Valerie knows Arthur (takespoint) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-09-04 22:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | arthur, eames |
Who: Cory and Joseph, with a very brief appearance by sad!Arthur
What: Fried food. Chats.
Where: The Deli of Despair
When: Recently, after this.
Warnings/Rating: Not even a cuss.
Joseph was getting a bad feeling about everything. He'd been unsure whether or not to contact Arthur, though he'd promised the voice in his head that he would. But he had a lot to risk. As a cop, he couldn't be thought insane, or involved in anything under the table, or in deals with any crooks. He wasn't that kind of man. He didn't want that kind of trouble. He wasn't sure about the people this Eames guy interacted with. He didn't go to many movies, but he'd heard about this one, and he was willing to let that particular brand of crime go, since it didn't actually exist, but that didn't mean that everyone in that dream crime circle had Las Vegas people who were clean. Eames was tight lipped about it, and Joseph knew that quiet meant he had something to hide. He'd arrested enough people in his life that he knew all the tells and all the signs, even if he wasn't a detective and never got the perps in a room with one-way glass.
At least Joseph knew Cory was clean. He remembered the name from Evan's first DUI homicide, and he'd looked the kid up. He didn't think Cory had it in him to be some master criminal either, not after watching him crossing the street a few days earlier, so meeting didn't seem so dangerous. As for telling Arthur that Eames was in his head, he wasn't in any hurry. Again, not until he knew these people and what they were up to. They were all paranoid and half crazy, and he had a bad feeling.
That bad feeling didn't keep Joseph from showing up at the deli, though. Quarter to 9, and he was in his blues, his gun at his hip and the silver name bar on his shirt declaring him as "Sullivan." He ordered a black from Mike, whom he knew better than he knew most people, and he slid into a red-plastic booth to wait.
Joseph’s journal entry had caused a small-scale world war. Arthur was furious, and yet oddly flattered, that Ariadne had interfered with his affairs, but that had been rapidly overtaken with extreme anxiety to the tune of I knew this would happen. Cory, on the other hand, had gone completely off the rails when he’d heard what Evan had done (to absolutely no one’s surprise). What followed proved that even Arthur could be surprised, because rather than turning to total black hatred, Cory had slid back into absolute certainty that he could have somehow saved Evan from himself, and therefore his victims too. That made absolutely no sense to Arthur, and what Arthur saw as delusion only mired Cory into depression.
Cory had not been interested in Arthur’s plans to get into contact with Evan, by legal and illegal means. He had not been interested in anything, leaving everything to Arthur, including eating, sleeping, and thinking. Arthur had not been prepared when Joseph’s mere mention of Evan’s status had caused Cory to come back in force, and in Arthur’s sudden panic only seemed to make his grip on control more tenuous. Cory wanted to know about Evan, and Arthur wanted to know about Eames. The struggle for control had been ugly. Cory showed stubbornness and strength he should not have had, and ultimately, Arthur was not able to dismiss his fears long enough to take over a body that technically wasn’t his.
So it was Cory that hesitated outside the deli, Cory who had got dressed that morning in his horribly tacky “COME TO THE DARK SIDE WE HAVE COOKIES” t-shirt, and Cory who had not bothered to comb his hair. He looked at all the badges with concern, but not necessarily distrust, and he had none of Arthur’s planning or cool. He just showed up, chewing on the inside of his cheek and staring at everyone that moved, trying to decide who looked like a Joseph.
Joseph didn't need to wonder what the kid he was meeting looked like, and he caught sight of Cory and his loud shirt within seconds of the kid walking through the door. Kid didn't look much older than he had when Joseph pulled him out of the car, and Joseph could still see him covered in blood. He didn't know Arthur could control the kid - didn't know that could even happen - so he got just what he expected. A dorky kid in a dorky shirt. He raised his arm, motioned with two fingers to get Cory's attention, and then settled back to wait. Kids made him feel old these days.
The waitress was stopped a few seconds before Cory reached the table, and Joseph motioned to the kid. "A pop or whatever he wants," he told her, and she gave Joseph the kind of smile waitresses always gave cops, something warmer than what customers got. He watched her walk up to Cory for a second, and then he did a visual sweep of the perimeter, before taking another gulp of his black coffee. Seaworn fingers, ones that bore the criss-cross patterns of salty netting rubbing them raw, set the cup back down, and then he looked up at Cory with a reserved smile and silver glinting at his temples. "Hey. Sit?"
Cory looked around at the deli. "Coke." There wasn't just the one cop, there were several, with the deli being this close to the precinct, but they were scattered around, eating pastrami, and paying absolutely no attention to him whatsoever. Cory wasn't a naturally guilty person, but he came from several years of hanging around with underage drunks and druggies, so he looked around one final time and then wandered over to the cop sitting by himself. He sat down and inspected "Sullivan" from underneath a sullen set of brows. To his credit, he was not afraid. "You're Joseph?" he asked. It came out something like a challenge, something defensive. Sitting, his shoulders were slightly rounded, his eyes faintly hollow. There were lines at the creases and something around his mouth to suggest his real age, but it was all empty hints and vague allusions. "M'Cory." The glassy brown eyes slid down Joseph's chest to look at his name and his badge, and then back up to his face.
Cory wasn't sure what to think about what the guy said about pulling two kids out of a car. It wasn't like Evan had hit that many people, and Cory was suspicious, but he couldn't quite fathom the idea someone would make that kind of thing up, not like Arthur could. That night was a blur of surprise and confusion and pain. He remembered no faces except Becky's. Another long look, searching, trying to remember this one. These thoughts were baldly clear on his face, the mixture of tight bitterness and youthful confusion touched with glimmers of hope. "When'd you see Evan?"
Joseph didn't say anything at all while Cory looked him over. He just let the boy look as much as he wanted. Looking had never bothered Joseph. Neither had quiet. Spend enough time out on the water, and you learn to be alone with your thoughts. So he waited for that question - You're Joseph? - and he inclined his head in something that came up just short of being a nod. He didn't stare long at those creases around Cory's mouth, because he knew the kid wasn't actually a kid. He hadn't been a kid when Joseph pulled him out of that car all those years ago either. Something wasn't right there, but Joseph was the last person who would go shrinking anybody. "Know," was his honest response about knowing who Cory was. "Remember you." He didn't clarify, and he didn't know if he needed to. The girl who had died, her sister had found him. He figured Cory would recognize the name too.
Joseph took another long swallow of the bitter-hot coffee. "Saw him last week. Before they moved him to state."
In person, it was a lot easier to understand what the guy was saying after the pronouns dropped, and Cory had no trouble realizing that know was about him. It only confirmed his understanding of the situation, and made him faintly nervous. Cory had done nothing to follow up on the accident. He didn’t want to know the EMTs, didn’t want to thank the doctors. They hadn’t done enough. Cory didn’t feel gratitude, and while he wasn’t really angry enough to say it, he was worried that somehow Joseph would resent the lack. It was a peculiar anxiety, and like he felt all things, Arthur felt it keenly.
Cory’s mouth drew deeply to one side in a worried frown. He didn’t like the idea of Evan in prison. In Cory’s mind Evan was fragile, lost, haunted by things that other people didn’t understand. In prison they would just make it worse, and maybe hurt him, and Cory didn’t like that. “With Eames?” he prompted. Arthur would not help Evan unless it helped Eames.
Joseph didn't resent anything. He hadn't pulled them from the car for recognition, and he didn't want anything. He didn't like attention. It made him uncomfortable. It was enough that Cory knew, because then maybe Cory would talk to him. It was an in, not something he expected gratitude for. He didn't think this kid had much gratitude to give. "No," he replied to the question about Eames, and he watched Cory carefully for a reaction. "Not since the accident." He wasn't lying about that. He wasn't planning on lying at all, if he could help it. Never did any good. "Was there through the accident, but not since." He hoped that made it better, Cory knowing Eames wouldn't be stuck in jail for years. He didn't think Cory cared about Evan, not for a second. He'd seen too many cases like Cory's. They hated the person driving the car, and it was simple as that.
Cory’s expression fell. He was the picture of real disappointment, as clear as every other expression on his face. “He’s not going to help Evan if Eames is gone,” Cory said, clearly, putting a hand on the table and poking at the salt shaker within reach, eyes lowered. Wistful, but not blackly disappointed, Cory shook a lock of hair out of his eyes, then tipped a few grains of salt onto the table with the utmost concentration and absolutely no real reason. It was obvious that this did not make it better. “Was Eames hurt or something in the accident? Arthur is super upset and, you know. Trying to make me do stuff.” Cory poked at the salt again. It was obvious that Arthur wasn’t having any success in doing any such thing. Cory didn’t even look like he was struggling.
Joseph listened, and he watched the motions with the salt without any real concern or confusion clouding his features. People did things to make themselves feel better. They didn't need to make sense. "What makes you think Evan wants to be helped?" he asked, finally, after Cory had spoken. "Evan's done. Man's fine where he is. Can't live his life for him. Can't change someone who doesn't want to change," he said, but there wasn't any attempt to convince in his tone. He could have been saying it was sunny, and it would have sounded the same. "Eames wasn't hurt. Just not there anymore. What's Arthur trying to make you do?" he asked, and there was some interest there. Joseph had no idea that was possible, and his expression said he didn't like it much.
Cory wasn’t hurt by Joseph’s opinion on Evan. He looked up at the man and there was every evidence that he listened. As a teenager he would have ignored him, or not listened at all, but this Cory took everything in and let it pass by him, sort of like he was floating in some vast, warm ocean, and everyone else was sailing by. “Evan needs someone to help him want to change,” was all he said, with the obvious expectation that someone as old and tough as Joseph would not understand. Cory slid his finger through the salt grains, pressing them down then sprinkling them atop each other to make a tiny mountain on the table top. This process was interrupted when the waitress came to drop off the drinks. Cory pulled back away from his progress. “Don’t know, exactly. Let him be in charge. Why, you want to talk to him, instead?” It wouldn’t have surprised him. Cory didn’t think there was anything more this man could tell him about Evan, and that disappointment just sunk down into the rest of the everyday kind of sadness that floated on the surface of his ocean.
"Evan's who he is," was Joseph's contribution. Joseph wasn't the kind of man that thought people needed other people to make them change. People didn't change, not without something huge happening. Evan had his huge thing happening. Didn't change. Wasn't going to. Maybe it was the cop in him, but Joseph wrote that man in prison off, and he was just glad no one had died the second time around. "Man committed a crime. He got a second chance, got off easy. Could have done something with his life. He didn't. He did it again. Owes that time back." Simple. Cop mentality, but simple. As for wanting to talk to Arthur, that was still too fantastical for him to really believe, much less ask for. "Can't tell him anything else about Evan," he said, which was true, though he knew that wasn't what Arthur cared about.
Cory used his straw to stab at the ice that choked his soda. “You obviously have no idea who the guy is. He was working on ways to get Eames out of prison, and he probably would have pulled it off, too.” The waitress asked if they wanted to order anything, and Cory looked at Joseph for permission. No job meant no money unless he ate something at home, and his parents were trying to instill in him some kind of responsibility by withholding any monetary assistance whatsoever. (It didn’t work. Cory didn’t have hobbies that cost money, no friends to entice him out of the house, and no needs except for the psychological weights that his parents were aware of and yet helpless to remedy.)
Joseph nodded about the food, and he didn't squirm or react when Cory mentioned Arthur breaking someone out of prison that wasn't even in prison. "Eames isn't in prison. Doesn't need to be broken out." He tugged at the nameplate on his uniform a second later, emphasizing it. "Can't tell me things like that," he cautioned Cory. Joseph didn't care who he had in his head, he wasn't going to turn a blind eye to Vegas crimes. Evan Hampton deserved to be in jail. Self destructive. He'd kill someone else eventually if he was out right now. That was all Joseph needed to know. Man was in the right place. "Don't care what happens in your doors, but it needs to stay there, not here." He tapped two fingers on the table for emphasis, which was the most impassioned he'd gotten about anything so far in the conversation.
Cory brightened slightly at the tentative permission to order and then immediately told the waitress he wanted a Monte Cristo sandwich with extra jelly and onion rings instead of french fries. When she was gone, he showed no evidence of returning his attention to the salt. He entered the conversation with a perceptible increase in vigor. “Things like...” Cory trailed off, then looked at the badge with surprise, and then back at Joseph’s face. It appeared he was serious. Cory smiled kindly, with clear and completely earnest sympathy. Cory was a naturally kind person, and the expression suited him. “Yours must not be that strong, huh? Or they haven’t tried to make you do anything? It’s not that clean-cut for most of us.” He put his head down and slurped soda through his straw like a hummingbird at a flower.
"Not yet," Joseph said easily. "New to it. Might take time to ramp up. Hope not," he added honestly. The idea of being puppeted didn't appeal to him at all, and he wasn't any kind of dreamer. Didn't want to live another life in a fictional place. "Don't intend to let anyone make me do anything. Don't intend to tell people about it," he added, though he sounded a little unsure of it now. Cory was just a kid. No. Cory was an adult man who acted like a kid. Maybe it was just easy to control him. He grinned at the waitress, who took this as an indication that she should bring more coffee when she set down Cory's food. "Not clean-cut at all. Not supposed to have people in our heads."
Cory stared at the grin with real surprise. He hadn’t known the big, serious gray man was capable of a grin like that. He looked again at the waitress as she turned the corner into the kitchen. She hadn’t looked all that great to him; but it was the first time Cory had taken a second glance at a woman in a very long time, reasons aside. “I guess not. But we do. You get used to it or you go crazy.” He stirred his soda, slurped a few more times, and then gazed into the middle distance. “Maybe yours just doesn’t want anything that bad. Sometimes it’s nice not to be you and to let them do... you know, whatever. Maybe they feel the same way.” He pushed at his hair thoughtfully.
"Not interested in going crazy," Joseph said, and he wondered if he even could. He'd never been prone to hysterics, never been the kind of man to wear emotion on his shoulder. He was steady, and he was sturdy, and he weathered life's unpleasantness with unruffled acceptance. "Not sure I can," he added with a smaller grin, but still a grin. He fell into silence then, thinking over Cory's words about what his wanted. He would have been reassured to know Eames left Evan alone at first, because being left alone was something Joseph approved of. He was willing to work out time to go to the hotel, but he wasn't planning on sharing his life with someone who wasn't there. "Not interested in letting someone do whatever while they're me."
Cory blinked at the grin version 2, and his own smile brightened a little automatically to match it. “That would make you the first person I’ve met, then. Congrats.” An anxious look at the kitchen, thinking of those onion rings. Cory’s mom didn’t make onion rings; his dad was on a low-cholesterol diet. “It’s not real fun,” Cory nodded in agreement. “Arthur does all kinds of stuff.” Cory opened his mouth to talk about the things Arthur had done, like rent locations, break into hospitals, and even buy at least one gun, but then he looked at the badge again and shut his mouth with an audible click of teeth. Sheepish smile. “At first he was just taking over when I was sleeping, but I kind of lost it, so then I wouldn’t let him through, and we went back and forth like that for a few months. Then he was helping me with Evan, so we kind of got along for a little while, but I think that’s over now.”
The waitress brought the fresh coffee, and she set the fried sandwich and onion rings down a second later. Joseph just gave all the fried food a cursory look. Not like he ate better most days. He didn't have a wife at home who cooked for him, and he worked as many shifts as he could get. Him and Salt The Dog usually ate takeout, and that takeout usually came from a deli or corner stand. No fine dining for him. He went from looking at the food to looking at Cory's face when he said Arthur did "stuff," which he took to mean illegal things. That worried him. Eames wasn't dragging him into anything illegal. Eames, surprisingly, was absolutely silent during this conversation. "What happens now if you don't get along?" Joseph asked of Arthur.
“We fight. He tries to take over or talk me into letting him through the door and I basically won’t. Sometimes he wins and sometimes I win.” Cory took the bottle of ketchup and upended it over his onion rings. Nothing came out. He shook it. Nothing. “If I’m really mad sometimes I do better. If he’s messed up about something, that helps too. If I don’t really care he just goes, or...” He shook the bottle again, stared into it. It was full, but he still couldn’t get anything to come out. “...Well, he usually wins.” Cory shrugged one shoulder.
Joseph took the ketchup without asking, and he dug his knife into the open bottle until it gave, and then he handed it back to Cory, tipped on its side so nothing would spill. Did it all without missing a beat. "Sounds like hell," he said truthfully, and none of this was making him feel better about Arthur, or about sharing space in his mind with someone associated with Arthur. "Does he get weaker? If you don't go?" Go to the hotel, that was. Maybe that was the key, and Joseph was starting to think the hotel wasn't someplace he'd be visiting anytime soon. Cory made this sound like a mental ambush. He didn't get fighty about many things, but mental ambush wasn't ok.
Cory watched the maneuver with the knife raptly. Really slick. “Thanks. I don’t know why they all aren’t in squeezey bottles these days.” He dumped the ketchup over his onion rings enthusiastically, continuing his story where he left off without trouble. “No. It only gets worse ‘cuz he gets more desperate. Arthur’s used to being in control, planning stuff.” Cory set the bottle upright next to his plate. “And he gets stupid about missing Eames and he starts moping around and stuff in the dreams so I’ll feel sorry for him.” It sounded like the latter tactic worked a lot better than the fighting did. Cory sounded less angry and more fond when he spoke of it, at least until he shoved an onion ring into his mouth.
"Like him?" Joseph asked, admittedly surprised. Couldn't imagine it. Being fond of someone who didn't exist, but Cory definitely sounded fond. He made a thoughtful sound, answering his own question with the noise. He almost wanted to leave, just so he could coax Eames out of hiding to ask him questions, but he didn't. Eames, so far, had only spoken once or twice. He answered Joseph's questions directly. Joseph just didn't ask many. Talking to your own head was a sign of being on the water by yourself too long. Happened to fishermen all the time. He finished off the fresh coffee, and he gave the waitress that same grin that hadn't been anything belonging to a young man for years longer than it should have. "Just the check," he told her, which resulted in her telling him it was on the house. Most places fed beat cops for free, but Joseph always felt it was polite to ask.
Cory missed that entirely. He watched the waitress walk off while he spread jelly on his fried sandwich. “She really must like you, huh?” He didn’t expect a negative answer and he occupied himself with his sandwich for a few more bites, dusting powdered sugar off his chin. He only shrugged when Joseph asked if he liked Arthur. “No. I mean I guess. Sometimes he helps out.” Cory looked guilty and elusive, but not the kind of furtive, anxious guilt that seemed to indicate crime. This expression was reminiscent of a kid who had lost his favorite toy and didn’t want to admit it.
Joseph gave him a questioning look, before realizing Cory meant the waitress. "Likes cops," he replied, because some women were like that. Cory's wistfulness when talking about Arthur surprised him. It seemed like an abusive relationship to him, this thing with Arthur. Maybe he'd feel different eventually. Maybe he wouldn't. He focused on the sandwich instead, wondering how the kid could eat the thing, but to each their own. "How does he help out?" he asked, because he felt like he should care. Not too much. Not so much that Cory knew, but some. He was still at the point where it felt too strange, someone using his body to go do other things, including have sex with some man. "Don't you mind? Him doing things with you?"
Cory snorted rudely. “‘Course I mind. You crazy? I don’t want some jerk walking me around like a robot.” Cory’s fondness for Arthur only went so far. Cory was just a romantic and it was easier to push him a little farther when it came to the fuzzy stuff. “Whatever the hell he does when he’s him on the other side is his deal, but not here. Not with me. I mean, unless... unless it’s normal, important stuff.” Cory made a face. That ruled out everything from kissing to killing, it seemed. “He’s... kind of been in charge for a while. I wasn’t paying attention.” A shadow touched his features, and he looked down at the food again. Cory demolished the sandwich by the time the check came, eating most of it and requesting a box so he could take whatever wasn’t soggy with ketchup. After that he looked around the restaurant again with obvious interest. He hadn’t been paying much attention to his environment for quite a while. “What day is it?” he asked, suddenly.
"You like him," Joseph replied, using the mug to point at the man across from him. "Don't think he's a jerk at all," he said, remembering the fondness from a moment earlier. This relationship between Cory and Arthur had all the earmarkings of just the kind of complication he liked staying away from. "Mine won't control me," he added, and though there wasn't much actual force behind the lazy words, they definitely weren't meant for Cory's ears alone. "Will pay attention," because that seemed to be key in not losing the upper hand, at least if Cory was to be believed. Joseph sat back as he watched Cory's food get boxed up, and he patted at his pocket and pulled a pack of smokes and a lighter out for once he was outside. The question about the day of the week, though, that was worrisome, and he just looked at Cory's face for a few seconds before answering. "Wednesday. Need to pay more attention," he said, a reference to Arthur taking the upper hand too often, and then he slid from the booth. He picked up the smokes and the light, and he tossed down a tip that would have covered the meal.
Cory drank the last of his soda hurriedly and then got up to follow Joseph before he left completely. He didn’t forget his box, tucking it under his arm. That was about as much energy as he had, really, and he dogged Joseph’s heels as they moved out of the deli, slowing at the door. “One day is pretty much like the rest. What difference does it make?” Cory eyed the cigarettes. He’d smoked a lot in high school, usually to avoid whatever else it was that everyone else had been doing, but he’d quit with some effort when he realized he wanted to smoke even when there wasn’t anyone around. “Those aren’t good for you,” he said, with a certain surprising gentleness that hadn’t marked anything else he’d done. “Maybe you should cut down.” He was looking at how many were left in the box.
The box of smokes was about half gone, and Joseph chuckled as he lit one up outside, a low rumble deep in his chest. "Worry about the guns, not the smoke," he said, because old age wasn't a given for a street cop. Wasn't a given for a man who worked the sea either, so Joseph didn't feel like he was losing anything in making the switch. Missed the water, sure, but that was different. "Make days different," he added, taking a deep inhale, the cigarette held securely between net-scarred fingers. "Do something each one. Make it different than the one before." He pointed the cigarette at the kid a second later. "Got a job?"
Cory put on the expression that he always wore whenever anyone brought up this topic at home. It was stone, a stubborn protruding of lip and a flare of his nostrils that was all habit and certainty. It was a mode that he had slipped in, defensive, a realization that all anyone was ever going to say was that he couldn’t keep a job. “Because I bet you do all kinds of unique things every day,” he said, bitterly. His eyes narrowed on the cigarettes. He refused to be abused out of the situation. This was a common tactic that people used on him a lot. “Just because you might get shot tomorrow, I don’t know why that means you gotta rot your lungs today.”
"Asked because I need a hand," Joseph said, catching the flare of nostrils and recognizing it for what it was. Cory might look like a kid, but he wasn't, and maybe it was good for him to get worked up about being treated like one. "Terrible at unique things," he admitted, his grin friendly and harmless. The comment about the cigarette went unaddressed; no point in it. Joseph wasn't going to stop smoking. "Done being pissy?"
Cory sniffed with disapproval as the cigarette went along in its cancerous job even without his say so. Good; something for him to harp on, something he was needed to improve. This time he didn’t return Joseph’s grin, frowning instead the little child’s frown that he seemed to take with him everywhere. “You first. Need a hand with what?” Cory was suspicious at Joseph’s sudden interest in his life, which was not normal. Very few people were interested in Cory’s life, and he knew it. What was there to be interested in? “Is this because you want to watch Arthur?”
"Don't care about Arthur," Joseph replied, taking a last drag from his cigarette as the police radio at his hip chirped. He turned it up a second, then turned it down again. "Don't need to pay you to keep an eye out," which was also true. He didn't go onto explain why, but it was true all the same. "Work doubles when I can get it. Got a dog. Needs walks. Boarding him during days now, but it's expensive." Also true. He'd been considering calling a dog walker. Just hadn't made it around to it, not with Eames showing up and things getting complicated. "Don't want to? It's fine."
Arthur wanted to keep a closer eye on this man even if Cory had no desire to have a job. He pushed at him, and Cory resisted, frowning not because he had a particular dislike of dogs--they were pretty okay, Indiana Jones had been named after a dog--but because it seemed like the kind of thing he could mess up. Maybe this was a terror dog that could run off any moment or tear his leg off. Cory opened his mouth to say no, and Arthur put a stop to that. “Yes,” he said, firmly. His eyes dropped down to the radio.
Joseph noticed all that frowning. If Cory hadn't mentioned being controlled by Arthur so many times, he would have let it go. But Cory had. "Arthur making you?"
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “No.”
The eyebrow raise was about as un-Cory as something could be. Joseph might not have a lot of school, not beyond a GED and the police academy, but even he could see that. "No?" he asked, not wanting to jump the gun. Wanting to be sure who he was talking to before he continued.
Arthur could see in Joseph’s eyes that he knew. Arthur simply wasn’t retiring enough to be Cory for very long; he could barely write like him, much less act like him. Eames was the forger, and Arthur was pretty uniquely himself. He even stood different, and there was a calm behind his eyes that Cory did not possess. He shifted Cory’s grip on the box of food so he had a better hold on it and took a deep breath. “He’ll come around to it if you ask him again,” he said. “A commitment would be good for him.”
"You taking over for good for him too? Doesn't sit right," Joseph admitted, and he felt an uneasy tingling along his spine. It was a shove. A mental one. He wasn't giving in. The struggle was visible to a certain extent, like a person who wanted to fidget but was fighting hard to stay still. "You have your life. He has his." It wasn't even that Joseph was a champion for the boy he'd met at the diner. It was principle. As for whether the job was good for Cory or not, that was Cory's decision. Not his. Not Arthur's.
Arthur lifted one hand and pushed it up through Cory’s hair, pulling the sticky strands off his forehead. Another sigh. “He doesn’t have a life, Officer Sullivan. Surely that’s obvious to you by now.” He looked back at Joseph’s sudden tenseness, frowned at him with a kind of thoughtful uncertainty. Arthur didn’t know what it looked like when someone fought, he’d never done it in the mirror before. “It would be good if he did. I’m just as interested in him getting one as you. He’ll find a way to stop it if it just keeps on going like this.” It was probably too much too soon for this man, but Arthur didn’t care. “Listen, did Evan say anything about... when Eames disappeared? Surely something changed, a reason of some kind.” Arthur searched Joseph’s face with Cory’s eyes, intense and hopeful.
"Just met him. Not as interested as you," Joseph said honestly, though he'd already let Cory know it had been him that had pulled them from that wreck. "Just need someone to walk my dog during doubles. Figured the kid could use the money and the fresh air." He paused, confusion stark on features that weren't used to the expression. "To stop what?" he asked, though he had a feeling he didn't want to know. Arthur changed the conversation too quickly for Joseph to follow at first. He caught up a second later, and he shook his head. "Just left when the car hit," he said, which was true, at least. "Wasn't there, but that's what he said. He was just gone." It didn't explain why a beat cop had gone to visit a man in jail in the first place, but Joseph figured he could explain it away by having been present at the first accident. His temple throbbed, and he pressed his fingers to it.
Arthur understood patterns. The officer had been there at Becky’s death, it made sense to Arthur that he would then follow up on the perpetrator and the victim. Arthur didn’t think the man had reason to lie, either, and he had already seen on the journals that alters could simply vanish without warning. Maybe it was Cory’s body, so much more used to being a clear window to the soul, thin glass looking in on the most surface of emotions, but Arthur’s reaction was transparent, at least as obvious as Cory’s emotions, perhaps more so because of the depth and the strangeness of Cory’s features. The disappointment shuttered the eyes entirely, and Arthur pushed down an opening chasm of loss before it could do more than swallow any hope that he might be mistaken. Arthur looked at the ground and swallowed, and he pulled back away from Cory’s mind with as much mental space between him and the kid as he could manage. It still wasn’t quite enough, and Cory reeled with several rapid blinks as he tried to regain a balance he hadn’t needed to keep a split-second before. The take-out box dropped and split open.
Joseph watched it all with an increasing throb at his temple, and with enough quiet surprise that it showed on his passive features. "Shit," he cursed, as the take-out box opened, and he put out a hand to steady Cory. He knew disappointment in a person's eyes. Had seen it himself more often than he liked to remember. He crouched down scooping up the food with the styrofoam container, aware no one would be eating it now. "What happened?" he asked, looking up at Cory. He knew. The pounding in his head got worse, and he knew. Hadn't had any of his questions answered either, and he just kept his mouth shut tight. Long as he didn't think about the disappointment, it would be fine. He wasn't a child. Wasn't even a young man. This shouldn't affect him. He groaned. "Going to be ok?" he asked, and he didn't mean Cory, which was obvious in his expression. Cory was another worry altogether, and Joseph didn't do complications or worry. With that thought in mind, he pushed to standing. "RV Park at Circus Circus," he said. "If you want work." Because that's as involved as he was getting, he told himself.
With the assistance of Joseph’s brief steadying hand, Cory found his feet again. He lifted one hand to the back of his head, and he made a sound through a constricted throat like he was choking. Cory sniffed and blinked several more times; there were tears in his eyes, but he seemed bewildered by the situation. “I...” Temporarily incapable of further speech, Cory brought his chin up and took a deep breath through his nose, trying to get a grip on himself--well, his body, anyway. He gave his head a little shake. “I... He’s gone.” The last was mumbled, and Cory stared blankly at the mess of the styrofoam and the bits of fried meat and bread at his feet. He drew the back of his hand over his eyes. “He’s upset.” Cory looked at Joseph as if asking for some kind of nameless assistance, but he didn’t know what it might be. He nodded somewhat dumbly. “Okay. RV. Circus Circus. I got it. Later.” He turned away, not unsteady anymore but still half-blind as he tried to shake Arthur’s grief out of his system.
Joseph almost stopped him. Almost kept him from going. But with each additional step Cory took, the chances of him bridging the distance lessened. Joseph wasn't a chaser. Hadn't chased his wife. Hadn't chased his son. Hadn't chased that Donovan. Hadn't chased anything his whole life. Despite the pulsing in his temple, his feet were leaden. Maybe he'd let Eames go to the hotel, he decided begrudgingly, as he watched Cory turn away. Ground rules, he said, not aloud, but to the man he knew was listening. If they were going to do this, it would be with rules. Joseph was strong enough to hold off a headache; Eames wasn't taking control of him.