Work Text:
Eames goes to Mombasa because Arthur tries to protect him again.
It's more than that, it's the way Arthur hasn't been quite the same since Mal died, since Mal died and Eames spent the night of her funeral with Arthur in his arms, trying stubbornly, so stubbornly, not to cry. Eames had kissed his cheeks, over and over, until the tears spilled over, and then he'd kissed those too, and not commented at all because he knew Arthur wouldn't want him to.
But mostly it's because after Dom went on the run, after Arthur chased right after him, trying to save him, trying everything he could to protect everyone, like some martyr, after that, Eames had worked a couple of jobs with them until they'd hit a job that looked like it wasn't going to work out, a job that looked like it was going to kill them all, and Arthur and Cobb had packed up in the night, not told him where they were going, just left him safe and furious, impotent.
Eames goes to Mombasa after that, and he doesn't hear from Arthur for awhile.
When he does, it isn't Arthur at all, it's Cobb, but he knows Arthur's the only one who could have tracked him down, knows Arthur's the only one who would have had a clue, and he agrees to the job mostly because he wonders what's so very important that Arthur could drop his shining knight act for a moment, that Arthur could forget his stubborn, stupid choice to keep him safe by keeping him far, far away.
When he gets into Paris, gets into the warehouse, there's a moment that reminds him of years ago, the wide cast of Arthur's eyes, like Arthur didn't expect him to come, like Arthur didn't expect him to be stupid enough to go along with it. Eames has always been stupid when it comes to Arthur, always, and this is no exception.
Things are wrong, because Arthur's all buttoned up, and Eames is still angry, still trying to prove he can take care of himself, years after he'd thought that'd been settled, been writ, but instead there's Arthur, bullying him into being a victim, and he can't stand it, can't stand the way Arthur acts it's partly his fault that they fell apart, when all he fucking wants is to be his equal for once.
He suffers it for weeks like that, weeks where he considers just giving up and breaking into Arthur's hotel room, settling it with fists or mouths or anything, weeks where he wants Arthur beneath him so badly he's almost willing to forget about his pride. He doesn't, though, because it's a fragile thing, and he wouldn't be able to look at himself in the mirror if he gave in, if he took Arthur back.
The job is brutal. The job is ugly, militarised, like the worst of the missions Arthur and he had barely lived through, back in the day, or died in, only to wake up later, touch each other in the dark to make sure they were both intact. But this time they might not come out intact, and when they miss the kick on his level, he's wondering where the fuck Arthur is, wondering if, for once, Arthur didn't make it.
It's hard to think of anything after that, hard to complete things at all when his brain is running through all the ways Arthur could be gone by now, the ways he could wake up and meet Arthur's eyes and have Arthur look back at him blankly, forgetting who he is and what they were and what they are.
When he wakes up, when he meets Arthur's eyes, Arthur looks back at him, and Eames can't quite parse his expression, but it's wholly sane, wholly there, and even if they'd failed, even if it hadn't worked out, it would have been worth it to see Arthur through intact.
He goes to Arthur's apartment, after, manages a few drinks on the way to steel his reserve, to give him something in the vein of bravery, and Arthur answers the door in pyjamas, ones he knows are soft to the touch. He meets him at the door in pyjamas and something quiet in his eyes, and Eames kisses him and kisses him until there's nothing left in his eyes but heat.
He undresses Arthur like he's fragile, and they fuck with all the lights turned on, the better to see that there are no marks, there are no signs they've been through anything at all, that they cheated death and made it through hell alive. He fucks Arthur with his face tucked up in his throat, and Arthur gasps I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, a stream of words that Eames silences with his mouth, because his chest is full to breaking, and he thinks it might just crack open if Arthur says one more word.
After, with Arthur's pyjamas still hanging off one ankle, with Eames face still hidden in his neck, Arthur strokes his fingers through Eames' hair, and his hand is shaking, a little, hardly noticeable at all, a tremor that makes it hard for Eames to breathe.
"Are you going to stay?" Arthur asks, and there's something so hesitant about the question, like he's afraid of asking, like he's afraid of the answer.
"Are you going to make me regret it?" Eames asks, muffled into his skin.
"I'm trying," Arthur says, quiet.
"I know," Eames says, closes his eyes. "Try harder."
Arthur's fingers still in his hair, and his spreads his palm out, hand curving over the back of his head. "I know you don't need protecting," he says. "Okay?"
"Then act like it," Eames mumbles.
"I know you don't need protecting," Arthur repeats. "But I want to do it anyway."
Eames shifts up, tucks his chin on the curve of Arthur's clavicle.
"I'm trying," Arthur repeats, and there's something in his voice that breaks.
"I know," Eames says. He leans over to press a kiss against Arthur's cheek. "I'll stay."
Arthur's body loosens beneath him, slow, the tension melting out of it. "God," Eames mutters, "you'd think you could just say you loved me like an ordinary person."
Arthur laughs, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard.