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sarahyyyTitle: Please Say You Love Me Too
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sarahyyy
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 3000
Summary: Five times Eames tells Arthur he loves him and one time Arthur says it back. (Add some family drama and a pinch of domesticity.)
Disclaimer: Do not own. =(
A/N: Remember those days when I wrote drabbles that were actually drabble-sized? Yeah, I miss those days.
1.
The first time Eames tells Arthur he loves him, they just started working together, Eames doesn’t trust Arthur one bit, and he absolutely doesn’t mean it.
Eames dislikes Arthur the moment they meet because Arthur is annoying. Arthur with his slicked back hair and his designer suits, looking like he is too good for the job, trying to make himself look older and to make people take him more seriously; Arthur who worries too much and has not enough imagination and thinks that everyone else should be held back from creativity like he is; Arthur who takes one look at Eames and decides that he knows exactly the kind of person Eames is. He gets on Eames’ nerves much more than he should and that annoys Eames most of all.
They go down under, they finish the relatively easy job and ride the kick back up only to face five men, each pointing guns into their faces, realizing with a pang of irritation that their architect had sold them out to the mark’s security team.
Eames’ first instinct is to go with the flow and talk his way out of things later. Beside him, though, he hears Arthur breathe out an annoyed sigh before saying, “Duck.” Eames does as told and the next thing he knows, there are three men dead on the floor, Arthur is armed and everyone is shooting.
“Grab the PASIV, Eames!” Arthur shouts and Eames does so and they run out of the warehouse together, adrenaline rushing through them, PASIV in Eames’ hand and Arthur still trying to shoot the single man still after them.
They take refuge at a seedy motel after they have shaken their tail off and Arthur passes an envelope with plane tickets in it to Eames.
“Shanghai, Mombasa, Peru, Hawaii,” he tells Eames. “Pick one. Don’t let me know which, just to be safe.”
These are all places in which Eames has an apartment to lie low in and although he rather suspects that Arthur already knows that, he tells him so.
Arthur gives him a wry smile, revealing the hint of dimples and while Eames wonders why he has never noticed them, Arthur says, “Point man.”
Eames laughs at that and says, “You also just saved my life. Are you sure I can’t hire you permanently? We can take the world of dreamshare by storm.”
Arthur snorts. “I’d die of exasperation at your choice of clothing before the week is over and you’d be so annoyed with my constant constructive criticism that you’d die too. It’s not a good idea.”
“But you know I love you, darling,” Eames jokes. “I can make necessary changes to accommodate you.”
Arthur just rolls his eyes and picks up the PASIV. “It has been interesting working with you, Mr. Eames. Do take care,” he says before he leaves.
2.
The first time Eames tells Arthur he loves him and actually means it, Arthur doesn’t hear him. Arthur is lying naked in bed, eyes closed, as Eames wipes him down with a warm towel and Eames is never going to get tired of seeing Arthur like this, soft and sated after sex.
“Do you have an early flight tomorrow?” he asks, nudging at Arthur’s leg, because they are both beyond horrid at waking up in the morning and if he does, Eames is going to have to set the alarm.
“No,” Arthur murmurs sleepily. “I don’t know where to go yet.”
Eames climbs into bed next to Arthur and pulls the sheets up. “You should come back to Mombasa with me,” he says, softly.
Arthur doesn’t say anything. Eames doesn’t expect Arthur to say yes. Arthur never does, always just shrugs the invitation off without a second thought like he thinks Eames is just asking for the sake of asking even though he should know that Eames means it. Eames has always meant it.
He pulls Arthur’s back closer to him and hears Arthur let out a contented sigh as he leans into Eames though. Then he says so softly that Eames almost misses it, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go to Mombasa with you.”
Eames’ lips curve up into a small smile and the words ‘I love you’ just burst out of him, like he cannot contain it. He tenses slightly after he says so but Arthur’s breathing is still even and he is still curled against Eames instead of right hooking him and Eames lets himself get lulled to sleep by Arthur’s soft breathing.
He can analyze his words tomorrow.
3.
They have a minor argument over their plans for Christmas when Arthur ends up staying too long and getting too emotionally invested in Mombasa for him to just pick up his suitcase and leave.
Arthur is going home to LA to see his parents. He disinvites Eames from the trip without even thinking to ask Eames and when Eames brings it up, Arthur gets awfully defensive, refuses to budge and they fight over it.
Eames gets kicked out of the room that night and settles, cold, uncomfortable and feeling absolutely wretched, on the lumpy excuse of a couch that he has out in the living room. (Arthur hates everything the bloody couch embodies, has been trying to get Eames to change it for two months now and fuck, has it been two months since Arthur has been here?)
He is still wide awake, replaying their fight in his head and feeling all sorts of stupid about all the nonsensical things he said to pick a fight with Arthur when Arthur pads out to the living room.
“I’m sorry, Eames,” he says with a sigh, nudging Eames’ shoulder gently, and Eames sits up on the couch to make way for Arthur.
He puts an arm around Arthur and murmurs, “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have pushed. It- It just felt a bit like you were ashamed of me. I’m sorry.”
Arthur turns to look at Eames, incredulity pasted all over his face. “I’m not ashamed of you, Jesus Christ, Eames. It’s not like this. This isn’t what it’s about.”
“I know,” Eames says with a sheepish smile. “I was being an idiot. I’m sorry.”
Eames watches quietly for a moment as Arthur worries over his lower lip with his teeth before saying quietly, “I didn’t want you to go because you’ll hate my family, Eames.”
Eames gives Arthur a look. “I won’t hate them,” he promises gravely but Arthur just smiles ruefully at him and says, “You will, Eames. Even I can’t help but to, sometimes.”
“Are they anything like you?” Eames asks, thoughtful. “Because if they are, I’m pretty sure I’ll love them like I love you.”
If Arthur notices the slip, he doesn’t call Eames on it, just smiles and tugs on Eames’ hand and leads him back into their room.
They buy two tickets to LA the next morning.
4.
Christmas with Arthur’s family is…unpleasant, to put things lightly.
Arthur’s mother is already drunk when they reach Arthur’s family home at three in the afternoon. Arthur doesn’t say anything about it but he doesn’t really have to; Eames can see the telltale signs of a practised alcoholic in her. Instead, Arthur tells Eames that he’s going to see his father. Eames doesn’t think to tag along, realizing that is might be a bad idea to intrude on what might be a private moment between them but then Arthur takes his hand and leads up the stairs and says, “Come on, Eames, I want you to meet my dad.”
When they stop outside a closed door upstairs, Arthur stops and says to Eames, “My dad, he gets very…confused, these days.” His shoulders are tensed and his jaw is tight and he doesn’t look at Eames. Eames doesn’t know how to respond to that so he doesn’t, just squeezes Arthur’s hand in his.
Confused, it turns out, is the understatement of the century.
Arthur’s father thinks that Arthur is a volunteer and Arthur plays along the whole time trying to smile as he shows his father old photo albums to try to jog his memory but failing at it so badly that Eames wants to take him in his arms and just hug him so hard that he would be able to feel it for weeks. Instead, he plays along with Arthur, smiling and telling Arthur’s father jokes when it seems like Arthur almost cannot hold it together any more. Arthur shoots him grateful looks for that, eyes still slightly wet with unshed tears.
Dinner is tensed. Arthur’s elder sister, Cecelia, is a snob who wouldn’t stop talking about how Arthur was wasting his life doing God only knows what it was he does and how they didn’t put him through law school so that he can come out to be a freelancing something and not a lawyer. Arthur obviously hasn’t told his family about dreamshare. To make things worse, her husband, Philip, is a homophobe who keeps shooting Arthur and Eames disgusted looks that he tries to conceal behind forced smiles.
Arthur’s father is still confused and Arthur’s mother is still drinking.
Dinner ends in Arthur and his mother having a screaming match, Arthur telling his mother how she needs to cut back on the drinking and start paying more attention to his father before they lose him completely and she screaming back, “What do you care? It’s not like you even like being part of this family!”
Arthur storms out in a fury and Eames stays long enough for him to calm Arthur’s father down and take him back up to his room.
When Eames comes down, Arthur’s mother is weeping silently and drinking whiskey straight out from the bottle. Eames takes a long look at her before saying, “He does care, you know? He cares so much it hurts him.” and walking out in search of Arthur.
Arthur is sitting out on the steps of the veranda when Eames gets outside. Eames sits down gingerly next to Arthur and starts telling Arthur about how his mother left when he was five, how his father (a conman, by the way) took it really badly and mostly blamed it on him, how his father used him to reel in potential marks for a con when he was six, how his father started to teach him how to forge high end paintings the moment he displayed signs of talent in art, how his father sold his first forged painting —a Kandinsky, it sold for an obscene amount of money— and ran off with the money.
When he finished, Arthur was looking at him, question evident in his eyes.
Eames says, “I don’t know, darling.” and really, what he means is you feel alone because your family is fucked up but you don’t have to because my family is fucked up and I’m alone too and if we stay together, we don’t have to be alone. He thinks that Arthur might understand him when Arthur leans into his embrace, nuzzling his neck and breathing him in deeply.
“Thank you, Eames,” he says after a long beat.
And Eames says, “I love you, Arthur.” even though the words, ‘any time, darling’ are already on his tongue because Arthur needs to hear it and Eames needs to say it.
They leave for Mombasa the next day.
They don’t say goodbye to Arthur’s mom.
5.
Somehow, in the scant four days between Christmas and New Year, Eames manages to catch, what seems to him to be like, the plague.
This is the thing about Eames — Eames rarely ever falls sick, but when he does, he is furiously so and he will remain so for a long time. He will also refuse, no matter what anyone says to him, to see a doctor.
This is why Eames is wheezing in bed at four in the morning, on New Year’s Eve, wondering how much Arthur would hate him if he grabbed Arthur’s Glock and shot himself in the head.
He thinks he should probably move out of the room so that he wouldn’t disrupt Arthur’s sleep, but he cannot bring himself to move. He tries valiantly, instead, to cough as silently as possibly so that he wouldn’t wake Arthur up. Arthur’s had a pretty rough week and he hasn’t been sleeping well much, to be fair.
It doesn’t work.
Arthur wakes up at Eames’ next racketing cough, takes a look at Eames, and growls, “You’re a fucking idiot, Eames,” and slips out of bed.
Eames can hear rattling in the kitchen and he wants nothing more than to get up and tell Arthur that he is sorry and that Arthur can go back to sleep and that he can take the couch tonight and it’ll all be fine but fuck, it’s like his energy has been totally sapped out of him and he gives up, burrowing further into the comforter.
Arthur comes back five minutes later with a steaming cup of tea and Tylenol.
“You don’t have to—” Eames croaks, “I’m fine, you can go back to—”
“Shut up, Eames, and eat the damned pills,” Arthur snaps and glares at him until he does. “How long have you been like this? Jesus, Eames, you should have woken me up!” When Eames gives him a sheepish look from behind his mug of tea, Arthur adds, “You are an idiot.”
“I am also dying, darling,” Eames coughs out. “I feel awful. I think I’m going to pass out and never wake up and really, that would be an improvement from what I’m feeling now.”
Arthur’s face softens immediately. “Can I do anything to help? Do you need anything?” he asks gently, his fingers gently massaging Eames’ scalp.
“A hug,” Eames says in a small voice. “I need you to wrap me up in your manly arms and lull me to sleep because you obviously have magic arms and because I feel really fucking cold.”
Arthur manages to snort and look concerned all at the same time. “You’re delirious, Eames, do you have a fever?” He presses the back of his hand to Eames’ forehead.
Eames just pouts at Arthur until he relents and wraps his arms around Eames. Eames sighs and leans into Arthur’s touch, feeling inexplicably a lot better about things already.
“You good now?” Arthur asks, rubbing soft circles on Eames’ back.
“Not by a stretch,” Eames says with a sigh, “but a lot better.”
He feels Arthur press a kiss on the top of his head and lets his eyelids droop down, mumbling, “I love you, darling.”
+1
The extractor, Beckett or Beckham or whatever the fucktard’s name was, tells him that he is bleeding. Eames is acutely aware that he is bleeding. He can fucking tell that he is bleeding because that’s what happens when you get shot at and as far as Eames can tell, he hasn’t quite mustered the art of deflecting bullets off his chest yet, although it is now on his priority list. He can fucking tell that he is bleeding because his shirt is soaking with blood and it’s sticking to his skin, which is a shame because Arthur bought him that shirt, told him that he needed to start getting better shirts (“No, Eames, a deeper shade of orange does not magically make paisley better. Where are you getting all your fashion tips from?”) before he dumped Eames out of sheer exasperation and Eames had grinned and kissed him.
It’s Arthur’s favourite fucking shirt and now he is bleeding through it.
That’s Eames’ last thought before he blacks out.
--
Eames wakes up with a groan and a sharp spike of pain in his chest. Next to him, Arthur jolts awake. “Eames,” he says and although his voice is scratchy, he sounds relieved, “are you alright?”
Eames tries to smile. “I’m fine darling,” he says, “Hurts like the devil, yes, but I’m not dead and you’re here. I’m better than fine.”
Arthur doesn’t smile. “A bullet went through your chest; you have three broken ribs and various cuts on your body. This is no time to joke.”
Eames takes Arthur’s hand in his. “Hey, Arthur, darling, I’m fine, I promise.”
Arthur lets out a breath and squeezes Eames’ hand. “You told me it was an easy job.”
“It was. I wouldn’t lie to you,” Eames insists. “The point, Chang? She screwed up and led us straight into a trap.”
“You are never taking any jobs without me on point again,” Arthur growls.
Eames beams. “Funny, I was thinking the same.”
“You could have died,” Arthur says quietly.
Eames’ smile falls off his face as he schools his features into something more serious so that Arthur will know that he understands how worried Arthur was for him. “I know, pet, but I’m fine.”
Eames thinks he should tell Arthur about how he thought he was going to die and how his last thoughts would have been of Arthur and his favourite shirt because he thinks that’s the sort of thing Arthur would appreciate knowing and probably think is funny in that sick, sadistic way of his, but when he opens his mouth to speak, Arthur cuts him off.
“Eames,” he says and his voice is firm and determined, “this is very important and I want you to listen very carefully to the words I am going to say.”
Eames wants to laugh and tell Arthur that the revenge can wait until his ribs are fine and that Arthur can hold the it’s-not-safe-yet-there-could-still-be-men-after-you speech because that he’s pretty sure that whoever sent him to the hospital made sure that they used an alias so he should be fine for now but Arthur presses his lips chastely against Eames’ and murmurs against his lips, “I love you, Eames.”
Eames grins so fucking hard all his wounds hurt. “It took you three broken ribs and a bullet wound, darling.”
Three broken ribs and a bullet wound and it was all worth it.
I despair for my sanity. Really, I do. Whatever happened to study, no writing?
Author:
sarahyyy Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 3000
Summary: Five times Eames tells Arthur he loves him and one time Arthur says it back. (Add some family drama and a pinch of domesticity.)
Disclaimer: Do not own. =(
A/N: Remember those days when I wrote drabbles that were actually drabble-sized? Yeah, I miss those days.
_________________________________________
1.
The first time Eames tells Arthur he loves him, they just started working together, Eames doesn’t trust Arthur one bit, and he absolutely doesn’t mean it.
Eames dislikes Arthur the moment they meet because Arthur is annoying. Arthur with his slicked back hair and his designer suits, looking like he is too good for the job, trying to make himself look older and to make people take him more seriously; Arthur who worries too much and has not enough imagination and thinks that everyone else should be held back from creativity like he is; Arthur who takes one look at Eames and decides that he knows exactly the kind of person Eames is. He gets on Eames’ nerves much more than he should and that annoys Eames most of all.
They go down under, they finish the relatively easy job and ride the kick back up only to face five men, each pointing guns into their faces, realizing with a pang of irritation that their architect had sold them out to the mark’s security team.
Eames’ first instinct is to go with the flow and talk his way out of things later. Beside him, though, he hears Arthur breathe out an annoyed sigh before saying, “Duck.” Eames does as told and the next thing he knows, there are three men dead on the floor, Arthur is armed and everyone is shooting.
“Grab the PASIV, Eames!” Arthur shouts and Eames does so and they run out of the warehouse together, adrenaline rushing through them, PASIV in Eames’ hand and Arthur still trying to shoot the single man still after them.
They take refuge at a seedy motel after they have shaken their tail off and Arthur passes an envelope with plane tickets in it to Eames.
“Shanghai, Mombasa, Peru, Hawaii,” he tells Eames. “Pick one. Don’t let me know which, just to be safe.”
These are all places in which Eames has an apartment to lie low in and although he rather suspects that Arthur already knows that, he tells him so.
Arthur gives him a wry smile, revealing the hint of dimples and while Eames wonders why he has never noticed them, Arthur says, “Point man.”
Eames laughs at that and says, “You also just saved my life. Are you sure I can’t hire you permanently? We can take the world of dreamshare by storm.”
Arthur snorts. “I’d die of exasperation at your choice of clothing before the week is over and you’d be so annoyed with my constant constructive criticism that you’d die too. It’s not a good idea.”
“But you know I love you, darling,” Eames jokes. “I can make necessary changes to accommodate you.”
Arthur just rolls his eyes and picks up the PASIV. “It has been interesting working with you, Mr. Eames. Do take care,” he says before he leaves.
2.
The first time Eames tells Arthur he loves him and actually means it, Arthur doesn’t hear him. Arthur is lying naked in bed, eyes closed, as Eames wipes him down with a warm towel and Eames is never going to get tired of seeing Arthur like this, soft and sated after sex.
“Do you have an early flight tomorrow?” he asks, nudging at Arthur’s leg, because they are both beyond horrid at waking up in the morning and if he does, Eames is going to have to set the alarm.
“No,” Arthur murmurs sleepily. “I don’t know where to go yet.”
Eames climbs into bed next to Arthur and pulls the sheets up. “You should come back to Mombasa with me,” he says, softly.
Arthur doesn’t say anything. Eames doesn’t expect Arthur to say yes. Arthur never does, always just shrugs the invitation off without a second thought like he thinks Eames is just asking for the sake of asking even though he should know that Eames means it. Eames has always meant it.
He pulls Arthur’s back closer to him and hears Arthur let out a contented sigh as he leans into Eames though. Then he says so softly that Eames almost misses it, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go to Mombasa with you.”
Eames’ lips curve up into a small smile and the words ‘I love you’ just burst out of him, like he cannot contain it. He tenses slightly after he says so but Arthur’s breathing is still even and he is still curled against Eames instead of right hooking him and Eames lets himself get lulled to sleep by Arthur’s soft breathing.
He can analyze his words tomorrow.
3.
They have a minor argument over their plans for Christmas when Arthur ends up staying too long and getting too emotionally invested in Mombasa for him to just pick up his suitcase and leave.
Arthur is going home to LA to see his parents. He disinvites Eames from the trip without even thinking to ask Eames and when Eames brings it up, Arthur gets awfully defensive, refuses to budge and they fight over it.
Eames gets kicked out of the room that night and settles, cold, uncomfortable and feeling absolutely wretched, on the lumpy excuse of a couch that he has out in the living room. (Arthur hates everything the bloody couch embodies, has been trying to get Eames to change it for two months now and fuck, has it been two months since Arthur has been here?)
He is still wide awake, replaying their fight in his head and feeling all sorts of stupid about all the nonsensical things he said to pick a fight with Arthur when Arthur pads out to the living room.
“I’m sorry, Eames,” he says with a sigh, nudging Eames’ shoulder gently, and Eames sits up on the couch to make way for Arthur.
He puts an arm around Arthur and murmurs, “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have pushed. It- It just felt a bit like you were ashamed of me. I’m sorry.”
Arthur turns to look at Eames, incredulity pasted all over his face. “I’m not ashamed of you, Jesus Christ, Eames. It’s not like this. This isn’t what it’s about.”
“I know,” Eames says with a sheepish smile. “I was being an idiot. I’m sorry.”
Eames watches quietly for a moment as Arthur worries over his lower lip with his teeth before saying quietly, “I didn’t want you to go because you’ll hate my family, Eames.”
Eames gives Arthur a look. “I won’t hate them,” he promises gravely but Arthur just smiles ruefully at him and says, “You will, Eames. Even I can’t help but to, sometimes.”
“Are they anything like you?” Eames asks, thoughtful. “Because if they are, I’m pretty sure I’ll love them like I love you.”
If Arthur notices the slip, he doesn’t call Eames on it, just smiles and tugs on Eames’ hand and leads him back into their room.
They buy two tickets to LA the next morning.
4.
Christmas with Arthur’s family is…unpleasant, to put things lightly.
Arthur’s mother is already drunk when they reach Arthur’s family home at three in the afternoon. Arthur doesn’t say anything about it but he doesn’t really have to; Eames can see the telltale signs of a practised alcoholic in her. Instead, Arthur tells Eames that he’s going to see his father. Eames doesn’t think to tag along, realizing that is might be a bad idea to intrude on what might be a private moment between them but then Arthur takes his hand and leads up the stairs and says, “Come on, Eames, I want you to meet my dad.”
When they stop outside a closed door upstairs, Arthur stops and says to Eames, “My dad, he gets very…confused, these days.” His shoulders are tensed and his jaw is tight and he doesn’t look at Eames. Eames doesn’t know how to respond to that so he doesn’t, just squeezes Arthur’s hand in his.
Confused, it turns out, is the understatement of the century.
Arthur’s father thinks that Arthur is a volunteer and Arthur plays along the whole time trying to smile as he shows his father old photo albums to try to jog his memory but failing at it so badly that Eames wants to take him in his arms and just hug him so hard that he would be able to feel it for weeks. Instead, he plays along with Arthur, smiling and telling Arthur’s father jokes when it seems like Arthur almost cannot hold it together any more. Arthur shoots him grateful looks for that, eyes still slightly wet with unshed tears.
Dinner is tensed. Arthur’s elder sister, Cecelia, is a snob who wouldn’t stop talking about how Arthur was wasting his life doing God only knows what it was he does and how they didn’t put him through law school so that he can come out to be a freelancing something and not a lawyer. Arthur obviously hasn’t told his family about dreamshare. To make things worse, her husband, Philip, is a homophobe who keeps shooting Arthur and Eames disgusted looks that he tries to conceal behind forced smiles.
Arthur’s father is still confused and Arthur’s mother is still drinking.
Dinner ends in Arthur and his mother having a screaming match, Arthur telling his mother how she needs to cut back on the drinking and start paying more attention to his father before they lose him completely and she screaming back, “What do you care? It’s not like you even like being part of this family!”
Arthur storms out in a fury and Eames stays long enough for him to calm Arthur’s father down and take him back up to his room.
When Eames comes down, Arthur’s mother is weeping silently and drinking whiskey straight out from the bottle. Eames takes a long look at her before saying, “He does care, you know? He cares so much it hurts him.” and walking out in search of Arthur.
Arthur is sitting out on the steps of the veranda when Eames gets outside. Eames sits down gingerly next to Arthur and starts telling Arthur about how his mother left when he was five, how his father (a conman, by the way) took it really badly and mostly blamed it on him, how his father used him to reel in potential marks for a con when he was six, how his father started to teach him how to forge high end paintings the moment he displayed signs of talent in art, how his father sold his first forged painting —a Kandinsky, it sold for an obscene amount of money— and ran off with the money.
When he finished, Arthur was looking at him, question evident in his eyes.
Eames says, “I don’t know, darling.” and really, what he means is you feel alone because your family is fucked up but you don’t have to because my family is fucked up and I’m alone too and if we stay together, we don’t have to be alone. He thinks that Arthur might understand him when Arthur leans into his embrace, nuzzling his neck and breathing him in deeply.
“Thank you, Eames,” he says after a long beat.
And Eames says, “I love you, Arthur.” even though the words, ‘any time, darling’ are already on his tongue because Arthur needs to hear it and Eames needs to say it.
They leave for Mombasa the next day.
They don’t say goodbye to Arthur’s mom.
5.
Somehow, in the scant four days between Christmas and New Year, Eames manages to catch, what seems to him to be like, the plague.
This is the thing about Eames — Eames rarely ever falls sick, but when he does, he is furiously so and he will remain so for a long time. He will also refuse, no matter what anyone says to him, to see a doctor.
This is why Eames is wheezing in bed at four in the morning, on New Year’s Eve, wondering how much Arthur would hate him if he grabbed Arthur’s Glock and shot himself in the head.
He thinks he should probably move out of the room so that he wouldn’t disrupt Arthur’s sleep, but he cannot bring himself to move. He tries valiantly, instead, to cough as silently as possibly so that he wouldn’t wake Arthur up. Arthur’s had a pretty rough week and he hasn’t been sleeping well much, to be fair.
It doesn’t work.
Arthur wakes up at Eames’ next racketing cough, takes a look at Eames, and growls, “You’re a fucking idiot, Eames,” and slips out of bed.
Eames can hear rattling in the kitchen and he wants nothing more than to get up and tell Arthur that he is sorry and that Arthur can go back to sleep and that he can take the couch tonight and it’ll all be fine but fuck, it’s like his energy has been totally sapped out of him and he gives up, burrowing further into the comforter.
Arthur comes back five minutes later with a steaming cup of tea and Tylenol.
“You don’t have to—” Eames croaks, “I’m fine, you can go back to—”
“Shut up, Eames, and eat the damned pills,” Arthur snaps and glares at him until he does. “How long have you been like this? Jesus, Eames, you should have woken me up!” When Eames gives him a sheepish look from behind his mug of tea, Arthur adds, “You are an idiot.”
“I am also dying, darling,” Eames coughs out. “I feel awful. I think I’m going to pass out and never wake up and really, that would be an improvement from what I’m feeling now.”
Arthur’s face softens immediately. “Can I do anything to help? Do you need anything?” he asks gently, his fingers gently massaging Eames’ scalp.
“A hug,” Eames says in a small voice. “I need you to wrap me up in your manly arms and lull me to sleep because you obviously have magic arms and because I feel really fucking cold.”
Arthur manages to snort and look concerned all at the same time. “You’re delirious, Eames, do you have a fever?” He presses the back of his hand to Eames’ forehead.
Eames just pouts at Arthur until he relents and wraps his arms around Eames. Eames sighs and leans into Arthur’s touch, feeling inexplicably a lot better about things already.
“You good now?” Arthur asks, rubbing soft circles on Eames’ back.
“Not by a stretch,” Eames says with a sigh, “but a lot better.”
He feels Arthur press a kiss on the top of his head and lets his eyelids droop down, mumbling, “I love you, darling.”
+1
The extractor, Beckett or Beckham or whatever the fucktard’s name was, tells him that he is bleeding. Eames is acutely aware that he is bleeding. He can fucking tell that he is bleeding because that’s what happens when you get shot at and as far as Eames can tell, he hasn’t quite mustered the art of deflecting bullets off his chest yet, although it is now on his priority list. He can fucking tell that he is bleeding because his shirt is soaking with blood and it’s sticking to his skin, which is a shame because Arthur bought him that shirt, told him that he needed to start getting better shirts (“No, Eames, a deeper shade of orange does not magically make paisley better. Where are you getting all your fashion tips from?”) before he dumped Eames out of sheer exasperation and Eames had grinned and kissed him.
It’s Arthur’s favourite fucking shirt and now he is bleeding through it.
That’s Eames’ last thought before he blacks out.
--
Eames wakes up with a groan and a sharp spike of pain in his chest. Next to him, Arthur jolts awake. “Eames,” he says and although his voice is scratchy, he sounds relieved, “are you alright?”
Eames tries to smile. “I’m fine darling,” he says, “Hurts like the devil, yes, but I’m not dead and you’re here. I’m better than fine.”
Arthur doesn’t smile. “A bullet went through your chest; you have three broken ribs and various cuts on your body. This is no time to joke.”
Eames takes Arthur’s hand in his. “Hey, Arthur, darling, I’m fine, I promise.”
Arthur lets out a breath and squeezes Eames’ hand. “You told me it was an easy job.”
“It was. I wouldn’t lie to you,” Eames insists. “The point, Chang? She screwed up and led us straight into a trap.”
“You are never taking any jobs without me on point again,” Arthur growls.
Eames beams. “Funny, I was thinking the same.”
“You could have died,” Arthur says quietly.
Eames’ smile falls off his face as he schools his features into something more serious so that Arthur will know that he understands how worried Arthur was for him. “I know, pet, but I’m fine.”
Eames thinks he should tell Arthur about how he thought he was going to die and how his last thoughts would have been of Arthur and his favourite shirt because he thinks that’s the sort of thing Arthur would appreciate knowing and probably think is funny in that sick, sadistic way of his, but when he opens his mouth to speak, Arthur cuts him off.
“Eames,” he says and his voice is firm and determined, “this is very important and I want you to listen very carefully to the words I am going to say.”
Eames wants to laugh and tell Arthur that the revenge can wait until his ribs are fine and that Arthur can hold the it’s-not-safe-yet-there-could-still-be-men-after-you speech because that he’s pretty sure that whoever sent him to the hospital made sure that they used an alias so he should be fine for now but Arthur presses his lips chastely against Eames’ and murmurs against his lips, “I love you, Eames.”
Eames grins so fucking hard all his wounds hurt. “It took you three broken ribs and a bullet wound, darling.”
Three broken ribs and a bullet wound and it was all worth it.
_________________________________________
I despair for my sanity. Really, I do. Whatever happened to study, no writing?
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Date: 2011-10-30 01:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-11 09:40 am (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2011-10-30 02:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-11 09:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-30 02:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-11 09:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-30 03:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-11 09:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-30 04:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-11 09:42 am (UTC)(Also, major icon love!)
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Date: 2011-10-30 04:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-11 09:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-30 11:34 pm (UTC)<3
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Date: 2011-11-11 09:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 04:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-11 09:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 05:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-11 09:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 06:10 am (UTC)Three broken ribs and a bullet wound and it was all worth it."
Awwwwwwww!!!! So romantic!!!! XDDDD
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Date: 2011-11-11 09:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 06:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-11 09:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-01 01:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-11 09:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-03 04:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-11 09:46 am (UTC)I feel for you, grad school-wise. >.< It's a pain.