artfulforger | For Arthur - Follow up to all that texting

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)

Emaes snatched his hand back like a guilty child. "Naw. You got nothing to apologize for, Arthur. I keep telling you that." And he'd keep telling him it. Even if he was looking away, working to speak past the lump in his throat.

"If you're feeling like you can lay down though, I should put you into bed," he said in a low voice, waiting for Arthur's reaction.

Sounding pathetic and loathing it so, "I can't move. It hurts to move and not move."

He ached all over, inside and out.

"Then don't move. I've got you," he assured Arthur, moving to scoop him up once more. "We'll get you into bed, then I'll get you some water and aspirin and you can try and get some sleep. No arguing with this plan, Darling," he murmured.

Arthur did try to protest, as was his nature, but it was weakly and half-hearted. He went limp again in Eames' arms as he was scooped up again, only letting out another pathetic sounding noise of pain.

His body was just so damn sore.

He makes it again as Eames sets him gently on the bed, but manages to reach for a drawer in his bedside table. Gesturing towards it because it's just too damn far away, "I got--I got pills there that will help me more. Better." Off-the-market pills he was still able to get and have around whenever he needed to rest (usually to sleep through pain while his body healed).

Eames was so gentle, moving him carefully and not thinking about what to say, what to ask. Yet he can't help himself even as he moved to get the bottle out of the nightstand.

Holding it in his hand, watching Arthur. "How bad is it? Do you need someone to look at you," he asked, arching a brow. He wouldn't say exactly why, what kind of damage might have been done, trying to be kind yet firm about it.

Reaching for the unmarked pill bottle in Eames' hand, "No, I just need one. That'll take care of it."

Water would also help, he added.

Eames opened his mouth, wanting to say a million things. Instead he turned away, moving to go to find a bottle of water, coming back and handing it to Arthur. Silent.

Arthur got one of the pills out and popped it into his mouth and sipped nearly half of the water down by the time his head was noticeably starting to sway from where it was being held up to drink the water.

The pill had always been fast-acting and with water making it get through his body even faster, Arthur was fading fast.

He tried to hand off the bottle back to Eames while he was still able, attempting to say "thank you" but it came out garbled and sluggish as his eyes were refusing to stay open.

Standing over the bed, not looking the least bit content or settled about this, not any of it. Yet he caught the bottle, screwing back on the lid and setting it onto the nightstand.

Moving to help Arthur lay back, drawing the blanket up and over him. Turning away, he turned away to turn off the lamp. "Your welcome,' he whispered in a small voice.

Arthur would remain asleep until the next morning, hardly moving except to shift slightly in his sleep, snoring softly and completely unaware of the world around him.

When he did wake up, the bottle of water was still there on his nightstand and he was grateful for it (not caring if it was now room temperature). He took slow sips after grunting to sit back up but could already tell his body was healing better than it had been earlier...

And then he remembered Eames and what he had said, what Arthur had said, and all that Eames had done. Pausing in his drinking, he listened for any indication that the forger was still there.

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