fanficition cove

Originally written/posted: March 2011
Fandom: Inception (2010)
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: G
Warnings: Major Character Death. MCD! You have been warned. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.
Word Count: 1,660 words
Universe Notes: Canon Compliant,
Notes: Fun fact, I believe this might be the only (non-canonical) MCD fic I’ve ever written. Crazy.

This is the end, Arthur thinks, this is the end, and he’s going to die, and he’s never going to see anyone again. No friends, no family, none of the neighbors on the street that he passes by when he walks his dog. He won’t see the cashiers at the local market that he buys his groceries from and he’s not going to see his favorite tailor, Rob. He’s not going to see anyone again, no one but who’s on this plane but they’re all insignificant because they’re all going to die. Arthur doesn’t know all of the details, and he doesn’t think that he particularly wants to, because he’s already panicking and if he knew why the plane was currently about to dive face first into the earth, then Arthur’s likely to jump before the plane has a chance too.

It’s something about an engine, he knows, because he heard one of the stewardess’s say something about it in panic. No one was going to get off of this plane in one piece, everyone was going to die, and Arthur supposed that was the saddest thing of it all.

There were 45 people on this plane, and one Arthur. An Arthur that hadn’t even been alive long enough to experience everything that he should’ve been able to. But Arthur couldn’t be selfish in a time like this, not when there were ten year olds on this plane that had families and friends at home, relationships just started. Arthur pats them sympathetically on the shoulder, and something that would’ve been accounted for as unacceptable by a stranger is suddenly accepted in gratitude because of tragedy.

It’s funny, Arthur thinks, how everything changes when death is coming at you so fast that you can barely blink. He’s never really thought about what this would feel like, that knowing you were going to die was going to feel like. But now that it was dancing in front of his face, it was the only thing that his mind could focus on, even through the haze that had settled in.

There was one person that was continuously flashing through his mind again and again, and it’s Eames, Eames, the man that had stolen his heart years ago. The British man that was all flirtatious smiles and wise cracks, but was incredibly brilliant and devastatingly handsome. The man who dressed in atrocious clothing, who had crooked teeth, the man that Arthur wouldn’t have any other way. Arthur was nothing to Eames, but Eames was everything to him, and the other man didn’t even know. That’s what hurt the most.

Now he never would, because Arthur was about to die, and Eames was just going to hear about the death on the news, or maybe Cobb would tell him. Something that Arthur should have been able to tell him himself, because then that would be the chance to come clean with his feelings, to let Eames know that he did love him more than he could bare, that he loved him more than he had anything else.

Suddenly, Arthur looks up and see’s a stewardess walking down the aisle with a phone clutched in her hand. Something snaps in Arthur, something he knows that was going to break sooner or later, and he gets out of his seat. He has to talk on that phone, he has to call Eames.

“Excuse me, miss.” She turns around, and gives him a pointed look, one that says ‘I-know-we’re-about-to-die-and-all-but-sir-please-stay-seated’, but she doesn’t say anything verbally. “Can I please use your phone?”

She looks hesitant for a moment, but there must have been something in his eyes that made her cave in. She passes him the phone, and he thanks her quickly with a pat on the shoulder before letting himself disappear into the airplane’s bathroom.

He dials Eames’ number with ease, something that resulted from far too many drinks and never enough courage to actually make the call, but letting his fingers slide over the numbers anyways. This time, Arthur knows, that he’s not going to chicken out. It’s do or don’t, now or never, and he missed out on the chance to tell Eames when they still could’ve been something. He wasn’t about to skip out on it now.

After four rings, even though it’s probably a number Eames doesn’t recognize, he picks up. “Hullo?”

He sounds gruff, and tired, and Arthur wonders if he’s woken him up. Arthur doesn’t know what time it is here, or where Eames is now, but he decides it doesn’t matter, because hopefully Eames is going to care about what Arthur’s going to say next.

“Eames,” his words, come out choked and hoarse, which was what he wouldn’t let his voice sound like until he knew that he was alone, alone with Eames.

“Arthur,” Eames answers, and he sounds worried, and concerned, Eames wasn’t either of those too often. Eames, was much like Arthur and wore a mask over his true emotions, it had taken Arthur years to be able to school his expression into something that was cool and passive. That, it seemed, came easily to Eames, but now, there were no masks, and there was no dancing around what Arthur was about to say.

“Eames, I… look, this… something’s wrong.” Arthur chokes out, and he can hear his own voice break at the end. He doesn’t know how to say what he needs to say, but he knows he’s going to have to find the strength too.

After a few long moments of silence, Arthur gives up the gun, and whispers, “Eames, I’m going to die.”

He could hear the attempt to hide a gasp of air, but Arthur heard what it was anyways, and he knew that Eames knew that this wasn’t some drunken call. This was real, and this was reeking havoc on Arthur’s own grasp on his own life. “Darling,” Eames says, and there’s so much feeling, and it’s so intimate that Arthur’s chest hurts. And somehow, the pet name is more intimate than anything else he’s ever heard, and Arthur knows, that he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Arthur, not willing himself to cry until now, lets a few tears slide down his cheeks, before he wipes them away, like Eames could actually see him right now. Arthur wishes he could. “I’m going to die,” he repeats, even though he doesn’t have too. He doesn’t have to, but he does anyways, because he feels like Eames needs to actually know, he wants Eames to hear his heart break, too.

Eames doesn’t say anything for a while, either from shock or from simply not being able to form words coherent enough. When he does speak, his voice is the wrong side of painful, “how?”

“The plane I’m on,” Arthur chokes on his words then, because he has nothing left to choke on. “It’s going to crash.”

He thinks he hears something that might resemble a sob, because it couldn’t be anything else, and then he’s pounding his fists against the door. Somehow, Arthur thinks, somehow he could get off of the plane before it crashes. He needs to see Eames one last time. But, that’s not going to happen, Arthur knows it, and he doesn’t want to believe it, so he doesn’t. And the reality of it sets in, and as much as he doesn’t want to — as much as he can’t, he has to.

“What are you wearing?” Arthur asks, because he wants to know what the man who he loves is wearing, on the last day that he’s alive. Like maybe if he knew what Eames was dressed in, it would somehow justify that he was never going to be able to actually touch him again.

“A brown and red paisley shirt, some green trousers and my loafers.” Eames doesn’t skip a beat, even though Arthur can tell that the other man is crying.

And Arthur has to laugh, at the pure tragedy of it all, how somehow Eames can bring light to a situation that’s got nothing but darkness surrounding it. And then, his laugh gets cut off, by the plane shifting, and his back hits the door, the room shaking.

This is it, Arthur thinks, they’re plunging towards their death and he hasn’t even told Eames yet. He’s going to have too, because he’s not going to die without Eames knowing that all this time, Arthur was willing to die for him.

“It’s happening,” says Arthur, tired and spent, because he has no more emotion left to give.

“What?”

“It’s happening — the plane, it’s going down, I can feel it.”

Eames, then, most definitely chokes. “Arthur,”

“I love you.” Arthur doesn’t have a long speech that will somehow explain how he’s felt this for years, how Eames is everything to Arthur and how he would do everything for him. There is no fireworks, there is no parade that’s going walk through Eames’ apartment and celebrate that Arthur has finally told Eames how he felt. There is nothing sweet about it, there’s only pain and hurt, because it’s a little too late, and they both know it. Arthur doesn’t have to say anything fancy for Eames to know it’s what he means, so he doesn’t.

Eames, who doesn’t draw this out any longer, because they simply don’t have the time too, whispers into Arthur’s ear, “I love you too.”

“Eames?” Arthur asks, because his heart isn’t so broken anymore, but it isn’t quite whole either.

“Yes, love?”

“I’m sorry.” And he doesn’t have to say ‘for never being able to tell you before’ out loud for both of them to hear it.

Eames is silent for a few seconds. Arthur can’t find it in him to blame him. “Wait for me, on the other side, love.”

Arthur promises that he will. “Love you,” he mutters, crash.

Dead. Gone. Free.