Six hours after Inception.
They're outside of a bar, Eames slouching on a streetlamp. The smoke from the group gathered round the front of the bar is blowing their way, over to where Arthur is standing, staring Eames down.
The fluorescent pinks and blues of the club are reflected in Arthur's cheekbones, playing out across his suit. It's incongruous. Arthur looks stunning, somehow untouched in his designer suit among the smoke and haze of Los Angeles' nightlife.
He's smiling at Eames, a private twist of his lips that Eames has spent years thinking about in his less proud moments.
"Take a picture, love." Eames says, gently. He's merely teasing. He'd spend a lifetime against this lamp pole if Arthur stayed right there, smiling at him.
To his surprise, Arthur laughs. "If I had a camera, I would. Fuck, I'd take more than one."
Eames smiles along, shifts closer. "You're in a good mood," he observes.
"You aren't?" Arthur asks incredulously. "Inception, Eames. No one's done it before."
Eames shakes his head, lets out a breath. "We're lucky we got out alive."
Arthur doesn't stop smiling, ever deadly. "Whatever," he says, waving a hand with uncharacteristic looseness. "Dom's home. I'm going to take a vacation. Fuck, maybe I'll retire. Go live by the beach or something."
Eames scoffs. "We both know you'd be bored in a month."
Arthur turns towards him, swaying slightly. "God. I haven't been bored in so long."
"What's that they say, about idle hands?"
Arthur leans into him now, looking at him through his eyelashes. Eames has faced down gunrunners with his heartbeat going slower than it is now. "Eames," Arthur says, soft and quiet against him.
"Arthur," Eames echoes, numbly.
"Come home with me."
"What?" Eames asks. It's not his finest moment, but it's all he can think to ask.
"Come home with me," Arthur repeats, clearer this time. "I don't have anything to do tomorrow. Or anytime in the foreseeable future. Today was a shitshow, and we got through it alive. Tomorrow, when we wake up, I want to be home, and I want you to be there."
For a second, Eames is so bowled over by the confession that he forgets to respond. When he finally gets his wits about him, he has to clear his throat before he can even begin to speak.
"Darling, I thought you'd never ask."
The smile that spreads across Arthur's face in response is lit up pink and blue.
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i think my favorite arthureames moments are the ones that are private. of course, i love "you mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger darling," because how could i not, but i love the juxtaposition of the scenes in front of people and the ones where they're alone.
some of the scenes where it shows that they care about each other, genuinely care, are when they're mostly private. arthur screaming, frantically, checking if eames is alright when they get attacked. eames expressing concern for arthur, "security's gonna run you down hard," when they're talking to each other while everyone else is busy.
they snipe at each other in public, but privately, it's "darling," and "just be back before the kick," and "i will lead them on a merry chase." they have this language that other people don't see, or get to see, because it's just for them.
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Arthur's watch doesn't actually work. He checks the time on his phone, like most people these days. The watch was a gift from his late grandfather. It is elegant - a rich brown leather strap, cream watch face, gold detailing. No numbers.
Eames is as surprised as anyone to discover that the watch doesn't tell the correct time, and then realizes that he has inadvertently found out Arthur's real totem.
He's torn between not telling Arthur, because Arthur hasn't noticed that Eames has stolen his watch, and telling Arthur that it's a stupid totem, because it can be easily stolen.
In the end he snaps his own watch back on Arthur's wrist and goes back to his room.
It takes two hours and seventeen minutes before Arthur knocks on the door irritably.
"Give it back," Arthur says.
"You need a new totem," Eames replies, dangling the purloined timepiece from its strap.
"It's not my totem." Arthur retrieves it and gives Eames back his watch.
"Then why doesn't it tell the correct time?" Eames wonders if his supposition was wrong. He thought that the watch only tells the right time in a dream.
Arthur squints at him, like Eames is playing checkers in a poker game. "It tells the time where my family is."
Eames never once considered that Arthur has surviving relatives. Or a family of any sort. Somehow Arthur, in Eames' very rich imagination, sprang full-fledged and fully clad in a three-piece suit, like Artemis from Zeus.
"Huh." He files that away in the meticulously organized mental folder marked ARTHUR.
*
Eames picks a hard candy out of Arthur's pocket and sucks on it - ooh, lemon - while the point man is putting up papers on the board. He's going to brief the team in ten minutes and Eames knows the job isn't one that requires their combined talents, but Ariadne asked it as a favor. She is the only other person in the world who Eames thinks is allowed to ask favors of Arthur.
Cobb can go to hell.
"Stealing my candy? That's low of you." Arthur doesn't even sound mad. He just looks disappointed.
Eames holds out a peace offering and winks.
Arthur narrows his eyes. "I don't want a Chupa Chup."
"Indulge me."
"I'll slur my words."
"I can present it. I know the stuff as much as you do, from all your mutterings and sketches."
Arthur takes the lollipop and rolls his eyes. "Don't fuck up the numbers." Then he gets to his chair and leans back in it, the lollipop swiftly unwrapped, and he closes his eyes to enjoy the sucker while the rest of the team saunter in.
*
Arthur is a point-man, which means Arthur doesn't know what to do with himself unless he has a goal to aim for. He finds the concept of free time abhorrent, somehow, like it is a waste not to be working to achieve some distant target.
Eames despairs of him some days. (Months. Years.) They don't always keep in touch, but sometimes Eames gets this tingling sensation that Arthur's working himself to the bone once more, and with some deft questioning of his questionable contacts, he usually finds out that's the case. Sometimes he intervenes by popping in to drag Arthur out on a wild goose chase, sometimes he sabotages the job if he thinks it smells fishy, sometimes he lets Arthur do what he does so damn well and sends him tickets to a Greek island after.
But this time, Arthur drops off the face of the earth completely.
So of course Eames goes looking.
*
Here's the thing: Eames knows that Arthur knows that Eames has a thing for him. Hard not to: Eames is very obvious about it.
And Arthur isn't all that subtle about letting Eames know that he's letting Eames bother and tease and make a nuisance of himself only because Arthur, at some level, enjoys it.
Eames finds Arthur in Winnipeg in the middle of a park, except Arthur is wearing a bright blue down jacket with a checkered scarf and he's drinking Starbucks - probably a simple mocha - and he's not Arthur, because the kids who are with him call him Uncle Levi, and Eames thinks he can't be more charmed in his entire life.
He takes a picture from his vantage point and goes back to his hotel, satisfied to have laid eyes on Arthur-who-is-Levi, and has room service.
Two minutes after midnight, he gets a phone call from Arthur.
"Delete whatever photo you took of my niece and nephew," Arthur says without preamble.
Eames hums, pretending to consider. "What do I get in exchange?" He can almost hear the frown on Arthur's handsome face, and smiles broadly.
After a while, Arthur asks, "What do you want?"
Eames wants to say, Everything you are willing to give me. He says, "Tell me if I'm good enough for you."
"Eames." Arthur sounds impatient and frustrated. "Eames, you idiot."
That's not a yes or a no. Eames takes out his poker chip and plays with it, the pad of his finger scraping along that smooth edge of the chip. Water running over stone, washing away its sharp edges.
Arthur's voice goes soft, but not shy. "Why do you fucking think I work so hard for? What you can do on instinct, I have to struggle to achieve in months."
Eames' smile grows. There it is. And he's found the chip in his token, that one bit that scratches the edge of his thumb. "Alright then. New Year's Eve, darling. You know where to find me."
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