ruffians | and you know me

Well I don't think the way I feel about it is going to change.

[He pulls the covers tight around himself, wrapping his arms around himself with a soft sigh. His tone becomes a little abrupt, but it's not that he's annoyed or anything like it, he just wants to stop talking about this altogether.]

It's fine, you don't have to... ["Keep doing this." Eames frowns.] I'll figure something out.

[He twists and looks down at Eames with a frown.]

You can work through your feelings on this. It doesn't have to be right now, but you can, and until you do it's not fair to ask me for it knowing we're going to go through all of this over again afterwards.

[He's not trying to make it sound like an ultimatum. He sounds as patient as he can be given the circumstances.]

Yeah. I understand.

[He just wants to stop talking about this, half tempted to just get up and go to a different bunk. Really what Eames wants is to go back to a time before he fucked up and showed this to Arthur, but he can't do that so he'll do the next best thing: Go on like none of it ever happened and never bring it up again.]

[Arthur sighs one more time and decides to concede to Eames' desire not to do this anymore. Instead of pressing it he lays back down and slides up to Eames' side, laying an arm across him and closing his eyes for some sleep.]

[Despite himself Eames immediately pulls himself closer with a weak noise in the back of his throat, desperate to be held.]

[Arthur hums and pulls him in, happy to just hold him for the forseeable future.]

[This is what he needed. Eames tucks his head against Arthur with a shaky breath and closes his eyes to try and sleep.]

[And so it doesn't come up again. Arthur doesn't think much on it after a couple weeks, but then Eames starts staying out later and coming back looking roughed up, bruises and busted lips, a torn sleeve the second time. It's the third time that Arthur feels the need to speak up, getting up from what he's doing when Eames walks by him and following him wherever he's going.]

Hey, what the hell's going on?

[It's only a little accusatory, mostly concerned.]

[Eames is drunk. He has been every day this week. It makes everything slower to heal, but Eames thinks that might be a good thing. Having it last that bit longer makes it that bit more real, more satisfying.]

[He's certainly feeling pretty satisfied right now, a smile on his face on his way to the kitchen. Maybe it should register that this isn't good or normal, but it doesn't at all. Mostly it feels good, if a little hollow, but that's what the alcohol's for.]

What are you talking about?

This is the third time you've gone out and gotten yourself beaten up.

[He lifts his hand to Eames' jaw, gently trying to get him to turn his face.]

[Eames turns his head as directed with an expression not unlike a rebellious child waiting to get told off for something stupid.]

It's nothing.

[Arthur's not here to tell him off. His frown deepens as he scans Eames' face to gauge the damage.]

I'm worried about you.

[His vision swims a little as he tries to focus on Arthur, but Eames ignores it, thinking about how it's sweet of Arthur to worry instead. What a good partner. Maybe he should get him a gift.]

Don't be. I'm not.

[That grin would probably be more reassuring without the blood on his teeth.]

Eames, you're drunk.

[And that's a bit of a feat.]

I am!

[He's really happy about it, and he reaches out to put his hands on Arthur's shoulders.]

And you are gorgeous.

[God, this is... well it's hard to see in some respects. Without the context of their talk weeks ago Arthur would just roll his eyes and let Eames get on with whatever shenanigans his drunken mind is planning to get up to. But Arthur remembers enough of that conversation to link this back.]

Is this what you used to do before?

[It takes a long moment for Eames to figure out what that question means, a deep frown of concentration on his face. When he gets it, he shrugs a shoulder. Right now he doesn't see the big deal, but Arthur looks really serious.]

Yeah, sometimes.

[Arthur shakes his head, a solemn look on his face.]

I just wanted you to talk to me.

[He's speaking almost more to himself than to Eames, all too aware that Eames might be useless having an actual conversation right now. He's not expecting a real answer but he's not going to walk away until Eames releases his shoulders.]

[He's much too drunk (and potentially concussed) to get what Arthur's saying, giving him a confused frown because they are talking? He drops his hands to Arthur's chest, still with that concerned and confused look on his face.]

You look upset.

[God, why does he have to be so fucking drunk.]

Yeah, I'm upset. I don't like you going out and doing this to yourself intentionally because it's easier than just talking to me about some rough sex.

[He shakes his head and turns away, realizing he doesn't really want to do this while Eames is so out of his head.]

You should rest, we have to head out in a few hours.

[Eames makes a weak noise in upset when Arthur turns away, wanting to go with him, but even this drunk he knows well enough when he's not wanted. It's probably the worst blow he's had all week and Eames stands in the hall for a minute trying to process it, but it's useless right now.]

[He sighs and shakes his head and turns to go to bed, he'll be out cold within minutes of crawling under the covers.]

[They don't actually have to leave, but they're ready to go and Arthur starts making preparations right away as he grabs something to eat. He'd rather sit out at low orbit right now anyway, let the quiet clear his mind. It's always calming to stare down at a planet from that height and think about how you can't tell what matters and what doesn't from way up here. Right now someone else's partner is getting home from a stupid barfight and having an argument and it doesn't really fucking matter in the long run.]

[Still, it hurts when it's Eames. Maybe Eames is just always too close of a problem for Arthur to get the right perspective, or maybe that's just how it's supposed to be with love. How depressing.]

[After a few hours Arthur just manages the takeoff by himself. They already have plans for their next stop but it's no rush, so he's just going to sit and run some numbers in the captain's chair and think about life and how much Eames drives him crazy sometimes.]

[Eames is pretty much dead to the world for a good five or six hours, but he wakes up feeling great. A little hungry and very thirsty, but otherwise he feels refreshed and calm, which he's sorely been missing. There's a little residual bruising around his eye and on his hands, but it doesn't hurt so Eames doesn't fuss about it, just takes a quick shower and throws on some clean, undamaged clothes, and wanders into the kitchen to get a glass of water and something starchy to eat.]

[If he remembered anything about coming back and talking to Arthur he might feel a little less fantastic, a little guilty maybe, but lucky for Eames he doesn't really remember anything at all.]

[If the state of calm were a spectrum, Arthur would be at the other end. He's in the captain's chair leaning back and sipping some coffee, bare feet resting up on the side of the dashboard as he considers his life and his choices. He feels heavy and a little tired, but not in the way that makes him want to sleep. Just worn out. He wants to understand Eames and he's doing the best he can sitting here alone, but he's aware of the fact that he can't get into Eames' head, and he's really trying to drop his judgment so they can actually talk when they next get an opportunity. It's something he always struggles with in every aspect of his life, but he's had plenty of practice with Eames.]

[Relationships are so hard sometimes.]

[Once he feels sufficiently fed, Eames takes his water with him to the cockpit, assuming that's where Arthur is since Eames hasn't seen him anywhere else. He leans against the chair when he gets there, lazily hanging an arm over the back so he can play with Arthur's hair.]

How long have you been in here?

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