The first time Arthur kissed Eames they found out that Eames was wrong about the world not falling down.

Arthur died and woke, clutching at his chest as if to stem the bleeding of wounds that were no longer there. The pain lingered, his nerves responding to the memory of the blade. 'Pain is in the mind.' His mantra, though since the job for Cobal he would always hear it in Mal's voice. Normally he could ignore pain and wake into the next dream level without a sound; but being shot in the head was hardly comparable to what the latest subject had done so he didn't resent the ragged sobs that were working their way up his had not been a quick death, not a simple bang and then dead like Eames' had received.

Eames, that brought his awareness to the hands that were stroking his back, to the distinct accent that was murmuring inane bits of comfort into his ear. "I'm sorry."

"Don't-" He found it surprisingly difficult to talk, his voice rough and the words choked. The forger seemed to get it anyway and drew back somewhat, hovering inches away. He didn't blame Eames anymore than he blamed himself for being distracted. Vaguely aware that the others were waking and that he should be preparing for the last kick, he sought Eames' hand and gripped it with trembling fingers. The forger allowed the contact and said nothing. Even when Arthur's grasp tightened painfully, he bit back his wince and didn't pull away. Arthur felt the pull to hurt his coworker? Friend? What did he call Eames anymore? It would be easy to twist the wrist that was already beneath his hand, to make him feel for an instant what Arthur had gone through.

Arthur yanked his hand away and took a deep, cleansing breath. He strove to don his 'point-man' mask, but he knew from the way Eames' gray eyes lit with concern that the forger could see through the cracks. The forger knew people the way Arthur knew strategy and paradoxes, could strip away the lies and witness whatever writhed beneath them.

Music swelled around them, a familiar tune played several times too slow. Eames caught Arthur by the shoulders as he tried to stand. "You've done enough."

The chuckle that bursts out tasted acidic on his tongue. "You'd rather that I sit here and dwell on it?" He doesn't need specificity in this occasion, they both know what he's talking about.

"Ignoring it doesn't help."

Arthur reached over and caught Eames' chin, digging his fingers into the flesh and hating how true his words were. "If I don't think about it, then it's no more than any other nightmare." He says, unsure who he's trying to convince. Then he shoves their lips together before the forger's expression has the chance to reveal pity.

Eames tasted like he always had during the brief contacts between them; Salty like the sunflower seeds he was always eating, sweet like the over-sugared coffee he drank all day. The point-man's fingers slide along his jaw to the back of his head and he grips his hair to keep him in place, not that Eames is trying to get away. Arthur can hear the building creaking around them, the dream collapsing since the dreamer and the architect are already kicked. Glass shatters nearby, a window probably. Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, bites until he tastes Eames' blood, and doesn't care. Then he opens his eyes to the dimness of the cruise ship's lounge, seeking out the forger's gaze before he has the notion to stop himself.

A.N.: I'm terribly sorry this took so long to post. It's just that...I wasn't happy with it, I'm still not, but I felt it needed to be finished so I forced myself to post it. I apologize for the long wait, and if this end doesn't live up to expectations.