Somewhat Clear

Title: Royalty
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: (pre) Arthur/Eames
Rating: SAFE
Warning: drinking
Wordcount: 721
Note: Partecipa alla maritombola di maridichallenge per il prompt #42: immagine 42 e alla missione "Something Blue" della terza settimana del COW-T 5.
Summary: Arthur couldn't remember when it had been the last time he allowed himself to get drunk. When it had been the last time that it had been safe to.

-
"What's the last dream you remember?" Eames asked, blinding reaching out with his arm and flicking the cigarette over the ashtray sitting on the coffee table.

"Do you mean, without PASIV?" Arthur inquired, smoke slowing coming out from his mouth.

"Of course. It's our job remembering our dreams, if I thought you didn't remember yours I would have kicked you out of the team ages ago, darling," he answered. He took a drag from his cigarette. Arthur could hear the teasing smile in his voice.

"How dare you," Arthur deadpanned, reaching for the ashtray himself. "As if it was your team."

"I am the best forger in the field, and since Cobb's decided to retire, I am the one doing the extractions. So it's my team," Eames countered.

"And I run point and redecorate. Where are you getting at? Without me, the dream wouldn't even exists."

"Of course. You do your job, and I do mine. That's why it's called a team, Arthur. Since when you became so petty? Oh wait," Eames laughed. "Isn't it your second name or something? Arthur Petty Lionheart?"

"My surname isn't Lionheart, asshat," Arthur observed, killing the butt of his cigarette in the ashes. "And I'll have you know that my middle name is Percival."

Eames laughed at that, harsh and loud. "You and the fucking arthurian cycle, Arthur," he said, still laughing.

Arthur knew that he was smiling- he couldn't really stop smiling around Eames when he was that buzzed.

"You're welcome," he said, shoving the ashtray back closer to Eames' hand.

"Oh, shut up," Eames retorted, kicking him with a laugh. "You know why I asked? Because before the whole dreamscape thing I couldn't remember a fuck of my dreams. Not one bloody detail. There was a door, maybe? And like, stairs? It's really vague, that's embarrassing-"

Arthur couldn't remember when it had been the last time he allowed himself to get drunk. When it had been the last time that it had been safe to. Maybe with Dom and Mal, in their tiny hole of an apartment, before they moved in the other house. Before they got married. Before they had the children. Before-

He shuddered, and focused on Eames' voice. It was surprisingly relaxing, laying there, sprawled on half of Eames' ratty couch, watching the smoke twirling in the air, listening to the forger chatter on, even if he was only half-paying attention.

"…and then I woke up, don't remember much else," Eames said, clearly getting to the conclusion. "And then I met Dedalus, and he took me under, and life changing experience, all that. Isn't it weird?"

"I guess."

"You're such a killjoy. You weren't even listening, were you?"

"Mmh mmh."

"That's not an answer, darling," Eames whined, kicking him again, invading Arthur's space with his socked feet. "Tell me about the dreams you remember."

"I was in the woods," Arthur said, surprising himself. The dream became suddenly clear in his mind. "I was in my car, and I drove in the woods. It was dark, really difficult to see. I had no idea where the fuck I was.

"I knew it was a dream, though. I could tell since I was little, that's why they took me for the project. Anyway, I couldn't wake up, and I was freaking out, until-"

Arthur remembered the warmth of the sun on his face, the gentle green that filtered through the foliage, the cool breeze on his ankles, dangling outside the window he had rolled down to let in some air. The feeling of quiet and peace was very similar to how he was feeling now. That's why he had remembered the dream.

"Arthur?" Eames prompted him, gently.

"I woke up. I was actually in those woods, you know? Just, it was day, and I knew where I was. And I had never felt so rested," Arthur whispered.

"That's good," Eames slurred, sitting up a little and reaching for the shitty whiskey they had been drinking that night. He topped off both glasses with a flourish, ignoring the melting ice that was watering the liquor down, and passed a glass to Arthur.

"Yeah," Arthur murmured, accepting it.

That day in the woods had been the first day of his new life. His first day as Arthur.

But Eames didn't need to know that.