when it's said and done, by Phenylic (PG-13)

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Fandom: INCEPTION
Title: when it's said and done
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Length: 5,920
Author on LJ: phenylic
Author Website: author's works on AO3
Why this must be read: From the fic summary: Eames told Arthur that he loved him seven years before Inception. When Eames pushed his suit, Arthur set him seven impossible tasks. For me, the joy of this fic is in watching Arthur and Eames go about their regular day-to-day lives of international dream thievery, while growing together, growing older, and performing seven impossible things. Aside from the fact that they are adorable together in this fic, it injects a touch of fairy tale into the universe of Inception, a sparkle of pure magic that makes the grand love between Arthur and Eames just that much more epic--just that much more profound. ♥

It’s getting ridiculous, and Eames is only just beginning to realize that this is highly unfair.

“Arthur,” Eames says slowly when he receives a lumpy package that turns out to be a plain black sweater with a note pinned on telling Eames to wash it white. “You know that I’m not your maid, right?”

There’s a low laugh from the other side of the phone, and yes, Arthur assures him, he does know.

“Then why are you asking me these things?” Because it’s been fun and funny, but there’s a point where the joke wears thin.

“So don’t do them,” Arthur answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, but that’s not the point here because Arthur should know by now that Eames would do anything, no matter how unreasonable.

“It’s not fair, darling,” he says, scuffing his shoes against the sidewalk, one hand holding his cell to his ear, the other clutching the soft fabric. He squeezes his fingers tight, as though he could almost feel Arthur the wool. “You were supposed to be too drunk to remember anything I said.”

“Shouldn’t have said it then,” and the line clicks.

“Manipulative bastard,” he says to dead silence.

He makes the trip to Mombasa because he’s desperate, and he needs that damn sweater permanently out of his life.

“Yusuf!” he barks, none too cordially when he enters a dimly-lit room in the back of some seedy alley. The heat has done nothing for his manners.

“If you’re here to shoot me,” a voice says from behind counters of mismatched vials and dying flames. “I’d rather not come out.”

Eames exhales sharply through his nose and says, more calmly, “Yusuf, I need your help.”

A head pops up near the back, comically distorted by various beakers. “Oh, it’s just you.”

“I’ve come to kill you,” Eames drones, deadpan. “I’ll set your little chemistry set aflame.”

“What can I do for you, Eames?” Yusuf asks, stepping forward, wiping his hands on the front of his clothes.

Eames tosses him the sweater. “I need it white,” he says.

“You couldn’t’ve just bought it like that?”

“No,” Eames replies dully. “Can’t you make up some chemical to turn it white? I don’t care how bad it’ll smell, or how much of it you’ll burn. I just need it white.”

“Has the Somnacin finally made you stupid?” Yusuf asks curiously, looking up at him with eyebrows raised, somehow managing a smile without a hint of condescension or insult. “Why don’t you just bleach it?”

In retrospect, Eames definitely should’ve known that.

when it's said and done