Chapter Text
Arthur was in a hotel room that was his favorite kind: it was old in a way that suggested it had let a large number of people through its doors and would let in more until it was finally demolished a hundred years from now, old in a way that meant slightly faded carpets but wood paneling to die for.
It had not been expensive. Arthur had a lot of money from the Fischer job, but it didn't mean it would last forever. Arthur was a sensible man.
Arthur was also in his favorite pair of pajamas. They were silk and they were grey and they felt like comfort. As this was a slightly old hotel room, it had a slightly old TV with a limited number of channels, and the channel that was on now was playing reruns of some trashy reality show. Arthur did not understand anything that was going on, but he was enjoying everything that was going on, enjoying the fact that he was watching scenes of frivolity instead of growing old in a nameless dreamscape. He had a glass of wine in his hand, and he’d just had a long bath, and his hair felt slightly damp against the nice clean pillow.
He was feeling rested. He was feeling relaxed. He was feeling rested and relaxed because he deserved it.
Of course it was then, because that was Arthur’s life, that his phone rang.
Arthur turned his head to the side to look.
Cobb, of course. No one else could ruin Arthur's relaxation like Cobb did. It was a talent and the man’s true calling.
Arthur thought he would have had a break from all the Cobb drama once Cobb had successfully gotten through immigration at the airport, but apparently Cobb lived to make his life an extended babysitting gig. Arthur thought, rather bitterly, that there were only so many things Cobb could do that Mal’s death could explain away. The line had to be drawn somewhere, even though Arthur had loved her so fully and completely.
But Arthur had loved her so fully and completely. That was the issue here. Those children were still hers. If anything happened to Cobb it would be Arthur who would have no choice but to move to LA for them, and Arthur hated the humidity in LA.
He pressed answer.
“What do you need?” Arthur asked.
“Hello to you too,” said Cobb, in a manner calm enough that Arthur didn’t think there were any guns pointed to his temple. Arthur relaxed a bit. “I was calling to check in.”
“Check in,” Arthur repeated suspiciously.
“Can’t I check in?” Cobb asked innocently. “The children are asking after you.”
“I just saw them,” Arthur said. “Tell them I’ll come by soon.”
Cobb paused. “About that,” he said, in a sketchy sort of way.
“I knew it,” Arthur said. “I knew you were in trouble. What do you need, Cobb?”
“It’s not need,” Cobb said, but it was never need, was it? Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. “I’m not in trouble,” Cobb was saying. “I just need a favour.”
Arthur shook his head against the phone and looked at the television. A favour did mean Cobb’s life wasn’t in danger and his children weren’t possibly going to be orphans, which meant Arthur, for once, had the option of saying no. For the past two years, he’d shadowed Cobb while Cobb got progressively wilder around the eyes and took on steadily more dangerous jobs, and Arthur, thinking of Mal’s arms around his neck and Philippa’s wide sunny smile, hadn’t been able to say no.
“I owe him,” Cobb said. “Properly, and it’s either I do it, but it’ll be for a couple of months– the kids need stability–”
Arthur could imagine. Their mother dying and their father being publicly arrested for it had done wonders for their future therapists’ bank accounts.
“It’s an easy extraction,” Cobb said hopefully. “And I know you’ve done so much. But look, it’s me, here, calling in one last favour.”
Arthur had already made up his mind. He had meant to see the kids anyway. He could go stateside for a bit.
“There’s just one thing,” Cobb said. He sounded apologetic now.
“Uh-huh,” said Arthur, the sigh caught in his throat already telling him what it was.
“They need a forger,” said Cobb.