At least they're both on shaky ground. It makes it fair, almost.
Leaving Eames to deal with the coffee, Arthur takes a slow poke around the place, pausing by the liquor cabinet and frowning when he sees just how many half-empty bottles there are in there.
"... You been partying a lot or something?" he asks, even if he knows that's not it.
There was no reason to take the empty bottles out, really. Sure, Eames had visitors around Christmas but things had quieted down since then, he had gotten used to existing just on his own again, not caring if his growing alcohol use was leaving marks.
And it sure was.
Arthur would find more of those bottles in the kitchen cabinets.
It's not an easy thing to forget, he could say, but he doesn't. Instead he looks at Arthur, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, quiet and still. He needs to knock himself out before he goes to sleep or he will dream about it, that damn pirate ship and killing the person he's come to love.
In the end, he says nothing, just fiddles with the coffee maker a little longer, too long, maybe he started to grind the beans by hand...
Seeing as how the man's not answering him, Arthur approaches Eames and asks quietly, "Nightmares?"
He doesn't know what nightmares might be plaguing Eames, but considering the man's PTSD had a tendency to rear it's ugly head at nighttime when they were under a contract the first time...
There's nothing to fiddle with at the coffee pot anymore. So Eames lowers his hands onto the counter, too carefully. He's never been good at dealing with guilt, he's more likely to just split and leave. But he can't do that now. It makes him feel sick in his stomach.
"Sure," he says hoarsely. "Nightmares, regret and self-medicating," he snorts softly.
A snort of sharp amusement spills out, just a little bitter.
"Oh, lovely, always lovely."
He's already laid himself open for Arthur once today. And he knows he needs to do so again. This one is going to sting maybe a little less, maybe a little more. It's hard to tell.
"I thought you wouldn't come back," he says after a moment of quietness, staring at the coffee pot. "And now that you are there, I'm not sure how to fix what the pirate ship wrecked. But thankfully I haven't forgotten it, it keeps me awake. Sometimes... Well, most nights, it's easier to sleep if I'm drunk. I know forgiveness doesn't just happen. But at least now there's a chance."
He looks at Arthur, waiting for him to throw it all back at his face. Rightfully so.
Rather than looking ready to tear into Eames, though, the look on Arthur's face is stricken and surprised.
Then again, is it that much of a surprise, considering Eames' confession? And now that Arthur knows what he does about Eames' previous misconceptions regarding him and Cobb, the whole nonsense on the ship and how fast it escalated makes more sense, spirits or no.
Unable to hold that gaze, Arthur looks away awkwardly, just out of reach from Eames as he leans back against the counter, arms loosely crossed just a touch defensively over his chest.
"... I had trouble sleeping, after the ship," he admits, still not looking at Eames. "Heard it was a side-effect with others who'd had... 'experiences' on it. It screwed everyone over, so... I guess I'm saying I don't blame you for everything that happened there."
Eames studies him quietly, the surprise and then something else, turning inwardly again - he had made Arthur watching a hobby long time before Duplicity and long time before he fell for the man like a rock sinking through waves. He knows in theory what those expressions are, what that stance means, and he should know how to dissolve the discomfort Arthur feels.
But there's a whole pirate ship size chasm between them and isn't that just awfully frustrating?
"I'm not willing to take blame for it," he says quietly. "I would never do that to you. I would--" He stumbles over his words, which is a rarity for Eames. "You know that, right? Arthur, I'm struggling because I want to strangle myself for what I did, or what someone did using my body. That I could let that happen..."
He doesn't think about it when he reaches for Arthur, sliding a hand over his, curling his fingers over Arthur's palm.
Arthur twitches at the touch and his eyes immediately focus in on the large hand covering his. But... he doesn't pull away or shake it off. After a long moment of staring, he turns his hand, loosely lacing their fingers together, giving a gentle squeeze to them.
"Yeah, I... get that," he murmurs. He really does. It's just going to take a bit more time for him to convince all of his brain that this is fine. That Eames is safe.
Eames quiets when Arthur takes his hand. He sucks in a quiet, deep breath, holds it and then relaxes. The coffeemaker gurgles on the counter beside him, Eames doesn't pull his hand away but he also doesn't move in any closer like he usually might have.
"I'm sincerely sorry about what happened," he says quietly. "And I don't expect you to forgive me now, or maybe ever. I just want you to know that none of that was my own idea and I would never do that to you."
He squeezes Arthur's hand once and then pulls his hand away, busying himself with the coffee. Yes, he drinks a lot. Yes, there's a reason for it. No, it's probably not going away soon.
He sees that coffee volume. He understands the reason for it, now.
And without realising it or having a moment to think (how very unlike him...), his mouth is open and asking without permission from his mind, "Is that invite to stay the night still there?"
Maybe if he sticks around, Eames will feel more at ease... Who knows. All he knows is that it feels... wrong to just leave the man to suffer his insomnia alone like that, when Arthur knows it's because of him.
Eames bites the inside of his cheek, closing his eyes for a moment to draw in a slow breath, gathering himself.
"The invite is still there, Arthur," he says quietly. "Please, do stay."
It's the lowest he will go about it. He's already confessed his feelings, admitted to having a problem with sleep and alcohol and now he's asking openly.
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At least they're both on shaky ground. It makes it fair, almost.
Leaving Eames to deal with the coffee, Arthur takes a slow poke around the place, pausing by the liquor cabinet and frowning when he sees just how many half-empty bottles there are in there.
"... You been partying a lot or something?" he asks, even if he knows that's not it.
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And it sure was.
Arthur would find more of those bottles in the kitchen cabinets.
It's not an easy thing to forget, he could say, but he doesn't. Instead he looks at Arthur, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, quiet and still. He needs to knock himself out before he goes to sleep or he will dream about it, that damn pirate ship and killing the person he's come to love.
In the end, he says nothing, just fiddles with the coffee maker a little longer, too long, maybe he started to grind the beans by hand...
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Seeing as how the man's not answering him, Arthur approaches Eames and asks quietly, "Nightmares?"
He doesn't know what nightmares might be plaguing Eames, but considering the man's PTSD had a tendency to rear it's ugly head at nighttime when they were under a contract the first time...
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"Sure," he says hoarsely. "Nightmares, regret and self-medicating," he snorts softly.
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Arthur stares a moment longer, taking in Eames' body language, reading between the lines to discern what's not being said.
"How's that working out for you?"
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"Oh, lovely, always lovely."
He's already laid himself open for Arthur once today. And he knows he needs to do so again. This one is going to sting maybe a little less, maybe a little more. It's hard to tell.
"I thought you wouldn't come back," he says after a moment of quietness, staring at the coffee pot. "And now that you are there, I'm not sure how to fix what the pirate ship wrecked. But thankfully I haven't forgotten it, it keeps me awake. Sometimes... Well, most nights, it's easier to sleep if I'm drunk. I know forgiveness doesn't just happen. But at least now there's a chance."
He looks at Arthur, waiting for him to throw it all back at his face. Rightfully so.
no subject
Rather than looking ready to tear into Eames, though, the look on Arthur's face is stricken and surprised.
Then again, is it that much of a surprise, considering Eames' confession? And now that Arthur knows what he does about Eames' previous misconceptions regarding him and Cobb, the whole nonsense on the ship and how fast it escalated makes more sense, spirits or no.
Unable to hold that gaze, Arthur looks away awkwardly, just out of reach from Eames as he leans back against the counter, arms loosely crossed just a touch defensively over his chest.
"... I had trouble sleeping, after the ship," he admits, still not looking at Eames. "Heard it was a side-effect with others who'd had... 'experiences' on it. It screwed everyone over, so... I guess I'm saying I don't blame you for everything that happened there."
no subject
But there's a whole pirate ship size chasm between them and isn't that just awfully frustrating?
"I'm not willing to take blame for it," he says quietly. "I would never do that to you. I would--" He stumbles over his words, which is a rarity for Eames. "You know that, right? Arthur, I'm struggling because I want to strangle myself for what I did, or what someone did using my body. That I could let that happen..."
He doesn't think about it when he reaches for Arthur, sliding a hand over his, curling his fingers over Arthur's palm.
no subject
Arthur twitches at the touch and his eyes immediately focus in on the large hand covering his. But... he doesn't pull away or shake it off. After a long moment of staring, he turns his hand, loosely lacing their fingers together, giving a gentle squeeze to them.
"Yeah, I... get that," he murmurs. He really does. It's just going to take a bit more time for him to convince all of his brain that this is fine. That Eames is safe.
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"I'm sincerely sorry about what happened," he says quietly. "And I don't expect you to forgive me now, or maybe ever. I just want you to know that none of that was my own idea and I would never do that to you."
He squeezes Arthur's hand once and then pulls his hand away, busying himself with the coffee. Yes, he drinks a lot. Yes, there's a reason for it. No, it's probably not going away soon.
no subject
He sees that coffee volume. He understands the reason for it, now.
And without realising it or having a moment to think (how very unlike him...), his mouth is open and asking without permission from his mind, "Is that invite to stay the night still there?"
Maybe if he sticks around, Eames will feel more at ease... Who knows. All he knows is that it feels... wrong to just leave the man to suffer his insomnia alone like that, when Arthur knows it's because of him.
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"So, which part of this grovelling and feelings made you feel like you want to stick around?" Eames asks, turning towards Arthur with raised brows.
"You can stay as long as you like," he says with a small sigh. "You should already know that."
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"If you're gonna be a defensive dick about it, I can always just clear off," Arthur huffs, crossing his arms and looking away defensively.
Feelings and the discussion thereof are hard, okay.
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"The invite is still there, Arthur," he says quietly. "Please, do stay."
It's the lowest he will go about it. He's already confessed his feelings, admitted to having a problem with sleep and alcohol and now he's asking openly.
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Dark eyes slide over to stare at Eames' face, taking in the obvious restraint, there.
"... Okay," he answers at last. "Just for tonight."
For now.
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He offers Arthur his without another word.