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sarahyyySo the reveals for the Arthur/Eames fanwork exchange are up. I wrote Répondez, S'il Vous Plaît originally posted at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
eames_arthur. Did anyone guess? =D (Link takes you to orginal exchange post but there are minor html fails there so this is a repost. >.<)
Title: Répondez, S'il Vous Plaît
Gift For:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sirona_gs
Author:sarahyyy
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Profanities and multiple POVs.
Word Count: 5978
Summary: In which it’s five days to Valentine’s Day, Eames doesn’t know what to feel, Arthur’s voicemail is really boring, Ariadne is trying to block out mental images and Yusuf is formulating weirdly flavoured sleeping pills.
Author Notes: I’m terribly sorry,sirona_gs for the extreme lack of Arthur (and the complete overuse of Ariadne and Yusuf) in this fic! I tried to include him but the story was writing itself. I tried to include most of your kinks, so I hope you enjoy this!
_______________
T minus 110 hours to Valentine’s Day (10 am)
A few things flit pass Eames’ mind when he wakes up one morning, the first of which being God, yes, soundproofing the house was an absolutely fucking brilliant idea which then led to Arthur fucked me six ways to Sunday last night which finally —almost too slowly— brought him to Arthur isn’t here any more.
Eames sits up so quickly he feels his head spin.
There must be a reason why Arthur isn’t still in bed with him. For all he knows, Arthur could be right outside his room, sipping coffee while reading the daily news. Arthur wouldn’t be as inhumane as to leave without a word; Arthur knows how much last night meant to him.
“Arthur?” he calls gingerly as he rises from his bed to hurriedly pull on a pair of sweatpants. “Arthur, darling, are you there?”
The silence that answers his question is deafening.
Eames scans his living room for a note —for anything, God damn it— to explain Arthur’s absence in his flat.
Nothing.
Arthur just upped and left. Like last night meant nothing to him at all.
Eames’ eyes narrow.
Oh no, he didn’t.
_______________
T minus 109 hours to Valentine’s Day (11 am)
Eames leaves fifteen hate messages in Arthur’s voicemail in ten different languages, five of which at least Eames is sure Arthur wouldn’t be able to understand.
Eames also finishes two pints of chocolate ice cream.
And three bars of chocolates.
And more cups of tea than he cares to remember because a good cup of tea is supposed to fix everything.
He is not feeling any better.
_______________
T minus 104 hours to Valentine’s Day (4 pm)
Ariadne is scowling deeply when she storms out of the warehouse and heads straight for Yusuf. “Have you seen Eames?” she growls.
Yusuf’s lips quirk up in a wry smile. “He’s in the warehouse, dressed in a smart blue button up shirt. You couldn’t have missed him.”
Ariadne’s eyes narrow sharply. “I’m not asking for Mr. Fuck-Off-Or-I’ll-Blow-Us-Both-Up who happens to look like Eames, I’m asking for Eames, our Eames.”
Yusuf laughs at that. “He’s having a bad day. Let him cool down, yeah?”
“He tried to shoot me!”
“It’s a paintball gun,” Yusuf informs her kindly, “I swapped it for the real one this morning. He must be absolutely pissed about something else to not notice it.”
“Nevertheless,” Ariadne snaps, “He tried to shoot me. There is something wrong with him. This is Eames. Eames never has mood swings or throws tantrums. Talk to him, Yusuf.”
The last sentence is an order.
Yusuf trudges reluctantly back into the warehouse. He really doesn’t want Ariadne to throw flames at him. He just got a new haircut.
--
“Well?” Ariadne asks impatiently when Yusuf emerges from the warehouse —thankfully unscathed— fifteen minutes later.
“It was…” Yusuf trails off contemplatively. “It was surprisingly educational. Eames had a lot to say.”
Ariadne raises an eyebrow. Yusuf almost sees Arthur in her.
“And?” she prompts when Yusuf doesn’t continue.
“Long story short, Eames and Arthur…” he trails off and starts making vague gestures with his hands, “They sort of hooked up, you know.”
Ariadne’s jaw drops.
“Apparently did it all night long,” Yusuf continues, unperturbed, “and in several positions that require high flexibility-”
“Eww!” Ariadne covers her ears. “Stop it!”
“You wanted to know,” Yusuf says haughtily before cringing, “My ears just broke listening to Eames alternate between calling Arthur every bad name he can think of for ditching him, and pining after him like a lovesick fool.”
Ariadne frowns. “Arthur shagged Eames and then just left him.”
“Long story short, yes,” Yusuf says with a nod. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to detoxify my ears.”
_______________
T minus 103 hours to Valentine’s Day (5 pm)
“Eames?” Ariadne calls tentatively as she peeks inside the warehouse. “Are you feeling better now?”
Eames grunts.
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Ariadne says, “Can I come in now?”
Eames grunts again.
“I’m taking that as a yes again!” She almost puts her foot into the warehouse when she remembers to ask, “You’re not going to shoot me again, are you?”
“It was a paintball gun,” Eames snaps.
Ariadne smiles and moves to sit on the chair next to Eames. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“You know what happened,” Eames says with a bitter snort.
“Are you going to tell me how you feel about what happened, then?” she tries.
He frowns almost contemplatively. “I want to end that bastard.”
Ariadne nods thoughtfully. “He would totally deserve it. I’m sure we can arrange for it to happen; so will it be poison, firearms or knives?”
Eames looks pained. “I don’t want to actually kill Arthur.”
Ariadne nods understandingly again. “What do you want from Arthur, then?”
Eames stiffens up and squares his jaw and for one moment Ariadne panics. Eames is not actually going to cry, is he?
“I don’t actually want to kill Arthur,” he repeats and he sounds tired and forlorn and Ariadne wants to kick Arthur for this, “I want him to come back so that I can maim him properly.”
She puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Eames, it’s alright. Everything’s going to be alright.”
Everything is going to be alright because she is going to make Arthur see what an idiot he’s been and make him make everything alright.
_______________
T minus 102 hours to Valentine’s Day (6 pm)
“You have reached Arthur Moss. I am unable to receive your phone call right now. Leave a message and I will get back to you.”
“Arthur, this is Ariadne. I just thought that I should call to tell you that you should die in a pit of fire for doing what you did to Eames.” She pauses and then cringes. “Please don’t be dead in a pit of fire already. I have a few important blueprints with you and I would really like those back and-”
“Ari,” Yusuf says with a forceful nudge.
“And,” Ariadne stresses, “you should be on the plane or a train or a car or whatever back right now, planning to do some serious groveling to Eames and then maybe, and only maybe, will he take you back.”
Ariadne pauses and turns to look at Yusuf. “Enough?” she mouths at him.
Yusuf shakes his head and balls his hands into a fist and waving them at her.
Ariadne snaps her fingers in enlightenment. “If you don’t fix this, Arthur, I swear I will hunt you down and rip your intestines out from your nose.” She scrunches her nose slightly in disgust. “Not literally, of course,” she amends, “You know what I mean.”
She snaps her phone shut.
_______________
T minus 99 hours to Valentine’s Day (10 pm)
Unsent text message to A. Darling from R. Eames:
usonofabitchdiediedieeeeee
_______________
T minus 98 hours to Valentine’s Day (11 pm)
“You have reached Arthur Moss. I am unable to receive your phone call right now. Leave a message and I will get back to you.”
“Arthur, this is Yusuf,” Yusuf begins as Ariadne stares expectantly at him. “I want to challenge you to a duel to death for Eames’ honour. You are required to bring along a second to this warehouse I am at,” he pauses and looks around, “I’m not exactly sure where we are right now but that doesn’t matter. You’re the point man; do your research.”
Ariadne snorts a laugh.
“As I was saying,” Yusuf says with a glare at Ariadne, “you are required to bring along a second to the warehouse at dawn tomorrow morning or forever be dishonoured. There shall be no satisfaction on my end until I see your lifeless body lying in a pool of blood. Tomorrow dawn, Arthur, bring your best gun.”
He clicks the phone shut then.
Ariadne grins at him. “I will be your second, yes?”
“Of course,” Yusuf replies, “that way if I don’t end up killing him, you can do it for me. I know how bloodthirsty you can get.”
_______________
T minus 90 hours to Valentine’s Day (6 am)
“He’s not actually going to show up, is he?” Ariadne asks.
Yusuf shrugs.
“I hope he doesn’t show up,” Ariadne continues, drumming her fingers on her lap absentmindedly.
Yusuf gives her a sharp look. “We’re dueling for Eames’ honour.”
“You are going to fight Arthur with Eames’ paintball gun,” Ariadne deadpans. “Pardon me if I’m wrong, but the odds don’t seem to be in your favour.”
Yusuf’s scowl deepens. “If you hadn’t made me dispose all the actual weaponry because you were so paranoid that Eames would shoot you, we wouldn’t be having this problem.”
_______________
T minus 80 hours to Valentine’s Day (4 pm)
“Ariadne,” Eames starts and Ariadne almost punches her fist in the air in mad glee at the fact that Eames is actually initiating conversation, “Do you think I did something wrong?”
Ariadne’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“Sex,” Eames says pointedly. “Do you think Arthur left because I wasn’t a good enough fuck for him?”
Ariadne gapes. This isn’t happening. This cannot be happening.
“I- What?” she manages to push out.
It’s not that she’s a prude or anything. It’s just- It’s Eames and Eames is like her brother and it’s Arthur and Arthur is like her other brother and the whole thing is like incest only not quite.
Eames’ face is surprisingly blank as he prods on. “I mean, how hard is it to bottom for someone?” He frowns. “Okay, scratch that; I didn’t mean to be offensive. I mean, I didn’t think I was a horrid fuck. No one ever had any complaints. I’m a very appreciative lover. But if Arthur left without a word the next day —heck, he could have left in the middle of the night— maybe I did something wrong.”
“You- Arthur- Oh God,” Ariadne moans as she buries her head in her hands.
Eames doesn’t seem to have heard her. “At first I thought it was my tattoos because some people just don’t like them but Arthur seemed to have a lot of fun tracing them with his tongue. I have this tattoo that curves down my arse and fuck, Arthur can do this incredible thing with his tongue-”
“Stop!” Ariadne yells, scandalised. “That’s- God, the mental image is so disturbing!”
Eames ignores her. “Do you think it’s my accent? I tend to talk a lot during sex and my accent is probably stronger when I don’t have much control over myself. I know some blokes have a thing for accents but what if Arthur isn’t one of those blokes?”
“This is not happening,” Ariadne moans.
“Or maybe it’s the problem with my position? Arthur didn’t exactly specify but I rather thought he enjoyed it when I lifted my-”
“Yusuf? Yusuf I need you here right now!” Ariadne yells.
Yusuf smartly remains silent. He has had this talk with Eames already.
_______________
T minus 79 hours to Valentine’s Day (5 pm)
“You have reached Arthur Moss. I am unable to receive your phone call right now. Leave a message and I will get back to you.”
“Arthur!” Ariadne exclaims into the phone. “I am so fucking glad you picked up the phone. Something’s gone wrong and Eames he’s going to jump,” she chokes out. “Arthur, you have to pick up the phone. You have to talk Eames out of- Oh, you know what? Sod this.”
She clicks the phone shut.
“That was a stupid idea,” she tells Yusuf. “I can’t believe you talked me into it.”
“I don’t see you coming out with any better ideas,” Yusuf retorts.
“I don’t see any of your ideas working,” Ariadne shoots back quickly with a scowl.
“I have a few more up my sleeves, don’t you worry.”
_______________
T minus 62 hours to Valentine’s Day (10 am)
“Good morning, Eames,” Ariadne calls cheerfully when she walks into the warehouse the next day.
Eames takes a look at her and promptly freezes.
“Eames, are you alright?” Ariadne says concernedly.
Eames’ fingers twitch slightly and Ariadne notices.
“My morning has been fantastic and you’re not going to ruin it by shooting at me again,” she warns lowly, “I will kill you, friends or not.”
Eames sighs in resignation.
Ariadne takes a seat next to him. “What is it?”
“Your scarf,” he bites out. “It’s purple. I want to burn it.”
Ariadne stares at Eames as though he has finally lost it. “I’m not sure I follow your logic. You never had anything against purple. The day before you were wearing that shirt with the-”
“Arthur,” Eames interrupts loudly, “has a tie in the same shade of purple. I fucking hate it.”
“The colour or the tie?” Ariadne asks.
“Arthur.”
_______________
T minus 60 hours to Valentine’s Day (12 pm)
“You have reached Arthur Moss. I am unable to receive your phone call right now. Leave a message and I will get back to you.”
“Arthur? This is Yusuf. I just wanted to let you know that Eames has caught this contagious fatal disease and is going to die soon. We’re all in this hospital that is nearest to the warehouse we were working in. Maybe you’d like to drop in sometime to visit Eames before he dies.” Yusuf turns to smirk at Ariadne.
She gives him a look. “Why would Arthur want to come back to see Eames if Eames has some contagious disease?”
Yusuf frowns and turns back to say into the phone, “I’m sorry, Arthur, there’s been a mistake. Eames has caught something fatal but not contagious. It’s alright if you want to come back and visit him. You won’t catch anything. I promise.”
Ariadne shakes her head in exasperation. “He’d be an idiot to not know that you’re lying.”
Yusuf sets the phone down. “But if he comes back anyway, it would have to mean something, no?”
_______________
T minus 54 hours to Valentine’s Day (6 pm)
Unsent text message to A. Darling from R. Eames:
i hope u choek on whatevr hoity toity dinner u r probably eating nw n trip on da foot of da bimbo date u probably hav n die. wait dont die. i dont want u to die bcos i want to be da one to kill u bcos u r mine n u dont get to go on dates with other ppl. no wait. i dont want to kill u. i juz. i think i am in luv with u.
--
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Yusuf exclaims as he covers his ears to block out the sound of gunshots coming from the warehouse. “Is it a siege?”
“If it is,” Ariadne says dryly, “I pity the person conducting the siege. With Eames’ mood right now, he would probably kill them all barehanded.”
They peek into the warehouse tentatively, though.
“Are those-?” Ariadne chokes out, unable to finish her sentence.
“Porcelain dinnerware?” Yusuf asks. “Yes.”
“Is he-?”
“Practicing his shooting?” Yusuf smirks. “Probably not as much as he is trying to vent his frustrations.”
“But we were gone for fifty minutes tops! How did he find porcelain dinnerware to shoot at?” Ariadne splutters.
“If Eames managed to get Arthur to sleep with him, I think that there is little in this world that he can’t do.”
_______________
T minus 38 hours to Valentine’s Day (10 am)
Yusuf is working on a new sedative when Ariadne comes to him, alarmed. “Is anything the matter?” Yusuf asks, concerned.
“Yusuf,” Ariadne starts calmly, “is Eames trying to drown his sorrows in brandy?”
Yusuf just sighs. “How many bottles has he gone through now?”
“Five!” Ariadne exclaims, her hands flailing slightly, “I saw five empty bottles! I know that the past few days have been tough on him but five bottles! Is it even healthy for Eames to be ingesting so much alcohol?” She pauses for awhile, as if to regain her breath and to collect her thoughts. “God, will he collapse and die? Also, why is my voice so high and why aren’t you worried about Eames?”
Yusuf shoots her a look of amusement. “Don’t worry, Ari, I swapped his brandy out for Chinese tea when he was in the middle of his first bottle.”
Ariadne’s jaw drops. “And he just went on drinking as if nothing was wrong,” she says slowly.
Yusuf nods. “Sometimes, Ariadne, it’s all in the mind.”
Ariadne squints and Yusuf thinks he sees Cobb in her.
“You lie!” she finally concludes, “You’ve managed to create some weird chemical which makes Chinese tea taste like brandy, haven’t you?”
“No, I haven’t,” Yusuf says in exasperation, “Not for lack of trying, though.”
_______________
T minus 37 hours to Valentine’s Day (11am)
Unsent text message to A. Darling from R. Eames:
my sheets stil smell leik u. i miss u. n i cant get drunk anymoar idk y.
--
“Eames, are you alright?” Ariadne asks hesitantly.
“Do I fucking look alright?”
“Eames,” Yusuf says gently, “You are going to have to get over it sometime.”
Eames glares at him. “Fuck off and die.”
Ariadne tries to smile. “You know what they say about there being more fish in the pond-”
“-more trees in the forest,” Yusuf interjects.
Ariadne rolls her eyes but continues nonetheless, “Maybe Arthur isn’t The One for you.”
Eames shakes his head. “He’s got to be,” he says petulantly, “He’s got to be because if he isn’t, I think I would die.”
“You’re just feeling that way right now,” Ariadne tells him. “It’ll go away.”
“You’re a good man, Eames,” Yusuf says quietly, “You don’t deserve this. You can do better than Arthur, really.”
“I know,” Eames says after awhile. “But he seems to be the only one I want.”
_______________
T minus 35 hours to Valentine’s Day (1 pm)
“Fuck, Arthur, Eames is killing himself over you. I don’t know how you can stand doing this to him. Eames obviously loves the shits out of you and if you had even the slightest bit of decency in you, you wouldn’t do this to him! You are breaking Eames’ heart into pieces, Arthur,” Ariadne rants to Arthur’s voicemail, “And it’s going to be Valentine’s Day in two days, you idiot! I don’t care what you do; you’d better get your ass back to London before V-Day or I swear I will never forgive you.”
She passes the phone over to Yusuf, who has been beckoning for her to do so since she started talking.
“And Arthur,” Yusuf says pleasantly, “I was quite serious about that duel. Frankly, I think you deserve to die for what you’re doing to Eames. A horrid, horrid death-”
“Yusuf!” Eames’ voice cuts through Yusuf’s monologue. “Are you two sending Arthur death threats? Have you two been sending him death threats?”
Eames actually looks a bit pissed off so Yusuf ends his phone call with, “We are not finished.”
“Well?” Eames prods. “Have you?”
“They aren’t death threats as per such,” Ariadne defends. “We just wanted him to know that he’s a heartless bastard who should die in a ditch for doing what he did to you.”
Eames glares at her. “Have you thought that maybe this is the reason Arthur is refusing to come back?”
Yusuf gapes. “So now suddenly it’s our fault?”
Eames nods stiffly but refuses to look either of them in the eye. “It could very well be.”
“We’re just trying to help!” Ariadne exclaims.
“Yeah, well. Maybe you shouldn’t,” Eames replies defiantly.
Yusuf sighs. “What do you want us to do then, Eames?”
“Nothing!”
“Well we won’t find the need to butt into your affairs if you didn’t look like a small part of you was dying everyday,” Ariadne snarls, “So don’t you even try to put the blame on us because we’re just trying to help!”
“I don’t need your help!” Eames sneers.
“Fine!” Ariadne yells.
“Fine!” Eames shoots back.
Yusuf massages his temples. He is definitely getting too old for this.
_______________
T minus 29 hours to Valentine’s Day (7 pm)
Knock knock knock.
“Eames!” Yusuf yells from outside Eames’ apartment, “Eames, I made new sleeping pills. It took me three days to formulate them; you’ve got to give them a shot!”
Eames glares at the door. “Go away Yusuf! I don’t want new sleeping pills.”
“They work this time, I swear! And they ought to taste like strawberries,” Yusuf continues, sounding almost thoughtful. “You’ll love them.”
“The last round you told me the pills were Earl Grey flavoured and instead they blew up when they touched my tea,” Eames deadpans.
“I told you they tasted like Earl Grey! I didn’t tell you to throw three pills into your Earl Grey,” Yusuf argues.
Eames scoffs. “Nevertheless, I am not taking any sleeping pills, strawberry flavoured or not, from you. You can not piss off and leave me alone.”
There is a long pause.
Finally, Yusuf mutters, “They’re outside your door if you need them tonight.”
_______________
T minus 23 hours to Valentine’s Day (1 am)
Unsent text message to A. Darling from R. Eames:
fuck u i cant evn take strawbery sleeping pills bcos i rmb u liek strawbery jam n nw how am i sposed to sleep. ur a tosser n i shouldnt liek u but i fucking do n idk what to do.
_______________
T minus 13 hours to Valentine’s Day (11 am)
Knock knock knock.
“Eames?” Ariadne hollers from outside Eames’ door. “Eames, this is Ariadne. You know I didn’t mean to yell at you yesterday so there’s really no need for you not to show up at the warehouse today.”
No reply.
“Eames?” Ariadne tries again. “Eames, are you dead inside?”
Again, there was only silence from inside the apartment.
Ariadne turns to Yusuf, horrified. “Oh my God, Yusuf, what if he’s dead?”
Yusuf shakes his head. “He must have taken my sleeping pills. They aren’t outside any more. Maybe they’re too powerful and he’s still asleep.”
“Or he could be dead.”
Yusuf shrugs. “He could be.”
Ariadne flails. “Do something, Yusuf! Kick the door down!”
“I can’t kick the door down!” Yusuf exclaims, “Do I look like I can kick the door down without breaking my leg outside of dreamscape? Are you mad or something?”
“There’s no need to kick any doors down!” Eames hollers from inside the apartment. “I’m taking the day off!”
“Does ‘taking a day off’ translate to ‘going to kill myself’ in any language known to man?” Ariadne asks Yusuf quietly as they walk away from Eames’ apartment because, really, stranger things have happened.
Yusuf gives her a look. “Not that I know of, no. But we should check for ciphers anyway.”
_______________
T minus 11 hours to Valentine’s Day (1 pm)
Eames decides to revamp his wardrobe because it was getting a bit annoying to get pissed off every time he sees a piece of clothing that mildly resembles anything Arthur would own. Also because, fuck, it’s February 13th and he is alone and he’s going to spend the 14th alone too because Arthur isn’t ever going to come-
“Oh, you, Arthur would have loved you,” Eames tells a purple shirt, “He’d have worn you brilliantly, cuff links and all, had you been his. But you’re not. You’re mine and I can’t keep you although I kind of like you because you remind me of Arthur and Arthur is a wanker. So I am just going to burn you now.”
He throws the purple shirt onto a growing pile of ‘Clothing That Remind Me of Arthur’.
“I’m tempted to keep you,” he says to a red paisley tie next. “Arthur hates you and I like doing things to annoy Arthur. But you’re a tie and I hate ties. Also if I keep you because I want to annoy Arthur, I’d always be thinking of Arthur when I wear you. It’d be highly distressing. So, yeah. Goodbye, I suppose.”
He sets the tie on top of the purple shirt and continues with the next article of clothing.
He continues until he realizes that fuck, every single thing he owns reminds him of Arthur and he can’t burn them all because then what the fuck would he wear?
_______________
T minus 10 hours to Valentine’s Day (2 pm)
“You have reached Arthur Moss. I am unable to receive your phone call right now. Leave a message and I will get back to you.”
“You’re not allowed to ruin my life even when you’re not here,” Eames growls into the phone and takes a drag from the cigarette in his other hand, “It’s not fucking fair that you are but you’re an arsehole and you don’t fucking care that you’re ruining my life now, do you?” He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t force you to sleep with me, damn it! You can’t just tumble me one night and disappear for a week after that because what the fuck is that supposed to mean and what the fuck am I supposed to do?”
Eames slumps down on his couch. “You don’t get to do this,” he says and it’s stupid that his voice is breaking a little, “You don’t get to make me fall heads over fucking heels in love with you, sleep with me and then run off to Gods knows where just to avoid me. Fuck you, Arthur. Just- Fuck you.”
And Eames should feel better after that. Really, he should.
But he doesn’t.
_______________
T minus 5 hours to Valentine’s Day (7 pm)
“Eames? Would you like to join Yusuf and me for dinner tonight?” Ariadne asks cheerfully over the phone.
“No,” Eames grunts.
“We could go somewhere fancy. You could wear that new suit you just got,” Ariadne continues, unperturbed.
“Burnt it,” Eames tells her.
“Or,” she goes on, “we could go grab a burger or a pizza. You can wear that Batman shirt of yours and make bad jokes the whole night.”
“No,” Eames repeats stubbornly.
Ariadne sighs. “You’re not still angry at me, are you?”
“No, I am not. Can’t a bloke just want to stay in at home and mope over the fact that Valentine’s Day will be spent alone?” Eames groans.
“We could buy Chinese food and come back to your place?” Ariadne asks tentatively.
“No!” Eames exclaims. “I want some time to myself. Alone.”
“You are still mad at me!” Ariadne cries.
Eames rolls his eyes and slams the phone back on the receiver.
He shoots the damn thing too. Just for good measures and all.
_______________
T minus 2 hours to Valentine’s Day (10 pm)
Eames is in the middle of his thirty-second cup of tea and second tin of shortbread when someone knocks on his door.
“Go away, Ariadne! Don’t make me shoot you with the paintball gun again,” he hollers, not even getting up from his couch.
The knocking continues persistently.
“Yusuf, you can take your sleeping pills back! I’m not trying any!” Eames says loudly.
The knocking doesn’t cease.
Eames ignores it and turns the volume of the television up higher because if this is how Yusuf and Ariadne wanted to play, this is what they’re going to get. He can totally outlast them; he has supplies and tons of food and he’d be damned if he has to countdown to Valentine’s Day with them.
He focuses on the telly instead but the insistent knocking is really annoying.
‘Most probably Ariadne,’ he thinks to himself because Yusuf is a good enough friend to know when to leave him alone.
Eames is in the middle of wondering why he has the Discovery Channel on and why he would even want to know that iguanas have two hemipenes when his door is blast open.
“What the fuck?” he exclaims, already reaching for his gun, ready to shoot whoever it is that just kicked his door down.
“Eames, relax now, it’s me.”
Oh. Arthur.
Eames suddenly can’t breathe because it’s Arthur and he’s here. And yes, Eames has been fantasizing about Arthur coming back but not that he’s actually here, Eames doesn’t know whether he should kiss the arsehole or if he should shoot him in the kneecap or both or maybe neither.
‘Fuck you!’ is what he wants to say.
“Why are you all wet?” is what he says instead because he is curious and because Arthur is drenched, absolutely soaked to the bone and it could very well be that Arthur is only here to borrow a towel or something.
“It’s raining outside,” Arthur answers simply.
Eames scowls. “I know, you dick. What did you do? Run around singing in the rain?”
Arthur dimples, just slightly. “Hardly that exciting,” he tells Eames, “I had to walk three miles to get here.”
Eames frowns. “Are you here to borrow money from me? Because if you are-”
“I’m not here to borrow money,” Arthur snaps and he looks affronted that Eames actually suggested so. “Look, it’s a long story, one I would be glad to share with you when I’m not freezing my ass off.”
“I would slam the door in your face but I guess you took that into consideration,” Eames says with a glare. “I have no reason to let you in.”
Arthur shrugs. “If you don’t let me in, I might just catch something and die on your doorstep.”
“Go die somewhere else,” Eames muttered, “I just got a new doormat.”
“I can’t think of anyone else’s doorstep I would rather die on.”
And Eames tries to detect the hint of a bad joke in Arthur’s voice —really, he does— but Arthur sounds so startlingly honest and Eames feels something akin to hope flare up within him.
‘Fuck, Arthur, I am in love with you,’ is what he wants to say.
“Don’t drip,” is what he snarls at Arthur instead because he’s been pining after the man for five days and he deserves this, really, he does.
But then Arthur smiles at him and Eames loses his train of thoughts again.
_______________
T minus 1 hour to Valentine’s Day (11 pm)
Eames tries not to stare when Arthur comes out from the shower in one of his old sweatpants, water dripping from his wet hair. It is a feat, but Eames manages anyway.
“You’re dry now,” he says snottily, “You may leave now.”
Arthur gives him a wry smile. “I don’t even get to explain?”
Eames looks straight at the telly, “I’d escort you to the door and open it for you but you have already taken care of it.”
“It’s pouring outside, Eames,” Arthur says quietly.
Eames snorts. “Lucky for you I have many umbrellas. You can even take your pick of colours.”
“Eames.”
Eames swallows. “You’re a wanker, you know that right?”
“I was kidnapped,” Arthur says finally after a long pause, moving to sit next to Eames on the couch. “Cobol’s men took me, said that I owed it to them to finish the job Cobb and I started. It wasn’t wise to contact you then. I didn’t want to drag you into something you have no reason getting into.”
Eames turns to face Arthur slowly. “You were kidnapped,” he repeats slowly. “You didn’t leave to avoid me.”
Arthur shakes his head. “No, I didn’t leave to avoid you.”
“But you left my apartment anyway,” Eames continues, eyes narrowing.
Arthur nods tersely once.
“You had no intention of staying behind,” Eames concludes.
Arthur combs his fingers through his hair. “You never indicated that you wanted anything more than just to get in my pants, Eames. You can’t blame me for getting confused.”
“I never indicated that I wanted anything more than just to get in your pants,” Eames echoes, his jaw dropping in surprise. “Jesus, Arthur, you can’t be that thick! No one is!”
Arthur isn’t amused.
Arthur also isn’t joking.
“Arthur,” Eames says incredulously, “Arthur. Short of shouting it out for the world to know how much I adore you, I have been doing everything. I learnt how to speak French for you. I started extracting and forging instead of just forging because of you. I threw away a brilliant collection of paisley shirts just for you. I don’t do stuff like that for other people! How could you-? Arthur.”
Arthur blinks. “I don’t speak French.”
“You’re missing my point!” Eames wails. “Everything I do, I do because I’m trying to impress you!”
“And you try to impress me because you want to get into my pants,” Arthur finishes dully.
Eames gapes. “I don’t want to get into your pants,” he cries, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Well, yes, I do,” he amends, “but that isn’t the point. I want more than to get into your pants. I want to- I want to get into your heart. Jesus Christ, Arthur, what sort of person do you take me for?”
“I know that now,” Arthur says softly, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, “You made it pretty clear in that last voicemail.”
Eames flushes a bright shade of red. “I meant what I said the first few voicemails too,” Eames says tightly, “About the decapitation and the disembowelment and the dismemberment in all the different languages.”
Arthur smiles slightly and he leans in close to Eames, so close that Eames can feel their breaths mingling.
“No, you didn’t,” Arthur whispers.
And then he is kissing Eames, kissing Eames like he means it, kissing Eames like he wants it to last. Eames just lets himself drown in Arthur because it’s Arthur and Eames would do anything when it comes to Arthur — it’s just the way things are.
“No, I didn’t,” Eames breathes as he pulls away from Arthur.
Arthur grins.
“Just so you know,” Eames murmurs, “should you be unfortunate enough to be kidnapped again, I would really appreciate a text.”
“Sorry, got kidnapped, can’t explain didn’t seem like a good idea at that time,” Arthur says wryly.
“Bastard,” Eames growls without rancour as he catches Arthur’s lips in another kiss.
It is awhile before Arthur catches his breath and replies with, “Jackass.”
Eames laughs because he might be a jackass sometimes, but he’s Arthur’s jackass.
_______________
Valentine’s Day (9 am)
“Eames, did you finally blow your door apart?” Ariadne asks as she walks into Eames’ apartment, Yusuf following closely behind. “Also, would you like to join Yusuf and me for breakf- Oh my God, you two!” She turns away from where Arthur and Eames are both lying contentedly naked on the couch. “Couldn’t you two have done this behind closed doors?”
Eames grins. “I would have, but Arthur kicked the door down.”
“You can do that in real life?” Yusuf asks with a low whistle. “I am impressed.”
Arthur laughs. “It’s not as hard as it seems.”
“Don’t you have any other rooms?” Ariadne demands, “And can you two start putting on clothes?”
“Do we have to?” Eames asks with a groan. “I was just getting comfortable.”
“Only just?” Arthur asks, arching an eyebrow. “Should I feel insulted that you seem to think that I wasn’t doing a good enough job of making you comfortable last night?”
“Eww!” Ariadne chokes out, already backing out of the flat. “This is disgusting. I’m washing my hands off you. It’s good to see you back, though, Arthur.”
Yusuf follows Ariadne out, but not before he cheerfully says, “Happy Valentine’s Day, lovebirds.”
“What say you we take this to the bedroom and make up for five days of being apart?” Eames asks, waggling his eyebrows.
“Again?” Arthur asks, “I would really rather have some breakfast.”
Eames whacks Arthur playfully on the arm.
“You must have been a very sex depraved man once, Mr. Eames,” Arthur tells Eames, but he pulls him in for a kiss anyway.
Breakfast can totally wait.
eames_arthur. Did anyone guess? =D (Link takes you to orginal exchange post but there are minor html fails there so this is a repost. >.<) Title: Répondez, S'il Vous Plaît
Gift For:
sirona_gs Author:
sarahyyy Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Profanities and multiple POVs.
Word Count: 5978
Summary: In which it’s five days to Valentine’s Day, Eames doesn’t know what to feel, Arthur’s voicemail is really boring, Ariadne is trying to block out mental images and Yusuf is formulating weirdly flavoured sleeping pills.
Author Notes: I’m terribly sorry,
sirona_gs for the extreme lack of Arthur (and the complete overuse of Ariadne and Yusuf) in this fic! I tried to include him but the story was writing itself. I tried to include most of your kinks, so I hope you enjoy this!T minus 110 hours to Valentine’s Day (10 am)
A few things flit pass Eames’ mind when he wakes up one morning, the first of which being God, yes, soundproofing the house was an absolutely fucking brilliant idea which then led to Arthur fucked me six ways to Sunday last night which finally —almost too slowly— brought him to Arthur isn’t here any more.
Eames sits up so quickly he feels his head spin.
There must be a reason why Arthur isn’t still in bed with him. For all he knows, Arthur could be right outside his room, sipping coffee while reading the daily news. Arthur wouldn’t be as inhumane as to leave without a word; Arthur knows how much last night meant to him.
“Arthur?” he calls gingerly as he rises from his bed to hurriedly pull on a pair of sweatpants. “Arthur, darling, are you there?”
The silence that answers his question is deafening.
Eames scans his living room for a note —for anything, God damn it— to explain Arthur’s absence in his flat.
Nothing.
Arthur just upped and left. Like last night meant nothing to him at all.
Eames’ eyes narrow.
Oh no, he didn’t.
T minus 109 hours to Valentine’s Day (11 am)
Eames leaves fifteen hate messages in Arthur’s voicemail in ten different languages, five of which at least Eames is sure Arthur wouldn’t be able to understand.
Eames also finishes two pints of chocolate ice cream.
And three bars of chocolates.
And more cups of tea than he cares to remember because a good cup of tea is supposed to fix everything.
He is not feeling any better.
T minus 104 hours to Valentine’s Day (4 pm)
Ariadne is scowling deeply when she storms out of the warehouse and heads straight for Yusuf. “Have you seen Eames?” she growls.
Yusuf’s lips quirk up in a wry smile. “He’s in the warehouse, dressed in a smart blue button up shirt. You couldn’t have missed him.”
Ariadne’s eyes narrow sharply. “I’m not asking for Mr. Fuck-Off-Or-I’ll-Blow-Us-Both-Up who happens to look like Eames, I’m asking for Eames, our Eames.”
Yusuf laughs at that. “He’s having a bad day. Let him cool down, yeah?”
“He tried to shoot me!”
“It’s a paintball gun,” Yusuf informs her kindly, “I swapped it for the real one this morning. He must be absolutely pissed about something else to not notice it.”
“Nevertheless,” Ariadne snaps, “He tried to shoot me. There is something wrong with him. This is Eames. Eames never has mood swings or throws tantrums. Talk to him, Yusuf.”
The last sentence is an order.
Yusuf trudges reluctantly back into the warehouse. He really doesn’t want Ariadne to throw flames at him. He just got a new haircut.
“Well?” Ariadne asks impatiently when Yusuf emerges from the warehouse —thankfully unscathed— fifteen minutes later.
“It was…” Yusuf trails off contemplatively. “It was surprisingly educational. Eames had a lot to say.”
Ariadne raises an eyebrow. Yusuf almost sees Arthur in her.
“And?” she prompts when Yusuf doesn’t continue.
“Long story short, Eames and Arthur…” he trails off and starts making vague gestures with his hands, “They sort of hooked up, you know.”
Ariadne’s jaw drops.
“Apparently did it all night long,” Yusuf continues, unperturbed, “and in several positions that require high flexibility-”
“Eww!” Ariadne covers her ears. “Stop it!”
“You wanted to know,” Yusuf says haughtily before cringing, “My ears just broke listening to Eames alternate between calling Arthur every bad name he can think of for ditching him, and pining after him like a lovesick fool.”
Ariadne frowns. “Arthur shagged Eames and then just left him.”
“Long story short, yes,” Yusuf says with a nod. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to detoxify my ears.”
T minus 103 hours to Valentine’s Day (5 pm)
“Eames?” Ariadne calls tentatively as she peeks inside the warehouse. “Are you feeling better now?”
Eames grunts.
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Ariadne says, “Can I come in now?”
Eames grunts again.
“I’m taking that as a yes again!” She almost puts her foot into the warehouse when she remembers to ask, “You’re not going to shoot me again, are you?”
“It was a paintball gun,” Eames snaps.
Ariadne smiles and moves to sit on the chair next to Eames. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“You know what happened,” Eames says with a bitter snort.
“Are you going to tell me how you feel about what happened, then?” she tries.
He frowns almost contemplatively. “I want to end that bastard.”
Ariadne nods thoughtfully. “He would totally deserve it. I’m sure we can arrange for it to happen; so will it be poison, firearms or knives?”
Eames looks pained. “I don’t want to actually kill Arthur.”
Ariadne nods understandingly again. “What do you want from Arthur, then?”
Eames stiffens up and squares his jaw and for one moment Ariadne panics. Eames is not actually going to cry, is he?
“I don’t actually want to kill Arthur,” he repeats and he sounds tired and forlorn and Ariadne wants to kick Arthur for this, “I want him to come back so that I can maim him properly.”
She puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Eames, it’s alright. Everything’s going to be alright.”
Everything is going to be alright because she is going to make Arthur see what an idiot he’s been and make him make everything alright.
T minus 102 hours to Valentine’s Day (6 pm)
“You have reached Arthur Moss. I am unable to receive your phone call right now. Leave a message and I will get back to you.”
“Arthur, this is Ariadne. I just thought that I should call to tell you that you should die in a pit of fire for doing what you did to Eames.” She pauses and then cringes. “Please don’t be dead in a pit of fire already. I have a few important blueprints with you and I would really like those back and-”
“Ari,” Yusuf says with a forceful nudge.
“And,” Ariadne stresses, “you should be on the plane or a train or a car or whatever back right now, planning to do some serious groveling to Eames and then maybe, and only maybe, will he take you back.”
Ariadne pauses and turns to look at Yusuf. “Enough?” she mouths at him.
Yusuf shakes his head and balls his hands into a fist and waving them at her.
Ariadne snaps her fingers in enlightenment. “If you don’t fix this, Arthur, I swear I will hunt you down and rip your intestines out from your nose.” She scrunches her nose slightly in disgust. “Not literally, of course,” she amends, “You know what I mean.”
She snaps her phone shut.
T minus 99 hours to Valentine’s Day (10 pm)
Unsent text message to A. Darling from R. Eames:
usonofabitchdiediedieeeeee
T minus 98 hours to Valentine’s Day (11 pm)
“You have reached Arthur Moss. I am unable to receive your phone call right now. Leave a message and I will get back to you.”
“Arthur, this is Yusuf,” Yusuf begins as Ariadne stares expectantly at him. “I want to challenge you to a duel to death for Eames’ honour. You are required to bring along a second to this warehouse I am at,” he pauses and looks around, “I’m not exactly sure where we are right now but that doesn’t matter. You’re the point man; do your research.”
Ariadne snorts a laugh.
“As I was saying,” Yusuf says with a glare at Ariadne, “you are required to bring along a second to the warehouse at dawn tomorrow morning or forever be dishonoured. There shall be no satisfaction on my end until I see your lifeless body lying in a pool of blood. Tomorrow dawn, Arthur, bring your best gun.”
He clicks the phone shut then.
Ariadne grins at him. “I will be your second, yes?”
“Of course,” Yusuf replies, “that way if I don’t end up killing him, you can do it for me. I know how bloodthirsty you can get.”
T minus 90 hours to Valentine’s Day (6 am)
“He’s not actually going to show up, is he?” Ariadne asks.
Yusuf shrugs.
“I hope he doesn’t show up,” Ariadne continues, drumming her fingers on her lap absentmindedly.
Yusuf gives her a sharp look. “We’re dueling for Eames’ honour.”
“You are going to fight Arthur with Eames’ paintball gun,” Ariadne deadpans. “Pardon me if I’m wrong, but the odds don’t seem to be in your favour.”
Yusuf’s scowl deepens. “If you hadn’t made me dispose all the actual weaponry because you were so paranoid that Eames would shoot you, we wouldn’t be having this problem.”
T minus 80 hours to Valentine’s Day (4 pm)
“Ariadne,” Eames starts and Ariadne almost punches her fist in the air in mad glee at the fact that Eames is actually initiating conversation, “Do you think I did something wrong?”
Ariadne’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“Sex,” Eames says pointedly. “Do you think Arthur left because I wasn’t a good enough fuck for him?”
Ariadne gapes. This isn’t happening. This cannot be happening.
“I- What?” she manages to push out.
It’s not that she’s a prude or anything. It’s just- It’s Eames and Eames is like her brother and it’s Arthur and Arthur is like her other brother and the whole thing is like incest only not quite.
Eames’ face is surprisingly blank as he prods on. “I mean, how hard is it to bottom for someone?” He frowns. “Okay, scratch that; I didn’t mean to be offensive. I mean, I didn’t think I was a horrid fuck. No one ever had any complaints. I’m a very appreciative lover. But if Arthur left without a word the next day —heck, he could have left in the middle of the night— maybe I did something wrong.”
“You- Arthur- Oh God,” Ariadne moans as she buries her head in her hands.
Eames doesn’t seem to have heard her. “At first I thought it was my tattoos because some people just don’t like them but Arthur seemed to have a lot of fun tracing them with his tongue. I have this tattoo that curves down my arse and fuck, Arthur can do this incredible thing with his tongue-”
“Stop!” Ariadne yells, scandalised. “That’s- God, the mental image is so disturbing!”
Eames ignores her. “Do you think it’s my accent? I tend to talk a lot during sex and my accent is probably stronger when I don’t have much control over myself. I know some blokes have a thing for accents but what if Arthur isn’t one of those blokes?”
“This is not happening,” Ariadne moans.
“Or maybe it’s the problem with my position? Arthur didn’t exactly specify but I rather thought he enjoyed it when I lifted my-”
“Yusuf? Yusuf I need you here right now!” Ariadne yells.
Yusuf smartly remains silent. He has had this talk with Eames already.
T minus 79 hours to Valentine’s Day (5 pm)
“You have reached Arthur Moss. I am unable to receive your phone call right now. Leave a message and I will get back to you.”
“Arthur!” Ariadne exclaims into the phone. “I am so fucking glad you picked up the phone. Something’s gone wrong and Eames he’s going to jump,” she chokes out. “Arthur, you have to pick up the phone. You have to talk Eames out of- Oh, you know what? Sod this.”
She clicks the phone shut.
“That was a stupid idea,” she tells Yusuf. “I can’t believe you talked me into it.”
“I don’t see you coming out with any better ideas,” Yusuf retorts.
“I don’t see any of your ideas working,” Ariadne shoots back quickly with a scowl.
“I have a few more up my sleeves, don’t you worry.”
T minus 62 hours to Valentine’s Day (10 am)
“Good morning, Eames,” Ariadne calls cheerfully when she walks into the warehouse the next day.
Eames takes a look at her and promptly freezes.
“Eames, are you alright?” Ariadne says concernedly.
Eames’ fingers twitch slightly and Ariadne notices.
“My morning has been fantastic and you’re not going to ruin it by shooting at me again,” she warns lowly, “I will kill you, friends or not.”
Eames sighs in resignation.
Ariadne takes a seat next to him. “What is it?”
“Your scarf,” he bites out. “It’s purple. I want to burn it.”
Ariadne stares at Eames as though he has finally lost it. “I’m not sure I follow your logic. You never had anything against purple. The day before you were wearing that shirt with the-”
“Arthur,” Eames interrupts loudly, “has a tie in the same shade of purple. I fucking hate it.”
“The colour or the tie?” Ariadne asks.
“Arthur.”
T minus 60 hours to Valentine’s Day (12 pm)
“You have reached Arthur Moss. I am unable to receive your phone call right now. Leave a message and I will get back to you.”
“Arthur? This is Yusuf. I just wanted to let you know that Eames has caught this contagious fatal disease and is going to die soon. We’re all in this hospital that is nearest to the warehouse we were working in. Maybe you’d like to drop in sometime to visit Eames before he dies.” Yusuf turns to smirk at Ariadne.
She gives him a look. “Why would Arthur want to come back to see Eames if Eames has some contagious disease?”
Yusuf frowns and turns back to say into the phone, “I’m sorry, Arthur, there’s been a mistake. Eames has caught something fatal but not contagious. It’s alright if you want to come back and visit him. You won’t catch anything. I promise.”
Ariadne shakes her head in exasperation. “He’d be an idiot to not know that you’re lying.”
Yusuf sets the phone down. “But if he comes back anyway, it would have to mean something, no?”
T minus 54 hours to Valentine’s Day (6 pm)
Unsent text message to A. Darling from R. Eames:
i hope u choek on whatevr hoity toity dinner u r probably eating nw n trip on da foot of da bimbo date u probably hav n die. wait dont die. i dont want u to die bcos i want to be da one to kill u bcos u r mine n u dont get to go on dates with other ppl. no wait. i dont want to kill u. i juz. i think i am in luv with u.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Yusuf exclaims as he covers his ears to block out the sound of gunshots coming from the warehouse. “Is it a siege?”
“If it is,” Ariadne says dryly, “I pity the person conducting the siege. With Eames’ mood right now, he would probably kill them all barehanded.”
They peek into the warehouse tentatively, though.
“Are those-?” Ariadne chokes out, unable to finish her sentence.
“Porcelain dinnerware?” Yusuf asks. “Yes.”
“Is he-?”
“Practicing his shooting?” Yusuf smirks. “Probably not as much as he is trying to vent his frustrations.”
“But we were gone for fifty minutes tops! How did he find porcelain dinnerware to shoot at?” Ariadne splutters.
“If Eames managed to get Arthur to sleep with him, I think that there is little in this world that he can’t do.”
T minus 38 hours to Valentine’s Day (10 am)
Yusuf is working on a new sedative when Ariadne comes to him, alarmed. “Is anything the matter?” Yusuf asks, concerned.
“Yusuf,” Ariadne starts calmly, “is Eames trying to drown his sorrows in brandy?”
Yusuf just sighs. “How many bottles has he gone through now?”
“Five!” Ariadne exclaims, her hands flailing slightly, “I saw five empty bottles! I know that the past few days have been tough on him but five bottles! Is it even healthy for Eames to be ingesting so much alcohol?” She pauses for awhile, as if to regain her breath and to collect her thoughts. “God, will he collapse and die? Also, why is my voice so high and why aren’t you worried about Eames?”
Yusuf shoots her a look of amusement. “Don’t worry, Ari, I swapped his brandy out for Chinese tea when he was in the middle of his first bottle.”
Ariadne’s jaw drops. “And he just went on drinking as if nothing was wrong,” she says slowly.
Yusuf nods. “Sometimes, Ariadne, it’s all in the mind.”
Ariadne squints and Yusuf thinks he sees Cobb in her.
“You lie!” she finally concludes, “You’ve managed to create some weird chemical which makes Chinese tea taste like brandy, haven’t you?”
“No, I haven’t,” Yusuf says in exasperation, “Not for lack of trying, though.”
T minus 37 hours to Valentine’s Day (11am)
Unsent text message to A. Darling from R. Eames:
my sheets stil smell leik u. i miss u. n i cant get drunk anymoar idk y.
“Eames, are you alright?” Ariadne asks hesitantly.
“Do I fucking look alright?”
“Eames,” Yusuf says gently, “You are going to have to get over it sometime.”
Eames glares at him. “Fuck off and die.”
Ariadne tries to smile. “You know what they say about there being more fish in the pond-”
“-more trees in the forest,” Yusuf interjects.
Ariadne rolls her eyes but continues nonetheless, “Maybe Arthur isn’t The One for you.”
Eames shakes his head. “He’s got to be,” he says petulantly, “He’s got to be because if he isn’t, I think I would die.”
“You’re just feeling that way right now,” Ariadne tells him. “It’ll go away.”
“You’re a good man, Eames,” Yusuf says quietly, “You don’t deserve this. You can do better than Arthur, really.”
“I know,” Eames says after awhile. “But he seems to be the only one I want.”
T minus 35 hours to Valentine’s Day (1 pm)
“Fuck, Arthur, Eames is killing himself over you. I don’t know how you can stand doing this to him. Eames obviously loves the shits out of you and if you had even the slightest bit of decency in you, you wouldn’t do this to him! You are breaking Eames’ heart into pieces, Arthur,” Ariadne rants to Arthur’s voicemail, “And it’s going to be Valentine’s Day in two days, you idiot! I don’t care what you do; you’d better get your ass back to London before V-Day or I swear I will never forgive you.”
She passes the phone over to Yusuf, who has been beckoning for her to do so since she started talking.
“And Arthur,” Yusuf says pleasantly, “I was quite serious about that duel. Frankly, I think you deserve to die for what you’re doing to Eames. A horrid, horrid death-”
“Yusuf!” Eames’ voice cuts through Yusuf’s monologue. “Are you two sending Arthur death threats? Have you two been sending him death threats?”
Eames actually looks a bit pissed off so Yusuf ends his phone call with, “We are not finished.”
“Well?” Eames prods. “Have you?”
“They aren’t death threats as per such,” Ariadne defends. “We just wanted him to know that he’s a heartless bastard who should die in a ditch for doing what he did to you.”
Eames glares at her. “Have you thought that maybe this is the reason Arthur is refusing to come back?”
Yusuf gapes. “So now suddenly it’s our fault?”
Eames nods stiffly but refuses to look either of them in the eye. “It could very well be.”
“We’re just trying to help!” Ariadne exclaims.
“Yeah, well. Maybe you shouldn’t,” Eames replies defiantly.
Yusuf sighs. “What do you want us to do then, Eames?”
“Nothing!”
“Well we won’t find the need to butt into your affairs if you didn’t look like a small part of you was dying everyday,” Ariadne snarls, “So don’t you even try to put the blame on us because we’re just trying to help!”
“I don’t need your help!” Eames sneers.
“Fine!” Ariadne yells.
“Fine!” Eames shoots back.
Yusuf massages his temples. He is definitely getting too old for this.
T minus 29 hours to Valentine’s Day (7 pm)
Knock knock knock.
“Eames!” Yusuf yells from outside Eames’ apartment, “Eames, I made new sleeping pills. It took me three days to formulate them; you’ve got to give them a shot!”
Eames glares at the door. “Go away Yusuf! I don’t want new sleeping pills.”
“They work this time, I swear! And they ought to taste like strawberries,” Yusuf continues, sounding almost thoughtful. “You’ll love them.”
“The last round you told me the pills were Earl Grey flavoured and instead they blew up when they touched my tea,” Eames deadpans.
“I told you they tasted like Earl Grey! I didn’t tell you to throw three pills into your Earl Grey,” Yusuf argues.
Eames scoffs. “Nevertheless, I am not taking any sleeping pills, strawberry flavoured or not, from you. You can not piss off and leave me alone.”
There is a long pause.
Finally, Yusuf mutters, “They’re outside your door if you need them tonight.”
T minus 23 hours to Valentine’s Day (1 am)
Unsent text message to A. Darling from R. Eames:
fuck u i cant evn take strawbery sleeping pills bcos i rmb u liek strawbery jam n nw how am i sposed to sleep. ur a tosser n i shouldnt liek u but i fucking do n idk what to do.
T minus 13 hours to Valentine’s Day (11 am)
Knock knock knock.
“Eames?” Ariadne hollers from outside Eames’ door. “Eames, this is Ariadne. You know I didn’t mean to yell at you yesterday so there’s really no need for you not to show up at the warehouse today.”
No reply.
“Eames?” Ariadne tries again. “Eames, are you dead inside?”
Again, there was only silence from inside the apartment.
Ariadne turns to Yusuf, horrified. “Oh my God, Yusuf, what if he’s dead?”
Yusuf shakes his head. “He must have taken my sleeping pills. They aren’t outside any more. Maybe they’re too powerful and he’s still asleep.”
“Or he could be dead.”
Yusuf shrugs. “He could be.”
Ariadne flails. “Do something, Yusuf! Kick the door down!”
“I can’t kick the door down!” Yusuf exclaims, “Do I look like I can kick the door down without breaking my leg outside of dreamscape? Are you mad or something?”
“There’s no need to kick any doors down!” Eames hollers from inside the apartment. “I’m taking the day off!”
“Does ‘taking a day off’ translate to ‘going to kill myself’ in any language known to man?” Ariadne asks Yusuf quietly as they walk away from Eames’ apartment because, really, stranger things have happened.
Yusuf gives her a look. “Not that I know of, no. But we should check for ciphers anyway.”
T minus 11 hours to Valentine’s Day (1 pm)
Eames decides to revamp his wardrobe because it was getting a bit annoying to get pissed off every time he sees a piece of clothing that mildly resembles anything Arthur would own. Also because, fuck, it’s February 13th and he is alone and he’s going to spend the 14th alone too because Arthur isn’t ever going to come-
“Oh, you, Arthur would have loved you,” Eames tells a purple shirt, “He’d have worn you brilliantly, cuff links and all, had you been his. But you’re not. You’re mine and I can’t keep you although I kind of like you because you remind me of Arthur and Arthur is a wanker. So I am just going to burn you now.”
He throws the purple shirt onto a growing pile of ‘Clothing That Remind Me of Arthur’.
“I’m tempted to keep you,” he says to a red paisley tie next. “Arthur hates you and I like doing things to annoy Arthur. But you’re a tie and I hate ties. Also if I keep you because I want to annoy Arthur, I’d always be thinking of Arthur when I wear you. It’d be highly distressing. So, yeah. Goodbye, I suppose.”
He sets the tie on top of the purple shirt and continues with the next article of clothing.
He continues until he realizes that fuck, every single thing he owns reminds him of Arthur and he can’t burn them all because then what the fuck would he wear?
T minus 10 hours to Valentine’s Day (2 pm)
“You have reached Arthur Moss. I am unable to receive your phone call right now. Leave a message and I will get back to you.”
“You’re not allowed to ruin my life even when you’re not here,” Eames growls into the phone and takes a drag from the cigarette in his other hand, “It’s not fucking fair that you are but you’re an arsehole and you don’t fucking care that you’re ruining my life now, do you?” He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t force you to sleep with me, damn it! You can’t just tumble me one night and disappear for a week after that because what the fuck is that supposed to mean and what the fuck am I supposed to do?”
Eames slumps down on his couch. “You don’t get to do this,” he says and it’s stupid that his voice is breaking a little, “You don’t get to make me fall heads over fucking heels in love with you, sleep with me and then run off to Gods knows where just to avoid me. Fuck you, Arthur. Just- Fuck you.”
And Eames should feel better after that. Really, he should.
But he doesn’t.
T minus 5 hours to Valentine’s Day (7 pm)
“Eames? Would you like to join Yusuf and me for dinner tonight?” Ariadne asks cheerfully over the phone.
“No,” Eames grunts.
“We could go somewhere fancy. You could wear that new suit you just got,” Ariadne continues, unperturbed.
“Burnt it,” Eames tells her.
“Or,” she goes on, “we could go grab a burger or a pizza. You can wear that Batman shirt of yours and make bad jokes the whole night.”
“No,” Eames repeats stubbornly.
Ariadne sighs. “You’re not still angry at me, are you?”
“No, I am not. Can’t a bloke just want to stay in at home and mope over the fact that Valentine’s Day will be spent alone?” Eames groans.
“We could buy Chinese food and come back to your place?” Ariadne asks tentatively.
“No!” Eames exclaims. “I want some time to myself. Alone.”
“You are still mad at me!” Ariadne cries.
Eames rolls his eyes and slams the phone back on the receiver.
He shoots the damn thing too. Just for good measures and all.
T minus 2 hours to Valentine’s Day (10 pm)
Eames is in the middle of his thirty-second cup of tea and second tin of shortbread when someone knocks on his door.
“Go away, Ariadne! Don’t make me shoot you with the paintball gun again,” he hollers, not even getting up from his couch.
The knocking continues persistently.
“Yusuf, you can take your sleeping pills back! I’m not trying any!” Eames says loudly.
The knocking doesn’t cease.
Eames ignores it and turns the volume of the television up higher because if this is how Yusuf and Ariadne wanted to play, this is what they’re going to get. He can totally outlast them; he has supplies and tons of food and he’d be damned if he has to countdown to Valentine’s Day with them.
He focuses on the telly instead but the insistent knocking is really annoying.
‘Most probably Ariadne,’ he thinks to himself because Yusuf is a good enough friend to know when to leave him alone.
Eames is in the middle of wondering why he has the Discovery Channel on and why he would even want to know that iguanas have two hemipenes when his door is blast open.
“What the fuck?” he exclaims, already reaching for his gun, ready to shoot whoever it is that just kicked his door down.
“Eames, relax now, it’s me.”
Oh. Arthur.
Eames suddenly can’t breathe because it’s Arthur and he’s here. And yes, Eames has been fantasizing about Arthur coming back but not that he’s actually here, Eames doesn’t know whether he should kiss the arsehole or if he should shoot him in the kneecap or both or maybe neither.
‘Fuck you!’ is what he wants to say.
“Why are you all wet?” is what he says instead because he is curious and because Arthur is drenched, absolutely soaked to the bone and it could very well be that Arthur is only here to borrow a towel or something.
“It’s raining outside,” Arthur answers simply.
Eames scowls. “I know, you dick. What did you do? Run around singing in the rain?”
Arthur dimples, just slightly. “Hardly that exciting,” he tells Eames, “I had to walk three miles to get here.”
Eames frowns. “Are you here to borrow money from me? Because if you are-”
“I’m not here to borrow money,” Arthur snaps and he looks affronted that Eames actually suggested so. “Look, it’s a long story, one I would be glad to share with you when I’m not freezing my ass off.”
“I would slam the door in your face but I guess you took that into consideration,” Eames says with a glare. “I have no reason to let you in.”
Arthur shrugs. “If you don’t let me in, I might just catch something and die on your doorstep.”
“Go die somewhere else,” Eames muttered, “I just got a new doormat.”
“I can’t think of anyone else’s doorstep I would rather die on.”
And Eames tries to detect the hint of a bad joke in Arthur’s voice —really, he does— but Arthur sounds so startlingly honest and Eames feels something akin to hope flare up within him.
‘Fuck, Arthur, I am in love with you,’ is what he wants to say.
“Don’t drip,” is what he snarls at Arthur instead because he’s been pining after the man for five days and he deserves this, really, he does.
But then Arthur smiles at him and Eames loses his train of thoughts again.
T minus 1 hour to Valentine’s Day (11 pm)
Eames tries not to stare when Arthur comes out from the shower in one of his old sweatpants, water dripping from his wet hair. It is a feat, but Eames manages anyway.
“You’re dry now,” he says snottily, “You may leave now.”
Arthur gives him a wry smile. “I don’t even get to explain?”
Eames looks straight at the telly, “I’d escort you to the door and open it for you but you have already taken care of it.”
“It’s pouring outside, Eames,” Arthur says quietly.
Eames snorts. “Lucky for you I have many umbrellas. You can even take your pick of colours.”
“Eames.”
Eames swallows. “You’re a wanker, you know that right?”
“I was kidnapped,” Arthur says finally after a long pause, moving to sit next to Eames on the couch. “Cobol’s men took me, said that I owed it to them to finish the job Cobb and I started. It wasn’t wise to contact you then. I didn’t want to drag you into something you have no reason getting into.”
Eames turns to face Arthur slowly. “You were kidnapped,” he repeats slowly. “You didn’t leave to avoid me.”
Arthur shakes his head. “No, I didn’t leave to avoid you.”
“But you left my apartment anyway,” Eames continues, eyes narrowing.
Arthur nods tersely once.
“You had no intention of staying behind,” Eames concludes.
Arthur combs his fingers through his hair. “You never indicated that you wanted anything more than just to get in my pants, Eames. You can’t blame me for getting confused.”
“I never indicated that I wanted anything more than just to get in your pants,” Eames echoes, his jaw dropping in surprise. “Jesus, Arthur, you can’t be that thick! No one is!”
Arthur isn’t amused.
Arthur also isn’t joking.
“Arthur,” Eames says incredulously, “Arthur. Short of shouting it out for the world to know how much I adore you, I have been doing everything. I learnt how to speak French for you. I started extracting and forging instead of just forging because of you. I threw away a brilliant collection of paisley shirts just for you. I don’t do stuff like that for other people! How could you-? Arthur.”
Arthur blinks. “I don’t speak French.”
“You’re missing my point!” Eames wails. “Everything I do, I do because I’m trying to impress you!”
“And you try to impress me because you want to get into my pants,” Arthur finishes dully.
Eames gapes. “I don’t want to get into your pants,” he cries, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Well, yes, I do,” he amends, “but that isn’t the point. I want more than to get into your pants. I want to- I want to get into your heart. Jesus Christ, Arthur, what sort of person do you take me for?”
“I know that now,” Arthur says softly, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, “You made it pretty clear in that last voicemail.”
Eames flushes a bright shade of red. “I meant what I said the first few voicemails too,” Eames says tightly, “About the decapitation and the disembowelment and the dismemberment in all the different languages.”
Arthur smiles slightly and he leans in close to Eames, so close that Eames can feel their breaths mingling.
“No, you didn’t,” Arthur whispers.
And then he is kissing Eames, kissing Eames like he means it, kissing Eames like he wants it to last. Eames just lets himself drown in Arthur because it’s Arthur and Eames would do anything when it comes to Arthur — it’s just the way things are.
“No, I didn’t,” Eames breathes as he pulls away from Arthur.
Arthur grins.
“Just so you know,” Eames murmurs, “should you be unfortunate enough to be kidnapped again, I would really appreciate a text.”
“Sorry, got kidnapped, can’t explain didn’t seem like a good idea at that time,” Arthur says wryly.
“Bastard,” Eames growls without rancour as he catches Arthur’s lips in another kiss.
It is awhile before Arthur catches his breath and replies with, “Jackass.”
Eames laughs because he might be a jackass sometimes, but he’s Arthur’s jackass.
Valentine’s Day (9 am)
“Eames, did you finally blow your door apart?” Ariadne asks as she walks into Eames’ apartment, Yusuf following closely behind. “Also, would you like to join Yusuf and me for breakf- Oh my God, you two!” She turns away from where Arthur and Eames are both lying contentedly naked on the couch. “Couldn’t you two have done this behind closed doors?”
Eames grins. “I would have, but Arthur kicked the door down.”
“You can do that in real life?” Yusuf asks with a low whistle. “I am impressed.”
Arthur laughs. “It’s not as hard as it seems.”
“Don’t you have any other rooms?” Ariadne demands, “And can you two start putting on clothes?”
“Do we have to?” Eames asks with a groan. “I was just getting comfortable.”
“Only just?” Arthur asks, arching an eyebrow. “Should I feel insulted that you seem to think that I wasn’t doing a good enough job of making you comfortable last night?”
“Eww!” Ariadne chokes out, already backing out of the flat. “This is disgusting. I’m washing my hands off you. It’s good to see you back, though, Arthur.”
Yusuf follows Ariadne out, but not before he cheerfully says, “Happy Valentine’s Day, lovebirds.”
“What say you we take this to the bedroom and make up for five days of being apart?” Eames asks, waggling his eyebrows.
“Again?” Arthur asks, “I would really rather have some breakfast.”
Eames whacks Arthur playfully on the arm.
“You must have been a very sex depraved man once, Mr. Eames,” Arthur tells Eames, but he pulls him in for a kiss anyway.
Breakfast can totally wait.
