A/N: not sure where this is coming from, and no promises on it going anywhere. Arthur/Eames.

01_Bad Dreams

A gasp. Too loud, much too loud, don't want to wake the others…

Arthur practically fell out of the cot he'd been sleeping in, stumbled to his feet and shakily felt his way towards the door, gently lifting the latch in shaking hands before collapsing through the opening into the night air.

He pushed the door closed and slid down its frame, his slight form curling in on itself, forehead to knees, arms over his head, panting for breath, bare toes spread on the cold concrete of the balcony, trying to ground himself in tactile sensations. Real sensations.

He shook uncontrollably, and desperately spread his fingers into his hair, struggling to consciously focus on the temperature of the night, the feel of his scalp, the fabric of his pants against his face… Don't think, just feel… This is real, this is real, this is real… again and again.

Someone had told him once that the more he got into this business, the more he would lose his ability to truly dream.

Well they were full of shit. He still dreamed, but it wasn't places, it was just feelings… As if by pushing the architecture of the place into his work all he was left with was formless content – sometimes it was gentle, most times it was forgettable, but sometimes it was all terror and anxiety and running and dying and pain. Tonight was one of those nights.

He tried to convince himself it was mind over matter. Stay in the moment, don't think about how fast your heart is beating, don't think about if this is still the dream, don't think at all, just ground yourself in now; the grit of the floor, the push of a hinge in your lower back, the sound of traffic in the distance, the push of your hand on your temple…

The door pushed open, slowly, but enough to unbalance him, and Arthur sprung to his feet, backing away to the edge of the balcony and gripping the metal handrail like a life line. He turned to face the door, still shaking, but straightening his back and hoping the darkness would hide the worst of it.

A tall figure stepped carefully through the opening, turned and quietly shut the door before turning to face him, now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark Arthur could just make out the questioning look on Eames face. "Go away, Eames." He spat out, wrapping his arms tightly around himself before turning away, leaning against the edge of the balcony, pressing his lips together and closing his eyes, still trying to get his breathing under control, but somewhat proud the shaking had reduced to little more than a quaver. Eames probably wouldn't even notice.

Just breathe in and out, Arthur thought to himself, this is the last person you want to show any weakness to, just focus and get through this…

His train of thought was abruptly interrupted by the weight of a hand between his shoulder blades, the warmth of it felt through the thin fabric of his shirt, and then a second hand on his elbow. He opened his eyes and tried to pull together an angry retort, but was stopped short…

"Arthur, darling – are you alright?"

Involuntarily he took a shaking breath in, looking down, "Honestly, …no." He turned out of Eames hands, sliding down the guard and back to the ground, once more curling up and wrapping his arms around his knees. Eames followed him down and sat beside him, keeping his distance but within reach should he need help – Arthur shook his head, disbelieving – shouldn't Eames have thought up about four ways to mock him by now? But instead he let him be, sitting in a companionable silence, Arthur curled in on himself, gaze forward, Eames in more of a slouch, head back against the guard rail, looking up at the orangey-glow of the urban sky.

Arthur slowly got his breathing under control, and the shaking slowed, he focused on the sensations; the grit of the floor under his feet, the sound of the wind, the fold of his shirt fabric around his elbows, the radiating warmth of Eames beside him. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, he took in a long breath, exhaling slowly as he came back to himself.

At the sound, Eames turned to face him, "Better?"

Arthur nodded, still disbelieving at this sympathetic behavior.

"Well cheers to that. Can't have the brains of the operation coming apart, now can we?" Eames reached over and patted him mockingly on the cheek before raising the hand to ruffle his hair. Before Arthur could retaliate, he'd pulled out of reach, rising to his feet and the offering a hand.

Reluctantly he took it and let Eames help him to his feet.

"Not one word about this." Arthur said quietly, avoiding Eames' eyes.

Eames reached forward, pushing Arthur's chin upwards to face him, "About what, love?" Then dropped his hand, reached for the door and with a bow, waved mockingly towards the opening. "After you."

tbc? who knows.