Fic: The Death of a Thousand Gods-Put Together

The Death of a Thousand Gods-Put Together

Author: Aphrodite

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Disclaimer: Fiction based on fictional characters.

Rating: R

Fandom: Inception

Summary: Eames finds himself in trouble and calls Arthur just to talk.

The Death of a Thousand Gods-Put Together I

Eames can get out of any perilous situations with his unyielding strength or endless witty charm. Most of the time. This predicament he currently finds himself in, however, he sees no possible way out. He struggles to get up, but the pain is too much and he lowers his upper body back onto the stained concrete floor. He stares up into the shattered skylight and at the stars above. All he can think about is Arthur- where Arthur is at, what Arthur is doing during this dead hour of the night. It's a quarter past three am. Of course, Arthur is sleeping peacefully in his comfortable bed, wrapped up in 800 thread count Egyptian cotton. He wonders when Arthur sleeps if he's dreaming of him like he dreams of Arthur when he closes his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he doesn't fight the tears from pooling in his eyes. Wincing painfully, he stretches his left arm and reaches for his cell phone. He dials the only number he knows by heart. It rings several times and Eames almost gives up when Arthur mumbles into the phone.

"Fuck, Eames. It's past three in the morning."

Taking a deep breath, Eames closes his eyes to blink away the tears. He gathers all of his energy and strength and responds, "I know."

"What do you want, Eames, that you can not wait until the morning?"

"I just want to talk," Eames slurs.

"Just talk?! Eames, have you fuckin' lost your mind? Are you drunk somewhere? Do you need me to haul your ass back to your place?"

"No." Eames takes another deep breath before continuing, "How's your day today?"

"Um..." Arthur thinks for a moment and then lies back down in bed. In all the years he's known the forger, Eames has never asked him how his day was. He was always lecherous and crude even. "Great, actually."

"What did you do today?"

"Not much. I got up early and went jogging at Central Park. Then I went to the café downtown and read the newspaper."

"Sounds like a perfect day for you. Anything interesting?"

"Not really. We're still fighting the war in Iraq. The deficit is still climbing. Oh, and the Yankees are still winning."

`I don't like the Yankees."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. They're a bunch of pretentious dicks."

"You don't know that, Mr. Eames."

"They think they're above everyone else. That's why I always root for the opposing team. By default, I'll support any team they play against."

"I didn't know you were so passionate about your hatred for the Yankees."

"I'm passionate about a lot of things."

"I can see that."

"Like you," Eames whispers into the phone. There is a long pregnant pause and it takes all the willpower in the world to fight the tears threatening to fall, again. "There's just something about you, Arthur. I'm passionate about your fierce loyalty toward Cobb. The man is on the brink of insanity and yet you stand by your man."

"Dom's like a brother to me. I've already lost Mal. I can't lose him, too."

"And I commend you for that. I also admired you for not living off your trust fund and made something out of yourself when you could have the whole world handed to you on a silver platter."

"I didn't want to be my father. He only loves money."

"Or the fact that you could get away with almost anything on pure looks only, but you chose to deflect your stunning good looks with your badassness."

"Eames, that's not a word."

"I know," Eames lets out a chortle that ends up choking him and for the first time, he whimpers aloud.

"Eames," Arthur whispers into the phone- concern is now evident in his voice.

"I'm fine." Eames takes another deep breath and settles back onto the ground. "You are brilliant at everything you do. Everything about you is perfection at its finest. You never fail to amaze me. You are like a human sponge- absorbing everything you come across."

"In this line of work, I have to."

"I love the fact that when you smile, so do your eyes."

"Why can't you say all those things to me instead of your typical lewd comments?"

"Because, darling, those things are also true. I think about fuckin' you all the time."

"I just lost interest."

"Wait! I love your Morgan M. Morgensen skit."

"How did you find out about that? Was it Ariadne?"

"I swear to her I wouldn't tell anyone."

"That girl."

"She's a sweetheart. Don't be angry. I was harassing her so much for any morsel tidbit about you that she blurted out about the skit to me one day. It really wasn't her fault. I would have found out about it anyways."

"Fine. I'll let her off the hook."

"Hey, why didn't you go see Gaga while we were in London that one summer? And don't say that you don't like her because your cover of Bad Romance is the greatest."

"How did you- never mind. I don't know. I don't think I'd fit in that crowd."

"True." Eames nods. "With your expensive bespoke three piece suit and all."

"Besides, I didn't have anyone to go with."

"I could have taken you. I'd love me some Gaga."

"Why, of course." There's a hint of sarcasm in Arthur's voice.

Eames thinks long and hard and continues, "I love that lavender blonde. The way she moves, the way she walks. I touch myself, can't get enough. And in the silence of the night. Through all the tears and all the lies I touch myself, and it's alright. Just give in, don't give up, baby. Open up your heart and your mind to me. Just know when that glass is empty. That the world is gonna bend. Happy in the club with a bottle of red wine. Stars in our eyes 'cause we're having a good time. So happy I could die. Be your best friend, yeah, I'll love you forever. Up in the clouds, we'll be higher than ever. So happy I could die, and it's alright."

"Eames, I never knew you were such a Lady Gaga fanboy."

"How's my singing?"

"Not bad if I say so myself. Of course, you can't top my cover of Bad Romance on acoustic guitar."

"And I wouldn't even try to top the great one." Eames laughs, which starts another round of choking fit. This time, he feels himself choking on his blood and he wretches on the floor, still clutching onto the phone.

Arthur is gravely concerned as Eames still hasn't stopped coughing for several prolonged minutes. There is pain laced in his whimpers as he finally settles back to the concrete ground beneath him. When he returns to the phone, Arthur is yelling at him.

"What the fuck is going on, Eames?!"

"Nothing. I just want to talk."

"Bullshit!" Arthur calls him out. "Tell me where you're at."

"No." Eames shakes his head. "I can't."

"You can't or you won't?"

"Both. I can't because I don't know where I'm at myself. I won't because I don't want you to see me like this."

"See you like what?"


The phone slips past Arthur's fingers, hitting the carpeted floor with a loud thud, as Eame's revelation hits him like a ton of bricks. Collecting his thoughts, he picks up his phone, again, after hearing Eame's panicked cries begging for him.

"Please don't go away."

"I'm right here," Arthur says calmly. "Where are you?" He asks firmly.

"I don't know," Eames wails out loud and Arthur knows he's telling the truth.

"Are you still in New York?"

"Yes. Never left."

"Christ, Eames! I thought you were on your way back to London to visit with your family."

"I was, but London doesn't have you. New York does."

"Okay," Arthur breathes in deeply, running his hand over his face.

"Tell me your surrounding."

"I don't know."

"Damnit! Eames, where the fuck are you?!"

"I don't know."

"If you say I don't know one more fuckin' time, I'm going to kill you myself when I find you. Now, Eames, stay calm and tell me your surrounding."

"Okay. Okay." Eames takes Arthur's advice and relaxes. He lies down on the concrete ground and turns his head from side to side to inspect his surroundings. "I'm in an abandoned warehouse of some sort. The ceiling is made out of glass."

"All glass?"

"All glass."

"And the walls?"


"Can you look outside and tell me what you see?"


"Don't tell me you don't-"

"I can't move," Eames interrupts Arthur and Arthur's heart sinks further into the pit of his stomach. Eames has always been an arrogant tough guy and the fact that he can't even move to look outside speaks volumes.

"Okay, Eames. I'm going to find out where you are and everything will be okay. You'll be fine."

Eames shakes his head. He's now crying. It's useless fighting back the tears flowing down his face. "Can't we just talk instead?"

"No!" Arthur yells and can actually hear Eames flinch on the other line. He quickly apologizes, "When I get to you, we can talk, again, okay?" Eames nods on the other line. "I'll be right back now. Stay on the line, Eames. Stay with me, you hear!"

"Yes, Darling."

Arthur smiles at the lose endearment. He's genuinely smiling now. He vaults out of bed and hastily dresses in his navy pinstripe three piece suit, which Eames claims to be his favorite. He turns on his laptop and researches for any abandoned warehouses in the state of New York when he hears the unmistakable sound of a vessel ship's prolonged sound signal blast into the night. Arthur quickly searches for any departing vessels and discovers one cargo vessel leaving at a quarter `til four. He writes down the address of the departure port and speeds across the city toward the port. Upon arrival, his car skids to a halt in front of the gated entrance of the port. Running rampant past buildings after buildings and still no sign of Eames anywhere, Arthur's frustrations amplifies. Perhaps, the point man, whose expertise is in attention to details, has gotten the wrong the information and now Eames is slowly dying in some abandoned warehouse miles away. Arthur shakes the thoughts of Eames dying out of his mind and picks up his pace, again. He dashes across the coastal port and screams out Eames' name into the night. He's almost at the end of the road when he thinks he hears something. He slows down and stalks the stretch of road separating two rows of warehouse buildings. When he hears the second strained `darling' choking out of the building to his right, Arthur turns and follows the sound. He fires into the heavy duty lock and rips off the chain holding the doors together. He slowly pushes open the doors and enters timorously. He can't help but gasp out loud as the color completely drains from his face. In the middle of the abandoned warehouse, Eames lies with a bloody pole extending out of his stomach.


Closing Notes: To read all my fics including this one and other Inception Slash stories, visit Aphrodite's Labyrinth. There you'll also find stories inspired by the sparkly boys of 'Nsync like the classic, "A Tale of Two of Boybands", first archived here a decade ago, and some stories inspired by my current muse, Jason Castro. For a complete collection of Jason Castro slash, vist my author's page at Castrofics.