for information without having to be asked. Someone who makes everyone on their team work harder with their constant needling. The last person in and the last person out. The person who puts themselves directly in harms way for the sake of their teammates. The problem with the growing number of extractions is that the number of people willing to be on point is not growing. It’s an unglamorous job with few immediate rewards. But it also requires the most dedication to the business.”
Cadence smiles broadly. “Sounds like the perfect job for you.”
Arthur smiles back. “And you.”
Cadence’s lip ring disappears into her mouth and her brow crinkles. “You think so?”
“I know so. Cadence, I’m still not sure how you managed to find me. The only direct information you had was from a dead phone signal. But somehow you showed up next to my bed in the ICU of a Genovese hospital.”
Cadence looks pleased with herself. “So is this a job offer?”
“It’s just something to consider. I don’t have any jobs to offer you yet. But I will be sending people your way. You’re perfectly capable of answering a lot of the questions I get asked and of referring people to each other.”
“So, you’re giving up your position as The Brain.” Cadence almost looks proud of him. “What are you gonna do instead? You also gonna be a point man?”
Arthur levels her with a positively bombastic smile. “No. I’m not going to be a point man. I’m going to be The Point Man.”
Cadence chuckles at Arthur’s rare self-indulgence. “I see you’re not stepping down from your pedestal just yet.”
“Nope. You’re gonna have to fight me for that position.”
Just then Arthur’s train comes into view. They both watch in silence as it crawls up to the platform and grinds to a halt.
Arthur picks up his bags and turns to Cadence. She holds out her hand for him to shake. He pauses for a moment before dropping his bags and snatching her up into a tight hug. Her feet dangle a couple inches off the ground. “Thank you, Cadence,” he breaths.
“Don’t mention it.” She smiles over his shoulder.
Arthur sets her down gently and picks up his bags. “Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.”
“Arthur, get the fuck on that train.”
Arthur grins and turns to limp across the platform. He gets only a couple of steps away before he stops and turns back around to ask Cadence, “Who won the bet?”
“What?”
“The bet. The one that you and Jin made.”
“Oh. I did.”
“So you guessed how I got into dreamsharing without me having to tell you?”
“Actually, I lied. The bet wasn’t regarding how you got into dreamsharing. It was regarding how long your vacation would last. Jin bet that you’d call off your vacation within a couple of days. I bet that you would destroy your phone first. I won.”
Arthur’s lithe frame shakes, and then the laughter comes pouring out of his mouth. And for a moment he looks incredibly young. He is young. He’s only twenty-six years old. But for a moment he doesn’t look like a man who has seen too much in too few years. He’s just another kid with a satchel slung across his chest and hair that's a bit too long, laughing in the face of his uncertain future.
MORE