ladyvader: (AE - Bleak)
[personal profile] ladyvader
HUGELY sorry for the delay this week :( 'orrible nasty RL was determined to keep me out of the house but I HAVE TRIUMPHED and am home just long enough to get it up ;P

ETA: FUCK YOU LJ!!!!!!!!!! Sorry guys, I've tried tro post this numerous times with tweaking of EVERYTHING I CAN THINK OF but it keeps double spacing the text. Sorry. :(

Ok so, with no further faffing - part 7 (here there be ANGST, sorry peeps)

Title: Pet [Part 7]
Author: LadyVader
Pairing/s: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Category: Multi chaptered – Completed with postings once a week so to not destroy my poor beta’s brain.
Summary: AU fic - Arthur is in his final year of high school and finds himself entirely too interested in the new English teacher. Entirely inspired by the Police lyrics ‘Sometimes it’s not so easy to be the teacher’s Pet’.
Rating: R rated most parts for language etc, NC17 overall.
Word Count: 100k approx in full, this part 9300 approx.
Warnings: Shameless gacking of movie verse characters and dialogue, high school angst and an inappropriate relationship between teacher and student (if this is something that bothers you then please don’t read the fic).
Disclaimer: INCEPTION and its lovely molestable characters belong to Mr Nolan who incepted me into borrowing them: You’ve no one to blame but yourself Chris!
Authors Note: Thanks to [ profile] dreambastion, [ profile] arineat & [ profile] takola for the cheerleading, [ profile] whisperedtones for the banner :D <3 and most of all to my evol, EVOL muse (and sadly put upon beta/ sounding board/ drill sargeant) [ profile] dysonrules. This one is ALL YOURS hon - you created the monster, I hope you enjoys it ;)

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5a
Part 5b
Part 6

Pet [Part 7]

He woke in the grey light of dawn, tinted green by the gauzy curtains pulled over Ari’s windows, and pushed himself upright from where she’d tucked him in atop the air mattress in her room. He’d wondered idly if he even could sleep before he’d promptly sunk into oblivion.

Silently, he eased himself up off the mattress and cast a look to where, even curled up in sleep, Ariadne’s sweet face still pinched itself into a worried frown on his behalf.

He looked at her, feeling a swift stab of affection past the rolling cloud of numbness settling over his brain, before he quietly toed on his shoes, gathered up his bag and sweater and quietly crept out.

He walked home as the sun sluggishly climbed the horizon, and pushed open his door as its first weak rays spread across his bed. For once it was unmade; not quite 24 hours ago he’d dragged himself from it with a leaden feeling of rejection and self-loathing.

Arthur paused to give himself a minute to consider whether or not he’d trade in this new feeling of loss and cold and nothingness for yesterday’s humiliated despair before he swiftly decided he really couldn’t think about anything right now and, shucking all but his boxers into a pile, he crawled into his cold, open bed and let sleep block out his mind once more.

He woke to his phone trilling and a powerful need to urinate sometime in the afternoon. After staggering back from the bathroom, he quickly texted a response to Ari’s missed call stating he was fine, just needed to sleep and then proceeded to do exactly that.

He awoke again just after ten, and managed to stay awake just long enough for his Chinese takeout to be delivered, watching late night stand up and eating just enough to make him full and fuzzy once more before he staggered back to bed. He turned his face into his pillows and let sleep steal his thoughts once more.

It was almost peaceful, waking to find he’d slept clear into another day Agonized hours had racked up behind him with no collateral damage to speak of; he was just a little dazed and oddly exhausted as he contemplated eating cold noodles for breakfast – no, lunch.

If he had been thinking versus doing anything but, he might have realized that an entire day spent without Ariadne’s fussing was more than a little unlikely.

She showed up just before four. Arthur had just showered for his imminent return to bed and irritation forced its way past his numbness to inform her that she couldn’t stay as he wanted to sleep.

She went from sympathetic to narrow-eyed and stern within seconds, bustling past him to cluck at his lack of an actually edible lunch. For once, he attempted to defend himself, but she was too busy scowling and rummaging through his fridge. To appease her, he made them each some eggs and toast and bore her lecture about facing his feelings, right up until the point where she talked about what Arthur was going to say to... him.

“Nothing. I’m saying nothing, and thinking and doing it, too. I don’t want to think about it, I don’t want to talk about it and due to the glory of our educational system, I don’t have to – not until Tuesday anyway – so I’m not going to. I’m going to go back to bed and keep on sleeping until my brain can handle the fact that... that I...”

Oh god. His face, his VOICE. How could Arthur possibly face him knowing what that mouth felt like pressing his own name back against his skin like a benediction, how it broke when he ground out, ‘I’m so sorry, Arthur...’

He shook his head, dispelling the mental image with a soft, broken noise, and glared at Ariadne even as she reached out to try and clasp his hands. She frowned as he curled them into fists.

“I can’t handle this, yet. I probably won’t be able to by Tuesday, but by then I’ll have NO CHOICE, so please, Ari, let me rest in peace until then?”

She blinked, her eyes as ridiculously doe-like as when they were children, his pain somehow horribly reflected in those depths, and so he retreated yet further, hands tucked high into his armpits. He tried to not flinch as she stood to walk around the table and press a kiss into his hair, ruffling it as she stepped back.

“All right,” she said softly, as though he’d merely asked for one more scoop of ice cream, and smiled that same soft smile she’d put him to bed with barely a day ago, “but I’m calling you tomorrow and I’m meeting you outside school on Tuesday.”

There was no query to her tone and Arthur grimaced even as he grinned.

“Okay, Mom,” he agreed steadily. She smiled at him once more before she quietly let herself out. Arthur lay facedown once more, his pillow damp with hot tears that kept coming, even when he squeezed his eyes shut so tightly it hurt.

He woke again at nine, but this time a sick feeling of numbness pounded behind his eyes, registered as emptiness versus relief, the almost greasy, clinging unhappiness from the back of his mind seeping almost instantaneously into being, so he forced himself up, changed his sheets and busied himself making Pelmeni with the leftover chicken and sour cream in his refrigerator. He sat down to watch the late movie and ate until the emptiness receded somewhat.

By the time the movie (and late night re-runs and infomercials) had ended it was four a.m. – Monday – and Arthur knew he needed to be ready to look Eames in the eye and not fall into his arms, pleading. He tried to clear his mind and deal with the actuality of what had happened, and what was still to come... only to have the familiar theme of the hourly local news wash over him. Just like that, he was back in the blue-lit room with Eames crushing him against the wall with a fire in his eyes that looked like mine.

Arthur threw up all remnants of his painstakingly made Pelmeni before crawling back to bed and wishing, just once, that he and Eames had never met.


He was at the track by noon, running off the sluggish, heavy headache that he’d awakened with just before ten, finally itchy in his own skin with the need to get out and do something – anything - to shake his wretched lethargy.

Usually the pounding beat of his feet against the solid track was enough to lull him into an almost Zen-like state, but not today. Today it seemed that each lap set off a chain reaction of unnecessary, unhelpful thoughts cascading over each other until he was nearly blinded by pointless possibilities.

Arthur, Arthur, please – I’m so sorry. I never should have reacted like that, let you go...

Arthur, I’m sorry, but I think it would be detrimental to the performance were I to let you stay on as Hamlet at this time, considering your inappropriate behavior...

Wright. The principal’s office – NOW. We’ll see how he reacts to this bizarre fixation of yours...

Arthur... I... I’ve resigned. I’m sorry. I can’t ever see you again...

Arthur, it’s not that I’m not attracted to you, I was just drunk and my fiancé’s away...

Arthur, forgive me – I love you...

Arthur... Arthur, DARLING....


Arthur stumbled to a halt, almost wrenching his neck as he startled to hear his name called beyond his thoughts. Ariadne smiled apologetically at him from her perch atop the barrier. “Sorry, it’s just you’ve done five laps since I’ve been here, and probably more before that. I thought it might be time you called a halt.”

Blinking, Arthur tensed his legs and found they were indeed becoming leaden under the dead weight of his otherwise-occupied mind. He winced as he wondered briefly how far he might have made it onwards had she not stopped him.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely; just about able to summon up an equally sincere (if small) smile for her. “What brings you out this way on a day off?”

He colored as her look clearly designated him a moron before she hopped down, carrying his bag and towel over. “I was out snapping stuff anyway. You weren’t at home, or Mrs. Moore’s, so I thought I’d head over, see how you were doing... How are you doing?”

He rolled his eyes and pushed his long, sweat-wet hair from his face before he bent to dig in his bag for his water. “Better than yesterday, which was better than Saturday, which was, in turn, far better than Friday... mostly. Stay tuned for tomorrow.” He scowled when her camera clicked and whirred before him. “Of course ANY day can be improved by your NOT taking my damn picture when I’m dripping with sweat and fucking miserable.” He bit his tongue as her formerly mischievous expression crumpled.

“Oh, Arthur,” she said softly and he took a long pull of his water before replying.

“Ignore me, I’ll be fine,” he muttered, shoving everything back into his bag. “I’m going to shower and head home. See you out front tomorrow morning?”

He could see by her crestfallen expression that she’d hoped to spend more time with him, to cheer him up or offer some other friendly, sweet type of sentiment, but he had meant it when he’d said he needed until Tuesday morning to be ready to deal with it. If he had to spend the afternoon watching her eyes fill with tears for his poor bruised heart, then he likely would crawl into her arms and stay there weeping until the end of the school year.

“Sure.” She smiled gamely and he was proud of her for that, at least. “I’ll bring the coffee.”

He managed a real smile at that, dredged somewhere from the depths, and blew her a quick kiss as he walked backward toward the locker rooms. “You’re a goddess.”

He took her quick laugh and easy smile into the showers with him and held it close as the water and subsequent warm, worn clothes failed to rinse the knots from his insides.

He caught the bus as far as the market, and forced himself to walk briskly from aisle to aisle in case, just in case, because he couldn’t be seen moping over the international cheeses counter. He collected up his necessities along with a few bonus items, readying himself for what he suspected might be a few long nights of comfort baking, before he walked just as casually (if swiftly) home.

He whittled an hour or so away with schoolwork, sneering at himself when he found his usual ease somewhat lacking, his mind elsewhere even when forcefully applied, before he made up a batch of quiches (one for him, one for his Mom & Rick and, of course, one for Mrs. Moore) and proceeded to pick lackadaisically at his own before relegating it back to the refrigerator.

As a last resort he took the quiche intended for his mother over to the main house, to find Rick just about to do laps in the pool. Rick, as it happened, could do the Butterfly.

Arthur had always wanted to learn the Butterfly... well, in as much as he had always wanted to do anything he saw the Olympic teams do, but Rick made it look easy despite the fact that Arthur knew it to be anything but. Arthur loved nothing more than a challenge.

He spent a happy hour or so doing laps and laughing with Rick as he attempted to teach Arthur the basics of the stroke. Arthur’s shoulders burned in tandem with his previously overtaxed legs, his skin stung with one too many forceful slaps as he’d turned his face the wrong way against his downward arcs, and Rick finally gave up for the night when he started to cramp, leaving Arthur with his own unmentioned cramps and a sudden surge of sorrow as he found himself alone again.

He resumed his standard laps, the hush of turning his face into the water almost deafening by comparison to the sudden thumping emptiness within him.

He’d only meant to swim the kinks back out of his legs and arms so that he could hit his bed without knotting back up, but it felt like hours had passed when Arthur stalled, lifting his head fully free of the water to blink in surprise at his mother’s soft call from the poolside.

“Hey kiddo,” she called softly and the name was so long unsaid that his stomach pinched in agonized nostalgia, “shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”

He swam closer, resting his elbows on the edge before her and propping his chin on his hands as he looked up at her. He took in her ‘relaxed’ ensemble – designer pajamas and the same ratty old silk robe he’d bought her for mother’s day when he was thirteen. He pushed his hair out of his face, wincing as she dropped her wrist to let him read her watch-face.

“I didn’t realize it was so late.” He smiled ruefully, eyes on the lightly scuffed cuffs of her Chanel pj’s. “I’ll head up in a moment.”

She crossed her arms and something in him balked. He knew Rick had been looking at him oddly when he’d left.

“Are you alright? Rick seems to think you’re not yourself. You’re not sick again, are you?”

Arthur grimaced. She knew he wasn’t ill; Rick would have known, for a start, and secondly her pose said interrogator, not sick nurse.

“M’fine,” he said with a self-deprecating smile, hoping a half-truth would appease her. “Had a bit of a rough weekend. Having a hard time winding down from it.”

Her face, to anyone else, would have seemed as impassive as a stranger’s, but to him the slight inward quirk of her brows was as crushing as the slow welling up of Ariadne’s Bambi eyes.

“How rough?” she asked softly and he smiled so his lower lip wouldn’t wobble, resting his chin somewhat more firmly against the pool's edge.

“I like someone.” He tried for casual and hated himself for the tremor mid-statement. “He... he doesn’t want me.” Not enough, not enough...

He closed his eyes and swallowed the fitful rush of need as his mother crouched to run a hand tenderly over his dripping hair. She smoothed the sopping strands back from his forehead, just as she used to do for pictures when he was small.

“Then, my dear boy, he doesn’t deserve you.”

It wasn’t spoken with Ariadne’s outraged fervor or even Mrs. Moore’s near-rabid loyalty, but with a quiet certainty that crumpled Arthur’s weakened façade. He tilted his face so her palm cupped his cheek and whispered into her skin. “I wish he did.”

He ducked away and under the water at her tiny sigh, so the cool chlorine could wash the sudden, quick heat of his tears away. He returned with a self-effacing grimace before swimming to the ladder.

“Anyway, it’s fine,” he said brusquely as he climbed out and turned to face her watchful, resigned gaze as he re-bricked his defenses with stoicism and a firm jaw. He towelled himself off halfheartedly. “I just need a few days to get past it. It’ll be easier once I get back into the swing of things,” he lied easily and smiled, knowing she knew the truth but wouldn’t call him on it. “I’ll just head up to bed now.”


He’d been half turned away, ready to walk off. Surprised that she was prolonging something she knew he was uncomfortable with, he scowled slightly as he turned back with a lifted brow.

She walked until she stood before him again, and reached up once more to tuck a stray dripping tendril behind his ear. “I was never the clingy type – not as a wife, and not as a mother – and I’ve always been fiercely proud of how fantastically self-sufficient you are. I wouldn’t change you for the world.” Arthur shifted from foot to foot awkwardly.

“But?” he queried dully and she nodded slowly.

But,” she continued with as sad a smile as he’d ever seen grace her focused, controlled features, “That doesn’t mean I’m not still your mother. If you want me for anything – help, advice, burying a goddamned body – I’m right here and I always will be.”

He stared at her for a long beat, and held his breath before he released it on a long exhale.

“Goddamn it, Mom. Are you just set on making me cry like a little girl before you let me go? Because if that’s what it takes, I’ll do it, so help me, I WILL.”

She smiled and reached up and squeezed his shoulders before dropping her hands with a happy sigh. “My baby boy,” she mocked gently, “Deflecting with humor just like a pro. You really are all grown up now, huh?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and stepped back as he scoffed.

“Oh, please, you taught me that when I was like eleven.” He smiled and threw her the same tiny but heartfelt kiss he’d offered Ariadne earlier. “But I got it, Mom. And I know where you are if I need you.”

He turned and started away toward his steps before his mom could see the easy shine in his eyes, and threw her a casual backwards wave as she called goodnight after him.

Honestly, he thought with a gentle smirk as he let himself back into his apartment, pausing only long enough to roughly towel dry his hair before he stripped off his trunks and tumbled back into bed, with this much affirmation a guy could almost forget he’s got any troubles at all.


His smile faltered and he steeled his jaw against the sudden clutch of loss low in his belly. He pressed his face into his pillows as he sternly informed his body it WAS going to sleep on demand and, thankfully, after the long day of casual abuse and steadfast water-logging, it did.


As it happened, he slept a little too well.

He slept a clear half hour past his usual alarm, waking only when a car outside beeped angrily, the commuters outside apparently no happier than he about the return to the status quo. He threw himself in and out of the shower inside two minutes and squeaked his way onto his bus, apple clenched between his teeth as he paid his fare.

He fell on Ariadne with a groan crossed with an ecstatic sigh as his race up the school steps coincided with his body’s sudden recollection of the prior day’s hard usage, even as his hand wrapped around her proffered coffee cup.

It was lukewarm. Ariadne was staring and they had maybe two minutes before the bell rang.

All in all, it wasn’t quite as bad as he’d thought the morning would be.

“Where were you?” Ariadne frowned. “You’ve not been late in years, Arthur, and that was only because your Mom forgot you were in the car and drove you to work with her.”

“I overslept.” Arthur rolled his shoulders with a grimace as they moved through the doors into the quickly emptying corridors. Ari favored him with a skeptical look and he laughed gruffly. “I really did. I, I overdid it yesterday, both running and swimming, and I just needed the sleep, apparently.”

Her brow unfurled. “Is that why you’re moving so stiffly? I wondered.”

He opened his mouth to tell her about his pitiful attempt at the butterfly, only to have Principal Caine step out of the front office and turn to them with what seemed too wide a smile.

“Ah, just the man I was looking for.” Arthur’s stomach flipped over as visions of Eames having complained rolled through him once more. “Mr. Eames, if I might have a moment?”

Arthur tensed and he felt Ariadne stiffen beside him. They parted silently, stepping to the side to allow the man apparently walking just behind them space to move past. Eames’ shoulder scraped Arthur’s as he angled himself to walk through, and Arthur felt the actuality of his being right there slam through him. His breath caught in his chest as Eames walked on, his chin down, nodding stiffly as Mr. Caine proceeded to cheerfully talk at him.

Slowly, Arthur and Ariadne walked to their lockers, silent until the metallic creak of her door opening and the low hum of Principal Caine’s continued wittering gave her the confidence to say, “Well, that wasn’t so bad.”

Arthur blinked at her in disbelief as he retrieved and stowed his own books in turn. “What?” he managed faintly and she offered him a weak smile.

“Think about it. We weren’t talking about anything it’d be bad for him to hear and neither of you fell apart upon seeing each other. It’s just like what you said – like nothing happened.”

He nodded slowly and she squeezed his arm as the bell rang. “It’s good, Arthur, he’s acting just like you did – like you wanted. It never happened so now you know how to act around him. And once he sees that's how you’re being with it, he’ll stay like that with it himself, and before you know it it’ll be just like it was.” She pulled a face. “But y’know – not.”

He nodded at her with a smile and they each set out for their first class. Arthur was able to force himself to not look back to where he could still almost hear the low rumble of Eames’ voice.

I never said I didn’t want you

Arthur steeled himself, crushing his books so close to him it felt like one corner left a divot in his ribcage as he walked away, and promised himself he’d act normal. No matter much how it hurt.

His first few periods were almost anticlimactic. So keyed up was he from his not-quite encounter with Eames that he was prepared for every passing second of school to be nothing short of torture, but come lunchtime he was almost calm, awash with the normalcy, and quietly chiding himself for assuming that anything would derail the humdrum workings of high school life.

It seemed both his panic and later laid back attitude were premature, or at least ill-advised however, by the time English rolled around.

Eames appeared to have suffered the removal of his tolerance, humor, understanding, patience and a great many other facets necessary to teaching over the weekend. Although most attributed it to the lingering “sickness” that had caused his absence late the previous week, it was all Arthur could do to not slide beneath his desk and roll into a ball, waiting for the kick he was so sure would come.

He remained in his usual position, his posture excellent, his attention firmly on the subject at hand, and tried to not look at Eames too closely, not wishing to seem afraid, or worse, desperately longing in the face of such obvious infuriation. Arthur strived for normalcy.

I’m so sorry, he whispered in his head, watching surreptitiously as Eames slowly calmed as the lesson ran its course. He imagined Eames’ horror at having to share the room with him, his doubtless distaste with Arthur, frozen, waiting for Arthur to say or do something that would just make everything so much worse and

Arthur swallowed.

Ariadne was right. It could never be right between them until Eames understood that Arthur had every intention of sticking to his latter behavior on Friday night – that is to say it never happened. No kissing. No crushing embrace. No hot, firm skin. No whispers against his lips...

It never happened.


The bell rang and the class started to trail out. Eames’ new project was on the board behind him and, rock-firm and ready to do what was right, Arthur walked calmly to the front of the class to stand behind Fischer as he made breathless, nervous apologies for what would apparently be his lateness to rehearsal later. Ariadne caught Arthur’s eye with a quizzical, nervous look as she filed out with the next class.

“Mr. Eames,” Arthur began and winced internally as Eames’ face shut down, frowning ferociously as he turned to glare at Arthur, cutting him off before he even began.

“What, Wright? I don’t have time for any in depth queries today. I’ve another class starting now.”

You had time for Fischer.

Arthur cleared his throat and shifted his weight slightly, keeping his voice steady and impersonal. “I, I just wondered about what you meant when you said-”

“Christ – NOT NOW, okay?” Eames all but roared and both Arthur and the new students froze in horror before heads began snapping around to gape at where the teacher’s oft-vaunted favorite stood, ashen. “I’ve got a class, Wright. If you had a question about the bloody assignment you should have asked before now.”

Arthur swallowed and Eames’ skin darkened as he suddenly seemed to become aware of the class watching. He attempted to adjust his tone accordingly. “Look, either spit it out or see me during my office hours, alright?”

“When you said ‘antithesis’ did you mean you wanted merely subject matter still in the basic sonnet form or did you mean in style as well?”

Arthur’s voice was steady, clear and utterly calm. Eames ducked his head as several of the new class members looked to the board and read the assignment, or rather the lack of specificity concerning format.

“My apologies Wright. I have a headache,” Eames ground out in a voice that sounded how Arthur had felt opening his eyes on Sunday. “That’s perfectly valid. Umm, I will accept a reversal of the subject matter as the main focus of the assignment, but feel free to experiment with the other forms. Run mad with a Haiku if need be. Alright?”

He smiled, weakly, and Arthur nodded stiffly in turn. “Yes, sir,” he said calmly and left.

By the time Ariadne caught up with him outside rehearsals he’d just about managed to convince his weak, traitorous body to stop shaking as though he’d taken a bullet.

“You okay?” she whispered, clenching his hand too tightly as they walked through the doors together and nearly slammed directly into Nash, who sneered and advised them to hurry.

“After all,” he wet his lips, smiling nastily, “You wouldn’t want to be late, would you? Don’t want more trouble in paradise...?”

Arthur swallowed and dropped Ari’s hand after a brief squeeze. “I’m fine,” he said and walked up and onto the stage.

Arthur felt as though there had never been any warmth in him. His body felt cold as he stood under the spotlights and watched the strange, malformed shadows the others cast. He shivered as the shade of Eames walked up and spoke with words that sounded like the man he knew, as he requested what he usually wanted from Arthur, but there was nothing between them, no heat or life in words or contact, and Arthur nearly smiled at Eames in sympathy when he caught him shivering between scenes.

Hamlet moved and spoke and felt, and it was the only source of life in Arthur’s skin. He pitied Eames for having to stand outside the play, unable to step in and be lost like Arthur, and if Arthur’s Hamlet wept a little easier and appeared more haunted by his loss than ever, well then, that was just good theatre.

Ariadne drove him home afterward and they sat in her car for a moment. Her teeth gnawed at her lip and Arthur’s continued silence gave testament to the apparent lack during rehearsal.

“It was like watching strangers,” she whispered and looked to him for hope.

He nodded. “Tomorrow will be better,” he said truthfully and let himself out of the car with a small, certain smile at her worried, pale, dear little face. “I promise.”

He waved to her as she drove away before he walked inside. He stood under the blissfully hot spray of his showerhead until he was finally warm enough to bear opening his eyes and facing his day again.

Arthur stood, towel loose at his hips, and stared at himself in the mirror.

He was blank. It wasn’t a good look, but considering it felt like the expression he’d worn all day, he couldn’t fault it for hiding his inner turmoil.

He sighed and swayed lightly on the spot. He’d foregone both running and swimming, his muscles already sore from standing, too tense, ready to recoil from what had felt like a likely eruption from Eames. The tension had bled into stone-like stillness as Eames had remained apart, directing them from the shadows. Already things felt so different between them, the idea that last Friday had even happened had become laughable.

And yet… Arthur shivered before the mirror, not cold, but suddenly alive with the sensation of Eames’ stubble scraping over his skin, teeth nipping at the curve of his jaw, his ridiculously full, hot lips brushing over Arthur’s cheek, his throat – pressing HARD against his mouth, his hands twisting into Arthur’s hair to hold him steady as he kissed him deeper and deeper, whispering his name over against his lips…

Arthur refocused on the image before him; the lost, swaying boy with the dark eyes and flushed cheeks, mouth trembling with nothing to press against, hair falling limp against his nape with no hands to push through the strands, cold again with no one there to burn for...

Dressing swiftly, Arthur ran the back of his hand angrily across his eyes and snatched up his sharpest scissors before letting himself into his mother’s house via their connecting door.

“You said if I needed you?” he blurted, as he rushed down the stairs to find her freshly home from work, standing shocked before him in her immaculate suit as he waited, still mostly dripping in his jeans and sweater, bare feet flinching against the coldness of her kitchen tiles. “Help me?”


The next day, Arthur walked into school to find Eames standing just a little way apart from where Ariadne stood near at her locker. She gaped at Arthur.

He walked up to her slowly and smiled, aware that he had Eames’ full attention, also, even if the other teachers who stood debating the weather had yet to realize it.

“You don’t like it?” Arthur queried dryly and she slowly lowered her hands from where they’d risen closer to her mouth with every step he’d taken to close the distance between them.

“Oh – Arthur,” she said, somewhere between utter shock and that awful soft sadness she still carried for him. “It’s so short.”

He wrinkled his nose, smiling even as he blushed slightly. He ran his palm over his head, his fingers rapidly becoming sticky from his new gel.

“Thought it might make me look more princely,” he mocked gently.

It was short. Not as bad as Ariadne obviously thought, as his mother had refused to cut his bangs completely back, but with the gel and his hair swept effortlessly, elegantly backward, Arthur seemed both older and somehow more exposed, he thought.

Gone was his jaw-length sweep of black hair that had concealed him. No more gentle fall of loose curls at his nape; instead a long, bared throat and eyes that seemed somehow darker for being exposed to the light of day. Arthur flattered himself that he looked more refined, the knot of his tie an addition to his usual sweater/shirt combination. Its constant, steady pressure at the tender hollow of this throat reminded him that he had both the strength and steadiness to see this through (whatever this was and, oh god, he wished Eames would look away).

“It’s, it’s nice. It is. I like it.” Ari rushed to reassure him, her hand lifting even then to brush back the usual swathe of hair as she normally would when speaking to him. Her face froze and then fell at the lack of it. “It’s just – You look so different.”

His smile softened. “Good. That’s sort of the idea.”

She bit her lip and nodded, unaware that Eames still stood, unblinking, behind her. She turned to some slide books from her locker into her bag, and murmured something in an understanding tone, but Arthur had already looked away, his heart banging violently against his ribs.

Eames’ eyes were wide and almost hollow but for a lingering, startled anguish. Arthur’s smile melted away as their gazes locked briefly.

Arthur swallowed and then offered Eames a tiny nod. He tensed as he watched Eames’ lips thin; an oddly distressed look swept over Eames’ features as he nodded curtly and, excusing himself to the other teachers, turned and swept away down the corridor.

Arthur sighed and ignored the urge to rest his forehead against the cool metal of his locker door.

“Roll on, June,” he muttered.


He managed to shake Ari loose that afternoon, unable to bear the steady weight of her gaze now that her shock had transformed into a wary disbelief, as though with a fresh whim he might suddenly have his eyebrows radically plucked, piercings dotted along each brow bone and the word LOVESICK tattooed across his forehead. While he was amusedly appreciative of the attention that his minor, yet apparently shocking, change had garnered, he simply wanted to relax and get the day under his belt.

In hindsight, he should have checked the sky before carefully refusing her lift.

For all that he’d been able to encourage her further advances towards] Yusuf, he would by far rather have spent the duration of a ride home deflecting her concern versus his current position of standing – miserable and bedraggled again – under the latest of the icy downpours apparently set to wash Seattle clean.

His forehead was turning numb, Arthur realized with an a amused snort and dug his chin deeper into his coat collar. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest to hold what little heat he still had within, unable to believe how cold his face was without his hair to keep the worst of the rain off him.

Cursing gently and laughing as he was forced to pull his hands from beneath his arms to sweep the worst of the droplets back from his eyes and nose, Arthur wondered idly which was worse, this or brain freeze. He turned slightly outward from the empty bus stop, facing away from the craftily slanting raindrops. His fingers traced swiftly over his cheekbones – and he found himself facing the blue sedan as it sat, stalled by the surrounding traffic.

Arthur caught Eames’ eye through the windshield instantly, frozen even as the car inched forward. Their eyes locked in mingled horror – and, oh god, regret - and Arthur spun away, helplessly obvious with no other recourse available. He presented Eames with his back, his burning eyes clenched shut as he faced into the rain again.

He clenched his jaw and swallowed down the cry of inarticulate rage of how unfair it was – NOT FAIR, NOT FUCKING FAIR – and even as he hunched his shoulders and crushed his arms around himself (and GOD what a fucking pathetic parody that was), willing Eames to drive on, just be gone already. He was hoping, wishing, over and over that Eames would understand.

He stood in the driving rain for what felt like hours, his back to the road until the telltale whine of hydraulics signaled the arrival of his bus and, turning, his eyes down, he staggered aboard, not allowing himself even a single glance out onto the street until he collapsed into a seat, dripping all over his neighbor.

The car was gone. Eames was gone.

Arthur nodded minutely.

As it should be, he thought dully and wished doing the right thing didn’t feel so wrong.


That night he swam until his shoulders screamed. He sighed when his mother clucked over him as he all but crawled out of the pool.

“S’fine,” he grunted as she berated Rick for teaching him the damn stroke in the first place, “It’ll just take some time before I’m used to it, that’s all.”

His breath caught at his mom’s sudden look of sympathy, but before he could think of a response that didn’t involve raging or sobbing, her brow cleared and she smiled, albeit tightly, at him. “That’s my boy,” she said simply and let him be.

He lay in bed later, heavy with late-night pasta and slack muscles and found an odd peace as his words came back to him.

It would take time, but he’d get used to it.

It would suck - it would HURT - but in time it would get better.

He breathed deeply and closed his eyes.

It had to.


March brought driving rain with the threat of snow at its heels, so bitterly cold that Arthur’s lips chapped and split as he ran and Ariadne all but pinned him to the lockers trying to smear her lip balm all over his face, until he finally submitted and agreed to wear her mint madness for the day. The added shine gave Nash and cronies yet one more thing to sneer about, but it helped his split lip heal, no small feat as he’d accidentally taken to crushing his lips together to keep from reacting to Eames’ new directorial style.

Eames snapped and bit (at everyone, thankfully) as he stalked back and forth between lessons and rehearsals, his irritability at a low boil. Although it drew a good few curious comments, he remained a favorite amongst the student body. Eames’ snark was more than made up for by his overall awesomeness, it seemed, though perhaps only Arthur and Ariadne had noticed how his smile no longer always met his eyes.

Arthur had almost perfected his own new smile. He tilted his lips and widened his eyes for polite interest, added a few teeth for mirth and ducked his head for laughter. Between the combination of the three, he was well able to deal with his classes and fellow students (the more irksome of which were generally easily dispelled by use of what Ariadne referred to as his frowny face of doom), relegating rehearsals and English class to the slightly easier (yet so much worse) impassive mask he’d somehow mastered out of sheer necessity.

Eames sneered, snarled, spat and growled now when crossed, and Arthur never flinched.

He perfected the art of knowing what Eames might want or say or do ahead of Eames’ knowing he wanted it. Arthur was flawless. He might have to endure the ebb and flow of Eames’ rage along with everyone else, but at least he had the comfort of knowing he wasn’t its target.

Just the cause.

In the weeks since... the theatre trip, Arthur had set himself small hurdles, tasks and targets to keep himself sane. He still ran the track, but fast, timing himself to see how many laps he could do within a set time. He swam, laps to warm up, and then his still-pitiful attempts at the butterfly - before heading indoors to attempt one of the dishes from his recently purchased recipe books.

As diversion therapy it was quite successful, but for the majority of dishes left uneaten and the glowing words DON’T THINK ABOUT EAMES that hung, Damocles’ style, over everything he did.

Just get through this – it’ll hurt less with time – just one more lesson, day, week – you can do it – JUST. DON’T. BREAK. YET.

Spine straight, Arthur ran with his eyes as firmly fixed on his goals as ever they had been and he almost never looked back.




He stiffened, not expecting Eames’ voice. His shoulders hunched against the icy breeze.

“Arthur – get in the car. I think we need to talk, don’t you?”

Arthur was cold, miserable, and tired of doing the right thing for a man who apparently couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Fine,” he snarled and slid into the car with ill-grace.

“Where would you like to go?” Eames asked politely and Arthur’s hands shook with the effort of not running his hands over the car’s interior, just to reassure himself he was really back within it once more.

“Anywhere but here,” he muttered and watched the world whirl by until they were before his house.

“You want to come in?” Arthur whispered, eyes closed and quietly thrilled at the sound of the driver’s door opening.

Eames followed him slowly up the stairs, and stood just at his shoulder as Arthur pushed open the door. “Looks nice,” Eames commented as he followed Arthur inside.

They sat together on his sofa, almost bolt upright, hands on their knees, eyes forward, and Arthur ached at the formality of it all.

I miss you,” he whispered and closed his eyes at Eames’ sigh.

“I shouldn’t be here, Arthur,” Eames said softly in return.

Arthur swallowed back against the tears that all too suddenly crowded the back of his throat. “I can’t stand it when you look at me,” he bit out desperately. “Did you know you always used to smile when you looked at me? Even just with your eyes it was always a smile – and now you look at me like – like...”

“I’m not meant to be here,” Eames ground out, gutturally. “Why am I here?”

Arthur clenched his eyes shut yet tighter and cringed at the hot tears that worked their way free to streak down over his cheeks. “Don’t you miss me at all?”

“Arthur,” Eames voice was urgent now, “HOW DID I GET HERE?

Arthur frowned.

“You -” he started and thought back over his day as more tears rolled free.

Oh, no... No.


Arthur opened his eyes.

He sat up slowly and blinked into the darkness of his apartment.

3:58 am stated his bedside clock in unforgiving green letters. Arthur stared for a moment until his ragged, sobbing breaths alerted him to the fact he was crying again.

*GODDAMN IT.” He wrenched himself loose of his bedding to stagger to the middle of the room where he stood, furiously scrubbing his face as he looked back and forth between the betrayal of the empty couch and his duplicitous bed.

Goddamn it,” he said again, softly, fervently and, snatching up his towel and shorts, he stormed down to the pool, where he remained until his mother rose to join him in silent, focused laps before the day began anew.


Arthur closed his eyes and let his body sway with his heartbeat beneath the soothing shaft of the spotlights. The warmth coated him, thick like paint, and the heat seeped down to his bones.

“So tired,” he said softly to himself, beyond the point of filtering his thoughts before they dripped from his lips. He forced his eyes back open as Eames stormed out from backstage, and schooled his features into attentiveness once more.

“Right – now the sodding curtain’s jammed so we’ll be staying downstage, alright? Arthur, take it from the top of five, scene two. Let’s see if we can’t get this done before the whole bloody place caves in. Go.”

Arthur took a deep breath and stepped forward, his focus on Peters – his Horatio – as he began his speech on the woeful (yet just) fate of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, striving to stifle his bone-shaking fatigue along with the slick, insidious grief that had gnawed at him ever since waking.

It was a little hard to tailor his movements to the significantly reduced performance space, but after read-throughs any movement was a bonus, so Arthur worked with what he had. He tried to play the limitations as Hamlet’s sorrowful justification of his prior actions even as he took steps likely to lead him to his death.

“No! Go back, Wright. We’ve been through this already. His control is THERE but he’s still losing it; he’s as erratic as he is set on his path, so show me some bloody CONFLICT, okay?”

Eames’ full temper still lurked behind his teeth; his consonants were sharper, his vowels more rounded even as his words lashed out, diamond cut. Arthur swallowed and nodded as he began again, hands trembling at his sides.

He made it into Hamlet’s heavy but heartfelt apology with a hopeful, twisted smile pulling on muscles taut with both his and Hamlet’s own repressed sorrows, his hand held out to take Laertes’, ready to make it right between them, only to startle as Eames’ voice ripped through his focus.

“WRIGHT! Stop, stop there.” He heard Eames swear swiftly under his breath, the sound muffled as he appeared to run his hands heavily over his face, pacing furiously at the shadows edge just beyond the stage. “I said CONFLICT, not CONVICTION. Hamlet’s trying to apologize for MURDER, for chrissakes. A handshake won’t bloody cut it, but he’s trying and he MEANS what he says, but its STRAINED and RAW. He’s sorry but he’s KILLED now and it’s changed him. The audience need to SEE THAT BATTLE between who he’s trying to be and what’s BECOME of him so DROP the bloody Robot Boy routine and give me some feeling, RIGHT?”

Arthur, having already flinched mid-rant, found himself almost shattering at the use of the still-hated name, an steeled himself to summon up a curt nod, aware of how everyone had dropped their gazes about him, the room too still (but for Maurice and his cronies sniggering in the darkness) to mask Eames’ next impatient sigh.

“Look, I know we’re all trying here, but I need intense and instead you give me emotionally constipated. You see my problem, darling?”

The peanut gallery laughed louder at that and Arthur burned. It wasn’t his heavy-handed sarcasm that hurt (though, of course, it did) but... how could he?

How DARED he?

Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he nodded sharply at Eames’ outline in the darkness.

“Yes. Sir,” he clipped out and resumed his stance to begin again. If Peters winced slightly as Hamlet firmly shook his hand and apologized from the depths of his furious and broken heart, well then, that was just too bad.

The conclusion ran quite smoothly by comparison. Eames was disappointed they hadn’t the space to practice the lifts that would remove Arthur and the other bodies from the stage, but at least his snarls were directed solely at the technical crew, who were still unable to reset the controls for both curtains and backdrop lifting, despite the lava-hot lambasting they received.

Arthur had seen Ariadne’s white face amongst the rest as he’d stepped out from the light; he’d seen her intention to soothe and remove him in her eyes and shook his head minutely, his eyes hard. Frowning, she’d walked off with Helen and some of the other girls.

Arthur helped stack chairs and remove props, wincing as the tech team set the main spot to its full finale blue (dramatic, yet clear for the curtain close, Eames had stated) and ducked behind the curtain to escape it even as he looked for further tasks to busy his shaking, errant fingers. He found himself face to face – alone – with Eames.

Eames glanced up from where he’d crouched by the far wall to collect together the abandoned filters with angry sounding mutters. His brow furrowed further as he perceived Arthur in the shadow-thick, blue light.

He rose with a sigh, his posture defeated even as his face reflected weary impatience. His lip curled as Arthur strode quietly toward him, purposeful but silent as he drew near.

“Look, darling, I know I probably seem harsh right now-” Eames began, only to be cut off as Arthur grabbed him, a fist on each side of his collar, and slammed him back into the wall with a hiss, furious like he’d never quite been before.

“DON’T,” he snarled, voice rough with fury even as he watched rage swiftly flash across Eames’ face. The taller man seized each of Arthur’s wrists and squeezed, hard enough to hurt, as Arthur pressed him backward, their faces close, eye to eye, as Arthur continued, “Don’t. Do. That. You don’t GET to do that, USE that... not anymore – not when you KNOW how I...”

Arthur cut himself off with a gulp of horror and Eames’ grip slackened instantly; the ferocious steely gaze dropped away as Eames squeezed his eyes briefly shut on a tiny sound of pain. Eames’ hands fell away, broad palms resting at Arthur’s hips before he wrenched himself backward, eyes darting about wildly for witnesses only to find them absent, shadows still wreathing them in secrecy, but for the dim blue light heightening the remorse written within the stark, grey gaze.

Arthur swallowed; took another step backward, and then another, his eyes on the crumpled, wrecked material either side of Eames’ throat as the last of his wrath just melted away.

“Call me Robot Boy, Pinocchio, Useless – Whatever,” he said, quietly firm. “But not...”

He couldn’t say it and Eames dropped his gaze to where Arthur’s mouth twisted in misery, so Arthur turned away before Eames could watch it form the pleas it longed to whisper. He walked out through the curtains with a straight spine and into the slowly lessening cold of the parking lot, to where Ariadne waited with silent support and a steaming cup of coffee.


That night he dreamed of standing backstage while they called for him onstage (over and over) and the blue light shone through the gaps in the curtains where Arthur stood, face turned to Eames’ throat, wrapped in his arms – waiting for someone to lean through that gap and rip it all away.

Darling, Eames muttered desperately in his ear when Arthur trembled and clung tighter.


It seemed the dream lasted all night, those few helpless moments stretching into hours and, upon opening his eyes to the insistent chirrup of his alarm, Arthur couldn’t quite find it in himself to wake, hitting snooze one-handed as he turned his face back into the warm solidity of his pillow. He let the blue light filter back under his lashes for just a little longer.

When he finally forced himself to dispel the dream and join the real world, it was to find a significantly more stoic Eames and a glut of rumors about said teacher’s change in medication.

Arthur shrugged when asked his opinion considering Eames’ recent moods but, on careful observation, he found himself sadly hollow at the realization that Eames appeared to be employing only three careful (and horribly familiar) smiles in company – and none of them reached his eyes.

“He seems to be doing better,” Ari said with far too casual offhandedness, as though Arthur wouldn’t know precisely who she was talking about. “Less yelling, anyway.”

Arthur took a bite of his lunch and chewed long and contemplatively before he nodded slowly. “Seems to be,” he echoed and continued eating.

Robot Boy, he thought as he surreptitiously watched Eames conversing with other students and teachers and wondered idly which of the two of them Eames had really been so angry with.


That night, Arthur took to the track despite the icy driving rain, numb from maintaining a mask of casual disinterest for too long. His eyes ached from the strain of never looking at Eames beyond what was proper; his fingers cramped where they curled against his palms in an effort to not seize and drag him close once more.

Ariadne lingered in the stands, watching him, waiting to drive him home. Despite his gratitude for her unwavering support, he could have cheerfully wished her a million miles away, as the slightest movement from her drew his eyes to the stands, somehow still expecting to see Eames as he had stood before, watchful, waiting, when Arthur had obeyed the pull of his heart as it had guided him to simply walk up and stand before him.

Don’t rush yourself, darling... I can wait.

Arthur snarled to himself and focused straight ahead by only a few paces, determined to block out Ariadne and the memories both, intent on simply powering himself around the track as fast as he could. Rain lashed down over his skin as his muscles drove him yet faster. The breath burned in his lungs as he lapped himself, striving for yet more speed, then more.

He neared the end of his third lap and struggled to move faster, his stride longer than he’d ever pressed for before. His muscles screamed as they propelled him on with the last ounce of urgency he had left, intent on conquering this – it, himself – anything that might make him feel less impotent, like the broken puppet he’d sworn blind to Eames that he would never be before getting himself hopelessly, irrevocably tangled.

He ran the final curve into the last short stretch and bared his teeth, surging forward, and a FLASH of white light scorched his vision. He stumbled, toppling, his body spinning over and over against the track as his momentum carried him forward even as he tucked his head and tried to protect himself.


He heard Ariadne’s panicked cry as he came to a rest, his forehead tilted against the cold, wet of the track. He lay there, breath shuddering behind his teeth as his body throbbed and raged against its sudden halt. The rain pattered down against his skin.

Slowly he extended an arm, bracing his palm against the gritty surface, and pushed, coming up onto his knees with a groan and a quick, low bark of mirthless laughter.

“I can’t keep doing this to myself.” he whispered, eyes shut against the droplets that rolled down his face, tensing to see what parts of him hurt the most. He smiled grimly when it seemed just his kneecaps and shins actually hurt.

He eased back until he was sitting, watching as Ariadne ran a good length of the track itself from the barriers side, trying to reach the entrance (being simply too petite to simply swing herself over as both he and Eames had frequently done in the past).

Eames, his mind sighed as his body throbbed and Arthur clenched his jaw, gazing out across the track itself as a lump formed in his chest.

He really couldn’t keep doing this to himself. Everything seemed to remind him of Eames now, and until he could control that...

He sighed and smoothed a shaking hand over the slick, worn rubber and smiled sadly.

“Goodbye, old girl,” he muttered and pushed himself to his feet to inspect the already sluggishly oozing grazes on his knees and legs as Ariadne staggered up, panting.

“Oh, my god, Arthur, are you okay? Oh god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize the flash would be so much. I’m so sorry, are you hurt?” She sobbed and made to touch his wounds until he batted her away with weary but forgiving hands.

“Calm down, I’m fine – really. I was going way too fast for this weather. Anyway, it’s not your fault. Come on.” He hugged her close and patted her head awkwardly as she snuffled wetly against his chest. “Hey – I’m really okay, okay?”

She pulled back, nodding, and scrubbed beneath her eyes crossly, then glared at him as though it were his fault she cared so much.

“You’re really okay?” She sniffled suspiciously and he smiled wearily.

“I’m really okay,” he lied gently, and stooped with a smothered wince to grab his water bottle and hoodie from the side of the track while directing her back toward the exit. “I was thinking about just focusing on swimming for a while, anyway.”

He limped slightly as they walked out (gently berating her for taking yet more pointless photos of him as she defended her right as an artist to know what was art-worthy) and he resisted the urge to look back, almost convinced the figure he’d seen up high in the shadows was just the weather and his wishful thinking combined.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

He needed to look forward now.

Page 1 of 2 << [1] [2] >>

Date: 2011-11-07 08:28 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
So totally worth the wait, but however will I be able to wait another week! I am in agony, but nowhere near as good as you at describing it :) The poor boy ... I hope they don't really manage to forget each other. I guess I'm rooting for the happy ending ...

Date: 2011-11-08 01:54 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I'm glad you enjoyed it despite its delay lol I don't want to spoiler owt but I like to think people will be happy with the outcome once it comes :)

Thanks for the comment! :D

Date: 2011-11-07 08:38 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I have been waiting for this all day, and I just couldn't go to bed without reading this first, even though I'm sick and have slept four hours and I'm dead. You turned me into a fangirl, reallyt.
And, AGAIN you saved my day. I love this angsty angst, it's 'lovely' (that's not the appropriate word but whatever, seriously). How it feels so REAL. Reminds me of my youth ♥

So this was perfect; and I could only wish to read next part before next monday. Anyway, I'll be waiting for it. Thanks again.

Date: 2011-11-08 01:59 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Aww I'm sorry you're sick :(

*sends the boys with chicken soup for you* ;P

God, wouldn't that make us all better? Hot bloke delivery service, guaranteed hotness or your money back ;P

Anyway, back on tangent lol I'm so glad you're enjoying the angst, especially if its bringing on some nostalgia for you :)

Thanks for the fab comment ♥


Date: 2011-11-07 08:39 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
You keep breaking my heart with this fic, in a good way! It's the only thing that gets me through my dreadful Mondays. As a person who went through a similair expeience to Arthurs last year, this is really hitting home. I'm hoping this has a happier ending thank mine though! :)

Re: Blue

Date: 2011-11-08 02:04 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*huggles* I think we've all wanted/loved someone we've had to give up at some point, and I was hoping this would speak to that part of everyone but I'm sorry if its rubbing on raw nerves for you :(

Thanks for reading and I promise no lasting trauma :) x

Date: 2011-11-07 08:48 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Enjoyed (? not sure if that's the right word for a chapter so full of pain) the chapter, but shirked work to do it and need to get back. Will reread soon, comment again. There was a phrase I found particularly lovely, and don't remember it now, will let you know later!

Nearly died with that dream of his, poor thing. And seriously, what was Eames thinking, calling him that again?!!! He deserved getting roughed up a little.

Date: 2011-11-08 02:10 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
LOL Don't hate Eames too much ;) he's even sadder than Arthur really ;P

I'm glad you enjoyed it, and the dream :D ♥

Found it...

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Re: Found it...

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Date: 2011-11-07 08:55 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] isabela diverde sharrer (from
Just so, so, so, so awesome! I love it I love it I love it. The FEELINGS. Just so many FEELINGS. Followed by, not so much feelings. It's perfect...

Date: 2011-11-08 02:19 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*BEAMS* Thankyou so much - I'm so pleased you're enjoying it! :D

Date: 2011-11-07 09:10 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I'm want to wrap Arthur up in lots of warm blankets. Oh baby ;____;

Date: 2011-11-08 02:21 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Tell you what, you can wrap him up in EAMES til next week, k? I'll just wipe their memories ;D

lol hmm that might actually be MORE cruel ;P

Thanks for commenting! :D

Date: 2011-11-07 09:13 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
THAT DREAM. Were they actually in the dream together?! /crazy theories ;D The angst hurts so good :(

Date: 2011-11-08 02:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
ROFL well its an AU but... WHY NOT? ;P

We'll put Eames' bad mood down to the same dream shall we? ;D

Glad you're sort of enjoying it anyways :D

Date: 2011-11-07 09:31 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

Bad Eames! Poor Arthur.. I weep at his angst and how wonderful this story is. Would it be over the top to say you are one of my favourite people atm? :P

Ugh, heartbreaking (yet lovely). And as always, hanging out for next week! :D

(Sorry, deleted/edited for grammar -.-)

Date: 2011-11-08 02:26 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
LOL now here I thought I'd get LYNCHED for the extra angst??? lol Danke! *huggles*

...but... not BAD Eames... *pets him* pooor BROKEN Eames ;) lol poor sad but STRONG Arthur ;D

Date: 2011-11-07 09:46 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
this chapter was quite beautifully written - I actually remember cutting my curly hair very short while recovering from a broken heart! you know, I look forward to Mondays now because of this story... (and I created an LJ account just so I could tell you that) I'm really enjoying your writing.

Date: 2011-11-08 02:29 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I think its something quite irresistable in times of upheaval - to change YOURSELF because that much you can control, y'know?

Thankyou so much for both the compliment of looking forward to the DREADED monday lol *HATES* and for actually joining LJ to tell me so :D its the right move tho, LJ ROCKS.... when its not doublespacing my fics anyway ;P

Thanks again! :D

Date: 2011-11-07 09:46 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
My thoughts are just a mass of gibberish, right now. The PAIN, and ANGST and Arthur, poor poor boy!
And Eames! He's obviously hurting too, and probably not coping quite as well - he's the one with his head on the block!
Even though it hurts, I swear I want this to never end, is such a great read!
Hope RL sorts itself out for you soon/immediately! And seriously, seriously, fic is great and all, but you deal with life-stuff first! We are big girls and boys, we know patience! XD

Date: 2011-11-09 12:05 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
LOL its nice to see you taking Eames' side ;) he's been a bit bashed about too blessim, lol and I think I tend to write from the POV of Arthur because its Eames I'M falling for lol so I'm so happy to see he's being felt for too ;D

And thankyou so much for myself, twas nowt more than dumbassed work angst but its lovely of you to be supportive :) thankee

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Date: 2011-11-07 10:08 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
You angsted us *good*, lady. Wow. Still loving this :)

Date: 2011-11-09 02:33 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*BEAMS* Thankyou so much, I'm so glad you're still enjoying despite said angst!!! XD

Date: 2011-11-07 10:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
My poor babies! My heart just ACHES for them.

Date: 2011-11-09 02:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*pets you AND them*

Don't worry - I promise milk & cookies & boysex for all traumatised by this story ;)

Thanks for the fab comment! :D

Date: 2011-11-07 10:42 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Teh angsts, teh angsts...and they are both hurting so badly. You have a wonderful way of describing the pain that comes with forbidden desire, and Arthur's misunderstandings just keep piling up. This just seems so REAL. You make my Monday's worthwhile. Can't wait for next week!

Date: 2011-11-09 02:36 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
LOL Its always nice to hear its making Mondays slightly less SUCKY ;) I've a hatred of them myself :P

I'm so glad you're still enjoying and thankyou so, SO much for your lovely reply :D

Date: 2011-11-07 11:18 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Awesome angst! (don't see that often)... next Monday is so far away :o(

Date: 2011-11-09 02:38 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*is too busy AWWWWWWWing over your icon briefly to respond* ;P

*ahem* Sorry.. ;D I'm so glad you're enjoying it despite the meanie mean-ness of it all and I hope you continue to do! :D

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Date: 2011-11-07 11:44 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Frowny face of doom.

Frowny face of doom!
Oh god. I love your Ariadne. She definitely deserves to get her Yusuf.

You are killing me! :'( But it'll be okay because it HAS to be!
Jesus, you beautiful, beautiful person.

Date: 2011-11-09 11:22 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
LOL wow - that was certainly not praise I was expecting LOL!!!!

I'm so glad you like it - Ari especially :P - and I LOVE the optimism, I can't do spoilers but optimism is ALWAYS the way! :D Thankee!

Date: 2011-11-08 12:03 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Oh god. So painful. :-( Also, fantastic! I was waiting for you to post this chapter today and am very happy you managed to post it in between horrible work hours!!!
I am not sure I can re-read it right now though. Poor them, dammit. You describe Arthur's pain so well, I so felt with him. How will it be a whole week till the next chapter is posted?! Arg.
Thank you for sharing this awesome story with us!! ♥

Date: 2011-11-10 04:40 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
:D Thankyou so much - I'm so glad you enjoyed it despite the crazy angsting lol if it makes it any better at all I think I must be past the halfway point by now :D

Thanks for the lovely comment! ♥

Date: 2011-11-08 01:15 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you so much for spending your brief time off posting this! I was so happy to see it earlier, although had no time to comment til now. So sad... and rather deliciously angsty, horrible though that is to say as they are both so upset... Will it end happily? Is there happiness on the (perhaps distant) horizon?

Date: 2011-11-10 04:44 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Really, it was fine lol - just my head on backwards between shifts lol, it was only that I'd had about 7 messages saying OMG WHERE IS IT lol otherwise I would never have whined so much ;)

I'm so pleased everyones been able to enjoy it past the angst content, I was a lil worried I'd get lynched this week ;) but everyones been so nice and your comment was no exception :D

Thankyou so much, I'm so, SO pleased you're enjoying it and, though I'd rather not delve into spoilerville, I will say I bloody LOATHE angst lol ;)

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From: [identity profile] - Date: 2011-11-10 05:41 pm (UTC) - Expand

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From: [identity profile] - Date: 2011-11-12 05:12 pm (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2011-11-08 01:26 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I hope life calms down for you, bb!

OMG! This...was definitely worth the way. Poor, poor guys. *sigh* I have hopes that soon-ish, they'll pull it together. *sighs sadly and cuddles them more*
I love you and I love this SO much! Feelings. SO MANY FEELINGS!

Date: 2011-11-10 05:51 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
lol Yes there are MANY FEELINGS lol but I do hope there will be others beyond simply ANGGGGGGGGST soon ;)

Thanks so much for reading and for your lovely comment :D

Date: 2011-11-08 02:08 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
me heart is breakiiiinnngggg ;_;

Date: 2011-11-10 06:20 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Don't worry *huggles* honestly I aim to never break stuff I can't fix! ;D

Date: 2011-11-08 02:18 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you for getting this out to us even when life's being awful. But please don't beat yourself up! Fic this good can keep if there's need.

That said, can it be next monday now? :D

You write heartache so well, not just Arthur's but Eames.. oh man. Eames. God it's just perfect and heart wrenching and wonderful.

Date: 2011-11-10 06:59 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*SQUIDGE* Thankyou so much m'sweet - I'm so glad you're still enjoying it despite the angst! And Yes *sigh* Eames. *pines* ;P

Thanks again! :D

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From: [identity profile] - Date: 2011-11-10 10:01 pm (UTC) - Expand

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From: [identity profile] - Date: 2011-11-11 12:26 pm (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2011-11-08 02:30 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Seriously--this fic ENTHRALLS me.
I love how they're both suffering, it's so realistic. Again, I love how this isn't the usual Arthur is an underage student fic. This has fantastic qualities to it.

Date: 2011-11-10 07:03 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Enthralls... thats a WONDERFUL compliment, thank you so much!!!

I'm glad you're enjoying it, particularly because of the dynamics of Arthur - I didn't want there to be a power issue, or the idea that he might be being taken advantage of etc because canon Arthur is SO SIGNIFICANTLY BADASS lol as is Eames, so my Arthur needed to be just a bit more worldly than his age would suggest but it did feel a bit SHOEHORNY with the self sufficiency from time to time lol so I'm DELIGHTED you enjoyed it! :D

Thankyou again, SO MUCH :)

Date: 2011-11-08 03:23 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] snagglepuss78 (from
you are ripping my heart out and stomping it into hamburger...god, this is exquisite torture

Date: 2011-11-10 07:04 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Umm.... sorry? LOL

I'm glad you 'seem' to be enjoying it but I'm really sorry about the hamburger part ;P

Thanks for the comment! :D

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From: [identity profile] snagglepuss78 - Date: 2011-11-11 03:34 am (UTC) - Expand

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From: [identity profile] - Date: 2011-11-11 12:25 pm (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2011-11-08 03:26 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
THIS IS KILLING ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!! hahaha

I pine for these updates....i can't convince you to update nest weeks earlier can i?? :P lol

Date: 2011-11-10 07:06 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
LOL I'm sorry, I can't be convinced.... course, if you send TH to convince me then you can have the WHOLE THING... and my lungs, kidneys, first born etc etc ;P

Sorry about the death & pining but happy that you're still looking forward to more ;) Thanks for the comment! :D

Date: 2011-11-08 04:28 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Break my fucking heart, why don't you??? (I only mean this in the best, kindest way possible.)

JFC, I'm really not sure how much more of this angst I can take; I'm still going to be stalking these posts though. This is just too good to walk away from.

Date: 2011-11-10 07:12 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
LOL if it makes it any better at all, I promise I broke mine over this long before I broke theirs and yours ;)

I hope you'll find the next part less crushing, thats not to say there's no angst lol but hopefully its not as UBER :P

Thanks for the fab comment! :D

Date: 2011-11-08 04:29 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
This is just so painfully beautiful.


Date: 2011-11-10 07:15 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*BEAMS* Thankyou so much - I'm so glad you're enjoying it! :D
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