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He knows he has gone too far the moment the words left his mouth and he snaps his jaw shut, as if that helps any in taking them back.
It doesn’t, if Eames’ furious expression is anything to go by.
Arthur feels the need to sink into the ground, or at least drop his gaze and hunch into himself, shame curling in his guts like ants, making him want to cringe at his own incapability to shut the fuck up.
But he can’t help it.
Eames just makes him forget himself. Makes him want to scream and shout and say all kinds of vicious things that he knows cut deep, deeper than he should dare to. But he still does, because Eames just infuriates him like no one else can. And he wants to hurt him. Which is just so fucked up, because Arthur wants nothing more than to bury into his arms and cry into his neck and apologize for what he did months ago. But he can’t do that, he just can’t, so instead he snarls and insults him, as if he doesn’t give a fuck about his feelings.
He doesn’t get how Eames manages to make him act like a complete asshole.
Arthur always tries to keep himself in check, never having wanted to be the poster child of unreasonable aggression like all omegas are always labeled to be. He is polite. Sharp, yes, but able to contain himself and not letting anyone provoke him.
Watching the alpha storm out of the warehouse now, Arthur can admit to himself that he was a lot of things right now, but polite or unprovoked was certainly not among it.
Cobb’s disapproving squint only solidifies his own observation and it has the crawling shame in his stomach flare up worse enough to travel up his spine and color his cheeks, as he resolutely turns away to return to his desk, feeling everyone’s eyes in his neck.
Fuck it.
Arthur ignores the looks as he storms out of the room, grabbing both their jackets in his haste. He can’t keep up this shit any longer.
He doesn’t have to search – he knows where Eames is. He can practically feel him and that alone hurts more than it should, because he hasn’t felt his presence so long. It had physically hurt to be apart.
But Arthur has no right to complain – it was his own decision to leave after listening to the voicemail Cobb had left him, sitting on the edge of Eames’ bathtub that night, one hand pressed to his mouth.
It had been his own free will to leave. And it had been his own decision not to tell Eames what had happened, leaving him in the dark about Mal’s death and his reason to leave without so much as a goodbye.
He slowly approaches the alpha, who is sitting on some fire stairs a block further, sucking on a cigarette in the gloom evening cold as if his life depends on it.
Arthur’s lips curl at the sight, never having liked that habit of him. He had stopped when they had been together… but apparently without Arthur there, taking up the hobby of ruining your lung capacity returned.
Eames doesn’t look up when Arthur comes closer, but he knows the alpha has noticed him, shoulders going tense, fingers stopping in their trembling because of how tightly he is holding himself still.
When Arthur is only two steps away from him, he stops, holding both their jackets and not knowing what to do. That’s another thing with Eames. He makes him act without thinking. Arthur has no clue how to proceed now. He just needed to go after him, because he knew he had stepped over a line, gutting him verbally like that.
He had wanted to hurt him, yes, but he had gone too far and he just – He wants his attention and as if Eames is managing to turn him into a three year old without any concept of social interaction, Arthur suddenly only knows how to interact with him and get said attention by being a complete asshole to him. He knows, logically, how stupid they both are – how stupid Arthur is. It doesn’t change the fact that he can’t help it.
He wants to be hugged by him and instead of asking for it, he snarls at him for trivial things, wanting negative attention rather than being ignored. He doesn’t deserve to ask for anything that might make him feel good. He was selfish that one time and it was the worst mistake he ever made.
He wants to be forgiven, but he doesn’t deserve to be forgiven – instead of asking for that, he just keeps pushing the alpha, as if their fighting can distract them both from the fact that they had bonded, mated and then had broken it off far too quickly, leaving whatever fragile thing that had just entwined between them to go sour and crumble. Arthur wants this bond back, he wants it so bad, but he doesn’t deserve it.
Arthur doesn’t know how much of it is instinct or nature and how much is just their stubbornness, their own idiocy that they immediately started fighting and riling each other up meeting again after their break up.
Arthur silently holds out Eames’ hideous jacket to him, but the alpha just turns his face to the other side in a clear dismissal. Arthur bites his bottom lip and he just wants to scream or crumble the jacket up and throw it at Eames’ face to get him to look at him. And then he wouldn’t know what to do and would just snap at him again, because at least when they fight, he knows what to do. He knows how to get angry and yell and snarl. He doesn’t know anything else, he is helpless if it isn’t them arguing.
But Arthur knows one thing – he can’t do this any longer and he has to do something to save this. Save them. He can’t do this anymore.
“Mal died that night,” he says and that gets Eames’ attention, the alpha looking up with a sharp expression. And now that Arthur actually opened that tightly closed can of worms, he can’t stop there. “She died and I wasn’t there. It was my fault she died. I had to go back. Cobb needed me and I wasn’t there-,“ he rushes to say it all in one breath, fearing his voice will break if he dares to stop in between.
“… It wasn’t you fault, Arthur,” Eames replies, sounding baffled and then his expression thaws somewhat and he repeats, more firm: “Arthur. Mal’s death wasn’t your fault. You know that.”
Arthur shakes his head and he notices how he is clutching their jackets to his chest now, but can’t uncurl his fingers.
“I wasn’t there,” he repeats, clenching his fists, because he hasn’t told anyone this. Hasn’t said it aloud once, how much all of this is his fault. “I should have been- but I went to go after you and I left them alone and she killed herself-,“ and his voice does hitch there, because this guilt has been gnawing on him ever since Cobb’s voice over the recording had told him that she had jumped and Arthur hadn’t been there. He hasn’t dared to voice it to anyone, because it will make it so much more real and it is his fault. If anyone but him hears it, they will know, too, that it is his fault, because he had left and he had been sleeping soundly next to Eames while it had happened.
“Arthur,” Eames must have gotten to his feet at some point, because he is suddenly in front of Arthur and one of his hands curl gently around one of Arthur’s arms. He snips the cigarette carelessly away, breathes out the remedies of smoke and when Arthur refuses to look up, Eames jostles him a little to get his attention.
“Arthur, look at me,” he orders and at that the omega does, even though he doesn’t want to see the expression on Eames’ face.
They look at each other, silent. Something in Eames’ expression is searching, thoughtful and whatever he had been looking for in Arthur’s eyes, he finds it, because he suddenly exhales like a balloon, where the air goes out in a rush. He deflates and closes his eyes briefly and Arthur would die to know what he is thinking. He looks ten years older for a moment and Arthur has no idea what conclusion he just came to, but it doesn’t matter. He suddenly pulls him against his chest and holds him so tightly that it almost crushes Arthur’s rips, the omega too caught off guard to do anything but stand there.
“You’re such a bloody dumb bastard,” Eames mutters against his hair and Arthur opens his mouth to retort something witty, but all that comes out is an embarrassing noise and the omega decides to rather hide his face into Eames’ neck instead of trying to say anything else.
“Next time you try to punish yourself because of feeling guilty for something that wasn’t your fault, don’t involve me,” Eames tells him after a while of silently embracing him. Arthur twitches and then freezes guiltily in his arms. How can this man listen to two words of him and then pin a needle into the center of his problems, able to peel him apart like that and getting to the root of it all even if Arthur himself doesn’t even realize what was his problem until someone else verbalizes it?
“I’m sorry,” Arthur doesn’t think he ever apologized to Eames about anything, even less so about something he hasn’t even realized he has been doing to him because of his own problems. He finally manages to get his hands free, not caring about their jackets anymore as he wraps his arms back around the alpha and presses him against him in return. It feels so good to be close. His chest is aching painfully, as if there are too many emotions and his head and heart don’t know how to deal with it anymore.
“I know,” Eames answers a little late and when he lets go again after a few minutes, his expression is constricted, as if unsure on what to settle. Arthur feels this – he doesn’t know, can’t even describe what he is going through right now himself.
He closes his eyes when he sees Eames reach out to him and his breath uncurls slowly while the alpha strokes over his cheekbone and over his hair, cupping his neck and squeezing. When nothing follows, Arthur opens his eyes again and Eames is staring at him intensely, making Arthur’s heart thud painfully at the thoughtful look.
“We…,” Eames stops, slowly dropping his hand to Arthur’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing over the boney part under the shoulder seam of his waistcoat, “… When this is over, we need to talk about this. Us. What we want to do,” the forger ends and Arthur finds himself slowly nodding.
He hates the thought of needing to talk about… emotions, but Eames is right. They have to talk. They have to be better than this. And they need to have the time and space to sit together and talk and not try doing it in between breaks in this job. They can’t afford this now, this job is too important for them. For Cobb. Arthur owes him this chance of getting back to his children.
And he can’t concentrate on both, the job and what is with him and Eames. And Eames as well has other things more important right now to focus on. But the prospect of having an ‘after’ makes his heart swell in his chest so much that it feels like its pushing against his throat, threatening to jump out of his mouth.
“Yes,” Arthur agrees, his voice a little too firm, as if agreeing to the terms and conditions, but he wants Eames to know how important this is, how serious he takes this.
Eames blinks and then laughs in surprise, slowly letting go, “To hear you volunteer to talk about feelings, I didn’t think the day would come,” he says, eyes crinkling and Arthur blinks, before feeling a surprised grin twitching his lips up, “Fuck you, Eames,” he replies and they look at each other, both knowing that they have an ‘after this’, maybe.