Who: Eames, Clark What: Sibling visits - kind of Where: Inception Door When: Nowish Warnings/Rating: None
In the early gray of the morning, woke up out of an exhausted doze with a tense Cory in the back of his mind. Cory, who was hiding away from flashbacks and Arthur’s bizarre way of dealing with almost losing Eames, only said that he wanted to call his parents to say he’d be away. They worried if he was gone more than forty-eight hours. The implication was clear: he didn’t want to go home. Bemused but grateful by this turn of events, Arthur, the soul of cooperation, looked in on Eames (apparently sleeping after Felix’s recent administration of antibiotics and drugs a few hours past) and then moved through the door to find Cory a phone to borrow.
He ran right into a fiery red-head who, having recently seen the movie, recognized him even before he got through the door. Demanding to see Evan in what Arthur felt was an unnecessarily shrill voice, she attempted to storm the door without success, and stood back only when he made it clear he’d let her through if she gave him the space to do so. He asked to borrow her cellphone, and she handed it over without a second thought as she plowed past him into the living room. Arthur watched with interest as she changed into a very large, extremely well-built young man with dark hair and lovely blue eyes.
He shrugged and turned things over to Cory, who slid down the wall to make his calls in the empty hotel hallway.
Eames was awake, though his eyes were closed in an effort to pacify Arthur, who was hovering in a way that he found slightly endearing, slightly entertaining, and slightly maddening. But Arthur had left, for reasons unknown, and Eames had opened his eyes the moment he’d been left alone in the apartment. The ceiling was unimpressive, he found, and he was pondering how dizzy sitting up would make him when he sensed someone in the room with him.
Now, Eames was not Evan. He’d not grown up with Superman bedsheets, and he’d never run around his parents living room with a towel for a cape and an S drawn on his shirt in magic marker. Eames, in fact, had no idea who the large man in the living room was, having never seen the man in Stella’s head in person, and the drugs kept him from immediately remembering that Evan’s sister had insisted on visiting. It was, therefore, an interesting development, Arthur having a handsome man in his living room. Very interesting.
Eames forced himself to sit up, though the room spun wildly with the movement, but hands on the bed steadied him, and he quirked a lazy brow at the fit, blue-eyed man. “You’re rather attractive,” he said plainly, because there was little point in ignoring the elephant in the room. Perhaps Arthur was gay. Very interesting.
Clark had one big fist raised to hover on the doorframe. The apartment was foreign to him, a little too well-decorated for his taste, and he didn’t know what to make of the obvious construction in the middle of the living room he’d had to step around to get to the bedroom. If you were going to remodel, wouldn’t you move the furniture? Stella was on a mission, however, and she got him to that bedroom before he could even take a second look. He gave Eames a rather soft, strangely shy smile, and not because he’d complimented him. “Uh. Thanks. Are you Eames?”
Clark frowned across the room at the man in the bed, Stella in a horrified silence at the sight of the big bandage visible on his neck. He stepped inside without asking if he could (an intention lost in the reaction somewhere), and moved confidently across the room, ignoring Arthur’s bizarre abstract blues and concentrating on the person. He stood about three feet from the bed, at the depth of Eames hip, and stared at him without blinking. Then he stared at his chest, and the gaze continued down toward Eames’ feet as if the covers weren’t there at all.
The shy smile was interesting and it alerted Eames to the fact that, perhaps, Arthur liked shy men. He still made no connection with Stella, and he watched the slip of that blue gaze with growing suspicion. A glance to his lap indicated that, yes, Arthur’s expensive blanket was in place, and he looked back up a moment later, his unfocused expression turning curious. “You’re not a replacement doctor, darling, and you’re not French. Are you a friend of Arthur’s?” he asked, the emphasis quite unmistakable. “He’s just outside, but he’ll come hover any moment, if you want to sit down,” he said, motioning to the chair without moving his hand from its spot on the bed. It made him chuckle to himself, that he was sitting Arthur’s bed and ordering Arthur’s possible lover to sit down, as if he owned the place himself. Arthur would be annoyed; the thought pleased him.
Clark’s blue eyes, almost too bright to be human, went up and down Eames’ body twice, lingering in particular on his chest, because at one point he lifted his chin to get a real good look at the way his heart was pushing blood through his chest. After a moment he blinked and smiled. “No permanent damage, then, that’s good.” Clark, of course, didn’t look all the way down to the cellular level, because with humans he didn’t need to, usually. He knew Eames had been hurt, so he wasn’t looking for, say, auto-immmune diseases--or drug addiction. He looked around then for the aforementioned chair, and dragged it across the room casually, as if it was a farmhouse kitchen. He flipped the chair about and sat down comfortably with his knees spread.
He didn’t understand the point of the emphasis, and looked visibly perplexed. “No, I’m Clark. Who’s Arthur? Oh,” as Stella reminded him, a little belatedly because she was still processing the things Clark had seen and battling between annoyance and relief, “you mean the guy in the hallway. He let us in and stepped out to make a call.” Clark was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, not his usual oversized cheap suit, and he had a farmer’s tan halfway up a not insubstantial bicep. He folded his arms on the back of the chair and gave Eames a bright smile.
Eames thought he’d been wrong, that this was a doctor, and he wondered where Arthur found doctors that looked like this. He tried to recall what the French doctor had looked like, to recall if he too was attractive, but he hadn’t been paying attention to that man. He’d have to ask Arthur about it when he returned. He expected some annoyance on that account, and it made him smile as the potential Arthur annoyance points increased. “Thank you for the wonderful news,” he said with a lazy-wry grin, because being told one wasn’t going to die was a good thing, especially for Eames, who had absolutely no death wish.
After imagining Arthur’s annoyance at the scratches the chair’s legs left on the wood floor, Eames looked up, comprehension suffusing his features. “Ah, Evan’s sister’s superhero,” he said, as if he was entertained by the idea of superheroes altogether. “Yes, the guy in the hallway,” he replied, mirroring Clark’s wording with an easy, if unfocused smile. He was too chipper, Eames, but that was the drugs talking, and it resulted in a wider grin as he noticed the farmer’s tan. “With those arms, you really shouldn’t waste time with a shirt, darling. How is- Stella, is it?”
Clark didn’t mind being called a superhero, and at the title, his smile acquired a certain Elvis Presley shine in his younger days, but no denial. The comment about the shirt confused him, but Stella gave him an impatient clarification that “the ass in the bed” was hitting on him. He immediately blushed and rubbed his forehead. “Uh. She’s fine. She’s really mad at Evan. Is he okay? She’s worried he’s not okay. How’d you get hurt?” The forehead rub transferred to the back of his head and he shrugged apologetically as if he’d said something wrong.
“That blush is distractingly endearing,” said the ass in the bed and, threat gone, he groaned as he scooted back and back, until he could lean against the wall for support. Arthur would likely throw a fit when he returned, but Eames looked forward to that possibility. “Tell her Evan will survive. He ran into some vampirelike creature that felt certain Evan would eat someone, and he decided to do something about it before it could happen,” Eames said, no blame toward Evan in his voice. He really didn’t think it was Evan’s fault, what had happened, even if it had almost resulted in his death. He grinned at all the nervous rubbing of body parts, and it was a fond smile. Wasn’t he adorable?
Clark’s expression went blank with surprise before he even had a chance to frown scoldingly at Eames. “Evan? This person... thing... thought Evan would eat someone?” Evan had deep-seated issues, and Clark knew that, but he didn’t really understand the depth. Psychiatry and complex emotions were not Clark’s forte. Stella was worried, a formless, wordless worry. Sometimes Clark wondered if other Alters were so tapped into each other’s emotions, or if Stella was just special. She certainly wore her heart on her sleeve.
“He was a wolf,” Eames provided, “and rather hungry.” Whether or not Evan would have truly eaten someone was impossible to know, since the injury had prevented him from being any kind of serious threat. He didn’t add anything beyond that, because Eames knew Evan had countless problems, but he didn’t feel they had anything to do with this injury. He smiled, the tired smile accompanying a wince and a press of fingers to the gauze that covered his throat. “Tell Stella that Arthur, while not terribly fond of me, won’t let me die. He doesn’t want to be here alone, and there’s no one else he knows behind this door.” He paused. “Well, perhaps the doctor, who he might be sleeping with, which is extremely unexpected.”
Clark blinked in astonishment. “A wolf. Evan was a wolf.” He could not think of a person that he equated the least with wolves, who, like most farmers, he thought of as dangerous pests and, at best, living predators that needed to get by like everyone else. Clark was a vegetarian and, being the strongest, fastest man in the world, he could afford to be charitable. “It’s... nice someone is taking care of you,” Clark said, not really knowing what to do with the comment about sleeping with nearby doctors. “And like I said, you’re not in danger. I took a really good look, and I know what it looks like when things are going badly on the inside.” When he was a teenager he’d done some community service in the nearest hospital. He’d done a lot of watching with his vision to see what it looked like when people were injured, sick or dying, so he could judge whether or not a person was in danger by looking at them. He was no doctor, but the knowledge was valuable. “Stella wants to know when Evan is coming back.”
Explaining Evan’s issues to Arthur was one thing. Explaining them to Evan’s sister- even through Clark - was something entirely different, and Eames refrained, making a sound of agreement when Clark repeated the statement about Evan being a wolf. He laughed at the comment about it being nice that someone was taking care of him. “I’ll tell Arthur you think he’s nice. He’ll scowl, and it’ll be entertaining. I’ll also tell him you’re attractive, in case he missed that when he let you in.” His smile then was smug - unfocused, but smug. “No, dying was earlier today. A blood transfusion, some antibiotics and stitches, and I’ll be fine, but thank you for taking a really good look.” He decided that he liked this Clark. He was earnest, rather like Ariadne. “I don’t think Arthur will allow me to return for a few days,” he replied, not explaining about the withdrawal. Again, there was no reason to worry Stella, who Eames thought of as flighty, if sweet and better left in the dark about certain things.
Clark didn’t look like this last bit was a good thing (and he was getting good at ignoring the casual compliments), and he hesitated, obviously filtering Stella’s immediate response quite a bit. “Well. You do need rest,” he said, tapping his large fingers on the top of his arm and looking worried. He gave Eames a doubtful look. “Evan agrees?” Because if Evan agreed, well then, there you are. Clark tapped his fingers a couple more times, and then watched to see if Eames’ heartbeat agreed with his response. (Chances were that Eames might be good enough at lying that he wouldn’t show physical reactions, but it was habit.)
Eames didn’t bother with lying. He wasn’t very good at cards or cons that didn’t involve badly spelled chips or weighted dice, but he was very good at pretending to be other people, and he knew it was best to be direct and, whenever possible, not lie. “I haven’t discussed it with him,” he said of Evan, because that much was true. “He was going to die, and I knew Arthur had the means to keep him alive. Evan, out there, has no one but Stella.” He didn’t add that Stella likely wasn’t the best person to turn to in a life or death situation. A second later, Eames gave Clark a smile that was all winning charm, making it fairly obvious that he knew how to charm his way into anything he so pleased, should he put his mind to it. “I have no desire to die, darling. This is the safest option.”
Clark, while both young and idealistic, was not entirely naive. He’d done some war correspondence and he had met a lot of charismatic people, but he didn’t immediately equate charm with evasion. He thought that Eames had a point, but all the same... “Stella says this isn’t a hospital. What if something happens?” Clark noticed that Stella didn’t complain about how Evan wasn’t remanded to her care immediately. She was no mama, and she didn’t know anyone that was, including her own mother. Speaking of which, she really didn’t want her mother to know about any of this, and hospital records would bring her running. Probably. Maybe. “...If you’re sure...” Clark heard Arthur come back into the living room and stop to eavesdrop, but he didn’t say anything. People forgot that no matter how quiet they were, Clark could always hear a new heartbeat within half a mile.
Eames didn’t have Clark’s super hearing, so he had no idea that Arthur had returned. His response, then, was entirely genuine, and not intended to aggravate Arthur in the slightest. “If something happens, Arthur will deal with it. You can, of course, sit around and look attractive and worried, if you choose. I’m not going to stop you.” That was followed by a groan as he shifted against the wall at his back, and another touch to the bandage at his throat. “Evan is only going to drink if he returns, and then he is likely to end up dead,” he added plainly, because Stella had to recognize the truth in that, even if she and Evan never actually discussed the drinking, or the hallucinations, or anything else that went beyond the surface. Eames had no family, but that did strike him as strange, though he had no idea who’s fault it was. He suspected, by this point, that being Superman must include having some kind of body-organ type vision, and he motioned to his kidneys and liver, allowing Clark to figure out the rest on his own.
Clark knew enough of Evan’s behavior, personality and indulgences that he didn’t need additional evidence. It surprised and disturbed him, however, to realize that such long-term damage would have an immediate effect on Eames, as well. He wondered what would happen if Stella got drunk and then walked through his door. Would he too then be drunk? Clark had never been drunk before. He worried what might happen if that were the case. Would he be weakened by Stella’s weaknesses, if she was not at full health? What about organs she had but he didn’t? Clark shook his head at the whirl of possibilities, and decided to think about them somewhere else.
He lifted one knee casually and whipped the chair away so that he was standing in a practiced motion. “You’re probably right. Stella agrees. Is there anything I can do to help you, or get for you, then, before I go?”
Eames watched all that thinking, and he tried not to smile as that handsome face changed with his thoughts and concerns. By the time Clark spoke, Eames was shaking his head. “No, darling. Thank you for the visit. Keep Stella in one piece, and assure Arthur I’m not dying, will you?” He grinned, and it was a smile that might as well have come with a wink. He shifted against the wall, did a rather impressive job of hiding a groan and wince, and touched his fingers to his neck once more, unthinking. He pushed himself up, intending on finding a cigarette somewhere in his discarded trousers, but waiting until Clark had actually left the room to stand.
Clark smiled at Eames, turned his head to face the wall next to the door, and said, calmly, “He’s not dying, and not going to die. Not any time soon, anyway.” And then he gave Eames a smile that hinted at the man behind the pretty face and the flashy powers, and he stuck his hands in his jeans to wander off around a disgruntled but now visible Arthur to the door. “Bye.”