Like Silent Raindrops Fell
Author:
chaostheorem Prompt: Silence
Word Count: 1,265
Rating: R
Warnings: Major character death, mild language, brief sex, unhappy ending
Summary: Eames used to think that being quiet was a weakness. Arthur changed that.
Notes: Title taken from Simon and Garfunkel's "The Sound of Silence"
Originally posted here at the
ae_match Arthur was a quiet person. It was one of the things Eames loved most about him. In the world of dream sharing, being quiet was a weakness that usually meant the person would wind up dead with a teammate's knife in his back, more often literally than figuratively. Not so with Arthur.
**
The first time they met, Arthur greeted Eames with a softly spoken "Nice to meet you, Mr. Eames," and responded to his "The pleasure is all mine, Arthur" with a barely there smile. Eames gave Arthur two years in the business before he went missing, his body either destroyed or stashed somewhere never to be found. Eames felt two years was a generous guess, but there was some indefinable quality about Arthur that wouldn't allow for anything less.
**
The next time Eames worked with Arthur, there was an incident with the chemist. She had apparently decided that the price on his head (a measly $50,000; Eames was offended) was too good to pass up. Arthur, using his quietly devious ways, had discovered the double cross. Eames had gone under for a test run with a live chemist; he woke up with no chemist. As they dumped the body, Arthur never said a word. Eames bumped his prediction up to five years.
**
Arthur was as quiet in his personal life as he was in his professional. When they fell into bed with one another after their fourth job, Arthur didn't make any noise except for tiny gasps of pleasure as Eames thrust into him.
"You're so quiet, darling," Eames panted into Arthur's neck. "Let me hear you."
Arthur obliged and moaned like a whore - loud, over-the-top, and absolutely fake. Eames stilled completely and raised his head to look Arthur in the eyes. Arthur smirked but said nothing, raising his eyebrows questioningly. A grin spread across Eames's face slowly as he started to chuckle.
"How about we make a deal?" Eames suggested, rocking his hips minutely. "You let out all the noises you like, but only if you actually mean them." He picked the pace as soon as he finished speaking.
"Perfect," Arthur breathed. Eames wasn't sure if Arthur was responding to the question or to his renewed movements. With the way Arthur's breath kept catching, he figured it was a bit of both.
After that, Eames came to appreciate Arthur's quietness in a whole new manner.
**
By the time they worked the Fischer job, Eames decided that Arthur may very well be one of the lucky few of their profession to make it out alive - if a life of questioning reality and running from past enemies could be considered lucky. He also decided that being fuck buddies wasn't enough for him anymore.
To Arthur's credit, when he opened the door to his Seattle apartment to find Eames standing there, holding a suitcase and muttering things about life being too short and seizing opportunities before they passed, he merely stepped aside to let Eames in.
**
Once they started living together, Eames got to see a different side of Arthur. He was naturally quiet, but he made himself heard in his own way.
Eames was sitting in the living room watching a train wreck of a program that he just couldn't turn away from when he heard Arthur, working on his laptop, mutter a few swear words and then stand up and head into the kitchen.
There were a few seconds when Eames was torn between watching the show or watching Arthur, but Arthur won out. Arthur would always win.
Standing up and making his way to the kitchen, Eames stopped and stared when he saw Arthur pulling the dishes out of the dishwasher and setting them on the counter none too gently.
"Those are dirty," Eames said.
"I know," Arthur said. "That's why I'm washing them." His voice was slightly muffled, as if his jaw was clenched. Eames leaned forward and looked. It was.
Eames didn't say anything else. He just stood there and watched Arthur clean their dishes as if their very lives depended on it. He didn't think anyone had ever used so much elbow grease while washing dishes.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Eames asked after all the dishes were cleaned and put away.
"There's not really anything to talk about," Arthur said. "Just that for such a cutthroat business, we sure work with a lot of incompetent fuckers."
Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur and pulled him close. He lowered his head and nosed at Arthur's neck, laying gentle kisses as he worked his way up to his mouth. "That we do," he whispered against Arthur's lips.
**
There were a lot of things Eames liked to tease Arthur about. He teased him for his vast collection of sweater vests, his endless supply of ties, his love of historical fiction, his obsession with old movies, and how he talked nonstop whenever he was severely sleep deprived. What Eames loved to tease Arthur about most, though, was his alarm.
He thought Arthur would have a loud, harsh alarm, one that no one could ever sleep through. Instead, Arthur had a gentle chime set to the lowest volume. When Eames teased him that it sounded like angels playing music in a field of daisies, Arthur just explained that he hated waking up to loud noises, and that was that.
**
When Eames came home from a two-week job in San Francisco and Arthur wasn't there to greet him, he didn't think anything of it. He was probably out grabbing dinner or camped out in a bookstore or some such thing.
Dragging his suitcase behind him, he made his way to the bedroom to unpack. Stepping inside, he froze for a split second before rushing to Arthur, lying on the floor in a puddle of blood. Next to him was the body of a man with a knife sticking out of his chest.
Eames took in the two stab wounds in Arthur's abdomen and the one to his chest. "Jesus Christ, Arthur," Eames breathed. "We have to get you to hospital!" he cried. Arthur merely smiled drowsily.
"Eames," Arthur whispered.
"Arthur. Arthur. Arthur." Eames knew he was babbling inanely, but he couldn't stop himself. "Arthur," he said once again before falling silent. His hands hovered over Arthur without touching before finally settling one against Arthur's cheek.
"Eames," Arthur whispered again. He drew in a deep breath, making Eames flinch at the rattle in his lungs. "I'm glad you're here." Another breath, another rattle. "I love you." A tiny bit of blood began to pool in the corner of his mouth.
"Love you," Eames said. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Arthur's forehead. "I will always love you."
Arthur smiled, his breath coming in quiet gulps. Seconds later, Eames heard Arthur stop gasping for air and felt his body go lax.
**
Weeks later, after the funeral and the condolences and the tears, Eames finally understood why Arthur had lasted so long in dream sharing when he was so quiet. Eames had never appreciated the difference between quietness and silence, and Arthur, while quiet, had never been silent. He may not have expressed himself with loud gestures or a raised voice, but he damn well made sure he was heard.
And that's what hurt the most about Arthur being gone. Because Arthur was silent now, and Arthur was never silent, and no matter how hard he tried, Eames couldn't escape just how wrong his life was without Arthur because the silence was everywhere.