Work Text:
Ariadne shipped them silently.
Yusuf was purposefully oblivious.
Cobb was in denial.
And Arthur and Eames? Well, their behavior should’ve been an answer unto itself.
---
“Was I supposed to take a left turn on Church or Evergreen?”
“You have a GPS literally right in front of you Mr. Eames, are you blind? Why did I let you drive?”
“Oh, excuse me for trying not to be a distracted driver, darling.”
“You drove goddamn tanks and you can’t handle taking your eyes off the road for one minute?”
Arthur and Eames continued to bicker in the front of the car, their voices growing louder and louder with each passing second.
Still focusing on the sketchpad balanced on her knee, Ariadne blindly patted the seat next to her. She fished earbuds out of her purse with a sigh.
They were distracting. As Cobb once said, Arthur and Eames were the best and worst duo in the business. When it came to navigation, they leaned decidedly toward the latter.
“Mr. Eames, you do know using turn signals is not optional, correct?” As with most things, Arthur was a stickler for following rules when driving. Eames, on the other hand, drove how he conned. Fast, lawless, and prone to unnecessary risk.
“Shit - you just ran over a traffic cone, you idiot!”
“Target practice, Arthur. Did I mention the last time I drove American-style was that blizzard in 2009?”
“You mean the right way? How the rest of the civilized world functions? On the right side of the road? And, wait -” Arthur’s head snapped back to Ariadne, his dark eyes conciliatory. “He doesn’t mean that, Ariadne. I’ve seen him drive regularly…We’re completely safe, although he’s not - gentle.”
“Arthur, you never liked ‘gentle’, darling.”
Arthur’s neck cracked as it whipped back around.
Ariadne belatedly nodded, half-listening. She was focused on the outline of a gothic spire, her pencil scratching delicately across the pad.
It wasn’t long until Eames slammed his foot against the brake, causing their vehicle to come to an abrupt halt at the stoplight. Arthur grumbled something about whiplash, but Ariadne stayed quiet, taking advantage of the pause to sketch out details of her structure.
Eames quickly became bored at the forced application of traffic laws. Turning up the radio to obnoxious levels, he sang off-key in a horrible karaoke of “SexyBack”, complete with gyrations and hand movements. Wordlessly, dodging one of Eames’ beckoning fingers, Arthur turned down the volume. Ariadne was impressed at his restraint; the point man didn’t utter a single word about the forger’s singing.
Eames pouted, rapping his fingers obnoxiously against the steering wheel.
Arthur studiously ignored him, and Ariadne continued to draw.
Suddenly, Eames gasped out in mock amazement, one hand clutching his heart and the other shooting out to grip Arthur’s shoulder.
Ariadne heard the smack of flesh as Arthur presumably slapped Eames’ hand away. “What, Mr. Eames?”
“See how that wonderful lad is holding a map in the auto next to us? Directing the driver gently from the passenger seat?”
“Again, Eames, there is a Global Positioning System conveniently at your 2 o’clock.”
“But Arthur, why would I want that when I could have you? A much better sight.” Eames slammed on the accelerator and Ariadne glanced up, just in time to see him smirk devilishly at Arthur. Ariadne couldn’t see the point man’s expression from the backseat, but Arthur was oddly silent, his customary riposte absent.
The car went completely silent as Ariadne’s pencil stilled. Arthur and Eames continued to stare at each other, an expanse of unspoken conversation hovering in the air between them.
Ariadne mused over how to incorporate this into the fanfic she was writing.
When Arthur finally spoke, his voice was rough with intent, pitched an octave lower than normal. “Don’t be a distracted driver, Mr. Eames. You’ll miss your turn.”
---
Schrodinger was annoying Yusuf. The big ball of fur was determined to sit on any and every dangerous experiment strewn about the lab.
He was an accident waiting to happen, and Yusuf knew it.
“Get down from there! Get down!” Yusuf yelled frantically at the tabby, who was perched precariously on a jar of sodium cyanide. Yusuf stumbled over to the cat, tripping over a crate in the process. Panting, he lifted the errant animal in one arm, straightening the deadly substance with the other. He stepped back cautiously, relieved.
It was only Yusuf’s luck that Marie chose that exact moment to twine between his legs, tangling him up and sending himself and Schrodinger flying backwards.
Schrodinger, after doing a bit of a tumble, landed feet first, running out of the room with a loud hiss.
Yusuf had a more interesting landing.
Hand flailing, Yusuf managed to grab the top of a filing cabinet. The end of his foot hooked around a corner, supplying just enough leverage to begin the cabinet’s descent to the ground.
Letting out what Yusuf would swear to be a very masculine shriek, he scurried away on hands and knees, barely able to avoid being caught under the weight of the cabinet. In his panic to escape, Yusuf jostled a book on which an Erlenmeyer flask balanced, sending the contents - sulfuric acid - spilling across the floor.
Yelping as the corrosive acid leaked onto the slatted wood of his shop, Yusuf hysterically lunged toward his desk. He missed the box of baking soda that would contain the damage.
In one of the worst moments of Yusuf’s life (and he’s had a lot of bad moments - namely the time he got so drunk he accidentally danced naked at a gay bar), he splashed a vial containing hydrogen peroxide onto the rapidly spreading acid, effectively making a Piranha solution. A highly corrosive and violent mixture, that, when mixed incorrectly, results in a particularly nasty explosion.
In the .8 seconds it took Yusuf to realize what he had done, he was already mobile, scooping up a very confused Marie and scurrying out the door.
Coughing as he emerged from the billowing fumes, Yusuf frantically patted his pockets for his phone, intending to inform the man overseeing dreamers downstairs about the possible catastrophe.
“Looking for this?” Yusuf’s alarmed face slowly rose from his person. His eyes met the gaze of one of the last people he expected to see.
Eames.
And palm up in the forger’s hand - Yusuf’s missing cell phone.
Fingers trembling, Yusuf went to snatch the phone up. He was stopped by another presence, a vice-like grip locking around his arm.
“What did you just do in there, Yusuf?”
Meekly, defeatedly, Yusuf met the judgmental stare of Arthur. “I - well, you see - my cat - fell - a cabinet, and - ”
“We saw the whole thing Yusuf,” Eames interrupted. “I think what dear Arthur is getting at is what exactly was created during that cock-up?”
“Well the cat came and - ” Yusuf’s mouth snapped shut as he processed Eames’ words. “You did?”
“I’m assuming we should clear the area.” Even Arthur’s questions sounded matter-of-fact.
Yusuf stared at the pair once more. He took in Eames’ casual stance beside Arthur, and the way the two had obviously traveled together, going by the identical crease marks in their clothing. Yusuf’s mind rewinded back to the events of the past few seconds - his trip, the mix-up in chemicals, but most importantly, the girlish scream that had emitted from his mouth.
“Yes,” Yusuf said resignedly. “An explosion could happen at any moment.”
And then, just to mirror how the rest of his day was going, that’s when the solution erupted.
Before Yusuf could understand the ramifications of the noise, he was bodily thrown behind a parked car. Eames dove as well, crashing into him with a grunt.
In the cloud of dust and debris that followed, Yusuf could barely make out Eames next to him.
His ears felt stuffed with cotton.
“Arthur? ARTHUR!” Eames vaulted over the vehicle before Yusuf could even think about struggling to his feet.
Running his hand agitatedly over his curls, Yusuf spared himself a few choice words in Arabic before getting up. Slowly, he made his way out from behind the car.
“Arthur! You wanker!” Eames was throwing shards of material formerly known as the front of Yusuf’s shop every which way, screaming the point man’s name. “You had to be the bloody hero! Well, fuck it, Arthur, if you’re dead, I’ll kill you myself!”
Yusuf’s heart dropped as he looked at the ruined mess of his building. He just hoped to Allah that no other chemicals had mixed in the blast. And that Marie was alright. Yusuf didn’t need to worry about Schrodinger, he was a tough bastard.
Stop thinking about those blasted cats, Yusuf. Arthur’s missing. Yusuf strode over to Eames cautiously, reaching a palm out to touch the forger’s forearm. “Uh,” Yusuf licked his lips. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Eames spun around, murder in his eyes. Yusuf took an involuntary step back, throat dry. “No, I think you’ve done quite enough.”
Yusuf had never heard the forger so emotionless, so coldly composed. It was terrifying.
“Uh,” Yusuf said again, floundering. “At least my cat got away?”
Yusuf regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Stupid Yusuf, stupid.
He was thrust against the building before he could react, Eames’ large hand wrapped around his throat. Yusuf dangled there, sweating profusely, wishing the ground would just morph and swallow him up entirely. If Eames’ expression was anything to go by, he was hoping for another scenario. Preferably one that would contain pain and suffering. Yusuf felt Eames’ grip tighten, cutting off his airway completely. Yes, large amounts of pain and suffering, Yusuf concluded.
“Eames, let him go.”
Yusuf fell to the ground in a heap, limbs tangling in debris. After violently gasping for air, Yusuf focused on restoring his vision, blinking away black spots from his eyes.
By the time Yusuf could see again, Eames had rushed over to where Arthur was standing. The man was ragged and a little bloody, but otherwise unharmed.
Or, at least, as unharmed as Yusuf could tell. Eames’ body was blocking his sight, engulfing the smaller man in a frenzied kiss. The forger’s hands were running frantically over Arthur’s suit-clad arms, desperately searching for injuries.
Yusuf was startled out of the sight by a loud meow. Schrodinger had plopped next to him, looking appropriately disgruntled. Yusuf scratched the irritable cat, sighing. “I know,” he said. “You don’t have to remind me. I owe them another favor now.” Yusuf slumped against his shop, miserable. “And here comes Arthur, ready to blackmail me under the threat of death to never speak of this.” Yusuf got to his feet, waving his arm in a dismissive gesture. “Wow, look at all this I have to clean up,” he said, purposefully over-loud. “Good thing I was so busy surveying all this damage that I couldn’t notice anything around me, including the not-embrace of two definitely platonic colleagues. Yeah, good thing.”
---
It was always the third week in July. If Cobb hadn’t been in steadfast denial, he might have even picked up on the pattern. He wasn’t unintelligent, after all. Just maybe a little insane.
---
July, 2008.
“Arthur, I want to start that Columbo job in Argentina after this. It’s a good source of info and Cobol won’t look there.”
“No.” Cobb’s head snapped up at the blatant refusal, his hand tightening around the office desk. Arthur never denied him. Never. Especially after Mal’s death. Don’t think about that, Cobb admonished himself. Not now.
“Why not?” Cobb’s query came out sharper than he intended, biting. He couldn’t bring himself to care.
“I’m busy,” Arthur said shortly, clicking his leather briefcase closed. “After this job, I have business to attend to.”
“What business?” Cobb snapped, blocking the man’s path to the door. “Do you know what’s at stake here? God, Arthur. This might be my only chance back into the U.S.”
Arthur didn’t reply. He looked up from his phone, features pinched, face tight. “Did you just ask me if I knew what was at stake?”
“What?” Cobb was flummoxed by Arthur’s tone, his frigid expression. The man was being unreasonable. He wasn’t being himself. Cobb hadn’t seen his children in months, and Arthur was going to blow off an important job without giving Cobb a valid answer? No.
“What’s your problem?” Cobb snarled, slapping the phone out of Arthur’s hand. “You’re acting like a fucking moody teenager.”
The phone cracked and skittered across the floor, face down. Not taking his eyes off from where Cobb stood, Arthur backed up, slowly picking up the device. The cracked screen flashed under the industrial lights. Cobb locked onto the damage, righteously satisfied. Good, he thought, pushing back tiny vestiges of guilt. Maybe that will make Arthur get it together. He’s being ridiculous.
Even if he hadn’t been distracted by the glare of the screen, Cobb would’ve been too slow to dodge the punch flying towards his face.
He stumbled back at the impact, stars popping in his vision. He was too shocked to ready himself for another blow.
One never came. Instead, the quiet rustle of fabric permeated the air. Eyes still watering, nose bleeding, Cobb stared at Arthur. Arthur stared at Cobb. Cobb’s eyes focused, finally.
Outstretched in Arthur’s arm was his Glock, steady as always.
Pointed right at Cobb’s chest.
“I’m leaving,” Arthur said quietly, picking up his briefcase and stepping around Cobb’s shell-shocked form. “Find another point man, Dominick.”
Cobb clutched his nose and watched Arthur leave, knowing the man would be back soon. It was an inevitability. He was bound to Cobb by some inextricable loyalty, some connection enhanced by Mal and her suicide.
Cobb would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t use that to his advantage. But, once again, he didn’t care. Whatever it takes to get back to James and Phillipa.
And yet, as Cobb held his broken nose and watched Arthur’s back disappear down the hallway, he could still feel a decisive shift in their relationship.
---
July, 2009.
“Fuck fuck fuck FUCK!” Cobb had never seen Eames so genuinely infuriated. He couldn’t understand. Sure, they were snowed in together in a room barely larger than a studio apartment, but at least they weren’t dead.
The forger paced a moment more, staring at the sweeping whiteness that was the view outside the cabin’s sole window. “And there’s nothing we can do?”
Cobb just looked at Eames, put off by the hollowness in his voice. “There’s… it’s only for a week or two. We finished the job, we got the money and the information. Just… we just have to wait it out, lie low.” Wind howled against the windowpane, accenting Cobb’s statement.
“I expected lying low! I just wasn’t expecting to ‘lie low’ with you in bloody Antarctica!”
“We’re in Minnesota, Eames.”
“Piss off.” Eames strode around the cabin once more, stopping as he got close to the key rack. Inspecting the lone key dangling there, Eames tore it off, slipping it into his pocket.
“Eames - what are you doing?” Cobb followed the man to the snow-packed door, nervous. He fingered the top in his pocket. “That’s not for a car. Besides, we can’t leave with Cobol on our tail.”
Eames paced around one more, scooping up a discarded garden shovel from the corner of the room. “I don’t care if I have to dig myself out by hand. I’m leaving.”
“What - why?” Cobb asked.
“Because Cobol doesn’t give a right shite about me, and I have business to attend to.” Business to attend to. Maybe Cobb really was going insane, but another person popped into his mind when he heard that phrase. One who broke his nose shortly after delivering it.
Cobb gaped a moment more, shaking off the memory.
“Don’t lead them back here,” Cobb threatened finally. “And at least abide by American traffic laws, alright? Don’t draw attention to yourself.”
“Yeah,” Eames said, rolling his eyes. He had already heaved open the door, digging into the compacted snowdrifts with the poor shovel. “I won’t draw attention to myself, Cobb. It’s not like I’m wearing an orange jumper with gunpowder stippling, or white trainers with blood all over them. And of course I’ll be just the model bloke that wants to ride a snowmobile in the middle of the night - without a coat. Perfectly normal behavior.”
“Then don’t leave!” Cobb watched incredulously as the man continued to dig, uncovering the first spot of cleared space. Dragging a rickety stool over to the entryway, Eames continued to widen the hole to a person-sized diameter.
Eames looked back at Cobb, unremorseful. “I’ll drive on the right side of the road, alright? Just for you.”
And then the man heaved himself out into the blizzard.
---
Los Angeles. July, 2010.
They had done it. Cobb was sitting on the sofa in his living room, both of his kids curled around his body. They were watching some animated movie together, the plot about a talking rat or something like that. Cobb had been watching his children more than the film, content to memorize every part of their faces. James had fallen asleep against him. One small arm was curled around Cobb’s bicep, as though to prevent him from fleeing. Phillipa was similarly snuggled up, her head pillowed on Cobb’s thigh, her long hair streaming across the cushions like a silk wave. Cobb reached for the remote, muting the movie. He sat back, closing his eyes. It had been a while since Cobb had let himself fall asleep, but he had a good feeling that next to his kids, he would be alright.
Cobb’s breathing was just about to even out when something buzzed next to him, disturbing him out of his trance. Opening his eyes, Cobb’s attention was drawn to his right, where the screen of his phone was lighting up with a call. I knew I should’ve turned that off.
Sighing, Cobb gently extracted himself from James’ grip, grabbing a pillow to softly slide under both of his children's heads. Standing, Cobb grabbed his vibrating phone, walking into the kitchen.
“Hello?” He answered softly, afraid to shatter the tranquility in the other room.
“Cobb?”
“Ariadne. Are you alright?”
“Yes, no problems here. I just thought that… it’s around eight over there, right?” Ariadne sounded hesitant, awkward.
Cobb glanced at the clock. “Yes. Why?”
“I just hoped you weren’t busy. I wanted to ask you something.” Cobb frowned at Ariadne’s vague phrasing.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Scenarios flashed through Cobb’s mind of Ariadne being kidnapped, ransomed. Shit. He rifled through the mess of papers in front of him, searching for Miles’ new number.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Ariadne sounded strangely breathless, almost…
“Are you drunk?” Cobb accused, peeking back into the living room. “Why are you up so late?”
A giggle sounded from Ariadne’s end of the line. “I’m fine, Cobb. I just want money from Yusuf.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well Arthur informed me about the expected procedure of splitting up after a successful job and of course I did that - I got the transfer flight and went back to Paris and got into my flat. But then I called Yusuf on his burner phone later that week because I thought I saw something - well I knew I saw something - but it didn’t make sense so I asked Yusuf if there were any side effects from his drugs well mostly because he’s the one that’s most supportive of my fanfic… and anyway so after that I got put on hold because of his dumb Skro - shhhro - because of his cat you know I called him back and - ”
“Ariadne.” Cobb cut into the architect’s spiel, already feeling a headache forming behind his temples. “Slow down. Drink some water or something, sober up, call me back. Okay?”
“Waiiitttt,” Ariadne said, and Cobb could’ve sworn it was the same voice Phillipa used to barter for another cookie. “Just tell me this - are Arthur and Eames together?”
“... what? What gave you that idea?”
“Because if they’re having sex, Yusuf totally owes me a bottle of Cheval Blanc.”
“Ariadne,” Cobb sighed, leaning back against the counter. “Why is it that you’re betting over Arthur and Eames’ sex life? No - a better question is, why are you betting over Arthur and Eames’ sex life with Yusuf?”
“They went home from the baggage claim together,” Ariadne whispered, as though she was telling some torrid secret. “Arthur broke protocol and left with Eames out of the airport.”
Cobb pinched the bridge of his nose. Counting to ten, he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “I’ll call you in the morning, Ariadne. I hope you have medicine for that imminent hangover.” Cobb hung up, setting the phone onto the table.
Shaking his head, Cobb walked back into the living room. If he didn’t constantly remind himself he was working with geniuses, Cobb could’ve sworn he was back in high school.
---
Unknown. July, 2010.
Eames clinked his wine glass with Arthur’s as they lay on the dark sheets of their bed. The wine was cheap, watered down, but neither of them were complaining.
“Happy three year anniversary, darling.” Eames’ eyes glittered as he sat next to Arthur, his warm breath ghosting over the pale swathe of the point man’s neck. Goosebumps trailed under Arthur’s collar, a precursor to future events.
Arthur smiled softly, his fingers tracing the lapel of Eames’ jacket. “It doesn’t count if the couple isn’t together the whole time, Eames.”
“Oh, Arthur, it was just a spat. We should round up.” Arthur raised an eyebrow, setting his glass down onto the side table.
“Just a spat?”
Eames sighed. “Can we save all of this bickering for later, darling? There’s more important things to deal with at the moment.” Arthur gazed pointedly around the dark room.
“Oh yes, because we’re so preoccupied right now.”
“You see, Arthur.” Eames slipped closer, his husky timbre warming Arthur like smooth coffee. “I have it on good authority we’re at the center of a rather heated bet.”
“Is that so?” Arthur leaned closer, his lips brushing the smooth skin at the nape of Eames’ neck. “And why do we care about some mundane wager?”
“Because it’s between our lovely associates,” Eames continued, pulling back. “And I want Ariadne to win.” Arthur laughed at the sudden earnestness of Eames’ expression. Eames grinned back, happy with Arthur’s response.
“Why’s that, Eames?”
“Because her side coincides with another celebration of ours.”
“Which would be… ?”
Eames reached over to set his drink next to Arthur’s. He stayed suspended over Arthur, forearms bracketing his sides. “I think you’ve forgotten - there’s another three year anniversary today.”
Arthur smiled once more. “What have I forgotten, Eames?”
“Business, Arthur. Business we need to attend to.
“Very - ” Eames glided down Arthur’s torso, fingertips brushing open his jacket. “Important - ” Arthur threaded his fingers into Eames’ hair, palms brushing his temples. “Business.”
