Title: Lucky Seven
Pairings/Characters: Arthur, Eames
Author: finnijer/ Voldemort's Spawn
WordLength: 2,500
Rating: T
Summary: Seven Drabbles in the lives of Eames and Arthur.
A/N: For the Inception_Land Big Bang Challange. Enjoy.

One:

This was a dream.

This is a dream. It had to be. If he was uncertain, then it had to be.

Eames tried to think back. He remembered the job. Why did they take the job? Because Cobb was selfish, that was why. He looked at the companion beside him. Fischer seemed lost and for once Eames was actually questioning the morality of what they'd done.

"I'll be back," he whispered, and patted Fischer on the shoulder.

The young man didn't acknowledge him; he only stared blankly into the water. Eames shook his head as he climbed back up to the road. His willed his clothes to dry and by the time he reached the road they were. Even though he knew this was a dream, the eerie silence and absence of projections unnerved him.

"Looks like he trusts us now."

The voice startled him even though he knew whom it belonged to. Eames looked back to see Arthur walking toward him.

"Where are the others," Eames asked softly.

"Ariadne's waiting by the water. She wants to wait for Cobb."

He stopped a foot from him, and it made Eames nervous. They survived the most dangerous job they'd ever attempted and Eames' heart was pounding because Arthur was standing near him. It terrified him more than the thought of not getting out alive. He took deep breath and looked Arthur in the eyes.

"Are we going to keep doing this dance," He asked. "Quick frankly I was never good at dancing, as you know by all the times I've stepped on your toes."

He tried to make a joke, a sarcastic remark to possibly lighten the tension radiating between him and the stoic man in front of him. Eames quickly ceased his chuckling when Arthur's expression did not change. He was suddenly racked with nerves as he waited for Arthur to respond. It was now or never and Eames was anxious.

"I suppose not," Arthur said offhandedly looking away then looking back. Eames remembered to breath. "As much as I enjoy making you work for it, my toes are starting to hurt."

For the second time since their small exchange in the hotel on the second level, Arthur smiled at him. Eames could feel a goofy grin etch itself on his face.

"Since I worked oh so hard, I think I deserve a reward," Eames suggestively said.

"I'll think about it," Arthur said and he did nothing to hide his smile.

That was Eames could ever ask for.

Two:

The first time, like many that would follow always started with him drinking. Arthur was not a light weight- he could hold his liquor quite well. But even a veteran drinker would lose his senses after downing six shots of the strongest whiskey on the bar shelf.

"I think you've had enough."

Eames came out of nowhere, and Arthur stared at him blinking.

"I'm good." He grumbled.

It was a lie; they both were aware of it. Arthur started thinking about Cobb and his issue with Mal. That led to thinking about just Mal. Thinking about just Mal brought back the overwhelming sadness Arthur felt that seeped from the hole in his heart she'd craved there. It'd been almost a year since they buried her but Arthur couldn't get rid of the vision of her lying in that coffin; the lid sealed shut because she was too damaged to be presentable.

She was like his sister, just as much as Cobb was like his brother. Arthur never showed how much he missed her except when he was drunk. He justified his alcohol with the notion that sometimes he deserved to not be okay. He deserved to grieve for his best friend, to be angry at Cobb for letting her jump.

"We should go, hm?" Eames repeated, Arthur having ignored him the first time.

Reluctantly Arthur nodded and paid his bill with more money than the tab stated. Eames helped him out the door and they took a cab back to the hotel Arthur was staying at. He didn't remember much until they reached his door and Eames asked for the key. He studied Eames for a moment without truly focusing on what he was studying about the man.

Then he leaned in and kissed him.

He felt Eames surprise after kissing him back for a moment. He shoved Arthur away and gapped at him.

"You're drunk," was all Eames could force out.

Arthur frowned and grabbed him pulling him back flush against him. Eames' old and well-worn clothing was soft and he nuzzled the collar of his shirt. It was comforting and Arthur felt like he could stay right there and he would if he didn't know hours later he'd eventually sober up.

"Please," he muttered, turning and kissing Eames' neck.

"Arthur, I-"

"Just this once," Arthur muttered, cutting him off.

He knew that if he took the offer, this would not be 'just once'. Even intoxicated, Arthur knew that much. He hoped Eames lack of morals would kick in or at least he'd cave a little and ignore the lasting implications. Arthur got his reward when Eames kissed him lightly.

"You'll regret this," he muttered against his cheek.

"Only when I'm sober."

Three:

"Are you listening?"

Arthur blinked and looked beside him. A skinny and very beautiful blonde woman in a strapless red dress was sitting on the barstool giving him a stern look.

"Not really," Arthur replied coldly, taking a sip from his drink. The drink looked like bourbon but it tasted like water. "Aren't you supposed to be distracting someone else?"

The blonde's eyes flared but instead of becoming angry, she smirked.

"I see you've learned," she winked.

"Go Eames and do your job." Arthur whispered sternly.

"You know you want this," she winked and hopped off the stool.

Arthur watched her strut away, swishing her hips. Before she rounded the corner, she looked back one last time and gave another wink. Arthur rolled his eyes and downed his bourbon-colored water.

Four:

Two words… two words that flipped Arthur's world upside down. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think. Arthur slumped forward and propped his elbows on his knees and wretched his hands in his hair. This couldn't be happening.

"Arthur?"

He didn't bother to look up. Emotions overcame him and for the first time in a long time he started crying. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. They were all supposed to grow old together; they were all supposed to be invincible. They were too young to start dying.

"Arthur, look at me."

The whisper came from in front of him and he lifted his head. Eames was kneeling in front of him with tears in his eyes. Arthur's lips trembled and he sobbed.

"She's dead… Mal's dead. She… she's too young to be dead." His shoulders shook with his sobs. "She… she killed herself Eames. How could she! How could she do that to us?" Arthur wiped frantically at his face. "It hurts; it hurts so much."

Eames hugged Arthur to him and he started sobbing again. Eames turned kissed Arthur's head wishing he could take the pain away.

"I know it does," Eames whispered blinking back tears. "I know."

Five:

"One of these days," Arthur said through his clenched teeth. "One of these days your recklessness is going to come back and haunt you."

They barely escaped; it was a gamble that Eames took turning left instead of right. It was a nice and simple business proposition; an easy job a kid could pull and that's what pissed Arthur off the most. It would have been easy if Eames hadn't run his mouth.

"And?" he shrugged. "What's your point?"

"My point," Arthur shoved him against the hotel wall, a loud thump vibrating down the wall making the doors closest shake. "Is one day, you're going to get us killed. That job was supposed to be easy! If you had kept your mouth shut we would have been out of here in a week and not running from newly made enemies."

"You and I both know they couldn't be trusted. Fuck the job, If anything you should be thanking me." Eames spat.

They stared each other down and once Arthur was certain he'd gotten the message, he let him go. Eames watched Arthur stomp down the hall and once he was out of sight, Eames readjusted his shirt.

"And one day Arthur," he muttered to no one, "you'll get that stick out of your ass."

It was the best prank Eames ever pulled. He'd worked with Arthur several times before but never pulled out his "Charlotte" trick as he liked to call it. He decided turning a little test run with the architect and Arthur, Eames would see how far he could drag him along with his 'trick'.

Immediately upon entering the dream, he donned his disguise. It did not take Eames long to find Arthur. He was in a lone hallway, studying the architecture. Chin tilted upward, 'Charlotte' ruffled her hair, put on her best smirk, and swished her hips as she walked toward Arthur. also made certain that the black dress she donned was low-cut enough to show off enough cleavage to make a prostitute blush.

"Excuse me," she said low and thickly once she reached him.

Arthur turned his head, the only indication of him being startled in the wideness of his eyes.

"Yes," he muttered after a moment.

"I seemed to be lost," she whispered and tossed her hair back with a twitch of her head.

Arthur narrowed his brows, "What would you happen to be looking for?" He asked slowly.

With a large smile, she giggled. "You."

Arthur's ears turned pink. "What did you say?"

She leaned forward, brushing her fingers against his cheek and dragged them lightly to the red tie tucked into his black vest.

"You heard me," she whispered and his blush crept to his cheeks.

She slipped her fingers under the silk fabric and gripped it. Tugging it roughly, she pulled Arthur to her and kissed him. Much to her delight, Arthur didn't fight: he kissed her back willingly. 'Charlotte' pulled back slowly and once Arthur's eyes were open, Eames smiled at him.

"I never knew you were that kind of guy, Arthur," he chuckled. "You should buy a lady dinner at the least before you let her kiss you."

Eames' chuckle turned into a hearty laugh at Arthur's sudden shock and realization of what just happened. Knowing what was to come next, Eames sprinted down the hall in the opposing direction. He hid from Arthur until the timer was up. Once awake Arthur punched him in the nose as expected; Eames of course replied it was worth it.

Seven:

What humored Eames most was that while Arthur was the epitome of what society liked to call a "man's man," being such meant he would get a man's man-cold. Never failing, much like clockwork, every spring Arthur would get a cold; (allergies more like it but he digressed). Arthur could inject himself with ten times the amount of Vitamin C recommended, take tons of other vitamins, even get the flu vaccine and Arthur still would wind up sick sooner or later.

This time happened to be later. Later as in early May, which Arthur considered a more "summer time" than "spring time". Eames knew it before Arthur did. It always starts when Arthur gets a warm throat, almost sore in a sense. A warm throat led to Arthur drinking tons of fluid in hopes it would dissipate it. Then normally the next day led to Arthur complaining about how scratchy his throat would be and coughing.

"You realize you're sick," Eames smirked, dropping the paper in his hand to watch Arthur refill his water glass for the tenth time that morning.

"I better not be sick," he grumbled, downing the glass's contents and refilling it again. "It's just a scratchy throat. I am not sick."

"Whatever you say," Eames rolled his eyes. "I booked you a doctor's appointment Wednesday; that's three days from now so that should be enough time for you to change your mind."

Arthur glared; Eames chuckled.

As Eames predicted, the next day Arthur's nose started getting runny. He tried to ignore it, which amused Eames to no end. By nightfall Arthur was no longer breathing through his nostrils and was downing ibuprofen in hopes of reducing his swelling-induced headache.

"Go get a shower," Eames suggested. "The steam will help."

"I cannot believe I'm sick," Arthur whined grouchily. "I detest being ill."

"I'm greatly aware, now go."

Arthur again grumbled and stomped off to the shower. Whilst Arthur was preoccupied, Eames straightened out the bed. Arthur was not one to sleep on a disgruntled bed. Once the bed was made, he went into the kitchen and heated up water. By the time Arthur stepped out of the steam filled bathroom in his nearly too big pajamas (which Eames found adorably endearing), Eames was waiting with a smile and a cup in his hand.

"Drink this for me," He told the bewildered man before him.

Reluctantly, Arthur took the coffee mug full of steamy substance and sipped it cautiously. The instant the liquid reached his tongue, Arthur smiled tiredly.

"You didn't have to do that," he muttered.

The liquid substance was green tea, with honey and a splash of vanilla syrup. Ever since he could remember, his mother always made him green tea with those added flavors to cheer Arthur up when ill. Eames knew this; he made it a conscience note to make it for him every time he fell ill. Taking a longer sip, his eyes wandered to the bed. Arthur gave Eames a 'you shouldn't have' look. Again, Eames rarely made up the bed. Doing so meant Arthur appeared more sick than he initially thought.

"Come," Eames motioned and walked to the bed, tossing back the duvet. "Sit and drink the rest of that."

"You don't have to baby me." Arthur mumbled in a stuffy voice doing as he was told.

Eames smirked at him and nudged Arthur's legs, indicating for him to place them on the bed. He huffed while Eames tucked the blanket around him.

"Again," he took another sip from his cup to hide his smile, "I am not a child."

"A child you are not." Eames nodded, "But a baby you act like."

Arthur was too weak retort and did not wish to destroy the good thing he had going at the moment.

"Besides, you get to return the favor once I catch your cold," Eames winked.

Arthur nearly choked on his tea when he let out a laugh, because in all honesty: it was the truth.