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kyrene_writesTitle: It Is Ours to Endure or Embrace: Part Seven
Author:kyrenekyorl
Pairings/Characters: Arthur/Eames, Robert Fischer, OMC
Rating: R
Word Count: 6,801 (this part)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Because the world needs more underage-Eames (or at least I do), and my "Inception" fanfiction needs more incest. Also, because I'm completely shameless.
Warning: alternate universe, underage, incest, underage incest, parental death (offscreen), verbal abuse (offscreen)
Author's Note: Edited 07/15/12
"It Is Ours to Endure or Embrace"
Part Seven
by kyrene
"I'm really sorry about that, Eames," Arthur said as he drove them toward home, the words coming out heartfelt, even though Eames hadn't voiced a single complaint. But, well, Arthur had forgotten how boring Cobb could be. And the kids... were just kids. Not really stimulating company for a fifteen year old.
Everything had gone smoothly enough, Arthur thought ruefully, but it just hadn't been a very interesting evening. Hanging out with Ariadne was a lot more fun, and the three of them always had a lot more to talk about.
Eames didn't reply, and glancing over, Arthur could see that he had one hand clasped over his mouth. He was just wondering why when Eames loosed a low sound. Arthur knew Eames too well by now to fail to recognize the noise as a stifled sob.
Without even thinking about it, Arthur flicked on his turn signal and pulled into the empty parking lot of a convenient grocery store. Shutting off the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt, he turned to Eames.
"What is it, baby?" he asked, already reaching for his nephew, pausing only as long as it took to free Eames from his seatbelt as well before he pulled him into his arms.
Eames shook his head, but he leaned into Arthur's embrace, hiding his face against his neck, his fingers clutching at the front of his shirt. This was familiar, but that didn't mean that Arthur liked it; he always hated when Eames cried.
He assumed that this breakdown had something to do with Moira -- seeing as they'd just been in the house of a family who had lost their mother and wife -- but now he needed to find out what had set Eames off.
He sort of regretted taking Eames to visit the Cobbs, but... well, what was he supposed to do, avoid every social situation because Eames' mother had died? Granted, Mal's death was liable to hit a little too close to the bone, but Arthur really hadn't thought Cobb had said anything at any point that might have reminded Eames of his own loss. That left the kids. It had to have been something Phillipa or James had said, he concluded.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Arthur prompted, after a couple of minutes of rubbing Eames' back, as he swallowed down the last of his choked sobs.
Eames sighed and shifted, but made no move to pull away from Arthur. Finally, "I was talking to Pippa," he rumbled, fingers smoothing over the line of buttons running down the front of Arthur's shirt. "About our mothers."
"Yeah?" Arthur wasn't surprised. He'd figured it would be something like that after all.
Eames was silent longer, and Arthur wondered if his spine was beginning to ache as badly as Arthur's was. He had no intention of letting go of Eames, though, not until the boy indicated he wanted out of his arms.
"I don't..." Eames faltered, then sucked in a deep breath and rallied. "I can't remember what the last thing I said to Mum was."
"Oh." Arthur kept his wince internal, but now he could understand why Eames had broken down. "I'm sorry."
Eames sighed and moved his cheek, possibly because the shirt underneath it had gotten damp. Arthur didn't mind being a human tissue for Eames, though, if it gave him any comfort at all.
"At least... we weren't fighting," he said, his voice husky. "I'd have remembered that. But I thought I'd see her once she got home. I didn't know it'd be the last time I--" he broke off and choked, but didn't break down in tears again. Quite. "I was just so glad that I was going to have the flat to myself for a bit, you know? That grandfather and his wife were going with Mum. I don't even know if I said goodbye to her, because I can't remember."
"It's all right," Arthur told him firmly. "I mean, it hurts, yes. But neither of you had any idea it was the end. So whatever you said, no matter what it was, it was just normal, everyday love."
That sounded so cheesy as the words left his lips that he really did wince this time. Sometimes he managed to say something pithy and truthful, but this time he just sounded like an idiot.
"Thanks." Eames didn't seem to think so, fortunately, and when he straightened and scrubbed roughly at his face with both hands Arthur let go of him. He didn't start the car, though, because he didn't think they were done talking yet. "Pippa and James said goodbye and that they loved their mother, before she... left."
Arthur reached over to smooth down errant strands of Eames' hair, which was kind of a mess even though he'd obviously made an attempt to tame it before they'd headed out for Cobb's place. "That's true. But they thought they'd see her when she got home too, the same as you. They're just younger so it's easier for them to say things like 'I love you' to their parents."
Eames bit his lower lip and nodded, his expression pensive. He seemed to be processing Arthur's words, though, which was the important part.
"If it helps any," Arthur offered, though he didn't think it would, "Cobb was screaming at Mal in their last moments together. So he'll probably never forget what he said to her."
"Owch," Eames winced, biting his lower lip and shaking his head a little. "It doesn't really help, no. But... at least now I feel more sorry for Cobb than I do for myself."
Arthur grimaced. That wasn't quite what he'd meant, but Eames did seem somewhat comforted... albeit in a kind of awkward, unconventional way.
"Is it ever going to stop hurting?" Eames asked after a moment, his voice muffled, his eyelashes glistening with moisture in the light of the lamps dotting the parking lot as he stared straight ahead, out the windshield.
"Do you want it to?" Arthur asked with painful honesty.
"It might... be a nice change...." Eames swallowed audibly. "No, I don't want to forget her. But sometimes it hurts so much I just can't stand it. I don't know how it can hurt so much and all be inside me, in my heart."
"I'm sorry," Arthur offered again, feeling completely ineffectual.
"No, I'm sorry," Eames said, sniffing and wiped his nose with the back of his wrist, then shooting a watery smile at his uncle. "It was nice meeting Cobb and his kids, really. I didn't mean to break down on the way home."
"Don't apologize," Arthur instructed firmly. "You suffered a crippling loss, and things are going to happen that remind you of this. It's not as though you choose the moments, right?"
"Of course not," Eames scoffed, sounding more like himself and less grief stricken. "If I could choose, then nothing would remind me."
"Exactly," Arthur said, squeezing one of Eames' hands. "And it didn't help that I took you to a house where the two kids lost their mother recently, the same as you did."
"It was nice enough," Eames said. "I liked them. I just...."
Arthur nodded, feeling sympathy for Eames. But it was going to be easier to express it physically once they were out of the car, so he started the engine. "Let's just... let's just get home and get to bed, okay?" he offered.
"Sounds good," Eames replied, sounding far more enthusiastic than he had been a moment ago.
They both knew that going to bed meant Arthur's bed. Tonight of all nights, though, Arthur wasn't going to begrudge Eames the warmth and comfort of his arms.
Eames had already lost enough. It wasn't in Arthur to take anything more away from him.
***
"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Arthur," Cobb said over the phone when Arthur called the next day while on his lunch break in order to get Cobb's take on dinner the night before.
"What?" Arthur asked, feeling his stomach plunge, even though he'd thought that everything had gone well for the most part, aside from Eames' tears on the way home. At any rate, there was no way that Cobb was perceptive enough to see how Arthur felt about Eames in a very un-familial manner... right? If even Ariadne hadn't noticed....
"I hate to break it to you," Cobb went on, sounding completely serious, "But I don't think you're Phillipa's number one crush any longer. All she could talk about this morning was Eames."
Arthur let out a loud exhale, holding onto his temper because Cobb had made a joke, an honest to God attempt at humor, and if it hadn't been for his own guilty conscience it wouldn't have upset Arthur at all.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Cobb make a joke like this -- certainly not since before Mal's death -- and so he gave a little laugh, even though his heart was still pounding too hard inside his ribcage.
"I'll just have to carry on," he said dryly. "Somehow."
"He's a good kid, Arthur," Cobb added, still sounding just as serious, but actually meaning it now. "It's weird to think that you're related to a boy with a British accent who looks nothing like you, but...."
"But all our shared relatives are female, so there's no chance of mistaken parentage," Arthur finished for Cobb. "That was pretty much Eames' first reaction to meeting me, you know. Well, I look like my father and we can assume Eames takes after his father. Moira didn't look much like me either. We were half siblings, after all."
"I always forget how complex your family situation is," Cobb said thoughtfully. He didn't sound judgmental, so Arthur didn't take offense. However....
"My family situation is simple," he said evenly. "Me, my Mom, and my Dad. It might be that they're not my birth parents, but they raised me and they did a wonderful job. I only hope I'll do half as well for Eames."
"You know what I meant," Cobb said a little reproachfully.
"I know," Arthur confirmed. "But there's the family we're born into, Cobb, and the family that we choose. Mom and Dad chose me, so they're my immediate family. And I might not have chosen Eames, but now that Moira is dead and I've gotten to know him, I wouldn't give him up for anything in the world."
"You really do love him, don't you," Cobb said softly, and he sounded affectionate, but Arthur's heart thumped again.
Damn his guilty conscience.
"I do," he replied honestly, because there was no reason not to. Cobb didn't need to know about Arthur's twisted, carnal fascination with his own nephew.
"I'm glad," Cobb continued, and he came off as even more affectionate, but he also used his 'fatherly' tone, which made Arthur bristle a little as he continued, "I was getting worried about you, Arthur. It's been years since your last serious relationship, and aside from occasionally having lunch with Ariadne, you were spending far too much time alone."
Arthur experienced the urge to snap at Cobb, to tell him it was none of his damned business, but he knew that Cobb meant what he had said, and that he really had been worried. He was one to talk... but then, Arthur had never lost the love of his life, had he.
"Sorry," Cobb gruffed as Arthur tried to think of something to say that wouldn't be either bitchy or hopelessly sentimental. Cobb was really being remarkably perceptive; something Arthur wasn't used to after Mal's death. He took this as a good sign, was glad that Cobb seemed to finally be emerging from the brittle shell of his personal grief. If Arthur and Eames could help him with that, even a little bit, then Arthur was pleased.
"It's fine," he assured Cobb. "I know you and Ariadne were both worried about me. You didn't need to be, but now you definitely don't have to be. Well, not until Eames goes off to college anyway," he couldn't help adding, feeling the thought tug painfully at his heart.
"Good lord, Arthur, don't start sweating that yet," said Cobb, with all the confidence of a man whose own children had barely started their own schooling. "That's years away!"
"Only three," Arthur pointed out, but it wasn't a subject he wanted to pursue, so he let it go easily enough. "Eames had a good time last night," he offered, changing the subject as tactfully as he was able.
"I'm sure he was bored," Cobb said with a small laugh. He didn't sound self deprecating, just amused. "But it was great meeting him, and we should do it again."
"At my place this time. Maybe we can barbeque now that it's getting warmer," Arthur said, checking his watch. "Listen, Cobb, I'm sorry but I gotta go soon. I'm running out of lunch hour."
"Sure," Cobb replied smoothly. "Keep in touch, and let me know about the barbeque. Tell me what I can bring, whenever you decide to have it."
"Will do." Arthur and Cobb said their goodbyes and hung up, and Arthur got back to work.
He'd have to run the whole barbeque idea past Eames, of course, but he was sure that Eames wouldn't have any problem with it. And that way he could invite Ariadne too. She was a little edgy around Cobb's kids, but Arthur thought everyone would get along just fine. And maybe Yusuf could join them if he was back from his vacation by then.
Which thought reminded Arthur that Eames was going to have to go to high school as soon as summer was over... and that brought his mood down a little....
But as Cobb had said, there was no point to sweating it yet. And in the meantime, Eames was all Arthur's. And he intended to enjoy every moment of their free time together.
***
He might be crazy, but Arthur was starting to suspect that Eames was doing more than just sleeping in his bed.
During the day, of course. While Arthur was at work.
It was true that his sheets smelled like Eames all the time now. That was hardly surprising when the boy was sharing Arthur's bed with him every night. They didn't even bother any longer with the pretense of Eames going to his own bed to begin with. Either they retired together or Arthur joined Eames if he'd stayed up late working.
He still felt as though it was wrong, but.... Well, how could he deny Eames those quiet, dark hours of closeness and comfort? It didn't seem to be doing Eames any harm, even if it wasn't doing him good. Which Arthur privately thought that it was.
On the other hand, it meant that Eames had to be doing his masturbating during the day, when Arthur was out of the house. And from the musky scent that pervaded Arthur's bedcovers when he first went to bed every evening, he had to wonder....
Teenage males often had a strong scent, Arthur knew. But he also knew that Eames kept himself clean, showering regularly every morning and after they sparred together in the dojo four evenings a week. Arthur might not have had any recently, but he knew the smell of sex, and that was what clung to his sheets.
It wasn't that he... minded, so much as he was confused by it. Eames had the house to himself all day long, and he had his own bed, even if he didn't sleep in it at night any longer. He could have masturbated anywhere. Why would he jerk off in Arthur's bed? Especially since it would be harder to conceal any evidence there. He'd need to bring in his own lotion and tissues and take it all away with him afterward....
Well, Arthur did mind a little bit, because if it was true, it made things that much harder on him; literally. Sometimes he wondered if he was going to spend the rest of his life hard, without a lover, trying to find times and places to jerk off that wouldn't make it obvious to Eames that he was jerking off.
The best opportunity for that was early in the morning, when Eames left their bed to shower. Since they both had a tendency to wake up with morning wood, and since Arthur was virtually certain that Eames was taking care of that in his own shower, it was the perfect opportunity. But morning wasn't the only time Eames made Arthur hard. Sparring could get quite hands-on and Arthur wasn't unaffected.
But anyway, for all his own difficulties in finding time and places to get himself off, Arthur had to wonder why Eames was choosing to do so in Arthur's bed, of all places.
Of course, he might be imagining it all. But he was pretty sure that he wasn't. And that just left him wondering... why.
It wasn't as though he could come right out and ask Eames, after all. He might be shameless in the privacy of his own mind, but Arthur liked to maintain a facade of decency. Outwardly, at least.
***
The dinner at Cobb's had gone so well that when Arthur's boss, Mr. Saito, threw a sort of informal dinner party and "suggested" that Arthur bring his nephew, he had no qualms about asking Eames if he wanted to come along.
"Ariadne will probably be there," he offered, not to try to talk Eames into it, but just so that he had all the pertinent information. "She's dating Robert Fischer, who works for the same company I work for, in a different division. I can't imagine that he wouldn't bring her."
Eames gnawed at his lower lip a little, then nodded. "Yeah, okay."
"You don't have to," Arthur said, reaching over and squeezing Eames' upper arm, noting the firmness of the muscles under his hand. All the exercise and sparring that Eames was doing was really making a difference. "I can go alone, or even stay home. It's not a big deal. I only go to these things about half the time anyway."
"Your boss wants me to come, though, right?" Eames asked, reaching for Arthur in turn and sliding his fingers smoothly to twine with Arthur's.
"He specifically said I should bring you," Arthur said carefully. "That doesn't mean either of us has to come. He's a nice guy and a good boss, as long as you don't get too familiar, which I don't. He'd like to meet you, but it doesn't have to be at this party. He won't hold it against either of us if you decline to come or if I stay away too. I could tell him we had other plans and he'd be fine with that."
"No," Eames said slowly, his fingers tightening in Arthur's. "As long as you aren't embarrassed to have me around your co-workers, I'll be happy to go with you."
"How could you think I might be embarrassed?" Arthur asked incredulously, brows rising. "Just stay away from the alcohol, and everything will be fine."
"I...." Eames chewed on his lower lip a little more and Arthur wanted to tug the pink swell free of Eames' charmingly crooked teeth, but he resisted that urge because it wasn't any of his business and if he did that then he might as well just kiss Eames. His nephew.
"Seriously, Eames," Arthur pressed.
"Well, it's not as though I was raised around classy people, right?" Eames asked gruffly, his eyes cut to one side, hiding behind his long lashes. "I can talk to you okay, and Ariadne. But other adults...? I'm not sure I won't end up looking stupid."
"So just talk to me and Ariadne, if you're worried about it," Arthur said, letting go of Eames' hand so that he could slip his arm around the boy's shoulders. "You'll do fine, though. I have faith in you. And I'll bet there'll be people there interested in things like your paintings or the martial arts lessons I've been giving you."
Eames' lower lip plumped. "But those are private things," he argued. "Things for you and me, and maybe Ariadne. Not for strangers." His gaze suddenly shot up to meet Arthur's. "Do... do you talk about those things to the people at work?" he asked urgently.
"No," Arthur replied instantly, startled by Eames' vehemence but responding honestly for all this. "I don't talk much about my personal life at work. I've spoken to Mr. Saito about you, of course, since I had to get him to approve my time off when you first arrived. But I don't gossip about you with people who don't know you."
Eames looked relieved.
"Although, if I were inclined to do so, I'd be bragging about you all the time," Arthur felt compelled to add with further honesty.
"Psht," Eames scoffed, his eyes darting over Arthur's features as though he was searching for the truth in them... or maybe searching for any lie. "There's nothing special about me."
Arthur's eyes widened. "The fact that you believe that frightens me a little," he said, frowning. "Don't you realize how wonderful you are, Eames? Ariadne and Cobb have both said so, and they're not the sort of friends who would bullshit me, or compliment you if they didn't mean it."
Eames was staring at him, lips round.
"Besides which, I know how amazing you are, completely unprompted by outside opinions," Arthur continued, because he wasn't done yet. "I'm sorry if I haven't said it more often, so that you could have had a chance to internalize it."
Eames blinked at him rapidly, then flushed a bright pink. "Naw," he protested, trying to pull away from Arthur, but not so hard that Arthur was willing to actually let him go.
"Yes," Arthur said firmly. "You're intelligent and articulate, you're hard-working and talented. I won't go on, but trust me when I say I don't take these things for granted, Eames. Your grandfather was an asshole, but surely your mother told you all this?"
"But she was my Mum," Eames protested weakly. "She had to say those things."
Arthur sighed. Clearly he'd been failing in his role as Eames' guardian all this time, if all of this was coming as a surprise to Eames.
"I don't.... I mean, I didn't believe everything my grandfather said," Eames continued hesitantly, while Arthur struggled to figure out what to say next. "But I kind of was a fuck-up. At least toward the end, there,"
"Socially, maybe," Arthur allowed. "But that doesn't negate your other good points. And you haven't gotten into trouble since you moved in with me."
"Haven't had much chance," Eames mumbled, but he gave Arthur a small, almost shy smile. "Thank you, though... for all the nice things you just said."
"I mean them," Arthur reiterated.
"Okay," Eames said, and he sounded as though he was only humoring Arthur, but Arthur didn't want to push too hard.
"Look, just talk about the weather, all right?" he offered, giving Eames an affectionate squeeze before loosing him. "And if you get stuck with anyone you don't want to talk to, just give me a nod and I'll come rescue you."
"How about I don't leave your side the entire time?" Eames asked earnestly.
"That's a good plan too," Arthur replied with a grin.
And it was. It was too bad that wasn't what actually happened.
***
The party went smoothly for the most part, up to a certain point. The food was good, Mr. Saito was pleased to meet Eames and seemed to like him, inasmuch as Arthur could tell when the man was so reserved and guarded. And Eames stuck to Arthur's side like a burr for most of it.
It was about ten minutes after Arthur lost track of Eames that a slight problem came to his attention. Well, a potentially major problem was brought to his attention, that was. And not in any way Arthur might have preferred.
"Hey, Arthur," Robert Fischer said, strolling over, wine glass in one hand, and no sign of Ariadne, even though Arthur knew she was here. Maybe she was in the restroom... or maybe with Eames, wherever he had gotten to.
"How are you doing?" Arthur asked politely, sort of wishing he had his own glass of wine so that he wouldn't have to shake Robert's hand. Not that this would have saved him, of course, since they both had two hands. It was a nice, firm handshake, which conversely annoyed him more.
"Pretty well," Robert replied, and the impeccable grammar was also annoying. "And you?"
"Good," Arthur replied, because to hell with grammar. Robert knew what he meant. "We're good."
"Glad to hear it," Robert said, nodding his head, sounding sincere. "So... how old is your nephew?" he then asked, in something of a serious non sequitur considering that Eames wasn't here, even though Arthur had just said "we".
"Eames is fifteen," Arthur replied, trying his hardest not to dislike Robert in this moment. Because if Ariadne hadn't lost interest in him yet, she wasn't likely to for a long time, which meant Arthur was going to have to deal with him a fair amount in the future. "Why?"
Robert smirked, his crystal blue eyes sliding across the room as he tilted his head in the same direction. "You might want to go and interrupt that little conversation he's having with Jude, then," he suggested.
Arthur followed Robert's gaze and cursed flatly.
"Shit."
"Just a thought," Robert said, smugly and completely unnecessarily, grinning into his wine, and Arthur was torn between being grateful for the heads-up and feeling that Robert was an absolute jerk for the way he'd delivered it.
In the end he settled for growling a brusque, "Thanks," then headed for his underaged nephew and the goddamned predator who was in the process of chatting him up in a semi-secluded corner.
He was pretty sure Robert saluted him with his wine glass as he turned to go, but he didn't glance back to confirm this suspicion.
Jude was attractive in a sleazy sort of way, Arthur reflected as he strode across the wide room with purpose in every step. His eyes were a little more blue than Eames' clear grey, he had gold-tipped curls, sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a curve of smooth confidence to his lips that some found to be extremely attractive. The English accent was probably reminding Eames at least a bit of home... but Jude was not suitable company for a pretty fifteen year old who had no idea what a creep he could be.
By the time Arthur reached them, Jude had one hand on Eames' upper arm, fingers flexing, thumb rubbing in an overly-familiar way over the muscles that Arthur knew were there, a wide grin on his face, and Eames was blushing pink up to the tips of his ears, his own plush lips curved in an answering smile, his lashes flickering.
Arthur was pissed, to put it mildly, but he reined himself in and made his best effort at being civil as he closed his hand around Jude's and tugged it free of Eames' arm. He didn't even break any of Jude's fingers.
"Hello, Jude," he said politely, smiling through gritted teeth. "I'd like a word with my nephew, if you don't mind."
Without waiting for a reply, because it would be a slight to Mr. Saito's generosity as their host if Arthur were to punch another guest in the nose, he swept Eames up in one arm and hurried him around the corner, a short way down the hall, and into the privacy one of Saito's bathrooms. Fortunately it was close and empty of other guests.
"What the hell was that?" Eames blurted, before Arthur could ask him the same question. Eames sounded more confused than angry, but he was definitely displeased, and Arthur scowled at him.
"You shouldn't encourage Jude," he snapped. "He's far too inclined to take advantage of anyone who'll let him."
"What do you mean?" Eames asked defensively, his own brow furrowing in a deep frown. "We were just talking."
Arthur snorted. "As if I don't know flirting when I see it," he growled before he could restrain himself. He gave his head a brisk shake, because now wasn't the time to give in to jealousy, no matter how strongly he was feeling it. "Look, I don't care if you're gay or if you're straight and just looking for a father figure," he continued before Eames could say anything. "The point is that you were flirting with Jude and he was flirting back. Even if you weren't my nephew and my responsibility, you're only fifteen. It's illegal, he's an asshole who would break your heart, and I'm not letting that happen. Any of it!"
Eames mouth was gaping open in disbelief by the time Arthur was done speaking, then his expression firmed and twisted.
"I'm not a faggot--" he started furiously, and before Arthur could stop himself, his hand shot out and he slapped Eames across the mouth.
"I told you not to use that word," he said, even though seeing the shocked, hurt look on Eames' face made him feel immediately guilty. He'd never laid hands on Eames in violence -- outside the controlled environment of their sparring sessions -- and the blow had been as much a result of his jealousy as it had been an honest response to Eames' use of that hated word, so he was probably right to feel guilty.
He hadn't hit Eames hard, not by any stretch of the imagination, but the damage that he'd just done hadn't really been physical in nature. It had been emotional and it may well have damaged Eames' trust in him, in their relationship.
"Sorry," Arthur said, a little gruffly, as he reached out and wrapped his arms around Eames' shoulders, pulling the boy into a tight embrace. Eames didn't fight to get out of it, but he stood there stiff and still, not hugging Arthur back. Not that Arthur had expected he would.
They left the party immediately after this, Robert winning several points with Arthur as they passed him in the hall and he discretely promised to make Arthur's excuses to Mr. Saito, with absolutely no amusement or judgment coloring his features, his pale blue eyes expressing only mild concern at Eames' sullen silence and Arthur's flustered frustration.
It was possible that he wasn't such a bad guy after all, but Arthur had greater concerns than Ariadne's current beau. More personal concerns.
"Wasn't flirting," Eames said sulkily as Arthur drove them both home about ten miles over the speed limit. Faster than he usually went with Eames in the car, seeing as his mother had been killed in a car accident, but he felt the overwhelming need to get them both home as quickly as possible.
"Well," Arthur said, willing to let that go, because without having been closer he couldn't be sure of what he'd seen, "Whether you were flirting or not, Jude was flirting. He'll sleep with anyone pretty that he sets his eyes on, but he only dates women. You can't trust that man for shit."
Eames was quiet for a good fifteen minutes after that, and they were nearly home by the time he spoke again.
"You.... You slept with him?" he hazarded, his voice wobbling a little as he asked the question.
Arthur flexed his fists around the steering wheel. This wasn't how he'd intended to out himself to his nephew, but he couldn't very well lie to him now that Eames had actually asked, in as many words.
"Once," he replied tightly. "Years ago, before I knew better. He showed his true colors pretty quickly, though."
Which was all true, old history, and he wasn't even sure Jude remembered. Arthur himself wasn't much bothered by it anymore, but it would have been foolish not to have learned his lesson from that one encounter. He wasn't about to let Eames make the same mistake he had made. Eames was his nephew. Not to mention, he was only fifteen.
Eames was completely silent for the rest of the ride home, short as it was, and he remained silent while they entered the house. Arthur sighed, wishing that they had stayed home after all. Mr. Saito would have understood, and then Arthur would never have... never have....
"Eames, I'm so sorry for hitting you," he said, before they parted in the hallway to go their respective bedrooms. "I swear I won't ever do it again. But when you used that word--"
"S'okay," Eames mumbled, and Arthur winced because his lower lip did look a little swollen. He hadn't thought he'd hit Eames so hard, but maybe Eames had been chewing on it all the way home. It was better to think so than to think that Arthur had actually hurt him. "Sorry for using that word," Eames continued, glancing up at him. "I didn't... didn't mean to."
Arthur didn't know if he bought that, but he was willing to accept it, along with Eames' apology. Especially if Eames accepted his own apology. Arthur certainly didn't want to get into another fight with Eames tonight. Bad enough that he'd slapped his nephew, that he'd outed himself, and that they were going to each be sleeping alone.
He couldn't blame Eames, he thought sadly as he brushed his teeth and changed into his pajama bottoms. It probably weirded him out, knowing he'd been sleeping every night wrapped up in the arms of a homosexual, even if they were related.
As he slid between his cold, lonely covers, Arthur pondered the fact that Eames was probably never going to share his bed again. It hurt more than he thought that it probably should.
Even if it was for the better, it still... well, it sucked.
***
Arthur didn't sleep much, and the sleep he did get was fitful. He woke the next morning feeling far from rested. It didn't help that every time he rolled over he got a whiff of Eames' scent on his sheets or pillow.
He missed sleeping with his nephew in his arms, he could admit it.
He rose at the usual time, putting on his running clothes because he really hoped that this part of their day wouldn't have changed. He could smell coffee brewing, so he knew that Eames was already awake and at least partially adhering to routine.
He would apologize again, they would discuss the fact that he was gay if Eames wanted to, they'd get past this, and hopefully the only thing that would change would be that Eames would sleep in his own bed at night. Which they ought to have been doing all along, Arthur could admit.
All these plans, however, flew out the window when Arthur walked into the kitchen and found himself entering a scene of mounting carnage.
"Eames!" he blurted in shock and dawning panic as he took in the red staining the counter and soaking into the cloth caught between Eames' hand.
"Sorry," Eames mumbled, looking far too shamefaced for someone who was at risk of bleeding all over the tile floor. "The knife slipped."
He jerked his chin toward a bagel on the counter that was so blood soaked that it looked like it was strawberry when Arthur knew damned well that they only had plain bagels in the house. That wasn't Arthur's immediate concern, of course. No, what concerned him was the crimson-stained dishtowel Eames was clutching to his right hand with his left hand!
"Fuck!" he swore, leaping toward Eames. Even more quickly than he had gotten them out of Mr. Saito's house the night before, he got them in the car and on their way to the hospital.
"Gonna bleed on the upholstery," Eames mumbled, holding his hands tight to his chest, a fresh towel growing red far too rapidly for Arthur's peace of mind. Maybe it was Arthur's imagination, but he thought Eames' cheeks were growing white, either from shock or blood loss, and he was hard put not to speed so fast that he put both their lives in danger.
"Do you think I give a fuck?" Arthur gritted, cursing himself for living so far out in the boonies, but grateful that the nearest hospital was on his side of town.
They made it there in under five minutes with Arthur's lead foot, but they were the longest, most stressful five minutes of Arthur's life. Longer than the full minute after he had come out to his adopted parents and before they had spoken up to assure him they were fine with it, longer than the fifteen minutes of his first job interview, longer than his last day of high school....
Arthur had gotten Eames registered on his insurance as soon as he'd found out he was going to be his legal guardian, so there were no complications in the ER. They got Eames' hand dealt with quickly and efficiently, assuring Arthur that Eames was going to be fine, that he hadn't lost as much blood as it had seemed.
"Get some juice and food in him," the doctor instructed firmly but kindly, as though he was afraid Arthur was going to shatter to pieces in the waiting room. Well, he probably looked a wreck; wearing his jogging clothes, needing a shave, his hair a mess, haggard from a night without sleep followed by a morning of unexpected panic.
It had been his pinkie finger that Eames had cut, deeply enough to have severed the tendon. The doctor seemed confident that physical therapy would fix things, but Arthur thought he was taking the whole thing far too lightly. It wasn't his finger, after all.
"S'all right," Eames slurred, once he was released into Arthur's care, clearly feeling the effects of the pain killers they had given him. His hand was swathed in clean bandages, but Arthur knew there were several stitches underneath the pristine white gauze, and his stomach turned at the thought of what had almost happened. "Don't use that finger for much anyway."
"Don't...." Arthur gave in to the overwhelming desire to wrap Eames up in his arms and hold him tightly for a moment, before they headed for the car and home. This time Eames hugged him back, though he was careful to keep his right hand out of the way. "Just don't," Arthur murmured, and he wasn't even sure what he meant.
Arthur drove them home at a much safer speed. Eames was smirking, gazing at Arthur with warm intensity. It was better than the guarded hurt that had been in his eyes the night before, but it still made Arthur a little edgy.
Once they got home Arthur helped Eames strip down to his boxers and tucked him into Arthur's bed. To hell with propriety. Eames didn't seem to mind, smiling sweetly up at Arthur.
"Sorry I cut myself," he repeated, reaching with his good hand and sinking his fingers into Arthur's collar, tugging.
"Just don't do it again," Arthur said, his heartbeat finally beginning to slow to normal now that he had Eames safely home and in his bed. He leaned down as Eames pulled more determinedly at his shirt, assuming that Eames wanted another hug.
He was completely taken by surprise, then, as Eames' lips pressed against his own, mashing close for a moment of clumsiness, before easing off into a light but unmistakable kiss. It was largely chaste, closed-mouthed and no tongue, but it was still a kiss, and fifteen year old boys generally didn't kiss their uncles on the lips... Arthur didn't think.
"Thanks," Eames breathed, plush mouth curving up into a sweet, goofy smile as he sank into the covers, lids growing heavy over gleaming grey eyes.
Arthur didn't know whether Eames was thanking him for the ride to the hospital, for the use of his bed, or for... the kiss.... But he did know that he suddenly smelled scorching coffee, and he made a quick retreat to the kitchen, reminding himself to get a new coffeemaker; one that shut itself off after a certain period of time.
He did his best not to think about the kiss as he pulled together a sandwich and some juice for Eames, but, really, there wasn't anything else he could think about.
Loopy on pain meds or not, Eames wouldn't have kissed him like that if he hadn't meant it... right?
But what exactly did it mean?
next
Author:
kyrenekyorlPairings/Characters: Arthur/Eames, Robert Fischer, OMC
Rating: R
Word Count: 6,801 (this part)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Because the world needs more underage-Eames (or at least I do), and my "Inception" fanfiction needs more incest. Also, because I'm completely shameless.
Warning: alternate universe, underage, incest, underage incest, parental death (offscreen), verbal abuse (offscreen)
Author's Note: Edited 07/15/12
Part Seven
by kyrene
"I'm really sorry about that, Eames," Arthur said as he drove them toward home, the words coming out heartfelt, even though Eames hadn't voiced a single complaint. But, well, Arthur had forgotten how boring Cobb could be. And the kids... were just kids. Not really stimulating company for a fifteen year old.
Everything had gone smoothly enough, Arthur thought ruefully, but it just hadn't been a very interesting evening. Hanging out with Ariadne was a lot more fun, and the three of them always had a lot more to talk about.
Eames didn't reply, and glancing over, Arthur could see that he had one hand clasped over his mouth. He was just wondering why when Eames loosed a low sound. Arthur knew Eames too well by now to fail to recognize the noise as a stifled sob.
Without even thinking about it, Arthur flicked on his turn signal and pulled into the empty parking lot of a convenient grocery store. Shutting off the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt, he turned to Eames.
"What is it, baby?" he asked, already reaching for his nephew, pausing only as long as it took to free Eames from his seatbelt as well before he pulled him into his arms.
Eames shook his head, but he leaned into Arthur's embrace, hiding his face against his neck, his fingers clutching at the front of his shirt. This was familiar, but that didn't mean that Arthur liked it; he always hated when Eames cried.
He assumed that this breakdown had something to do with Moira -- seeing as they'd just been in the house of a family who had lost their mother and wife -- but now he needed to find out what had set Eames off.
He sort of regretted taking Eames to visit the Cobbs, but... well, what was he supposed to do, avoid every social situation because Eames' mother had died? Granted, Mal's death was liable to hit a little too close to the bone, but Arthur really hadn't thought Cobb had said anything at any point that might have reminded Eames of his own loss. That left the kids. It had to have been something Phillipa or James had said, he concluded.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Arthur prompted, after a couple of minutes of rubbing Eames' back, as he swallowed down the last of his choked sobs.
Eames sighed and shifted, but made no move to pull away from Arthur. Finally, "I was talking to Pippa," he rumbled, fingers smoothing over the line of buttons running down the front of Arthur's shirt. "About our mothers."
"Yeah?" Arthur wasn't surprised. He'd figured it would be something like that after all.
Eames was silent longer, and Arthur wondered if his spine was beginning to ache as badly as Arthur's was. He had no intention of letting go of Eames, though, not until the boy indicated he wanted out of his arms.
"I don't..." Eames faltered, then sucked in a deep breath and rallied. "I can't remember what the last thing I said to Mum was."
"Oh." Arthur kept his wince internal, but now he could understand why Eames had broken down. "I'm sorry."
Eames sighed and moved his cheek, possibly because the shirt underneath it had gotten damp. Arthur didn't mind being a human tissue for Eames, though, if it gave him any comfort at all.
"At least... we weren't fighting," he said, his voice husky. "I'd have remembered that. But I thought I'd see her once she got home. I didn't know it'd be the last time I--" he broke off and choked, but didn't break down in tears again. Quite. "I was just so glad that I was going to have the flat to myself for a bit, you know? That grandfather and his wife were going with Mum. I don't even know if I said goodbye to her, because I can't remember."
"It's all right," Arthur told him firmly. "I mean, it hurts, yes. But neither of you had any idea it was the end. So whatever you said, no matter what it was, it was just normal, everyday love."
That sounded so cheesy as the words left his lips that he really did wince this time. Sometimes he managed to say something pithy and truthful, but this time he just sounded like an idiot.
"Thanks." Eames didn't seem to think so, fortunately, and when he straightened and scrubbed roughly at his face with both hands Arthur let go of him. He didn't start the car, though, because he didn't think they were done talking yet. "Pippa and James said goodbye and that they loved their mother, before she... left."
Arthur reached over to smooth down errant strands of Eames' hair, which was kind of a mess even though he'd obviously made an attempt to tame it before they'd headed out for Cobb's place. "That's true. But they thought they'd see her when she got home too, the same as you. They're just younger so it's easier for them to say things like 'I love you' to their parents."
Eames bit his lower lip and nodded, his expression pensive. He seemed to be processing Arthur's words, though, which was the important part.
"If it helps any," Arthur offered, though he didn't think it would, "Cobb was screaming at Mal in their last moments together. So he'll probably never forget what he said to her."
"Owch," Eames winced, biting his lower lip and shaking his head a little. "It doesn't really help, no. But... at least now I feel more sorry for Cobb than I do for myself."
Arthur grimaced. That wasn't quite what he'd meant, but Eames did seem somewhat comforted... albeit in a kind of awkward, unconventional way.
"Is it ever going to stop hurting?" Eames asked after a moment, his voice muffled, his eyelashes glistening with moisture in the light of the lamps dotting the parking lot as he stared straight ahead, out the windshield.
"Do you want it to?" Arthur asked with painful honesty.
"It might... be a nice change...." Eames swallowed audibly. "No, I don't want to forget her. But sometimes it hurts so much I just can't stand it. I don't know how it can hurt so much and all be inside me, in my heart."
"I'm sorry," Arthur offered again, feeling completely ineffectual.
"No, I'm sorry," Eames said, sniffing and wiped his nose with the back of his wrist, then shooting a watery smile at his uncle. "It was nice meeting Cobb and his kids, really. I didn't mean to break down on the way home."
"Don't apologize," Arthur instructed firmly. "You suffered a crippling loss, and things are going to happen that remind you of this. It's not as though you choose the moments, right?"
"Of course not," Eames scoffed, sounding more like himself and less grief stricken. "If I could choose, then nothing would remind me."
"Exactly," Arthur said, squeezing one of Eames' hands. "And it didn't help that I took you to a house where the two kids lost their mother recently, the same as you did."
"It was nice enough," Eames said. "I liked them. I just...."
Arthur nodded, feeling sympathy for Eames. But it was going to be easier to express it physically once they were out of the car, so he started the engine. "Let's just... let's just get home and get to bed, okay?" he offered.
"Sounds good," Eames replied, sounding far more enthusiastic than he had been a moment ago.
They both knew that going to bed meant Arthur's bed. Tonight of all nights, though, Arthur wasn't going to begrudge Eames the warmth and comfort of his arms.
Eames had already lost enough. It wasn't in Arthur to take anything more away from him.
***
"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Arthur," Cobb said over the phone when Arthur called the next day while on his lunch break in order to get Cobb's take on dinner the night before.
"What?" Arthur asked, feeling his stomach plunge, even though he'd thought that everything had gone well for the most part, aside from Eames' tears on the way home. At any rate, there was no way that Cobb was perceptive enough to see how Arthur felt about Eames in a very un-familial manner... right? If even Ariadne hadn't noticed....
"I hate to break it to you," Cobb went on, sounding completely serious, "But I don't think you're Phillipa's number one crush any longer. All she could talk about this morning was Eames."
Arthur let out a loud exhale, holding onto his temper because Cobb had made a joke, an honest to God attempt at humor, and if it hadn't been for his own guilty conscience it wouldn't have upset Arthur at all.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Cobb make a joke like this -- certainly not since before Mal's death -- and so he gave a little laugh, even though his heart was still pounding too hard inside his ribcage.
"I'll just have to carry on," he said dryly. "Somehow."
"He's a good kid, Arthur," Cobb added, still sounding just as serious, but actually meaning it now. "It's weird to think that you're related to a boy with a British accent who looks nothing like you, but...."
"But all our shared relatives are female, so there's no chance of mistaken parentage," Arthur finished for Cobb. "That was pretty much Eames' first reaction to meeting me, you know. Well, I look like my father and we can assume Eames takes after his father. Moira didn't look much like me either. We were half siblings, after all."
"I always forget how complex your family situation is," Cobb said thoughtfully. He didn't sound judgmental, so Arthur didn't take offense. However....
"My family situation is simple," he said evenly. "Me, my Mom, and my Dad. It might be that they're not my birth parents, but they raised me and they did a wonderful job. I only hope I'll do half as well for Eames."
"You know what I meant," Cobb said a little reproachfully.
"I know," Arthur confirmed. "But there's the family we're born into, Cobb, and the family that we choose. Mom and Dad chose me, so they're my immediate family. And I might not have chosen Eames, but now that Moira is dead and I've gotten to know him, I wouldn't give him up for anything in the world."
"You really do love him, don't you," Cobb said softly, and he sounded affectionate, but Arthur's heart thumped again.
Damn his guilty conscience.
"I do," he replied honestly, because there was no reason not to. Cobb didn't need to know about Arthur's twisted, carnal fascination with his own nephew.
"I'm glad," Cobb continued, and he came off as even more affectionate, but he also used his 'fatherly' tone, which made Arthur bristle a little as he continued, "I was getting worried about you, Arthur. It's been years since your last serious relationship, and aside from occasionally having lunch with Ariadne, you were spending far too much time alone."
Arthur experienced the urge to snap at Cobb, to tell him it was none of his damned business, but he knew that Cobb meant what he had said, and that he really had been worried. He was one to talk... but then, Arthur had never lost the love of his life, had he.
"Sorry," Cobb gruffed as Arthur tried to think of something to say that wouldn't be either bitchy or hopelessly sentimental. Cobb was really being remarkably perceptive; something Arthur wasn't used to after Mal's death. He took this as a good sign, was glad that Cobb seemed to finally be emerging from the brittle shell of his personal grief. If Arthur and Eames could help him with that, even a little bit, then Arthur was pleased.
"It's fine," he assured Cobb. "I know you and Ariadne were both worried about me. You didn't need to be, but now you definitely don't have to be. Well, not until Eames goes off to college anyway," he couldn't help adding, feeling the thought tug painfully at his heart.
"Good lord, Arthur, don't start sweating that yet," said Cobb, with all the confidence of a man whose own children had barely started their own schooling. "That's years away!"
"Only three," Arthur pointed out, but it wasn't a subject he wanted to pursue, so he let it go easily enough. "Eames had a good time last night," he offered, changing the subject as tactfully as he was able.
"I'm sure he was bored," Cobb said with a small laugh. He didn't sound self deprecating, just amused. "But it was great meeting him, and we should do it again."
"At my place this time. Maybe we can barbeque now that it's getting warmer," Arthur said, checking his watch. "Listen, Cobb, I'm sorry but I gotta go soon. I'm running out of lunch hour."
"Sure," Cobb replied smoothly. "Keep in touch, and let me know about the barbeque. Tell me what I can bring, whenever you decide to have it."
"Will do." Arthur and Cobb said their goodbyes and hung up, and Arthur got back to work.
He'd have to run the whole barbeque idea past Eames, of course, but he was sure that Eames wouldn't have any problem with it. And that way he could invite Ariadne too. She was a little edgy around Cobb's kids, but Arthur thought everyone would get along just fine. And maybe Yusuf could join them if he was back from his vacation by then.
Which thought reminded Arthur that Eames was going to have to go to high school as soon as summer was over... and that brought his mood down a little....
But as Cobb had said, there was no point to sweating it yet. And in the meantime, Eames was all Arthur's. And he intended to enjoy every moment of their free time together.
***
He might be crazy, but Arthur was starting to suspect that Eames was doing more than just sleeping in his bed.
During the day, of course. While Arthur was at work.
It was true that his sheets smelled like Eames all the time now. That was hardly surprising when the boy was sharing Arthur's bed with him every night. They didn't even bother any longer with the pretense of Eames going to his own bed to begin with. Either they retired together or Arthur joined Eames if he'd stayed up late working.
He still felt as though it was wrong, but.... Well, how could he deny Eames those quiet, dark hours of closeness and comfort? It didn't seem to be doing Eames any harm, even if it wasn't doing him good. Which Arthur privately thought that it was.
On the other hand, it meant that Eames had to be doing his masturbating during the day, when Arthur was out of the house. And from the musky scent that pervaded Arthur's bedcovers when he first went to bed every evening, he had to wonder....
Teenage males often had a strong scent, Arthur knew. But he also knew that Eames kept himself clean, showering regularly every morning and after they sparred together in the dojo four evenings a week. Arthur might not have had any recently, but he knew the smell of sex, and that was what clung to his sheets.
It wasn't that he... minded, so much as he was confused by it. Eames had the house to himself all day long, and he had his own bed, even if he didn't sleep in it at night any longer. He could have masturbated anywhere. Why would he jerk off in Arthur's bed? Especially since it would be harder to conceal any evidence there. He'd need to bring in his own lotion and tissues and take it all away with him afterward....
Well, Arthur did mind a little bit, because if it was true, it made things that much harder on him; literally. Sometimes he wondered if he was going to spend the rest of his life hard, without a lover, trying to find times and places to jerk off that wouldn't make it obvious to Eames that he was jerking off.
The best opportunity for that was early in the morning, when Eames left their bed to shower. Since they both had a tendency to wake up with morning wood, and since Arthur was virtually certain that Eames was taking care of that in his own shower, it was the perfect opportunity. But morning wasn't the only time Eames made Arthur hard. Sparring could get quite hands-on and Arthur wasn't unaffected.
But anyway, for all his own difficulties in finding time and places to get himself off, Arthur had to wonder why Eames was choosing to do so in Arthur's bed, of all places.
Of course, he might be imagining it all. But he was pretty sure that he wasn't. And that just left him wondering... why.
It wasn't as though he could come right out and ask Eames, after all. He might be shameless in the privacy of his own mind, but Arthur liked to maintain a facade of decency. Outwardly, at least.
***
The dinner at Cobb's had gone so well that when Arthur's boss, Mr. Saito, threw a sort of informal dinner party and "suggested" that Arthur bring his nephew, he had no qualms about asking Eames if he wanted to come along.
"Ariadne will probably be there," he offered, not to try to talk Eames into it, but just so that he had all the pertinent information. "She's dating Robert Fischer, who works for the same company I work for, in a different division. I can't imagine that he wouldn't bring her."
Eames gnawed at his lower lip a little, then nodded. "Yeah, okay."
"You don't have to," Arthur said, reaching over and squeezing Eames' upper arm, noting the firmness of the muscles under his hand. All the exercise and sparring that Eames was doing was really making a difference. "I can go alone, or even stay home. It's not a big deal. I only go to these things about half the time anyway."
"Your boss wants me to come, though, right?" Eames asked, reaching for Arthur in turn and sliding his fingers smoothly to twine with Arthur's.
"He specifically said I should bring you," Arthur said carefully. "That doesn't mean either of us has to come. He's a nice guy and a good boss, as long as you don't get too familiar, which I don't. He'd like to meet you, but it doesn't have to be at this party. He won't hold it against either of us if you decline to come or if I stay away too. I could tell him we had other plans and he'd be fine with that."
"No," Eames said slowly, his fingers tightening in Arthur's. "As long as you aren't embarrassed to have me around your co-workers, I'll be happy to go with you."
"How could you think I might be embarrassed?" Arthur asked incredulously, brows rising. "Just stay away from the alcohol, and everything will be fine."
"I...." Eames chewed on his lower lip a little more and Arthur wanted to tug the pink swell free of Eames' charmingly crooked teeth, but he resisted that urge because it wasn't any of his business and if he did that then he might as well just kiss Eames. His nephew.
"Seriously, Eames," Arthur pressed.
"Well, it's not as though I was raised around classy people, right?" Eames asked gruffly, his eyes cut to one side, hiding behind his long lashes. "I can talk to you okay, and Ariadne. But other adults...? I'm not sure I won't end up looking stupid."
"So just talk to me and Ariadne, if you're worried about it," Arthur said, letting go of Eames' hand so that he could slip his arm around the boy's shoulders. "You'll do fine, though. I have faith in you. And I'll bet there'll be people there interested in things like your paintings or the martial arts lessons I've been giving you."
Eames' lower lip plumped. "But those are private things," he argued. "Things for you and me, and maybe Ariadne. Not for strangers." His gaze suddenly shot up to meet Arthur's. "Do... do you talk about those things to the people at work?" he asked urgently.
"No," Arthur replied instantly, startled by Eames' vehemence but responding honestly for all this. "I don't talk much about my personal life at work. I've spoken to Mr. Saito about you, of course, since I had to get him to approve my time off when you first arrived. But I don't gossip about you with people who don't know you."
Eames looked relieved.
"Although, if I were inclined to do so, I'd be bragging about you all the time," Arthur felt compelled to add with further honesty.
"Psht," Eames scoffed, his eyes darting over Arthur's features as though he was searching for the truth in them... or maybe searching for any lie. "There's nothing special about me."
Arthur's eyes widened. "The fact that you believe that frightens me a little," he said, frowning. "Don't you realize how wonderful you are, Eames? Ariadne and Cobb have both said so, and they're not the sort of friends who would bullshit me, or compliment you if they didn't mean it."
Eames was staring at him, lips round.
"Besides which, I know how amazing you are, completely unprompted by outside opinions," Arthur continued, because he wasn't done yet. "I'm sorry if I haven't said it more often, so that you could have had a chance to internalize it."
Eames blinked at him rapidly, then flushed a bright pink. "Naw," he protested, trying to pull away from Arthur, but not so hard that Arthur was willing to actually let him go.
"Yes," Arthur said firmly. "You're intelligent and articulate, you're hard-working and talented. I won't go on, but trust me when I say I don't take these things for granted, Eames. Your grandfather was an asshole, but surely your mother told you all this?"
"But she was my Mum," Eames protested weakly. "She had to say those things."
Arthur sighed. Clearly he'd been failing in his role as Eames' guardian all this time, if all of this was coming as a surprise to Eames.
"I don't.... I mean, I didn't believe everything my grandfather said," Eames continued hesitantly, while Arthur struggled to figure out what to say next. "But I kind of was a fuck-up. At least toward the end, there,"
"Socially, maybe," Arthur allowed. "But that doesn't negate your other good points. And you haven't gotten into trouble since you moved in with me."
"Haven't had much chance," Eames mumbled, but he gave Arthur a small, almost shy smile. "Thank you, though... for all the nice things you just said."
"I mean them," Arthur reiterated.
"Okay," Eames said, and he sounded as though he was only humoring Arthur, but Arthur didn't want to push too hard.
"Look, just talk about the weather, all right?" he offered, giving Eames an affectionate squeeze before loosing him. "And if you get stuck with anyone you don't want to talk to, just give me a nod and I'll come rescue you."
"How about I don't leave your side the entire time?" Eames asked earnestly.
"That's a good plan too," Arthur replied with a grin.
And it was. It was too bad that wasn't what actually happened.
***
The party went smoothly for the most part, up to a certain point. The food was good, Mr. Saito was pleased to meet Eames and seemed to like him, inasmuch as Arthur could tell when the man was so reserved and guarded. And Eames stuck to Arthur's side like a burr for most of it.
It was about ten minutes after Arthur lost track of Eames that a slight problem came to his attention. Well, a potentially major problem was brought to his attention, that was. And not in any way Arthur might have preferred.
"Hey, Arthur," Robert Fischer said, strolling over, wine glass in one hand, and no sign of Ariadne, even though Arthur knew she was here. Maybe she was in the restroom... or maybe with Eames, wherever he had gotten to.
"How are you doing?" Arthur asked politely, sort of wishing he had his own glass of wine so that he wouldn't have to shake Robert's hand. Not that this would have saved him, of course, since they both had two hands. It was a nice, firm handshake, which conversely annoyed him more.
"Pretty well," Robert replied, and the impeccable grammar was also annoying. "And you?"
"Good," Arthur replied, because to hell with grammar. Robert knew what he meant. "We're good."
"Glad to hear it," Robert said, nodding his head, sounding sincere. "So... how old is your nephew?" he then asked, in something of a serious non sequitur considering that Eames wasn't here, even though Arthur had just said "we".
"Eames is fifteen," Arthur replied, trying his hardest not to dislike Robert in this moment. Because if Ariadne hadn't lost interest in him yet, she wasn't likely to for a long time, which meant Arthur was going to have to deal with him a fair amount in the future. "Why?"
Robert smirked, his crystal blue eyes sliding across the room as he tilted his head in the same direction. "You might want to go and interrupt that little conversation he's having with Jude, then," he suggested.
Arthur followed Robert's gaze and cursed flatly.
"Shit."
"Just a thought," Robert said, smugly and completely unnecessarily, grinning into his wine, and Arthur was torn between being grateful for the heads-up and feeling that Robert was an absolute jerk for the way he'd delivered it.
In the end he settled for growling a brusque, "Thanks," then headed for his underaged nephew and the goddamned predator who was in the process of chatting him up in a semi-secluded corner.
He was pretty sure Robert saluted him with his wine glass as he turned to go, but he didn't glance back to confirm this suspicion.
Jude was attractive in a sleazy sort of way, Arthur reflected as he strode across the wide room with purpose in every step. His eyes were a little more blue than Eames' clear grey, he had gold-tipped curls, sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a curve of smooth confidence to his lips that some found to be extremely attractive. The English accent was probably reminding Eames at least a bit of home... but Jude was not suitable company for a pretty fifteen year old who had no idea what a creep he could be.
By the time Arthur reached them, Jude had one hand on Eames' upper arm, fingers flexing, thumb rubbing in an overly-familiar way over the muscles that Arthur knew were there, a wide grin on his face, and Eames was blushing pink up to the tips of his ears, his own plush lips curved in an answering smile, his lashes flickering.
Arthur was pissed, to put it mildly, but he reined himself in and made his best effort at being civil as he closed his hand around Jude's and tugged it free of Eames' arm. He didn't even break any of Jude's fingers.
"Hello, Jude," he said politely, smiling through gritted teeth. "I'd like a word with my nephew, if you don't mind."
Without waiting for a reply, because it would be a slight to Mr. Saito's generosity as their host if Arthur were to punch another guest in the nose, he swept Eames up in one arm and hurried him around the corner, a short way down the hall, and into the privacy one of Saito's bathrooms. Fortunately it was close and empty of other guests.
"What the hell was that?" Eames blurted, before Arthur could ask him the same question. Eames sounded more confused than angry, but he was definitely displeased, and Arthur scowled at him.
"You shouldn't encourage Jude," he snapped. "He's far too inclined to take advantage of anyone who'll let him."
"What do you mean?" Eames asked defensively, his own brow furrowing in a deep frown. "We were just talking."
Arthur snorted. "As if I don't know flirting when I see it," he growled before he could restrain himself. He gave his head a brisk shake, because now wasn't the time to give in to jealousy, no matter how strongly he was feeling it. "Look, I don't care if you're gay or if you're straight and just looking for a father figure," he continued before Eames could say anything. "The point is that you were flirting with Jude and he was flirting back. Even if you weren't my nephew and my responsibility, you're only fifteen. It's illegal, he's an asshole who would break your heart, and I'm not letting that happen. Any of it!"
Eames mouth was gaping open in disbelief by the time Arthur was done speaking, then his expression firmed and twisted.
"I'm not a faggot--" he started furiously, and before Arthur could stop himself, his hand shot out and he slapped Eames across the mouth.
"I told you not to use that word," he said, even though seeing the shocked, hurt look on Eames' face made him feel immediately guilty. He'd never laid hands on Eames in violence -- outside the controlled environment of their sparring sessions -- and the blow had been as much a result of his jealousy as it had been an honest response to Eames' use of that hated word, so he was probably right to feel guilty.
He hadn't hit Eames hard, not by any stretch of the imagination, but the damage that he'd just done hadn't really been physical in nature. It had been emotional and it may well have damaged Eames' trust in him, in their relationship.
"Sorry," Arthur said, a little gruffly, as he reached out and wrapped his arms around Eames' shoulders, pulling the boy into a tight embrace. Eames didn't fight to get out of it, but he stood there stiff and still, not hugging Arthur back. Not that Arthur had expected he would.
They left the party immediately after this, Robert winning several points with Arthur as they passed him in the hall and he discretely promised to make Arthur's excuses to Mr. Saito, with absolutely no amusement or judgment coloring his features, his pale blue eyes expressing only mild concern at Eames' sullen silence and Arthur's flustered frustration.
It was possible that he wasn't such a bad guy after all, but Arthur had greater concerns than Ariadne's current beau. More personal concerns.
"Wasn't flirting," Eames said sulkily as Arthur drove them both home about ten miles over the speed limit. Faster than he usually went with Eames in the car, seeing as his mother had been killed in a car accident, but he felt the overwhelming need to get them both home as quickly as possible.
"Well," Arthur said, willing to let that go, because without having been closer he couldn't be sure of what he'd seen, "Whether you were flirting or not, Jude was flirting. He'll sleep with anyone pretty that he sets his eyes on, but he only dates women. You can't trust that man for shit."
Eames was quiet for a good fifteen minutes after that, and they were nearly home by the time he spoke again.
"You.... You slept with him?" he hazarded, his voice wobbling a little as he asked the question.
Arthur flexed his fists around the steering wheel. This wasn't how he'd intended to out himself to his nephew, but he couldn't very well lie to him now that Eames had actually asked, in as many words.
"Once," he replied tightly. "Years ago, before I knew better. He showed his true colors pretty quickly, though."
Which was all true, old history, and he wasn't even sure Jude remembered. Arthur himself wasn't much bothered by it anymore, but it would have been foolish not to have learned his lesson from that one encounter. He wasn't about to let Eames make the same mistake he had made. Eames was his nephew. Not to mention, he was only fifteen.
Eames was completely silent for the rest of the ride home, short as it was, and he remained silent while they entered the house. Arthur sighed, wishing that they had stayed home after all. Mr. Saito would have understood, and then Arthur would never have... never have....
"Eames, I'm so sorry for hitting you," he said, before they parted in the hallway to go their respective bedrooms. "I swear I won't ever do it again. But when you used that word--"
"S'okay," Eames mumbled, and Arthur winced because his lower lip did look a little swollen. He hadn't thought he'd hit Eames so hard, but maybe Eames had been chewing on it all the way home. It was better to think so than to think that Arthur had actually hurt him. "Sorry for using that word," Eames continued, glancing up at him. "I didn't... didn't mean to."
Arthur didn't know if he bought that, but he was willing to accept it, along with Eames' apology. Especially if Eames accepted his own apology. Arthur certainly didn't want to get into another fight with Eames tonight. Bad enough that he'd slapped his nephew, that he'd outed himself, and that they were going to each be sleeping alone.
He couldn't blame Eames, he thought sadly as he brushed his teeth and changed into his pajama bottoms. It probably weirded him out, knowing he'd been sleeping every night wrapped up in the arms of a homosexual, even if they were related.
As he slid between his cold, lonely covers, Arthur pondered the fact that Eames was probably never going to share his bed again. It hurt more than he thought that it probably should.
Even if it was for the better, it still... well, it sucked.
***
Arthur didn't sleep much, and the sleep he did get was fitful. He woke the next morning feeling far from rested. It didn't help that every time he rolled over he got a whiff of Eames' scent on his sheets or pillow.
He missed sleeping with his nephew in his arms, he could admit it.
He rose at the usual time, putting on his running clothes because he really hoped that this part of their day wouldn't have changed. He could smell coffee brewing, so he knew that Eames was already awake and at least partially adhering to routine.
He would apologize again, they would discuss the fact that he was gay if Eames wanted to, they'd get past this, and hopefully the only thing that would change would be that Eames would sleep in his own bed at night. Which they ought to have been doing all along, Arthur could admit.
All these plans, however, flew out the window when Arthur walked into the kitchen and found himself entering a scene of mounting carnage.
"Eames!" he blurted in shock and dawning panic as he took in the red staining the counter and soaking into the cloth caught between Eames' hand.
"Sorry," Eames mumbled, looking far too shamefaced for someone who was at risk of bleeding all over the tile floor. "The knife slipped."
He jerked his chin toward a bagel on the counter that was so blood soaked that it looked like it was strawberry when Arthur knew damned well that they only had plain bagels in the house. That wasn't Arthur's immediate concern, of course. No, what concerned him was the crimson-stained dishtowel Eames was clutching to his right hand with his left hand!
"Fuck!" he swore, leaping toward Eames. Even more quickly than he had gotten them out of Mr. Saito's house the night before, he got them in the car and on their way to the hospital.
"Gonna bleed on the upholstery," Eames mumbled, holding his hands tight to his chest, a fresh towel growing red far too rapidly for Arthur's peace of mind. Maybe it was Arthur's imagination, but he thought Eames' cheeks were growing white, either from shock or blood loss, and he was hard put not to speed so fast that he put both their lives in danger.
"Do you think I give a fuck?" Arthur gritted, cursing himself for living so far out in the boonies, but grateful that the nearest hospital was on his side of town.
They made it there in under five minutes with Arthur's lead foot, but they were the longest, most stressful five minutes of Arthur's life. Longer than the full minute after he had come out to his adopted parents and before they had spoken up to assure him they were fine with it, longer than the fifteen minutes of his first job interview, longer than his last day of high school....
Arthur had gotten Eames registered on his insurance as soon as he'd found out he was going to be his legal guardian, so there were no complications in the ER. They got Eames' hand dealt with quickly and efficiently, assuring Arthur that Eames was going to be fine, that he hadn't lost as much blood as it had seemed.
"Get some juice and food in him," the doctor instructed firmly but kindly, as though he was afraid Arthur was going to shatter to pieces in the waiting room. Well, he probably looked a wreck; wearing his jogging clothes, needing a shave, his hair a mess, haggard from a night without sleep followed by a morning of unexpected panic.
It had been his pinkie finger that Eames had cut, deeply enough to have severed the tendon. The doctor seemed confident that physical therapy would fix things, but Arthur thought he was taking the whole thing far too lightly. It wasn't his finger, after all.
"S'all right," Eames slurred, once he was released into Arthur's care, clearly feeling the effects of the pain killers they had given him. His hand was swathed in clean bandages, but Arthur knew there were several stitches underneath the pristine white gauze, and his stomach turned at the thought of what had almost happened. "Don't use that finger for much anyway."
"Don't...." Arthur gave in to the overwhelming desire to wrap Eames up in his arms and hold him tightly for a moment, before they headed for the car and home. This time Eames hugged him back, though he was careful to keep his right hand out of the way. "Just don't," Arthur murmured, and he wasn't even sure what he meant.
Arthur drove them home at a much safer speed. Eames was smirking, gazing at Arthur with warm intensity. It was better than the guarded hurt that had been in his eyes the night before, but it still made Arthur a little edgy.
Once they got home Arthur helped Eames strip down to his boxers and tucked him into Arthur's bed. To hell with propriety. Eames didn't seem to mind, smiling sweetly up at Arthur.
"Sorry I cut myself," he repeated, reaching with his good hand and sinking his fingers into Arthur's collar, tugging.
"Just don't do it again," Arthur said, his heartbeat finally beginning to slow to normal now that he had Eames safely home and in his bed. He leaned down as Eames pulled more determinedly at his shirt, assuming that Eames wanted another hug.
He was completely taken by surprise, then, as Eames' lips pressed against his own, mashing close for a moment of clumsiness, before easing off into a light but unmistakable kiss. It was largely chaste, closed-mouthed and no tongue, but it was still a kiss, and fifteen year old boys generally didn't kiss their uncles on the lips... Arthur didn't think.
"Thanks," Eames breathed, plush mouth curving up into a sweet, goofy smile as he sank into the covers, lids growing heavy over gleaming grey eyes.
Arthur didn't know whether Eames was thanking him for the ride to the hospital, for the use of his bed, or for... the kiss.... But he did know that he suddenly smelled scorching coffee, and he made a quick retreat to the kitchen, reminding himself to get a new coffeemaker; one that shut itself off after a certain period of time.
He did his best not to think about the kiss as he pulled together a sandwich and some juice for Eames, but, really, there wasn't anything else he could think about.
Loopy on pain meds or not, Eames wouldn't have kissed him like that if he hadn't meant it... right?
But what exactly did it mean?
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