artfulforger | For Arthur - Follow up to all that texting

Arthur had taken a shower but was too sore to try and lay down. He had read Ariadne's emails - both of them - but didn't respond.

It was a little late to heed any of her advice.

Although when there was a knock at his door, he winced slightly, knowing he was still probably drunk and looked like utter shit (bruises and cuts on his face from the fight, one set of knuckles wrapped after they were split open, and bruises that had obviously been from where someone had grabbed him too roughly around his wrists, forearms, and neck - those could be seen from the loose t-shirt he was wearing - the others on his hips and waist were darker, though) but he went to answer the door anyway, limping slightly.

At seeing Eames there, he couldn't feel anything. His voice sounded as hollow as he felt, "What?"

Edited 2011-08-28 06:57 (UTC)

He said nothing at first, tired and worn gaze sweeping over the cuts, the bruises. Everything in his chest felt tight and shriveled, cold as fuck despite the summer heat. His mind said one thing and he ignored it, not wanting to think about it, trying desperately to school his expression to nothing but emptiness. Wasn't his business, and that had never been more clear than now.

"Ariadne was worried about you and asked me to come by. I'll let her know you fell down a flight of stairs,' he said, voice low, rough, throat so tight he wasn't sure how he squeezed the words out.

"She's a big girl, Eames, she can handle the truth." Yes, Arthur might have still been a little drunk.

Edited 2011-08-28 07:08 (UTC)

His lips pursed and he nodded, once. "Yeah. I'm sure she'll do fine with it." He glanced past Arthur and then turned away. "I'll let you get back to your life."

Still hanging on the doorframe for support, "Oh, yeah, that's right; you're the one that can't handle shit."

Squinting at the other man, "Tell me something, Eames, have you ever even been in a relationship with anyone? Do you even know what it entails?"

He turned back, eyes closing as he took a long deep breath, trying to keep his anger in check. 'What haven't I handled, Arthur? You hitting me? You yelling at me and treating me like bloody shit all because you don't like yourself? You calling me a liar and a whore and who the bleeding hell knows what else but I keep coming back because what I've seen beneath all of that anger is a man that hasn't once told me to leave him alone and so I thought you might fucking well actually maybe like me and then when I go and tell you, don't hide behind my goddamn fears of you throwing me aside..."

He took a step closer, eyes closing. "You don't know a damn thing about me before you met me and what I do know? It doesn't entail going out and fucking whoever the fuck you want the moment things don't go the way you want." His gaze dropped to the bruises and back to Arthur's eyes. "Given I haven't slept with anyone since Cobb came for me in Mombasa, since I saw you again, I would say that I have a better clue what it entails than you do, but then you'll just use it to prove your damn point that you're some horrid beast and I'm too stupid to realize there's more to you than the anger and bravado."

Neighbors be damn, Eames had had enough.

Even after the shower Arthur had still felt filthy and unclean, even the pain along his body hadn't been enough to cover up the emptiness he felt inside.

And then Eames' words... something in him crumbled and he saw things, memories and faces, that he didn't want to. His vision was blurring and when he couldn't pull it back, his blinking caused three tears to brush past his cheeks quickly as they fell to the floor.

He then grabbed Eames and pulled him forward, crushing his lips against his and more tears ended up on his cheeks after he pulled himself away, half-shoving Eames away, leaning against the doorframe again. His voice shaking, "There. You have your reason to leave." He was shaking as well when he looked back up at Eames, "Now leave. You don't have any reason to stay."

He started shaking his head, trying to blink back more tears, knowing he shouldn't be doing this. "I'm not going to let you keep saying those things about me, about what you think you see, because I'm not going to believe it again. I'm not going to accept what you think your offering just so it can be taken away from me again and I'll never get it back."

His voice was barely above a whisper but it didn't have to be. "So you just leave, then. I'm not going to hope for anything any more because it doesn't matter." He said the words but even as he did he could feel his own body struggle not to convulse as he stepped back into his apartment.

Stronger, trying to be more determined, but sounding broken to anyone listening, "I don't need you. I don't need any one or any thing." And with that, he slammed the door as hard as he could. His body, shaking and weak, completely burnt out, collapsed to the floor after he managed to take a few steps away from it. He didn't make any attempt to get up.

In truth Eames had never expected Arthur to open the door. Everything beyond that was confusing and unknown territory. Especially that sudden kiss on the heels of seeing the tears, stunned, finding his heart racing less from that wanted kiss and all from being told to go, being told goodbye without the word.

Standing there, still gaping like a fish as Arthur opened up and the floodgates came down and then the door was being slammed before he could even realized what had just happened.

Instead he opened the door.

"If it didn't matter," he said, taking a risk and a chance and stepping inside. "Then you wouldn't..." he wouldn't point out the tears. Something in him told him that was the wrong path. "You wouldn't have given me that kiss and you would have just closed the door. It matters Arthur. It matters to you and it has mattered to me for a long time. I don't know what fool lied to you and hurt you and if I find them I'm going to damn well break them like they did you but... I lied. I'm a conman, Arthur, it's what I do. I lied when I said I'd go away when you told me to."

Bracing himself, hand on the door, because if he found himself laid out for this, he knew he'd kind of deserve it.

Arthur didn't say anything, he just continued to lay motionless on the floor, eyes closed but tears leaking out of them and into the carpet.

He couldn't run anymore. He didn't have him in him to anymore.

Something had given out inside of him and now here he was... He couldn't even make a fist. He could feel his hand struggle to do it but not succeed.

Sighing softly, he closed the door and slid down to his knees besides Arthur. His touch was so gentle as he moved to scoop Arthur up, pulling the point man into his arms. "Whether you like it or not," he whispered softly. "You're not in this alone anymore. Sorry to tell you."

Arthur was boneless as Eames moved him into his arms. He attempted, weakly, to struggle to get away once there, as was instinct in him, making a broken sound into the other's shoulder but ultimately couldn't manage it.

Instead, Eames would be feeling a wet spot grow on his shirt as Arthur went limp in his arms.

After what felt like several long moments like that that his voice cracked through the silence, "I'm sorry." He swallows hard and the clicking of his throat is loud in the room, as is his intake of breath. "I'm so sorry for hurting you," his voice breaking on the end because he really meant it.

Eames had indeed endured everything Arthur had thrown at him and kept coming back, kept saying he was worth pursuing, worth being with. And even after what Arthur did last night, even after telling Eames to leave... he was still here. He hadn't anticipated that at all. Hadn't expected it. And the truth was enough to shake his nerves to their core, making him feel unstable, unsteady, and uncertain.

Arthur had lost much at an early age, his only foundation wrenched out from under him when he couldn't have done anything to stop it. Ever since then, it was not surprising he had subconsciously tested every person he came into contact with for more than just one occurrence. Some more than others.

Some had given up on him. Others had stayed and persisted and it usually took Arthur hitting some kind of wall or bottom for him to see it and realize just what was before him. That the person who had persisted this far, who was here at one of his lowest points, and forgave him for it (and all the pain he had put them through), didn't leave him for it (didn't just leave because it was "too much")... They were the ones that essentially made it past his walls.

Not all of them. But the highest ones by far.

Voice still cracking, the truth finally coming out, "I don't want you to leave. I don't want to lose you." After all the other times Arthur had let people close only to lose them, it was a constant worry now. Even if he tried his damnedest to make it look like he didn't care at all. It was just another one of the many ironies of human behavior.

For Arthur, as much as he loathed to admit to it, was indeed human, with all its faults, glory, and vulnerability.

Edited 2011-08-28 11:39 (UTC)

Strong arms cradled Arthur closer. Eames hadn't expected this, not in the least, but it certainly wasn't going to scare him away either. Shifting to sit on the floor, moving carefully with Arthur in his arms. Arthur who was so substantial and yet long limbs and likely was a gangly child, and Eames had no idea why that came to mind in that moment, but it did. Rocking him gently, fingers strumming lightly against Arthur's spine. He was shite at comfort, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try, that was for damn sure.

"No apology needed,' Eames murmured, head bowing and pressing his lips to the top of Arthur's head. "I'm a big boy," he added, trying to make it sound like a joke, but the words had tightened his chest. Maybe it was that or seeing Arthur like this, so vulnerable. Whatever protective urges he'd had in the time he'd known the point man they were nothing compared to how he felt for him in that moment.

Then Eames did laugh, a surprised sound as his arms tightened a bit. "Sweetheart, you couldn't get rid of me before, what makes you think that's a concern now," he asked, fingers moving to catch Arthur's chin lightly, trying to tip his head back to look at him.

Arthur, in truth, had been a small child. Pale and sometimes sickly, he had had a stouter heart and larger intellect than his size would have originally implied. Perhaps it had been instinctual; that to make up for his size, he brought other traits to his defense. He didn't become gangly and lithe until he hit puberty and his first growth spurt had made him taller but also slightly more feminine in appearance.

It had been something he had paid for at sixteen. He hadn't learned to embrace his body type as it was until he was nineteen and living a completely different life after leaving his home and school years before.

Now, in Eames' arms, he felt anything but strong or sure. He felt shattered and frayed at what edges remained. He couldn't make himself move and started trembling at one point, his nerves shot and sobering up way faster than he preferred. He shook his head weakly at the first part, face still buried in the forger's shirt, hands trying to grab at the fabric and failing. "No, you do. Didn't--you didn't deserve it." Arthur didn't want to admit to ever having sobbed before but he was getting close to it now, tears and snot soaking Eames' shirt around his shoulder.

And Arthur tried to keep his face buried there, not wanting to look at Eames' face or have him see him like this (like seeing his face as it was would have just solidified the weakness he was giving into). His words muffled, voice sounding smaller, "Because everyone leaves."

In one way or another, they had.

Edited 2011-08-29 02:23 (UTC)

Eames had always been the kid playing tough guy so the others left him alone. When he'd gotten older, it had gotten him a lot of lovers, male and female, but it had kept others away as well. Even Arthur. Maybe that had been it all along, though now he thought he knew better. He might not know why, or who it was that had hurt Arthur like this but he knew that he would not do it. It wasn't in him, no matter how hard he'd worked to hide that side of his soul. The side that could be wounded in ways he avoided so often.

He didn't force him to raise his gaze, instead wrapping his arms tightly around Arthur once more. Keeping him close, body rocking slightly. "I accept your apology then," he whispered, kissing the top of his head once more. "I accept it and you can let it go now," he offered, stroking the point man's back.

He wanted to argue it but he couldn't swear something might not make him, anything from a job to death to prison. He knew some things though, things he wanted to remind Arthur of. "Three years, Arthur. Three years of you playing with Cobb and me in Mombasa and I still came back, didn't I?"

Arthur had made a small noise into the other man's shoulder but would let it go... even if he felt Eames shouldn't be so forgiving of him so quickly.

The safety of his arms, the tangibleness of his body against Arthur's was all enough to slowly calm him down to where he stopped crying. It had been so long since another's embrace had made him feel safe for once. Had made him feel truly wanted.

He didn't answer Eames for a long moment, almost feeling like he was nodding off, eyelids burning from all the crying he had done. Swallowing hard, again, "I let them in and then they leave me. Death, suicide, they hurt me, I can't trust them... One way or another." They leave.

They were hard words, just as holding the man he'd seen be so strong through so much was hard. Yet he would be strong, would get him through this even if there was a fear in the back of his mind that later Arthur would regret this, would regret letting Eames in emotionally.

"Can't promise on death, pet,' he whispered softly. "But you can't be miserable your whole life because of the past. Can't punish others for it as well," he pointed out, his voice so tender despite the slight bit of chastizing that came with the words.

Arthur let out a harsh breath, almost like a sob, as he pressed his face back into Eames' shoulder, sniffing weakly for a few moments before getting out, his voice sounding rough, "I think I'm going to be sick..."

"You keep doing that when I'm around, Darling," he teased in a shaky voice. "Is there something you're trying to tell me," he asked, already moving to try and get to his feet, Arthur still in his arms.

Arthur's body remained limp in the other's arms, trying to move his legs and feet but not able to put any pressure on them. He clutched at Eames as best as he could, not wanting to fall back down on the floor but moaned as the familiar, unmistakable pain of nausea ran through him.

Not as graceful as he might like to be, he got Arthur to the loo with only a bit of trouble, carefully lowering him to the floor. "You've really got to stop having our meetings be like this, Darling."

Arthur's only response was to vomit into the toilet, holding onto the rim for support like he had last time.

The only difference, though, was a rather large one in that he wasn't telling Eames to leave (anymore) or trying to push him away.

He was actually accepting the forger's help.

Eames stayed close, stroking the pointman's back. "You really have to stop mixing your liquors, pet. Never can seem to hold them." Trying to sound light and teasing.

Arthur wasn't able to properly respond as he started to cough almost violently into the toilet, body seizing up and tears leaking out of his eyes from the force of it.

He was able to recover, though, slumping against the toilet, exhausted and even more sore than he had been previously. Under the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, the bruises stood out even more against his skin, darker against the point man's natural paleness.

Edited 2011-08-31 06:24 (UTC)

Eames sighed, staying close and watching Arthur carefully. Not that he wanted to, per se, but he wouldn't desert him either. Trying hard to ignore the bruises, to not rage and demand a name, a face, anything to track whatever bastard had done it down. His fingers touched lightly to one of the bruises, hating himself for even acknowledging them and hoping that Arthur was too sick to notice.

Arthur did notice, however, turning his head enough from where he was resting it on the forearm draped over the toilet seat to see Eames' fingers touching one of them on his other arm.

Guilt twisted in his stomach, his voice cracking on the words after vomiting like he had, "I'm s--sorry."

He knew he had gone out and done certain things last mainly with the intent to hurt Eames; it didn't make much sense when Arthur had ended up getting hurt in a bar fight and then being too roughly handled during sex, but, at the time, it had somehow made sense in his mind.

But then emotions always had a way of making things more difficult than they had to be...

Edited 2011-08-31 22:02 (UTC)

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