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[neededforger]

Eames could have gone back to Mombasa, he knew he could have, and he could have gone right back to what he'd been doing when Cobb came to find him. But he'd decided not to, after all, it had been a while since he'd been stateside, and he didn't have anyone breathing down his neck (yet) and it had also been a while since he'd gone to visit his mum, so he figured he'd stick around for a while, do some sightseeing.

The first thing to do, after debarking, and being careful not to pay attention to any of his compatriots, at least not actively, and never with more than the faint, gentle recognition of people who'd just spent more time in a plane together than most people spent together at work in a day. He paged through his phone, checking his funds, not at all surprised to find that Saito was a man of his word, and they'd already been paid.

The next thing he did, while waiting for his checked baggage to come around on the carousel, was to check mid-range hotels in the area, looking for one that had a week's vacancy at such short notice, since that was the minimum he was going to need to wait for the world to settle again and start looking for another job. Booking didn't take long either, which he was pleasantly surprised by.

That evening he found himself in the restaurant down the block from the hotel, enjoying a celebratory steak dinner, and collecting details. The way that woman folded her hands, the way that man held his knife and fork, the way the bartender smiled at one of the waitresses. Each of these, and others, were stored away for later perusal, practice, and eventual use. He didn't always have to forge someone in particular, sometimes he just had to be a person other than who he was, background, security and observation and those little details could make or break a character.

Comments

[littlspecificty]

Arthur leveled his own look at Eames, not a glare, but a look that spoke of how he believed what he said. "You were the one who didn't want it anymore, Eames. So, no, I don't believe you when you say that."

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That just confused him further, studying Arthur for a moment and finding him increasingly difficult to read, though he could blame that on the tension, "I didn't? Funny, I don't remember that. What I recall is waking up to a note on the kitchen table saying that you'd gone, you wouldn't be coming back, and you'd shoot me if I followed you. Forgive me for deciding that I'd rather not be full of holes." He added, dryly.

Of course, that didn't negate the fact that he'd gone off somewhere where Arthur couldn't easily follow him, but he'd needed time to lick his wounds, so to speak.

[littlspecificty]

Arthur continued to give Eames that look, "Yeah, I left before you could." Shaking his head and turning his eyes away from Eames, not giving him the opportunity to read Arthur any easier than he probably was, "You grew bored. Got distant. You were always more demonstrative than I was, you think I wouldn't notice when that happened? I could just feel things growing stale... and you kept taking more and more jobs to keep you away, wherever you were. Postcards got less and less frequent, even on "run of the mill" jobs... Right when I was starting to feel..." Shaking his head again, "I wish you just would have told me instead of just dragging it out. I got tired of waiting for you to just say it. And no, I didn't want you to follow me and try to give me your bullshit excuses like you always did."

Arthur didn't know where all of that came from but it just came out. Guess it really had been building up all this time... Too bad he didn't feel any better for saying it. It probably wouldn't do any good at all and just prove that Arthur was as weak as he felt right then to admitting any of that.

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"I didn't realize the postcards meant anything to you. They were always shuffled off into a drawer somewhere by the time I got back. I must have mis-read. Thought you saw them as an annoyance." His voice had dipped again, tone still conversational, but quieter than before, "And I was taking more jobs at the time because they were being offered. Not everyone needs a forger, we're hardly an integral part of most jobs, and I like the work, but more than that, I like knowing I'll be able to get through another dry patch without having to resort to old methods."

[littlspecificty]

"Consistency is what matters to me, Eames. Someone willing to commit." Still not looking at the other man.

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"Arthur, I'm as loyal as they come. If I'm in something, I'm in with both feet, don't do anything halfway." This was, in fact, true. Even if, on occasion, it meant failing spectacularly, Eames owned that failure.

He shook his head then, "You know that, and if you don't, I'm sorry I never had a chance to prove it."

[littlspecificty]

Arthur wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly feeling the cold his being wet generated. Shaking his head again, the realization hitting him then, making his stomach drop slightly, "Maybe I just can't trust anyone fully." He said it softly but knew Eames would probably hear it anyway.

But maybe that was why no relationship he had ever had seemed to work. Maybe it wasn't them at all. Maybe it had been him all along.

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"You trust Cobb." Eames said with a slight shrug, "Which certainly proves that you can." He was choosing to ignore the 'fully' for the moment, since he suspected he hadn't really been meant to hear the statement at all, "I meant what I said, that I've never lied to you, and I don't intend to start. That was the best year of my life, and I've had some good years." There was a faint laugh there, shaking his head, "But if you say that's it, that was our only chance at it, there's no going back and no trying again, if you tell me that, and you mean it..." He shrugged, "Then I'll move on and leave you be."

[littlspecificty]

"I don't --" But then he stopped. The whole thought was that he didn't care about Cobb in the way he had come to care for Eames - it was different. Maybe that was why he was able to trust Dom more than Eames... Maybe. Arthur didn't even know anymore.

He leaned his head against the wall, wishing he had just kept his mouth shut now.

He had never even considered giving it another try with Eames. When he had said his goodbye he had prepared himself for that being it. That there was no going back. No second chance.

Now, at the possibility of it being there... Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to take it. And, somewhere in the very back of his mind, he wasn't sure he even deserved it. Wasn't sure he wouldn't waste it. If he couldn't trust Eames, no matter what Eames said or did, Arthur just couldn't trust him on his end, what kind of relationship would that be? Not much of one if their previous attempt had proven anything.

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His brow arched slightly at the aborted statement followed by deep silence. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying anything just yet, not wanting to break whatever tenuous thread seemed to be making Arthur actually consider it. The movement was also an attempt to keep a handle on the flutter of hope that was blossoming in his chest, though that was harder to quash than his voice was, really.

He waited, holding as still as he could, barely even daring to breathe lest it disrupt Arthur's train of thought.

[littlspecificty]

Arthur let out a heavy breath, just curling into himself more as it became more clear in his mind why he had never considered trying a second time. With anyone.

Why the hell didn't the power just come back on already?

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Eames sat back then, nodding once, taking the continued silence as an answer, though not the one he'd been hoping for it was, sadly, the one he'd been expecting, "Alright. Once we're out of here you won't hear from me again."

He wasn't sure, really, why it felt like he couldn't breathe. It had been a good year, the best year, and it had ended too soon, but it had ended, and he should have known better than to try and get it back. Time was slippery like that, couldn't go back once it had passed.

[littlspecificty]

Upon hearing that, and it wasn't until he heard it from Eames' lips, Arthur realized that what he had been wanting to hear, wasn't what he had wanted at all. The thought of not hearing from Eames again - after seeing him again and remembering that year together - he realized, with a violent twist in his chest, goddammit, that's not what he wanted. He cursed the universe's cosmic irony once again. With every fucking cuss he could think of (and even then he didn't think it was enough).

He could feel a lump in his throat. He hadn't even really wanted to leave the first time. He just didn't want to be the one left. Again. He had been so sure, or at least convinced himself so thoroughly that Eames would leave him first... God, he was such shit when it came to relationships if this was one of his "better" ones.

"I don't want that." He doesn't even realize he's said it until he recognizes the voice, just barely; it sounded strained, almost pained. That wasn't too far off if he allowed himself to dwell on what he was feeling inside. But he honestly didn't like to do that.

[neededforger.livejournal.com]

Eames glanced sideways at the other man then, fighting back the fresh, even more sudden bloom of hope in his chest, stealing his breath again and for an entirely different reason. He studied Arthur intently, making sure that he'd actually said anything and it wasn't just his own wishful thinking.

He took a deep breath then, trying to steady himself, realizing that he'd had the metaphorical rug yanked out from under him twice now, and both times right when he thought he'd gotten his footing again, "Alright." There was another almost-tense pause, "What do you want, Arthur?" Eames realized, and perhaps belatedly, that while he could read Arthur like a book at times, the rest of the time the man was a total mystery to him, a blank page as it were, and he wasn't going to guess anymore, since that was apparently what had started the whole calamity in the first place.

[littlspecificty]

The lump still in his throat, Arthur could feel his heart beat pick up a little. Swallowing hard, he tried to get the right words in order. Tried to think of what he wanted... But... "I don't really know but I know I don't want that."

Swallowing again, "What do you want? You really want to... be with me again? Even after I left you?" Arthur sounded so stupid for saying it out loud but it was what was going through his head and just wouldn't stop until it got an answer.

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"Of course." There was no hesitation in the reply, "Especially now that I know why you did." He didn't have quite the whole story, but he had a good deal more of it now than he'd had when it happened, and even if he hadn't known, he still would have forgiven and tried again.

There was a gentle shrug then, still studying Arthur closely, just in case he was going to wake up from this any minute, "I'd quite like to try again, if you're willing. If not, well, I'd rather have you as a friend than an enemy. Don't think we'd really be much good at being enemies, been too much life between us."

[littlspecificty]

Shaking his head, the ache in his chest still present, still potent, but still not able to look at Eames, "I don't think I could just be a friend to you... And," swallowing hard again, "I don't want to be enemies." Arthur had thought he could do that, thought he wanted that. But it appears he had been trying to convince himself of that all these years, too.

In light of all of this, he's surprised he knows he wants anything (or at least thinks he knows).

[neededforger.livejournal.com]

"We'd be terrible at it." Eames agreed, a faint smile finally catching at the corners of his mouth, "Or fantastic, depending on your point of view." After all, they knew each other well enough to jab where it hurt, but there wasn't really much chance that they would if it came right down to it.

It was right about then that the lights finally flickered to life again, and Eames actually smiled, "Ah, there we are, we'll be moving again in no time."

[littlspecificty]

Arthur didn't say anything in return. Didn't even acknowledge the lights coming back on. Just remained where and how he was, on the floor, deep in thought, and feeling utterly defeated (and even numb) for some reason.

[neededforger.livejournal.com]

It was only another few moments before the elevator resumed moving again, stopping at the next floor. Eames hesitated a moment before offering Arthur a hand up, "You could come by, once you've changed into some dry clothes." A shrug then, "Could order some dessert from room service, watch some old movie on the pay per view." Another shrug, "Or just talk."

[littlspecificty]

Arthur looked up at the hand offered and then, finally, at Eames. For once, Arthur couldn't feel the urge to try and conceal what he was feeling, his eyes naked and unguarded. He was uncertain, unsure. He didn't want to cut ties with Eames, not again. He didn't want a platonic relationship or one filled with animosity. But... he wasn't sure he could go back to the relationship they once had.

He felt like he didn't deserve it. Like Eames should be angry at him, shouldn't want to take him back. In some ways, Arthur vaguely remembered feeling like this as a child - like he should be admonished, not forgiven.

It also might have been a matter of pride. In a lot of ways, Arthur felt defeated in some bizarre way and that going back to Eames would be like "giving in", "giving up" even. It was as ridiculous as it sounded but it was there.

Arthur looked back down, still debating internally and then, when it came, it was more simple than he would have thought. He had kept the sketch. It was so simple. He could have just as easily thrown it away. But he didn't. He kept it. Guess there was more truth in that adage "actions speak louder than words" than Arthur had originally thought.

Also, looking back up at Eames, he'd have to learn to trust him, have some faith in him. Trust that he truly did want Arthur back. That it wasn't some cruel, malicious joke. Eames, from what Arthur remembered, wasn't like that. Had never been like that.

He silently took Eames' hand, his heart skipping a beat, and got to his feet.

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He smiled then, broad and genuine, fingers curling securely around Arthur's as he helped the other man up, resisting the urge to literally sweep him off his feet, that could wait for sometime when this wasn't all shiny and new again, sometime when he was a little more sure of his footing around the other man once more.

The smile though, was something that couldn't be helped even if he wanted to, and at the moment, he didn't. He only let go of Arthur's hand again when the elevator door actually opened, and even then it was almost reluctant.

What he asked, leaving Arthur at his room door was: "You still like crème brulée don't you?" He hadn't been kidding about dessert, apparently.

[littlspecificty]

When Arthur saw the smile, the ache in his chest only seemed to grow. But it became more bittersweet than painful. Like seeing that... he had missed that, hadn't he? As the ache intensified at that realization he knew, yes, he had.

Arthur had not wanted to really let go, either. Guess he had missed his touch more than he had realized, too. God, he really didn't know much about himself, did he?

At the question, though, he blinked and then snorted, even smiling a little. He was surprised that Eames had remembered but then the man always had been good about retaining details (with his job, he had to be). He nodded, still not able to really trust his voice.

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He nodded once, giving Arthur a nudge towards his room, "Get changed then, dry off, I'll have some called up by the time you're finished."

And he would, in fact, likely he'd also check the listings to see if there were any movies that were actually worth watching. He'd always been a fan of the real classics, Bogart and Stewart and their ilk.

He didn't do a dance of joy once he was alone in his own room, but it was a narrow miss, really. He was still grinning, and it was enough to prompt the concierge to ask: "Having a good evening?" when he called down for room service, he replied that he was, in fact, and thanked her for asking.

[littlspecificty]

When Arthur closed his door, he couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe this was happening. Hadn't he left this room, just hours ago, wanting nothing to do with the man? But... he had kept that sketch. After turning on some lights, he reached down into his pants pocket and gingerly pulled it out. It was a little wet and bent up but still in relatively good condition.

He set it on the nightstand by his bed and started to undress. He wasn't sure where this was going to go exactly but... if Eames really wanted to try again and it genuinely made him as happy as it seemed to then Arthur was willing to try, too. Because, when faced with the opposite possibility, he had not wanted that. At all. Not as much as he had once thought. So, if he wanted to avoid that, then he'd have to take a chance and really learn to trust Eames.

He ended up taking a quick shower and drying off, redressing in his other casual clothes and after taking a minute to check his die again, he took a deep breath and left his room. The walk down the hall to Eames room, while only two doors down from his, seemed far too long and he hesitated in knocking on the door. He had to shake himself before finally getting up enough nerve to knock on the door. Now if only he could get his heart rate down.