[fanfic] Inception "Can't Go On Thinking Nothing's Wrong: Part One of Two"

[kyrene_writes]

Title: Can't Go On Thinking Nothing's Wrong: Part One of Two
Author: kyrenekyorl
Pairings/Characters: Arthur/Eames
Rating: R
Word Count: 13,963
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Carelessly spoken words can sometimes cause more harm than anything spoken with intent, as Arthur learns to his distress. Or, the author indulges herself because it's her birthday, dangit. Please heed the author's note!
Warning: eating disorder fic
Author's Note: This fic is not meant to be a 100% accurate portrayal of an eating disorder; I have only my own borderline experiences to work from. Mostly I'm just writing it because the idea came to me and because I wanted to write it. No offense is intended to anyone who's ever had an eating disorder. (And happy birthday to me! *sheepish grin*)


"Can't Go On Thinking Nothing's Wrong: Part One of Two"
by kyrene

It started simply enough, as such things often did, but then it grew increasingly complicated, as things tended to do when Eames was involved. Or maybe not. Maybe it remained simple and the complexity was all in Arthur's mind. That... was actually more likely than not, if he were to be perfectly honest.

It started with a bad Somnacin mix. That was always a possibility when one worked on the wrong side of legal and had to rely on the black market for one's drugs. They could keep the PASIV devices in perfect condition, but the machines were useless without the Somnacin compound, or a good substitute. And finding a reliable supplier wasn't as easy as it might sound.

Arthur was good at that part of it. He had connections to at least one reliable chemist on each major continent. But sometimes he didn't have the luxury of sending away for the necessary sedatives, and was forced to work with what was available.

This had been one of those times.

Actually, Arthur himself had been fine, as had their architect; it had only been Eames who had been affected. When they had awakened to the unmistakable and dire sound of the authorities on their way, Arthur had jumped up, getting ready to go. Their architect, likewise, had been able and active. Eames, however, lay where he was. Arthur had to slap him and call out to him before he even cracked his eyes, and when they were open that was as far as it went.

Once Arthur figured out what was going on, that Eames wasn't just playing some stupid game, he cursed and gave the PASIV device case into the care of their architect. He didn't like to, but it was clear that Eames wasn't walking out of there under his own power, and Arthur couldn't just leave him for the authorities to find and capture. At least Eames was alive, even if he had been completely incapacitated.

Slinging Eames over his shoulders in a makeshift fireman's carry to get him out of there put quite a strain on Arthur, despite the fact that he kept himself fit, and he felt that he could be excused a little bitching, breathless as the words came out.

"Jesus, Eames, would it kill you to lose a little weight?" he grumped as he and the architect made their way cautiously but swiftly out of the building using the service staff's hallways. He knew that Eames was all muscle, or almost all, but that actually made it worse, considering that muscle weighed more than fat.

"Why am I even bothering?" he wondered aloud when they were pinned down by gunfire, as he propped Eames' limp body at the base of a wall and handled his gun, returning fire in the hopes of clearing their path to the getaway car.

Of course, he knew that Eames would have done the same for him if their roles had been reversed, but that didn't stop him cursing a blue streak as a bullet clipped his upper arm. It was nothing, barely even a flesh wound, but he had liked this jacket.

"Remind me again why I keep you around?" was his last scathing query, as he'd slung Eames into the passenger seat and taken off in a hail of gunfire, their architect shooting through the hole that remained where the back window had shattered, in an effort to cover their exit. After that, Arthur drove in intense silence, his hands gripping the wheel tightly and his eyes fixed on the road.

Because he was Arthur he'd had a backup plan in place for this, and once they made it to the logging road that was nearly hidden behind a fallen tree, they were well on their way to safety. But Arthur didn't breathe easily until he'd put miles between them and the local authorities, and until Eames had begun twitching his hands and feet, then slowly shifting, looking as though he was moving through molasses as he body returned to his control.

"Scratch Falkner off the list of chemists I'm willing to use," Arthur instructed snappishly, though he wasn't sure whether he was talking to Eames, to Harper in the back seat, or just himself.

"Noted," replied Harper crisply, probably thinking the same thing herself, but Eames remained silent. Then again, it was probable that he couldn't have spoken if he'd wanted.

"You all right?" Arthur asked, as they drew near the airport.

Eames paused where he was flexing his left hand, open and closed, open and closed, and turned his head toward Arthur, only a little more slowly than was normal.

"Peachy," he said. He didn't sound it, his voice noticeably more thick and raspy than usual, but Arthur figured he was still working out the last of the bad dose he'd gotten. Whatever it had been that had gone wrong, it had gone very wrong.

"You owe me," Arthur deadpanned as he carefully parked, hoping it was dark enough that no one passing by would see the bullet holes until the three of them were well away from the vehicle and, hopefully, out of the country.

Eames just nodded, as slowly and carefully as he was doing everything else, and then they were all distracted by the stress of getting the hell out of there.

It might have been smarter to split up, and Harper certainly went her own way, but Arthur didn't like the thought of Eames being on his own when he had gotten a bad batch of Somnacin substitute and so he made sure to book their flights together.

Sticking together after that... well, it just seemed natural. Arthur didn't question it. And since he wasn't saying much at all, neither did Eames.

***

It took Arthur a while after that to notice anything was wrong. It might have been different if he and Eames were still working together as rarely as they had been before the Fischer job, but the fact was that they had somehow, completely unintentionally, become something like a team.

Or, at least, it hadn't been deliberate on Arthur's part. He had no idea what was going on in Eames' mind. As events only made more clear, the deeper he got into things.

They had been together pretty much inseparably since the job where Eames had gotten that paralyzing dose. Eames had made a big deal about cleaning and dressing Arthur's arm once they'd reached a safe house, and Arthur had let him because, well, his back still ached from carrying Eames out of there. Not to mention, it had been nice to see that Eames was able to move and fuss.

Arthur might not admit it to anyone other than himself, but he'd experienced a moment or two of panic when he'd been unable to rouse Eames, and another once Eames was awake and he'd realized the forger hadn't been able to move. He'd been pretty sure at the time that it had only been temporary, but that hadn't stopped him worrying, and that was probably why he'd spouted those harsh indicatives at Eames. Not because he had meant them, but more because he'd meant the opposite.

Well, except for the weight thing. Because Eames had been very heavy.

Unfortunately, once Arthur figured out what was going on, that was what he realized had come back to haunt him. It just figured that Eames had fixated on exactly the wrong thing.

***

It was Harper who drew his attention to it. They hadn't seen the architect since the disastrous job they had worked together, but since the interruption and the subsequent failure and flight hadn't been the fault of anyone involved, just a round of really bad luck, none of them had any problem working together again. Harper was good, and Arthur and Eames were both the best at what they did, so there was no reason not to form their erstwhile team once again.

"Holy shit, Eames, you've gotten skinny!" was the first thing Harper said when she saw the forger.

Eames mumbled something that might have been agreement or a disclaimer, but Arthur was forced to realize with more than a bit of shock that Harper was right.

It had happened relatively gradually, which must be why he hadn't really noticed. Eames had stayed fit -- in fact if anything he was even more corded with muscle than he had been before; there wasn't much else left on his frame -- and so Arthur thought that he could almost be excused for missing seeing it. Only not really, because it wasn't as though it was a small change.

It was sort of like a child, Arthur mused absently, as both he and Harper stared at Eames in silent shock and Eames' ears turned pink, his head bowed in embarrassment under their scrutiny. The most recent time Arthur had seen James and Phillipa he'd exclaimed over how big they'd gotten in the last year. But to Cobb, who was with them every moment of every day, the difference wasn't so readily apparent. It wasn't that he didn't see it; it was that he didn't really realize it until Arthur said something. That was the way it had been with Arthur and Eames.

But now that Harper had said something, Arthur couldn't un-see it. Not that he wanted to. There was something fascinating about it. Fascinating and a little bit horrible.

"You're slimmer than Arthur now," Harper continued, either not reading Eames' desire for a change in conversation, or not really caring. Arthur figured it was the latter; Harper was a decent enough person but a little short where empathy was concerned. Not to the point of being obnoxious, but when she got a subject in her mind, she didn't let up until she was done with it. Actually, Arthur thought, she was a bit like both he and Eames that way, though he was pretty sure that Eames didn't appreciate that fact right now.

"I am not," Eames squawked in protest, his head coming up and his eyes flashing.

"Actually--" Arthur began, but he didn't finish this thought as Eames turned to scowl at him. Not because of the fierce glare, but because he could see the silent pleading behind it, and he was more empathetic than Harper. At least he was where Eames was concerned.

"It's all muscle," Harper said, reaching out and circling Eames' wrist with one hand. Her fingers very nearly met her thumb, and Arthur frowned. "But you still need to eat a burger," Harper concluded, nodding and glancing at Arthur, as though seeking approbation.

It wasn't that Arthur disagreed, but at this point he turned the meeting in the direction of the actual job, and Harper followed suit easily enough. She'd said her piece, evidently, and was ready to let it go.

Arthur, however, now had a new and intense awareness of Eames' body, and he wasn't about to let his attention ease for a moment. He was just going to have to divide his efforts, between the job and keeping an eye on Eames.

The former was easy enough. Unlike the fiasco of their last job together, this one was progressing smoothly and while all three of them were working at it, none of them had to work very hard. That afforded Arthur plenty of time to watch Eames.

He was discrete about it, of course. He had to be. He didn't want Eames to know that he was worried, and he didn't want to spook the forger, but he did need to figure out what was going on. He had thought for a few confused moments once Harper had brought it to his attention that it might be some sort of residual result of the bad dose Eames had gotten, but actually watching Eames quickly dispelled that idea.

The first thing Arthur realized was that he rarely saw Eames eat anymore. It was pretty clear from the weight he had shed, from the fact that, yes, he really was about Arthur's size if not skinnier, that Eames wasn't eating; at least not as much as he should have been. The pastries Arthur began to bring to their morning meetings went untouched; at least by Eames, though Harper gleefully downed her share. When Arthur asked Eames what his last meal had been, he deflected and changed the subject. He had to be eating at least enough to keep himself going, and to fuel his mad exercise regimen, but that wasn't saying very much, Arthur was afraid.

Then there was the exercise. Arthur kept himself in prime condition, it was true. Every inch of his body was muscle and he could hold his own against men twice his size. But Eames seemed determined to outdo him in every way. When they lifted weights together, Eames was still working when Arthur was done and had left the gym. When they jogged together in the early morning or late evening, Eames would go for another circle around the block once Arthur had finished and was headed for the shower, "Just to cool down," as though that hadn't been what the last few minutes of their run had been.

It wasn't that Arthur didn't appreciate what all this hard work was doing for Eames. The man had never been so fit. Gone was the bulk that Eames had brought to the Fischer job, when he'd been all muscle but a lot more of it. Now he was streamlined, reduced to the essence of himself, and it did suit him....

But he was reduced. Even though he secretly liked the look, it worried Arthur. Eames was dangerously close to being too skinny. Some might argue that he was already there, though the same people might also say that Arthur was too slim as well. Arthur watched as Eames added a little more muscle, but at the same time shed several more pounds during their job, and since he was looking for it he could see it happen. This was the point at which he decided he couldn't let this go on any longer without interfering.

After all, it wasn't as though anyone else was going to look out for Eames. And when he let himself see past all the ways that Eames annoyed him, Arthur had to admit that he... cared. He cared about what happened to Eames and he worried.

Besides which, he realized, Eames hadn't really been his normal annoying self lately. He'd still been just as prickly and easily insulted as he had always been, but he hadn't needled Arthur about anything, had been polite and solicitous ever since Arthur had carried him out of the line of fire....

And that last thought sparked something in Arthur's mind. He felt he almost had it, almost knew what was going on. But he couldn't quite pin it down more tightly than that. So he put it to the back of his thoughts, let his subconscious work away at it, and turned all of his attentions to taking care of Eames.

Because clearly someone needed to. Since Eames wasn't going to take care of himself.

***

"Do you want to go to that Greek place for dinner?" Harper asked, the night before they were due to pull off their job. She was in a friendly, cheerful mood, since the extraction was pretty much a dead certainty, and had been just challenging enough to be interesting but not enough to be a pain.

"I was thinking the steakhouse," Arthur counter-offered. "Though if your heart is set on Greek...."

"No, I can do beef," Harper said, flashing white teeth in a broad grin. She wasn't as young or as pretty as Ariadne, but who in the business of extraction was? Harper was a good architect and a decent enough person in a profession filled with thieves, more trustworthy than most. Arthur sincerely liked working with her, even though Eames was the only person he could imagine working with all the time.

And since when had that happened? Much like Eames' weight loss, it had crept up on Arthur and taken him by surprise. But they'd come a long way from how they had been before the Fischer job, when they hadn't much cared for one another, and now Arthur couldn't really picture going off on his own and doing a job without Eames by his side.

That was... that was something to give some serious consideration to, but later. Right now he had a more urgent agenda.

"Eames," Arthur prompted, turning toward their forger, who was sitting at a desk, paging through Arthur's report on the mark's ex-wife, "one last time" he'd said. As though he hadn't already internalized everything pertinent by this late date.

"Go on without me," Eames instructed absently, proving that he had been listening, even if he was dismissing them without so much as a glance in their direction.

"That wasn't a request," Arthur said, stepping over and closing his hand around Eames' upper arm. His fingers really went too far toward wrapping around it, and he knew it was time to stop simply watching and to start acting.

Eames frowned up at him, but he rose easily enough and slid into his jacket, following without protest despite his initial negative response.

To be perfectly honest, it made the hair on Arthur's nape prickle when Eames did that; and he'd been doing it a lot more than he used to. It wasn't that Eames didn't have a mind of his own, it was that lately he did whatever Arthur said when given a direct order. And that was strange and out of character... as well as making Arthur feel the weight of making sure he didn't ask for anything Eames wouldn't have done normally.

Once this job was through, Arthur was going to have talk about this with Eames. Then maybe he'd figure out what had gone wrong, and could work to get things back to how they had been before.

Well, maybe not exactly as they had been before. He and Eames were evidently a team now, and Arthur didn't want to lose that. Also, he wouldn't mind terribly if Eames remained a little more amiable than he had used to be.... He just didn't want Eames to be as malleable as he had become.

First and foremost, though, Arthur wanted to know why Eames had suddenly decided to become so obedient. It was.... It just wasn't right. Arthur wondered whether it was connected to the extreme weight loss; it would have seemed like too much of a coincidence to be otherwise, since Eames had been pretty much completely normal before their last disastrous job.

This job was going to go better, and when it was over, Arthur was going to pin Eames down and demand an answer. And he wasn't going to let Eames weasel his way out of answering.

Not until it was successfully completed, however. Even though it shouldn't end up being challenging, Arthur didn't want to risk throwing Eames off his game before they saw it through to its conclusion. Arthur was worried about Eames on a personal level, it was true, but he was still a professional. And so was Eames. Not to mention, Harper would have been pissed if Arthur threw everything into chaos right now. So it would have to wait.

Once they got to the restaurant each of them chose what they wanted. Arthur would have felt better about the fact that Eames ordered unprompted, if he hadn't seen the man's eyes quickly cut toward him once the server had come around to him at the table. It wasn't exactly reassuring to know that Eames was here and had gotten food simply because Arthur had desire it.

Eames was the master of surveillance, but Arthur was no slouch. It wasn't that difficult keeping an eye on Eames while they all ate... or, rather, while Arthur and Harper ate. Eames did eat, it was true. But mostly what he did was push his food around his plate and very skillfully make it appear as though he had consumed more than he actually had.

Arthur might have been impressed by this if he hadn't been so disturbed by the implication, and by the reality of it.

Well, maybe he would give Eames the benefit of the doubt, and think that the man didn't know he was doing it. As unlikely as that was, considering it was Eames....

And then Eames looked up and caught Arthur's eye. Arthur quirked one brow, and Eames shoved a forkful of potatoes in his mouth, looking incredibly guilty. So Arthur was pretty much certain that Eames had not been doing anything unconsciously or by accident. Dammit.

Harper was always a cheerful companion to have, and Eames seemed to be making an effort at being extra charming -- though if he thought this would distract Arthur from tracking how much of his meal actually went in his mouth, he was sadly mistaken -- and so the meal went by quickly and pleasantly enough. Harper wasn't anyone Arthur would choose to work with on a regular basis, the way he did Eames, but he did enjoy having her around when she was around.

Once they were finished and Eames had eaten just enough that Arthur didn't feel he could call him on it, they parted ways. Well, Harper did. Arthur and Eames had adjacent rooms in their hotel, so they were headed in the same direction.

Or so Arthur thought. They walked together, side by side, until they reached their hotel lobby and got into the elevator. At which point Eames casually mentioned that he was going to be hitting the hotel gym once he'd changed his clothes.

"Right now?" Arthur asked incredulously as they exited the elevator, his brows rising, too surprised to try to hide his honest reaction.

"Have to burn off those calories from dinner," Eames declared blithely. Then he vanished into his room before Arthur could shake himself free of his momentary shock and say something.

For a crazed instant Arthur contemplated bursting into Eames' room after the man, but the night before a job seemed like a bad time for a confrontation, no matter how overdue it was. For the same reason, he decided against waiting in the hall until Eames came back out, though it took him a bit more thinking to be sure about that.

In the end he went into his own room and began doing some serious research. When Arthur felt out of his depths, that was what he did. Besides, he had a feeling he was going to want to be well armed for the coming battle. And he knew Eames well enough to know that it was highly likely that there was going to be a battle.

This was not a battle Arthur was willing to lose.

If he lost, after all, they both lost. And that was an untenable thought.

***

The job went off without a hitch, just as they had all expected it would. Arthur did like having a challenge sometimes, it was true, but it was also nice when they got in, got what they were after, got out, and got paid handsomely for doing something that wasn't too terribly difficult or immoral.

Arthur wasn't big on the whole white-hat versus black-hat thing. He knew that life was composed of variations of grey; work in the dream-share even more so. And he would do what was necessary to make a profit... within reason. All that being said, it still suited him when he got to pretend, even briefly, that he was one of the good guys.

Well, and the pay was generous and welcomed. Splitting it three ways was less painful than with a larger team, and Harper was just as delighted with these same facts and not backwards about expressing this.

"Any time you two want an architect, let me know," she grinned, packing up the last of her things and preparing to return home. Arthur thought about his home; it had been almost a year since he'd last visited, and he had decided the night before that inviting Eames to join him there for a little downtime might be the best way to handle the impeding confrontation.

"No guarantees of service," Harper continued, winking at them. "But definitely clue me in and I'll see if I'm free and interested."

"Absolutely," Arthur said, because after Ariadne, Harper was the architect he was most willing to work with. There were those who were good at building dreams and those we were shit at it, and Harper was on the upper end of great. She did have a few problem areas -- her skies were always at least a little bit cloudy and any brick wall she dreamt up was likely to be too uniform -- but overall she was able to do just about anything he asked of her. He'd only stumped her once so far, and she'd come back the next day with the necessary revisions. He respected that, and he respected her.

"Take care of yourself," she told Eames, giving him a quick but tight hug.

"Oof, you too," Eames grunted, hugging her back. Then it was Arthur's turn.

"For sweet Christ's sake, make the man eat something," Harper murmured in his ear as they embraced. "It was like hugging a greyhound!"

"I will," Arthur vowed, as fervently as he felt. He had to admit that her comparison had been remarkably apt. But greyhounds were born to look like that, and Eames had not been. This was going to have to come to an end.

Once Harper had departed, Eames stuck his hands in his pockets and turned a faintly quizzical look on Arthur. "Well, where to now?"

If Arthur hadn't recognized their impromptu partnership before this would have cemented it in his mind. He was just glad, because it worked in his favor at this moment.

"I've got our tickets already," he replied, giving Eames a small smile. He didn't want to set Eames on his guard, but he knew that Eames liked to see his dimples. After all, it wasn't as though Eames was subtle about the way he stared and his expression softened every time they made an appearance. This smile was no exception. "We should get packed and head for the airport now, actually," Arthur added.

Which they did, and Eames didn't push for any more information than that, which made Arthur a little nervous, even though it made this easier.

"Admit it," he said, once they were safely aboard the plane and Eames couldn't get in a huff and leave or anything. "You're just coming along with me because that way you don't have to do the work of digging up jobs on your own."

Eames' mouth fell open in indignation, but before he could go off, Arthur wrapped a hand around his wrist and gave him an apologetic look.

"I'm kidding," he said. "Don't take everything so seriously, Eames."

Eames' brows rose toward his hairline. "And it's you telling me that?" he rumbled. Arthur noted that he hadn't pulled his hand away. His pulse was a little fast until Arthur's fingers, but Arthur wasn't sure what to ascribe that to.

"Absolutely," Arthur grinned, and there was that look, the one he couldn't quite read. He didn't tend to smile much during work, especially not when there were people he didn't know well around, but when he was on his own time.... Speaking of which, he supposed he could tell Eames where they were headed now. Since they were already on their way there.

"So how did you feel about having a small break?" he asked, as casually as possible. There wasn't really any good way to work that into conversation, of course, and Eames' eyes went suddenly sharp and suspicious.

"Where are we headed, Arthur?" he asked. As though he hadn't already read the destination on his boarding pass and at the flight gate. But then, he probably didn't mean that question literally. As he proved by clarifying; "Are we on a job, or...?"

"I have an apartment in Seattle," Arthur answered truthfully. "I need some downtime, and I think you should take some too. You're more than welcome to make use of my guest room. I can't guarantee we won't get wet, but it really doesn't rain as much as they say. Well. Not quite."

Eames was blinking at him a little rapidly, as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Not that Arthur could blame him, he supposed. Still....

"It's not as if I never take breaks," he said a little defensively.

"We're not... lying low for any reason, are we?" Eames asked, lashes flickering as he glanced around, even though no one sitting near them was paying them the slightest bit of attention. Still, Eames wouldn't be Eames if he wasn't on alert. At least while in public, and that was part of the reason Arthur wanted to get him in a place he felt safe, especially before tackling the touchy subject of his recent weight loss. Besides... he was really kind of hoping to get to see Eames with bed-head.

He wasn't so sure of the why on that last, and so he pushed it out of his mind. For now. Certainly, Eames didn't need to hear about that strange desire.

Arthur shook his head, reassuring. "No. To the best of my knowledge, we're both okay with everyone in the business and all our former clients. I just want to relax for a while. A week, maybe two. Recharge, take some time finding our next job, eat at my favorite local restaurants, catch up with a few people, spend some of the money we just earned."

Eames was looking at Arthur as though he'd never seen him before. Which was patently ridiculous, because Arthur wasn't some workaholic or automaton, and there was no reason for Eames to think that he was. Hiding out after a job gone wrong wasn't the only reason to take a break, after all.

"What do you do when you're not working?" Arthur asked, a little frustrated by Eames' continued incredulity, but also curious about the answer to his query.

The confounded frown he got from Eames was almost amusing, but he was waiting to hear whether or not he'd get an answer.

"Well." Eames licked his lips, a quick flicker of pink tongue over plush swells, and Arthur tamped down on his reaction to that with the ease of long practice. He did, however, become abruptly aware that he was still holding Eames' wrist. He didn't really feel like letting go, though, and so he didn't. "I guess I sleep. Eat. Drink. Get some sun."

Arthur grinned wryly. "Sorry. Won't be much of that last where we're headed."

Eames shrugged with one shoulder, and Arthur almost winced at the visual reminder of how sharp and bony Eames was underneath his shirt. Well, he was going to be speaking to Eames about it.... But not until the plane had landed and they were safely ensconced in Arthur's apartment.

"You really... don't mind me staying at your place?" Eames asked hesitantly, and it was so weird to hear that in his tone, to see it in his face. He really was an attractive man, even though he generally managed to hide it well. Arthur had certain feelings about Eames, but he'd always managed to squash them down, mainly because Eames spent so much time infuriating him, whether in purpose or incidentally.

Of course, lately Eames hadn't been. And so maybe it wasn't so surprising that those long-ignored feelings were rising to surface, like cream in a pitcher of whole milk.

Arthur smiled, trying to be as open and honest as he could when he was accustomed to keeping on his best poker face no matter who he was speaking to. He had to convince Eames, and even more than that, he wanted Eames to believe him.

"I don't mind at all," he said earnestly, holding Eames' gaze. "I'd be glad for the company, in fact."

"Don't much like sharing my own place," Eames mumbled, glancing away and fidgeting. Arthur could feel the cords of his wrist flexing under his fingers, and he figured he ought to let go. He did so regretfully, and Eames immediately clasped that same spot in his opposite hand. "Glad you don't feel the same," he added with a sidelong glance, before Arthur could decide what he'd meant by the first half of the statement.

Arthur nodded, because he wasn't really sure what to say in response. But evidently Eames had just agreed to take a break with him, and to stay at his place, so he was happy. There was still the coming confrontation over Eames' weight, and Arthur felt a little bad that he'd manipulated Eames so that it was going to happen on Arthur's home territory, but that was the way it was going to have to be.

And, watching the tendons of Eames' wrist flex as he reached for an in-flight magazine, Arthur knew that he couldn't put it off any longer. This was something that needed to be addressed before Eames wasted away entirely.

He'd already put it off in deference to the job they had just completed. He couldn't afford to wait any longer.

***

"So what do you think?" Arthur asked, once he'd given Eames the grand tour and gotten his luggage settled in the guest room. It was weird having Eames in his personal space, allowing himself to give away so much of his personal life when he usually kept it so closely guarded... and yet it didn't feel wrong. Eames looked as though he belonged here.

Or maybe Arthur just wanted him to belong here. That was all right too.

"It's smaller than I was expecting," Eames said, looking around with an intent expression, as though he was memorizing everything. Well, he probably was. Knowledge of exits and anything that could be used as a weapon would be essential if they were attacked here. Not that Arthur expected they would be. Even if anyone were after their hides -- which to the best of his intel no one was -- this apartment was practically untraceable. Arthur valued it too much; he'd rendered it as safe as was humanly possible. Unless someone had physically tracked them here it was invisible. And Arthur was ninety-nine percent certain they hadn't been followed here from the airport.

"Really?" Arthur was a little surprised by this. His apartment was about average size; any larger and he wouldn't be able to effectively protect it or himself, any smaller and it would have driven him crazy to live in it.

"Or larger," Eames added, his brow furrowing as though even he didn't know what he was talking about. "It's different, at any rate.... But it's very you."

"Thanks, I think," Arthur said dryly. He checked the local time; it was late afternoon and he already knew that the cupboards were bare, aside from a few non-perishables. "I'm going to shower and then go grocery shopping," he said. "Do you want to come along and choose what I make us for dinner?"

"No thank you," Eames replied politely. "I'm fine with whatever you decide." Arthur was glad that Eames didn't seem overly surprised that he could cook. "By the way," Eames added with what he probably thought was smooth casualness, "Is there somewhere around here to work out?"

Arthur tried not to scowl at him, because he didn't want to scare Eames off prematurely. It would be an easy enough thing for the man to just walk out the door while Arthur was bathing, or while he was out shopping. Or right this instant, if he got pissed off enough.

"There's a small gym on the ground floor," Arthur replied. His voice was a little tight but he couldn't help that. "It's well equipped and not many people use it; it's part of the reason I chose this apartment. I'll get a copy of the key made while I'm out, okay?"

Eames nodded, looking far more grateful than such a small gesture warranted. "Thank you." Then he grimaced faintly. "Sorry for leaving the shopping to you, but I'm completely knackered. Do you mind if I have a quick lie down?"

"Not at all," Arthur replied, restraining himself from remarking that if Eames was eating regularly, and enough, he might not be so tired. Not that he could blame Eames for passing on the airline food. Arthur was still regretting the sandwich he'd had, several hours later. "Do whatever you like; this is your break as much as it is mine, right?"

Eames offered him a smile that was incredibly shy and sweet and nothing at all like any expression Arthur had ever gotten from him before. He didn't really miss the verbal sniping, but he did sort of miss their banter, he had to admit. Still, this smile did things to Eames' face; it softened his edges and made him look younger. Unfortunately, it also accentuated how pointy his chin and cheekbones had gotten, and Arthur resolved to spend most of his shower and his subsequent shopping trip thinking of the best way to tackle the subject of Eames' health.

It might not be any of his business, but no one else was going to step in and say anything. And Arthur couldn't help it... he had a certain amount of proprietary interest in Eames. He was pretty sure that all their sparring had been disguised flirting, and the very fact that Eames was here indicated that they were at least mutually respectful colleagues, if not friends.

Though, Arthur did like to imagine that they were friends. If either of them was the sort of man to have such weaknesses as friends.

"Thanks," Eames said simply.

"Thank you for joining me," Arthur replied, giving Eames a quick smile and feeling guilty about the fact that he was going to be pressing the issue of Eames' weight loss before the day was out. He could at least wait until after Eames was unpacked, though. Whether this was strategic or polite, he wasn't sure, but it didn't matter in the end, as long as it happened.

Eames vanished into the guest room and Arthur went to shower away the scent of travel. He'd be sure to buy plenty of raw ingredients and make them the most delicious dinner ever. If it was his home cooking and if it tasted great, then Eames could hardly refuse to eat it... right?

That was certainly Arthur's hope, at any rate.

***

It was strangely domestic, settling into his apartment with Eames, cooking Eames dinner.... And by "strange" Arthur meant completely bizarre.

Eames came into the kitchen while Arthur prepared their evening meal, sitting at the table, sipping the wine Arthur had gotten them, and discussing the job they'd just completed. He did offer to help with the preparation, but Arthur waved him off.

"I'll make us dinner tomorrow night," Eames promised, and Arthur smiled and nodded, even though he thought that it was as likely as not that Eames would be gone by the next evening. He hoped not, of course. But it was impossible to say how Eames was going to react to their coming conversation. Arthur couldn't put it off any longer; they needed to discuss it.

Eames had roused from his nap when Arthur had gotten home and he had bathed while Arthur put the groceries away. He sat now at the table in the kitchen with damp hair and slightly puffy eyes, wearing wrinkled but clean clothing. He seemed relaxed and cheerful, and Arthur felt a little guilty about what he was going to spring on him... but not guilty enough to reconsider.

It was true that Arthur could have put it off for a day or two, could have given Eames a chance to get truly settled in here, maybe made it harder for him to leave.... But he didn't have it in him to wait that long. It was like removing a bandaid; doing to quickly and getting it over with would be better for everyone involved. And it wasn't as though he hadn't had time to rehearse things in his head ever since Harper had drawn his attention to how skinny Eames had gotten. Because he had, plenty of times.

He still wasn't sure how to approach it, how to introduce the subject, despite all his thinking on the matter. But Eames was simply swimming in a shirt that had used to fit him closely, and Arthur wasn't going to be able to leave things alone any longer. He didn't want to.

"That smells delicious," Eames remarked, once the food was close to being done. Arthur only just managed to bite back a jibe about whether or not Eames would actually eat any of it, because he didn't want to set Eames on alert. Also, it would have been rude, and Eames seemed so happy right now.... Or if not happy, then at least closer to it than Arthur had ever seen him before. Eames was even more guarded than Arthur was, and Arthur wasn't sure he'd ever seen a real, raw, unfiltered emotion on Eames' face.

He wondered whether he'd get one once he started in on the subject of Eames' severe weight loss. Well, he'd find out soon, but not until after they'd finished eating.

"Thank you," he said mildly, rather than spouting off with anything more incendiary. "It's nearly done. Can I ask you to set us a couple of places at the table?"

"We're eating in here, then?" Eames asked, setting aside his wine and rising, going unerringly to the cupboard that housed the plates. Arthur wondered whether Eames had scoped the place out while he'd been shopping, but he was pretty sure Eames had been asleep before he'd finished showering and hadn't woken until he'd gotten back. He probably just went with the most logical, efficient possibility, trusting that Arthur would keep his kitchen as organized as he did everything else in his life.

"I don't have a dining room," Arthur replied, putting the finishing touches on their meal. "And we're not sitting on the sofa to eat."

Eames snorted, and it startled Arthur a little to recognize the sound as laughter rather than scorn. "Wasn't suggesting we should," he said evenly, grabbing a couple of plates and putting them on the table. It relieved Arthur a little when Eames had more trouble finding the utensils, but he got it by the second drawer. "A flat this size, there isn't really any place other than the kitchen to eat, is there?"

"You'll have to have me to your manor next time we're in England," Arthur said, smirking at Eames as he brought the food over and set it in the center of the table where they could both reach it. "Show me how it's done right."

He was only joking, of course. Eames never did stay in the manor that was his in name only. Besides which, he'd already said that he didn't like other people in his personal space. But Arthur found that his flippant suggestion lacked the mocking tone that usually marked their back and forth barbs.

Eames didn't reply, only looked thoughtful. Arthur didn't know whether it was in response to what he had said or how he had said it. He wasn't about to ask, so instead he dished up some of the chicken parmesan he'd made them. It was his best dish, he thought, while still being simple and hopefully easy to digest. Eames would have no reason not to eat his share; at least in theory.

Arthur realized his first major tactical error as they both served themselves, and Eames took about half as much as Arthur did. He should have loaded up both plates before bringing them to the table, damn it.

Arthur didn't say anything, though. He'd be saying something soon enough. And it was nice to see that Eames was willing to eat at all. Half a portion was at least something, and it was more than Eames had managed when they'd had their dinner at the steakhouse before their last job. Arthur shuddered to think about Eames' eating habits the rest of the time, when Arthur wasn't monitoring him. Which had been most of the time, up to this point.

Well, that was about to change. Tonight, at least. And if Eames didn't take off after their coming conversation, then Arthur would make sure that he continued eating regularly.

Of course, there was a good chance that Eames would leave. And in some ways Arthur wouldn't blame him if he did. After all, it really was none of Arthur's business. But as the closest thing to a friend that Eames had -- at least as far as Arthur knew -- there wasn't anyone else who would step up and make sure that Eames was taken care of.

"Is it all right?" he asked, watching out of the corner of his eye as Eames cut his chicken breast into neat little pieces. If Eames didn't eat the whole thing.... Well, Arthur wasn't sure what he was going to do, but shaming might be involved. After all, he'd put work into creating this meal. Maybe not a lot, but it hadn't been effortless, and he had paid for the ingredients as well, when he'd purchased the groceries. Yes, he'd invited Eames to be a guest in his home, but that didn't mean that it wouldn't be impolite for Eames to waste his resources.

"As delicious as it smelled while it was cooking," Eames said, taking a bite of chicken with all evidence of enjoyment. Arthur didn't doubt he meant it, and hearing it pleased him more than he had expected it would. "Thank you. For the meal and for having me here."

"Sometimes...." Arthur gave it a moment's consideration, then decided to speak the unfiltered truth. "Sometimes I just get lonely. Do you every get lonely?"

He hadn't meant to ask that question, but now it was out there. He wouldn't be surprised if Eames didn't answer. He told himself that he wouldn't mind if Eames didn't answer.

Eames' brow had furrowed, and he was looking at Arthur as though he was a puzzle to be figured out, which Arthur thought was only fair all things considered. But if he was going to be exposing his own vulnerability, it wasn't unreasonable to ask the same from Eames in return. Of course, Eames was under no obligation to reply, since Arthur had volunteered said information.

"I..." Eames blinked, gaze going distant in what Arthur took to be consideration of the question. "I guess.... I've never really thought about it, but.... I wouldn't say I get lonely. Still, I guess I do feel less alone right now. Here, with you."

That was more of a confession than Arthur might have expected, and he was pleasantly surprised to have gotten it out of Eames.

"I'm happy to hear that," he said, trying to sound as sincere as he felt, because the last thing he'd have wanted would be for Eames to take his words as sarcasm or snarkiness.

Eames lapsed into silence, but he was eating and so Arthur was loath to distract him. He in no way wanted to get in a fight during dinner. And he was hungry as well, wanted to make sure he ate his fill. It would have been beyond irony and into the realm of ridiculous if he neglected his own meal out of worry over how much or little Eames was eating.

They ate and they drank their wine, and the words seemed to have dried up but, surprisingly, the silence wasn't uncomfortable or awkward. And Eames finished off everything on his plate, which Arthur found to be a relief, even if Eames had taken less to begin with.

Of course, that might weaken Arthur's position in the coming conversation, but Arthur didn't really feel it did. Not when Eames weighed less than Arthur did; was too obviously stinting himself on other meals, and had clearly been doing so for a while. Arthur wasn't stupid. He might have missed the signs at first, but he could hardly say that he didn't see them now.

"Thank you," Eames said softly as they carried their empty plates over to the sink. He poured them both some more wine while Arthur put the leftovers away -- there were more than he had expected, even though it shouldn't have been unexpected, he supposed -- then handed over Arthur's glass once he was done.

"It was my pleasure," Arthur replied honestly. "I'm just glad you enjoyed it."

"I'm not picky," Eames said, and when Arthur couldn't help his face creasing in a frown, he hurried to add, "But that meal was exceptional, no matter how you look at it."

Arthur smirked a little, shaking his head and taking a sip of wine. "I don't know about such high praise," he murmured. "But it's one of my better dishes."

"So what are we to do now?" Eames asked, looking a bit lost. Arthur could sympathize, but on the other hand he didn't think Eames was going to like what came next.

"Let's go out to the living room," he suggested, gesturing with his wineglass. The kitchen was full of warmth and delicious smells, but it wasn't really a good venue, he didn't think. Of course, the front door was in the living room.... But Eames had already gotten settled into the guest room, so hopefully he wasn't inclined to just take off if Arthur said something he didn't want to hear... right?

Well, there was nothing for it but to dive in headlong. Arthur had put it off for too long already, and he didn't like leaving things unresolved for such an extended period. There had been the job to finish, but it was done, and now Arthur felt overdue in making his concern known.

Eames was watching him warily, his expression pensive, as Arthur led the way out of his small kitchen and back into the living room area. So Arthur probably wasn't as impassive as he'd liked to think. Well, that was probably for the better, he mused. After all, it would have been worse if Arthur's pointed accusations had been coming out of seemingly nowhere, right?

"So, what is it, Arthur?" Eames asked as they settled themselves on the sofa. They were sitting at opposite ends, several inches between them, but Eames' knees were inclined toward Arthur and he hadn't chosen to sit on the recliner or to remain standing, which Arthur took as good signs. "For what nefarious purpose have you brought me into your domicile?"

"Really?" Arthur couldn't help chuckling faintly. Eames was so over the top, the more so when he played it up. He took a drink of wine, wishing that it would give him courage, but even though it was a good vintage it wasn't enough to get him more than slightly buzzed. And that only because he'd started in on it before he'd eaten anything.

"Honestly, Eames," he continued, "I brought you here to feed you and so that we could both get some rest before our next job, and... well, not be lonely. Together."

Eames quirked a brow. He didn't look as though he disbelieved Arthur, which was good, but.... "And?" he prodded.

Arthur took a deep breath, involuntarily, not deliberately. It wasn't as though he was going to get a better chance than this. Eames had just about set things up perfectly. The only problem being, Arthur still hadn't figured out the best way to put it into words, hadn't been able to decide what was least likely to offend Eames. For all he spent time working with the man, for all he'd been watching him closely ever since the Fischer job, Arthur still had very little idea of what made Eames tick.

Eames was an enigma. He carefully hid his motivations and desires. Arthur liked to think he was more attentive and observant than most people, but even he had figured out very little in the relatively short time since he'd begun actually trying.

Certainly, Arthur had had time to think this over ever since he'd begun planning it, once he'd realized he needed to say something, but he hadn't gotten much closer to how best to introduce the subject. He didn't want to put Eames on the defensive immediately, but it was hard to come up with an opening line that wouldn't do just that.

"I'm sure you've noticed that things have been... different... since the last job we had with Harper, the one before this one," he began, not as crisp and articulate as he generally liked to be, but Eames had a habit of tying him up in knots without half trying. And with this current situation....

Eames' face had shut down, just as Arthur had feared it would. Though possibly not for the reason he'd expected, as Eames said harshly, "If you were tired of my company, Arthur, you might have just told me so. No need to drag me to your flat and feed me a delicious dinner first. It doesn't exactly soften the blow."

Arthur couldn't help boggling at Eames for a long moment, robbed of words as Eames took the complete opposite of his meaning. And in such a contrary way that Arthur wondered whether Eames even believed his own words, or if he was only baiting Arthur. On the other hand, looking at the hard flush rising in the apples of Eames' cheeks, Arthur had to assume that Eames had meant what he had said, and then he thought it was actually a possibility.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped, even though it ran counter to his intentions to belittle anything Eames had to say. He was offended, though, that Eames thought him capable of doing something so underhanded and downright cruel. "Do you honestly think I'd bring you here, offer you a key, make you dinner, and ask you to spend time with me so that I'm not lonely if I had the slightest intention of telling you I was tired of your company?"

The flush had moved from Eames' cheeks to cover his entire face and pink his ears. He cast his gaze down and away, hiding behind his long lashes. "Sorry," he mumbled, nipping at his lower lip. "When you put it like that, it does sound a bit daft, I suppose. But why else would you...?"

"I wanted to talk to you about your weight," Arthur said, putting it out there far more bluntly than he had intended. But then, if he tried to sugarcoat it, Eames would obviously be inclined to do his best to misunderstand.

Eames raised his head, blinking at Arthur and giving every evidence of being confused.

"I've finally got it under control," he said, then, while Arthur was struggling to parse Eames' meaning when what he had said had made absolutely zero sense, he added, very earnestly and seriously, "You needn't worry about it from here on out, Arthur. I won't get that large again."

"What are you even-- Do you--" Arthur became aware that he was sputtering, and he cut himself off. He needed to get his emotions under control before he tried to speak any further. "That's, that's not what I--"

Okay, not as under control as he'd intended.

And now Eames was staring at him as though it was Arthur who had the mental problem here.

Arthur sucked in another deep breath and did his best to center himself. He wished that he had more wine, but his glass was empty now and alcohol wasn't going to bolster him any or help him get through this conversation. Much though he might desire otherwise. Arthur preferred to do things without using a crutch of any sort, but right now he felt as though he could have used any support that he could get.

"I'm concerned," he said, knowing he was speaking a little too stridently, but unable to regulate his tone as he usually did, "Because you're losing too much too quickly, Eames."

Eames scoffed at this, a wordless noise of scorn, and Arthur had to fight not to bristle, to continue calmly and rationally.

"You're stinting yourself on food. You're exercising too much." He frowned deeply. None of this was the real issue, of course, but evidently he was going to have to come at the real issue in a roundabout fashion. "Eames, you're not losing weight in a health way," he complained, because that much was true.

"Easy for you to say," Eames told him, his expression pensive. "You're naturally slim."

Arthur felt his jaw physically drop. Eames had reduced him to that. "I can't-- I can't believe you just said that!" he gasped.

"Why not? It's true." Eames raised his eyebrows. "Forgive me, Arthur, but... I fail to see how this is any of your business," he continued. And he spoke mildly, not defensively, but it was the same thing Arthur had been thinking all along, and so he winced as he heard it.

"I'm worried about you," he said, scowling. So much for remaining calm and collected. But he just couldn't let this go, even if Eames was right and it was none of his business. "We've been working together for a while now, Eames," he tried, spreading his hands and widening his eyes at the other man. He didn't try for disingenuous, but neither did he try not to look disingenuous. "If you won't accept that I'm worried about you as a friend, then take it as concern over our working relationship and your ability to continue on as you've been going."

Eames' long lashes flickered and he looked confounded. Arthur wondered what he was having trouble with, but he wasn't left wondering for long.

"Friends?" Eames asked hesitantly, hands opening and closing on his knees,

Arthur fought back a sigh. "Well, you don't think I would just invite any colleague to stay with me in my own home, do you?" He tried hard not to sound sardonic, he really did, but he wasn't sure how successful he was.

Eames blinked at him some more, the tendons in his arms flexing, and if he'd been a gambling man Arthur would have bet good money that Eames was restraining himself from fumbling for his totem. He wasn't in the mood for gambling, though, and there were more important issues here than whether or not he considered Eames a friend. Even though he found himself abruptly wildly curious as to whether it went the other way around and Eames thought of him as a friend. After all, he had agreed to come and stay with Arthur....

"That's not what I'm talking about, though," he pushed, and he didn't really want to talk about this, but Eames hadn't left him with any choice. If it was going to get better on its own, it would have done so by now. Eames wasn't going to make any changes voluntarily, Arthur was sure. So it was up to him. Evidently. Somehow.

"What are you...." Eames shook his head. "Arthur, what are you on about?" he asked plaintively, as though it was Arthur who was the one being unreasonable here.

"Eames, you look like a fucking bobble-head doll!" Arthur snapped. Which, okay, might not have been the most tactful way of putting it, but that didn't make it not true. And the thought had been kicking around in Arthur's head so long that it almost felt good to articulate it. Not quite, but almost.

Eames' eyes popped wide and his mouth rounded. Arthur felt a little bad, and he belatedly thought that insulting the looks of a man who obviously had some issues with seeing himself objectively was probably not the best idea he'd ever had, but it was too late now. He couldn't take the words back, could only continue onward.

"I mean," he said, trying to clarify without backpedalling, "You're getting too skinny and I'm worried. Harper was right, you're thinner than me now. You scoffed when she said it, but it's true. And it's not safe for you to have dropped that much weight that fast. Even if you do look good."

He tacked on that last, despite the fact that it was a little contradictory, because it was also true. He was worried about Eames' extreme weight loss, and the man had gotten a little too thin, but Eames did look good slimmed down and toned. He'd just taken it beyond what was safe or sane.

Besides, it probably couldn't hurt to feed Eames a few compliments, considering that Arthur had kind of insulted him a moment ago.

"Arthur, this isn't about how I look," Eames said, and he sounded so patient that Arthur kind of wanted to punch him in the face. Only not really. Violence wouldn't solve anything, nor would it make Arthur feel better. Not really. Tempting as it might be.

"No?" He probably should have tried harder to keep his disbelief out of his voice, but it was hard to remain tactful in the face of such blatant self-delusion.

Eames continued, sounding remarkably reasonable for someone who was so full of shit. "This is about my weight, not my appearance. After all, if you weren't so fit I'd be dead or in prison right now."

It took Arthur a couple of seconds of rapid blinking to make the connection. It wasn't that he'd forgotten about the disastrous job where Eames had had the bad reaction to the sedative, and it wasn't as though he hadn't pinpointed that as being the moment when everything had gone strange and wrong... but they hadn't been talking about that, so it hadn't been at the forefront of his thoughts.

"Jesus, Eames, you can't blame yourself for that," he said forcefully, shaking his head.

"Why not?" Eames asked, raising his brows. "You did. And rightfully so."

"What?" Arthur squawked, unable to remain calm under these circumstances. "I did not!"

But when he paused and thought about it, Arthur had a sneaking suspicion that if he reviewed his words to Eames, spoken under stress in the firefight, that Eames might prove to be the one who was remembering correctly. Hadn't he literally said something about Eames needing to lose weight?

Well, shit.

"Eames, I was kidding!" he said in exasperation, and not a little bit of fear. If this was Arthur's fault -- and it certainly seemed as though it might be -- he needed even more to fix it. The only problem was that he had absolutely no idea how to do that.

He couldn't let Eames down, though. Not if he had caused this, even indirectly.

"You were not," Eames replied, frowning at him. He wasn't angry, which was good, but Arthur didn't feel that they were really making any progress here. It was a little like trying to swim upstream against a powerful current. Arthur was exhausting himself without feeling as though he was getting anywhere.

"Okay, maybe I wasn't kidding," Arthur said, even though it pained him to give that much ground. Still, he was willing to say to it because it might well be true. And wasn't he kicking himself for that now. "But that doesn't mean that I was right," he continued.

Eames actually smiled at him, the bastard, his brows rising again. "Are you admitting to having been wrong about something?" he asked, sounding far too cheerful considering the conversation they were having.

"In this case, yes!" Arthur snapped. "Eames, I was stressed out and being shot at. You were heavy, true, but not any more heavy than any grown male would have been. Even Harper would have gotten heavy if I'd had to cart her around. I'd have been heavy if you'd had to carry me out of there. I did what needed to be done, I was happy to do it, and I'm very sorry if something I said hurt your feelings. It was inexcusable of me."

Eames was blinking at him, looking stunned again. Normally Arthur would have been pleased to have gotten this response from the cocky forger, but not in this particular situation, not during this conversation.

As the silence stretched between them Arthur really kind of wished he had some way of reading what was going on in Eames' mind. But then, if he'd had that all along, they wouldn't be in this mess, now, would they.

"How can you even think that I wanted you to lose weight?" he asked when Eames didn't say anything, trying to calm himself and speak evenly when his heart was thumping against his breastbone.

"You didn't hurt my feelings," Eames said, sounding scornful but looking a little lost. He paused a moment, then shook his head. "And I didn't lose weight because I thought you wanted me to. You just pointed out a problem and I dealt with it."

Arthur had worked with plenty of idiots and assholes in his time, but never before had he been so tempted to sink his face into his hands and groan aloud. Not that Eames was an idiot or an asshole, generally speaking. But he was missing the point so completely that it almost seemed as though it must be deliberate. The biggest problem being... Arthur didn't think it was deliberate. It was true that Eames generally took delight in misunderstanding Arthur, being obtuse, or taking things the wrong way, but this was something different. And Arthur wasn't sure how to deal with it.

"Eames." He took a moment to just breathe, to try to center himself. "Eames," he tried again, but he really didn't know what to follow that with.

"It's all right, Arthur," Eames said, and he sounded concerned, as though Arthur was the one who needed sense talked into him. Arthur had known this was going to be a difficult conversation, but he hadn't expected it to be difficult in these ways. He wasn't sure he was equipped to deal with this. It was as though Eames was in denial--

Oh! Oh.... Well, that made more sense. That he could deal with. Not that it was going to be easy, Arthur knew. But at least he had half a clue what was going on. That might give him somewhere to set his feet, at least.

"Eames, you have an eating disorder," he stated bluntly. Why should they dance around the issue? If Eames wasn't aware, then it would be best to get it out there. And it certainly appeared as though Eames was unaware. That actually shouldn't have come as anything of a surprise, Arthur thought in retrospect. In fact....

Eames scoffed again, validating Arthur's supposition. "I do not have an eating disorder," he said, so firmly that if he didn't know better, Arthur might almost have believed him. He damned well knew better, though.

"It's not only women who get eating disorders," he said, trying to remain patient and sound reasonable.

Eames' full lips were twisted at one corner and his dark eyes were flashing with something approaching danger. "Be that as it may," he replied with remarkable aplomb, "I do not."

"That's why you're eating too little and exercising too much," Arthur said, desert-dry.

Eames glared at him, and Arthur was sure that in a moment he was going to argue, so he hurried on before he could do so.

"We had to reduce your dosage of Somnacin the last few times we went under," he pointed out. "And we probably should have done so earlier than that, but it hadn't occurred to me."

"So we end up using less sedative," Eames said with a shrug, his quirked lips shifting fluidly into a crooked smirk. "Sounds like a benefit to me."

Arthur knew he was supposed to be helping Eames out here, but he really kind of wanted to smack him. It didn't help that he was pretty sure that this time Eames was bypassing the point on purpose.

"This isn't healthy, Eames," he gritted out.

"I am in complete control here," Eames said dismissively, even giving a brisk wave of his hand as though he could sweep all of it away so easily.

Arthur ground his teeth together, but he also jumped right into that opening. "Don't you realize that that's what it's about?" he asked, a little harshly. "Control?"

Eames snorted again. Arthur bit his lower lip until it hurt in an attempt at controlling himself. Granted, Eames had yet to storm out of his apartment, so in a lot of ways this was going better than Arthur had expected... but it was getting more and more frustrating.

Arthur was used to being frustrated; he'd worked with Cobb for a long time, after all. But even Cobb had never been this stubbornly self destructive--

All right, that wasn't true. But on the other hand, Arthur hadn't known how bad Cobb had really gotten until the very end, and he hadn't really been aware all of the details until it was over. Not to mention, Arthur hadn't been directly responsible for any of Cobb's... issues. The way he evidently was where Eames was concerned.

Arthur was willing to take some of the responsibility. Of course at the heart of it Eames was a grown man and was in control of his own actions. But it had evidently been some careless, poorly-chosen words on Arthur's part that had led to this current crisis. And that meant that it was up to Arthur to get started on fixing it. It would be Eames who would need to make the changes, but the same way he had begun Eames fixating dangerously and wrong-headedly on his weight, Arthur was going to have to get Eames set on the path to a healthy self image and hopefully a healthy weight.

Besides which... Arthur had to admit that even though he'd felt a certain amount of loyalty to Cobb, enough that he'd been willing to humor the man and help him perform inception even when he hadn't thought it was possible himself, his feelings for Eames were stronger. He wasn't sure when or how it had happened -- well, some time during the period they'd been working together since said inception -- but the more he'd gotten to know Eames, the more he'd come to not just respect him, but also to care about him. To like him.

Eames was giving him a strange look, and Arthur wondered what was going on behind those dark, gleaming eyes. He didn't have to wait long, when Eames pursed his lips and spoke.

"Even if this were true, and I'm not conceding the point, because it's not true, but if it were, what makes you think it's such a problem that you needed to invite me to invade your home and leisure time? Surely you've got better things to be doing."

Arthur sank his head in his hands, closed his eyes, took steady breaths, and counted to ten. That didn't help, so he counted to twenty. By the time he reached "nineteen" he felt capable of replying without exploding.

"Because," he said, as calmly and evenly as he could, raising his head and meeting Eames' curious, borderline alarmed gaze, "It's gotten to the point that you're too thin. Because you're going about this in an unhealthy way. And because I am evidently responsible."

He glared, not able to help himself, then when Eames didn't reply right away he continued. "You're not invading my home, by the way. I want you here. And since it was something I said that got you started on this, it's up to me to try and get you started on fixing it. If you won't stop this dangerous behavior for the sake of your health, will you do it to try and assuage the violent guilt that I'm feeling?"

Eames' brows rose toward his hairline, and Arthur mentally crossed his fingers. That last had been a gamble on his part. He had absolutely no idea whether Eames cared enough about Arthur's feelings to render this a viable request. The fact that Arthur cared enough about Eames to make an effort didn't mean that this affection was in any way returned. He could only hope....

"But that would mean conceding the point," Eames argued weakly. And of all the nerve endings Arthur had exposed in his last attempt, that one was probably the most frustrating and the least vulnerable at the same time.

Instead of replying, Arthur reached over and wrapped both his hands around Eames' nearer forearm. Eames instinctively attempted to jerk his arm away, his face painted in shades of surprise and potential indignation.

"Look," Arthur demanded, squeezing both hands, noting that Eames was no longer trying to pull away, not that he'd had any intention of letting go short of a showing of violence on Eames' part. "Look at how my fingers overlap, Eames!" he said harshly. "Yes, I have large hands. But this, this is ridiculous! You're putting on muscle and burning off fat, it's true, but you're not fueling your body correctly, so you're not gaining strength."

Eames still didn't reply, but he was watching Arthur closely, and so Arthur continued, still clinging to his arm.

"Right now you're just under the line of being fit and healthy," he said. "If you'd just be a little less extreme, eat more and exercise less, you'd be in wonderful shape. Don't think that I don't like you looking like this, because I do. I'm not asking you to gain weight back." He paused, reconsidering. "Well, it would be nice if you gained a little weight back because you've started taking better care of yourself.... Or." A thought struck him and he hurried on before Eames could interrupt, even though he didn't seem inclined to do so. "Or, how about this. Let me take care of you. Let me portion out your meals. Exercise when I do, and not more. How does that sound?"

Eames was silent for so long that Arthur almost despaired of getting a response, but it was clear that he was thinking, even if Arthur couldn't tell what was going on behind those mirror-bright eyes, behind his carefully blank mask.

"I think... that sounds like an awful lot of work on your part," Eames eventually replied, speaking slowly, but not shifting his gaze from Arthur's intent, desperate stare.

"Not really," Arthur said honestly, trying not to let hope rise winging in his heart. "I have to eat; I'll just be feeding you at the same time. Which I'd be doing anyway, considering that you're my guest here. I exercise daily and now I'll have company while I do it. We've pretty much been doing all that anyway; I'm just asking you not to go beyond what I do. And I'm giving you my word I won't start giving you larger portions, or exercising less than I normally do."

Eames grimaced, but didn't say anything, so Arthur wasn't sure why.

"In fact," Arthur persisted, heartened because Eames hadn't turned him down flat yet, because he hadn't left the apartment and gave no indication of planning to do so. "In fact, I'm willing to portion you out less than I eat, " At first, he added mentally, "Because I know your stomach isn't used to a normal amount anymore. And I won't insist on snacks as long as you agree to three meals a day."

On the one hand, all of this was completely reasonable. On the other hand... well, there was absolutely no justification for Arthur to be making these demands of Eames. The mere supposition of their friendship might be nothing more than a projection of Arthur's own desires onto the framework of their working relationship.

Not to mention, if Eames had been being reasonable about this to begin with, then it never would have reached the point that Arthur felt impelled to interfere.

Still, Eames was here, in Arthur's apartment, and he was listening to Arthur even if he might not agree with anything he was saying.

"But now we come back to the fact that I don't wish to concede the point," Eames said quietly. His expression was unreadable, but he hadn't made any move to retract the arm that Arthur was still clinging to.

Speaking of which, Arthur really ought to let go. He knew that. But there was something about holding onto Eames, about feeling the man solid and real in his grasp, that seemed to calm him, to center him. And with the way the conversation had been going, Arthur felt in need of a little grounding.

"So prove it to me," he challenged. When Eames raised his brows in a silent query, he explained. "Eat what I serve you, which won't be more than I eat, and will be less to start. Exercise when I do, no more, but no less. Spend time with me, exploring the city, shopping, trying nearby restaurants... hell, even napping, if we both feel like it. And if at the end of our break period you aren't in better health, then I'll admit that I was concerned over nothing."

Eames looked skeptical. Not that Arthur could blame him. If their roles had been reversed, he'd hardly have been eager to hand his entire life over to the other man....

Or, well, maybe he wouldn't have minded. He wasn't sure he quite trusted Eames the way he was asking Eames to trust him, but what he was requesting wasn't involved or excessive, by any stretch of the imagination. If Eames agreed, it wasn't going to compromise him in any way. It wouldn't even be that different than the visit would have gone if Arthur had never opened his mouth. Except that Eames would be wasting less food, spending less time exercising, and hopefully coming out the end of their break in better health, at a more responsible weight.

"I suppose this means that you won't be giving me a key to the gym, then," Eames rumbled, the muscles and tendons in his forearm flexing under Arthur's fingers.

"Um, sorry," Arthur said, biting his lower lip and actually meaning it. He hated breaking his word, but he hadn't anticipated making this request when he'd made the promise. "Maybe once you've proved your point to me I'll reconsider."

Eames' eyes narrowed, and Arthur let go of his arm as he pulled it away. He winced internally. He should have known better than to speak that last sentence. At the very least, he could have worded it more tactfully, knowing how touchy Eames was.

"Don't be so supercilious," Eames sneered. "I don't need you to patronize me, Arthur."

"I'm not." Arthur rubbed his eyes, feeling exhausted from navigating this touchy conversation with Eames. And he wasn't even sure he'd made a successful case for what he was asking. Baiting Eames could work if it was done subtly, but he might have blown it all with that last sentence. "I swear to you, Eames, I only have your best interests at heart."

Eames licked his lips. Arthur managed not to focus on that nervous flicker because Eames was looking right at him and would have caught him at it, but it was difficult.

"You were being supercilious, just now," Eames said stiffly. "Admit it."

"All right," Arthur said, willing to do so, because Eames was right. "I was, a little. But only because I'm getting exasperated, not out of any sense of superiority."

Eames nodded slowly, seeming willing to accept this, which made Arthur breathe a silent sigh of relief. He'd argue until he turned blue in the face if it got him what he wanted, but each conflict between the two of them created more potential for disaster, and he really wanted this to work.

He wanted to help Eames, and he wanted Eames to give him the opportunity to help.

"You're overthinking this," Eames said with a little shake of his head. The expression of longsuffering sympathy on his face, as though he was still completely convinced that Arthur was the one who was in the wrong here, very nearly infuriated Arthur. But he was so close to getting what he wanted that he decided to let it go.

"So have we come to an agreement?" he ventured. He didn't want to push but he knew that if he didn't pin Eames down he'd never get a straight answer and then he wouldn't know for sure.

"I...." Eames didn't seem to be able to finish his sentence.

Arthur gave in to temptation and reached for Eames' forearm again, though this time he only grasped it in one hand, as lightly and unobtrusively as possible.

"Just let me take care of you," he requested quietly.

Eames blinked rapidly, lashes fluttering. "Are you...."

He'd already set so much on the line by this point, had practically pleaded with Eames to let him help him. What was a little more honesty now? Maybe it was time to open himself up, exposing himself as much as he was requesting of Eames.

"From now on my hands are your scale, and my eyes are your mirror."

Eames' eyes went wide and startled, and Arthur was pretty sure that in this moment they were both hyper aware of the gentle hold he had on Eames' arm. He didn't remove his hand, though. Eames would reject him or not, but Arthur didn't intent to retract anything he had said or done.

"That was... trite," Eames said, in tones of surprise. He didn't seem inclined to run, and Arthur took some small comfort from that fact.

"I meant every word," he told Eames steadily, maintaining eye contact and flexing his fingers, then sliding his grip carefully down to Eames' wrist, never once giving even the hint of letting go.

And Eames still wasn't pulling away.

Instead, Eames made a scoffing sound, but there was something wild and raw in his gaze, seeping through the flat mirror grey. "Careful, Arthur," he cautioned. "It's starting to sound as though you're propositioning me."

"Let's take this one thing at a time, okay," Arthur said, trying for a light tone, giving Eames a small smile. Maybe this wasn't the right moment for levity, and yet he didn't know how else to react. Anyhow, he knew how Eames felt about his dimples.

Arthur might be at a loss, but evidently Eames was not. In a lightning quick move that should have had Arthur recoiling equally fast but which somehow didn't, Eames leaned forward and planted his lips against Arthur's in a shallow but heavy kiss.

It didn't last long, but it was long enough to blow Arthur's mind. Before he had quite caught up to the reality of it, Eames was drawing back, his expression unrepentant and possibly a little defiant.

"Prove it to me, Arthur," Eames challenged, and Arthur no longer had any idea what they were talking about.

Eames sat back and Arthur's spine strained to keep him upright. As the apartment settled into a sort of stunned silence around them, they sat there, staring at one another.

[and fade to black]

[no, just kidding; to be continued!]

next