artfulforger | A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes

A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes

Securing the rooftop garden for a night had been easy. A slip of money, promise to ensure nothing was damaged, a wink and a smile. That had been the easy part. The rest...

First had been stringing up lights. Maybe it was a bit over the top but he had one shot, one chance to show he was more than a gambler and a man with a string of dates longer than his arm. An oriental rug was laid out on the wood planked decking on the roof, a small round table atop that. Matching chairs and the table dressed with linen and crystal and china. He'd overseen every detail, made sure it was all arranged.

Downstairs the doorman was waiting to see Arthur to the elevator. Music was piped in to hidden speakers, classical and soft and merely a back drop to the rest. The hour was late enough the city twinkled beyond the roof and the meal was set. Nearby a hot box kept the courses warm, another designed for the cold items say next to it. A bottle of wine chilled in a silver bucket, the metal gleaming with water droplets that slid down the sheened metal surface.

Seeing to the last detail. Himself. Taking Arthur's words to heart, wanting to see Eames himself, he'd worn jeans that fit perfectly, loafers, and a paisley print shirt in shades of plum and dark teal. Lighting the candles, he pushed the button on the remote to start the music and he waited, pacing the small confines of the rooftop.

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Arthur had decided, since he told Eames he'd get to know him, that perhaps dressing down would be better. It was different for him to not really bother getting preening himself like he usually did when he was going out. He threw on a pair of dark jeans, an off-white button-down shirt (leaving it untucked), dark tie, and his burgundy sweater vest. He didn't slick his hair back, either. The only things that looked remotely expensive on him was his Rolex watch and freshly shined black shoes (Arthur owned a pair of boots but a pair of sneakers were no where to be found in his closet).

He had stored the address and time in his phone and took a cab to the location. He walked into the front lobby, greeted by a doorman that guided him to the elevators and sent him up on his way at 9:24 PM and by the time he got to the roof and opening the door to the garden, he was actually early. By three and a half minutes.

The point man's eyebrows went up at the sight before him, mouth slightly agape as he took it all in. All the details and almost forgetting to walk forward. When he finally did start moving forward, he looked around and saw there were no other people there. He caught sight of Eames and, well, while he was surprised by the paisley, the rest of what he saw was different.

He then looked at the finer details of the chilled wine, the find china and crystal, the lights giving all of it a warm glow and... was that Brahms playing? No, Chopin.

Edited 2011-06-26 09:17 (UTC)

Eames heard the ding of the elevator and his pacing came to a dead stop. Drawing a breath, watching as the doors open. The first thing he noticed was that his hair wasn't back, it was like it was that night in the bar when this had all started sliding downhill. Remembering his plans, he moved to the table, picking up the bottle and pouring each just a third full with straw colored vintage, picking the glasses up and bringing them to where Arthur stood.

"Evening," he said softly, his accent a bit more pronounced in his nervousness. Smiling a lopsided smile, gesturing at the rooftop. "I figured I only have one shot, I wasn't going to waste it. I do have to ask your word to never reveal that I might well be a closet romantic."

Arthur had met Eames only a few steps away from their table, still looking for signs of anyone else around. He took the wine, holding it up against the light and was surprised by the quality of it. Just as the details of the whole setting.

Not yet taking a drink, gesturing around them with the glass in hand, "You set all of this up yourself?"

Barely holding his breath, watching Arthur and smirking as he glanced at the wine, wondering if he would swish and spit rather than drinking it. Taking a sip of his own, he looked over the rooftop.

"I had thought to lie and say I cooked as well but I had the meal catered. Beyond that I ordered it all and set it up." He glanced back at Arthur. "Too much?"

Arthur, for once, was more or less speechless. He opened his mouth and then closed it and then tried again but just managed to shake his head and take a sip of his wine (which he did drink - and was surprised by the taste; a very good year).

After that swallow, shaking his head, "It's just... different." Because no one had ever done this for Arthur before; gone to these kind of lengths just for him (and for a date).

"Yeah well..." Eames looked away, shrugging his shoulders. "This all doesn't work out and you tell anyone I'm a damn romantic and I swear I'll kick your ass." Voice a bit gruff, suddenly nervous he'd gone over the top and embarrassed himself and laughter was only a few minutes off.

Arthur snorts, walking over to look a little closer at the lights, almost feeling himself want to smile (he had always had a fondness for little lights like the ones people usually strung up around Christmas). After taking another sip of wine, "Actually... I think this is surprisingly thoughtful."

"I never would have expected you to put so much effort into this." Adding as he looked back over to Eames, "And it's really no one's business what goes on between us. Even if we don't work out."

Wandering a bit, trying not to smile too much as he glanced back at Arthur. "Always wanted to do this for someone. Figure with all the fighting and what I said and all, maybe this was the right time."

Another sip, stealing more glances at Arthur. "Just never really... Who'd buy I happen to like a bit of romance anyway?" Making a joke of it, looking out over the city. "Occurred I don't know about you what you do me so hoping you're not allergic to anything."

Arthur snorts again, taking a seat at the table, taking another sip of his wine. "Well, if I am, I'll just chunk it over the side here." Yes, with complete disregard to the possible people below.

Arthur could be like that sometimes.

"Oh God. Glad I gave them my least favorite alias in case I have to dump it after you nearly kill someone." Moving to the chilled cabinet, Eames brought out plates with the appetizer. Tea smoked chicken, diced and laced with black tea and served on a lettuce with soy ginger sauce and lime.

"Mixed menu on the dinner. Again, had no clue what you eat. I may have thought dancing after," he said with a smile, setting a plate before Arthur before taking his seat. "But not if you'll kick me in the shins."

Leaning over slightly to get a good look at the food, brows arching up again (impressed), "Nah, I'm sure they'd be okay." Obviously he didn't really care but, well, he was hungry. (And he wasn't really allergic to any food as far as he knew; just things like sulfur and penicillin).

Picking up his fork to spear a piece of chicken, "I'm not really much of a dancer." And after trying the chicken, his head going back slightly as he tasted it, he then nodded, getting another piece, "I'd say you did good on the mixed menu. Chicken is pretty regular for me." That and seafood along with salads and sometimes pasta. There were occasions he would allow himself pizza or a hamburger but not often (even less often seemed to be steak).

Eames gave Arthur a bit of a look, almost as if trying to puzzle things out. "Yes well, let's not take the chance, hmmm?" Settling in and taking a bite, having not realized until that moment he was hungry after all the planning and doing and forgetting about things like food. Or nerves. They were definitely a bit back, taking another drink.

"Shame. Actually enjoy it,' he noted, looking out over the city and then back at Eames. "Most came from not knowing exactly what to order." Making a face and shrugging his shoulders. "Damn I'm sounding domestic."

Arthur snorts but otherwise makes no comment as he's taking another bite and then a sip of his wine.

It's only until he's nearly half way through his plate he states, "As long as you don't wear an apron or go on about what you can find at IKEA, we'll be fine." Arthur doesn't really mind domesticity; he just doesn't want to get so involved in it that he forgets what it is he does. He doesn't believe in living "happily ever after" and anyone delusional enough to think that's how the world around them works will not like living with him.

Looking at the city, the wine, trying to act casual despite not being entirely suited to such events. In truth he hadn't thought through asking Arthur, just aiming for a way to see what would happen, to not be entirely shut out.

"I'll try and see it doesn't happen again. Over thought the event, I suspect," he said, words slightly clipped, actually turning it over and over again in his mind, where it was too much, pushing his luck.

Arthur heard that tone and stopped eating completely, leaning back in his seat after setting his fork down.

"What?" Said much in the tone of 'what did I do now?' because it often felt like that with Arthur; like he just wasn't ever saying or doing the right thing by anyone sometimes.

Eames shook his head, downing the rest of his wine but not reaching for bottle. "Nothing. I... Just realizing I went over the top," he said, gesturing around them with his empty glass. "That's all."

Arthur gave a soft half-laugh, shaking his head, "I'm still surprised you went to all this effort, to be honest."

He added, almost a little awkwardly with a shrug, "I don't really know how else to respond because no one has ever done something like this for me before."

Shrugging again and looking around them, "It's not that you went over the top, I just don't know how to respond to it."

"I thought we had a deal," he pointed out, giving in and setting down his glass, trading it for the bottle and pouring himself more. "All you have to do to respond is be yourself. Nothing else. But to be honest, never done anything like this. Hell, can't remember the last time I went on a real date."

"I'm simply pointing out the truth so you don't sit over there and sulk and probably end up stifling your own..." Gesturing around the them vaguely, "Creativity." Which it was; he wasn't trying to be facetious about it. He probably wouldn't have come up with anything half as thoughtful as this.

Taking his own glass up, he couldn't help smirking (and waiting for Eames to take a drink, too), "So you're a virgin of sorts?"

"I wasn't sulking," he grumbled, except he kind of had been. Sitting up more, toying with the glass without taking a drink. "I watch a lot of movies." Dismissing the idea, why he'd come up with it, the desire to impress which now sat uneasily on his shoulders.

The glass was just to his lips, nearly coughing as he glared at Arthur. It lasted a second, more for the timing than anything before taking a drink. "Would be the last one I have so there you go."

Into his own glass, "You were so sulking." And arched a brow at the other, "Like what kind of movies exactly?" Because, yes, Arthur was now curious (and while Eames could fib his way through it Arthur had gotten pretty good at being able to tell when he was lying - some times, anyway).

Arthur very nearly grins at Eames' reaction (but manages not to), and shrugs as he sets his glass back down and goes back to eating.

Eames said not a word, not entirely sulking but not giving Arthur the satisfaction of turning this into did not did too. Instead he took a drink, one shoulder rolling consideration. "I watch a lot. The romantic comedies happen a bit. Depends on his mood." Not to mention who he was with and what mood he was in.

Another bite, slow and considering though it wasn't the food he was focused on. "So you? Last date was when?"

Arthur wrinkled his nose at the romantic comedy bit, never having been much of a fan.

And at the question, he pauses briefly and then debates telling him the truth. There's a good chance that if he tells Eames anything, he'll just want to know more and Arthur is only willing to divulge so much of his past.

At least as their relationship stands now.

Eventually, he shrugs, not looking at Eames, "Six years ago. More or less."

The nose wrinkle is met with a bit of a bland expression, not making apologies for his tastes. Setting the glass down, realizing he was going for the easy route with alcohol and what it could do for his mood. Pushing aside his plate a bit, not moving instantly for the next course.

Nodding at Arthur's answer, considering that. "You should get out more," he said, leaning back in his chair and watching the other man with a lidded gaze. "Might do you some good."

The look Arthur gave Eames for those remarks bordered on a glare. "Yes, because "getting out" and "being more social" will somehow magically solve my problems."

Arthur hadn't been out with anyone because he hadn't been interested in anyone. Surely that couldn't have been that hard of a concept for the other man to grasp.

Eames went silent. Lips pursing and his jaw moving as he held back an instant response. Drawing a long, deep breath, exhaling slowly before speaking. "That wasn't at all what I said, nor what I meant. I can just stop speaking if you'd rather fill in my side of the conversation for me. Save us both time and trouble" Not snapping though he almost had, rising carefully, not jerky or rough, picking up the plates and moving to place them into a bin for clean up.

Pulling out two new plates, both covered with silver tops and coming back to place them at either spot. Uncovering them, revealing baby new potatoes with asparagus and beef wellington. Putting aside the covers he took his own seat.

Arthur arches a brow at the meat because he usually doesn't eat anything that heavy (he nearly feels full from the chicken alone) but he ends up focusing more on the other man.

"Then what did you mean? Because usually when I hear someone say that to me, that's what it translates as." This was different in how Arthur would usually make his own assumptions and drop it; this time, however, he was asking for clarification. For the other person to actually let him know where and how Arthur had misunderstood them.

At first he made no answer, toying with his fork but the meal was really forgotten at this point. Mind whirling, trying to focus his thoughts. Worrying over his answer, what he'd say in response to that.

"I didn't say it would solve your problems, magically or otherwise. I don't even know what your problems are. Maybe it was a joke to encourage you to see me again. A bit of that, sure. A lot of thinking maybe it does a person good to have more than work. None of it amounted to assuming that doing more than working would ensure that your problems were solved instantly. I don't even know your bloody problems."

Arthur was quite for a moment that seemed to stretch out longer than it really was, watching Eames and weighing his words. He then picks up his fork and spears one of the baby new potatoes and pops it in his mouth.

After swallowing it and getting another one, "I apologize for misunderstanding you, then."

Still toying with his fork, watching Arthur with one foot tapping as if he was fighting not to getup and pace, not to dig the chip out of his pocket and toy with that instead.

"Thank you." Said softly, still fidgeting. "I don't believe all work is good for anyone. Not you. Not anyone. Live life, not live for work."

Shrugging, either not noticing or ignoring the other's fidgeting as he ate another potato and then cutting off a small part of the meat and eating it.

"Work is my life." It gave him purpose, gave him something to do.

Eames took that one way, nodding. It was then that he took a bite, realizing then how much his appetite had passed but making nothing of it.

"Understood. Not a word about it again."

Taking another bite of the meat, "It's not as if you're insulting me by saying it, Eames. I know there are people that don't agree with how I view work. That doesn't mean I'll be affronted by you saying otherwise."

"Just, you know, realize that we won't really agree on that point."

"Could've fooled me by the reaction. It off..." he stopped, looking away again because watching his words was never in Eames' nature and it was taking everything in him to keep the peace. "You don't tend to give me that look unless I've offended you somehow. Besides, I made the assumption you might want something else but work in your life. If you don't..." He lifted his wine glass and downed it. It was like it was that moment it hit him maybe he really had spent years pursuing something that was out of reach. "Long as you're happy with your life, Darling."

Arthur is still chewing as he watches him, noticing how Eames keeps pausing in his words, as if he's trying to choose them carefully. The forger usually doesn't do that...

He stops eating again, setting his fork down again, and just looks at Eames. Inside his mouth he swipes his tongue over his teeth before picking up his glass and draining it of wine. He then leans back in his chair after setting the glass down.

Rubbing a hand down his face, "Eames. My work is work, it is the driving point of my life and anyone trying to address anything outside of that is usually going to meet some resistance from me because that isn't something I'm going to want to talk about."

Letting out a tired sigh and look up at the sky, "In truth, I don't really know what else I want. Work usually keeps me busy and I like being productive, getting things done. I don't really think of anything else. And relationships in general... they require a lot more than many realize."

Shrugging and looking back at Eames, "And why is it important to be happy? Do you know anyone that is completely happy with their lives as they are?" That and Arthur hadn't been happy like that with his life for years.

Making no more pretense as he pushed his plate to one side, yet Eames made no point to pour himself more wine. Alcohol and the haze it brought would make life easier, but only for a time and only to a degree. Not to mention that while some were fun drunks, and others sleepy ones, Eames tended to be the sort to spoil for a fight once he'd had a bit to drink. Something he'd proven to Arthur once already.

"You really think I've spent the last few years just staring at your arse and never noticing a damn other thing, don't you?" He didn't sound upset. Resigned. Worn and weary but not angry. "Like I've noticed you would work in your sleep if you could figure it out. That means I've noticed how bleeding unhappy you seem to."

He shook his head, sadly. "I would say Ariadne. I think she's as close as humans can get. Another? Myself. Last few days may not seem like it but I love live. I enjoy the living hell out of it. You should try it sometime."

Edited 2011-07-02 02:44 (UTC)

Ever blunt, "No, I think you've been staring at my ass because you're a horn-dog."

Adding with a shrug, "I'm not unhappy. I'm not happy but I'm not unhappy, either. I just am. Is that so hard for you to accept? And really, stop telling me what I should do or how I should live it. Would you like it if I told you you should try wearing more conservative clothes or should shave more?" They were poor examples but Arthur's point was simply to state that no one really likes to be told how to live their life (even if Eames' intentions were only trying to be helpful).

Although, Arthur didn't sound or look nearly as annoyed as he felt inside.

"Yes, and as has been noted, that is just about all you think I'm capable of." Dropping the fork with a clatter, shoving his glass a bit further away because the urge to down it is there.

"Fine. Understood. Won't happen again." He looked down and then up and then back out over the city again.

"Tell me why you came here tonight." Not asking, suddenly feeling bone weary as if letting all the times he'd ignored the snapped words and comments get to him.

"Well, since you are such an expert on how and what I think I'm sure you know the answer to that already. Perhaps I should just save you time by leaving?"

Arthur didn't make the move to leave but he was looking directly at the other man as he said it, feeling his own jaw want to clench.

Edited 2011-07-02 04:31 (UTC)

Everything in Eames' chest hurt. It was like his rib cage was constricting, tightening around his heart and then squeezing even though. He didn't look back, knowing if he did he'd break a little more.

"You constantly bring up my sex life, what you know of it, and you're going to storm out because I bring up your comments. Right." Jaw working, closing his eyes for a moment. His shoulders slumped, scrubbing at his face with both hands. "You'll do what you want, Arthur. Not answer what you don't want to. Everything I do is blood well the wrong thing and I can't... I can't keep trying to not be myself because everything about me seems to offend you. How about this..."

He opened his eyes, looking at Arthur without anger. He couldn't find it in himself to be angry. "I like who I am. I really and truly like myself and you're right, relationships take a lot. I can't be in one and constantly trying to be someone else."

He pushed back from the table. "There's dessert in the cart and a bottle of sweet pink champagne. Enjoy the view, Arthur. I thought of you alone when I arranged this but that was probably my thoughts of you and not you and screwed that all up as well."

Looking out at the city, his cheeks feeling oddly hot even with the wind around them, his tone soft but clipped, "You're the one "storming out", Eames."

Arthur hadn't moved from his seat, although one hand was gripping the edge of the table firmly.

Edited 2011-07-02 04:55 (UTC)

"Maybe I'm not so much storming out as giving up," he said, voice matching the expression in his eyes. "You win, Arthur. I don't know what else to do. I've laid my emotions on the line and got ignored for a week. I tracked you down because I was worried about you and I got slapped. I set this up because I actually have feelings and a heart and I'm just tired of it being stomped on. I get it. I finally caught up. Took me long enough, right?"

He laughed. He laughed because if he didn't he was going to say something more, was going to make a fool of himself."

Still looking away from the other man, same tone, "Fine. Give up, then."

It was a very simple statement that was loaded with so much more than he was letting on or saying.

He remained silent, shaking his head, as if he knew this would happen. As if he knew Eames would just throw in the towel with him. The forger was still so busy making his own assumptions about Arthur and how he thought and what he meant with his words, that he didn't seem to see how he was just as guilty of passing judgement too soon on Arthur as Arthur was guilty of doing the same to him.

"Don't you dare play guilt on me now,' he growled, picking up his glass and heaving it across the roof. It hit a planter and shattered. "You have no right. I'm so sick and tired of this. I'm tired of being the dog you kick because you get some perverse pleasure out of abusing me. And I don't care if you say I'm putting words in your mouth. Humans, you know that species you're supposed to be? We judge by actions to and all you do is treat me like your favorite goddamn whipping boy and I can't keep doing it. I can't keep laughing it all off because it fucking hurts, Arthur. All of this just fucking hurts and I'm sick of hurting."

He turned away, taking two steps before looking back. "And I'm sure you'll turn it all on me and make it my fault. Not good enough. Saying the wrong thing. Not trying hard enough. Not strong enough. Whatever it is, I accept it. I fucked up and blew it. Fine. I hope it makes you happy winning because all it has done is fucking made me hurt."

Arthur didn't even flinch at the glass being thrown and shattering. He looked at the table while Eames spoke, feeling his stomach tie itself in knots and his appetite disappearing (whatever remained was now gone).

There were a few things he truly considered saying; how if he was really such a terrible person, or so removed from humanity, why did Eames keep pestering him? Just to remind him of his own shortcomings in how he couldn't trust or feel a connection to others? That he could barely understand his own emotions let alone have them in tune with another person's? Or what exactly was he the "winner" of? He wasn't happy with his life, his only purpose in life seemed to be to work or find the next job, he was apparently only good at hurting other people or distancing himself from them, he didn't have anyone to go home to or anyone he could trust to have their arms around him while he slept.

Yeah, he was a "winner".

But all he ended up saying as he got up from his seat was, "Fine, Eames." And made his way to the stairs entrance, not bothering to wait for the elevator as it was clear the "date" was over.

Sinking down, Eames missed the chair and didn't mind. His head thunked against the seat and all he did was close his eyes, sitting on the wood plank patio as he drew his knees up to his chest. He wanted to call out, to ask for a second chance but his pride held him back. Arthur had said one chance and apparently who Eames was wasn't what he wanted, not if they were still fighting. It didn't stop his chest from seeming to constrict, the way acid churned in his stomach. Logically accepting he'd been wrong and didn't have a shot and getting other than his mind to understand that was an entirely different story.

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A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes

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