3 Works by CamilleDuDemon in Inception (2010)
Arthur and Eames meet on a very, very cold day dans la gare de Calais-Fréthun, after fourteen months apart. Eames is a tease with a twisted sense of humor, Arthur is intrigued by the sound he makes while he's sucking on a very, very british candy.
[“Eames. I'm on a job”, he dryly states. There's the smallest hint of a tremble in his hands, but he hopes Eames is too distracted by whatever thing to notice that.
Two of his teammates show up, finally, coming from two different directions and parting their ways once they've given a quick look to the bright flat screen that shows arrivals and departures. One doesn't. Arthur guesses that they can make it even without her, regular - dull, he'd dare to say - espionage doesn't require large teams and a huge amount of resources.
“Well, not anymore, darling. The mark isn't going to show up, I'm afraid”, Eames says, the ghost of a smirk in his words.
Arthur can't say if he wants to punch him in the face or punch himself instead for putting his trust into the words coming from a forger's mouth.
A fucking forger, for fuck's sake.]
Eames gets stabbed in the ribs while helping a friend not to, well, get shot in the head by a gang of Chinese mobsters he has crafted drugs for.
Arthur gets involved when a bleeding Eames shows up at his door, asking if he's got some vodka and a sewing kit.
[When Eames realizes he's got bloody stabbed in the ribs, for the first time in years he thinks he's gonna die. Which is a surprisingly dark thought for someone like him.
Nevertheless, he supposes that that's how he goes, stabbed in the ribs by a fucking chinese moneylender while rescuing a friend who's possibly even more reckless than him from a certain, very painful death.
How generous of him, isn't it? What a bloody abnegant idiot he is.
He cursed himself many, many times for being still here, in New York, even though the job he was working on has already been done at least two, three days ago, but when Manny calls, who's him to deny his oldest friend a favor?
Not to mention how bloody desperate he was, while barely holding his phone in place, running around Chinatown with a couple of armed goons on his tail.]
Somehow, he knows Artur likes expensive tablecloths. He just doesn’t know how this information can be relevant now, or how will it be in the immediate future. Not to mention he doesn’t remember when or where he has gathered this personal information, nor if it was Arthur himself who told him he liked bloody tablecloths.
“Found you hooked up and I couldn’t resist the urge to come here and tell you not to waste your precious time on self-loathing”, he finally says, and he’s able to catch the faintest glimpse of Arthur’s shoulders quivering in a sigh.
“What if I was just running tests? Did this eventuality even cross your mind, Eames?”
“Honestly? No. Not even for a split second.”
Eames can hear Arthur mutter ‘asshole’ under his breath. He’s sure he deserves that, someway, for his past, present and future recklessness.