barkinmad | Fic: Catch A Fire and Let It Go

Title: Catch A Fire and Let It Go
Author:

barkimad
Pairing: Arthur/Robert
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Nolan's universe > my universe.
Notes: Written for this prompt over at

inception_kink. Where else? "They keep bumping into each other in all sorts of places. Robert thinks it's fate (because he's totally a romantic)."

I'm so so sorry if you expected this to be anything less than ridiculous.

It's not like Robert believes in serendipity. Well, okay, he might have seen the movie around twenty times, but he was a kid. And he might have tried to convince his father to buy the ice cream shoppe, but he was a teenager.

He's an adult now, full of mature ideas and reasonable expectations.

But something about this man in an upscale New York hotel bar seems familiar, and he can't quite help but think that they've seen each other before.

"San Diego?" He presses, taking another sip from his martini, dry, one olive.

"No, I don't think so." The man refuses to meet eyes with him.

"I've seen you before, I'm sure of it." Robert leans in closer for a better look. He's allowed to, of course, because his first martini is currently splattered all over the Armani pant legs of the gentleman in front of him. He doesn't entirely blame the guy for his hostility.

The man slams his whiskey down and the ice in the glass clatters together as he makes up an excuse, apologizes and leaves.

- - - - -

It's Puerto Rico next. Robert doesn't have any business there, but he likes to travel to authentic places to brush up on his Spanish.

"Helado. Er...frio?" Perhaps it needs some work.

"Cuando? Pero Senor Cobb necessita la máquina antes de febrero. No, no el posible, esos son las reglas."

It was a different language, but the voice was the same.

"You're translating directly from English into Spanish, it doesn't work that way."

"Excuse me?" The slender neck snaps up to see who dare interrupt, then retreats equally as fast, craned over some documents. "Who are you?"

"You have to remember me, it was only two weeks ago."

The Hispanic man looks between the two of them, gives the guy a shrug, and goes off to tend to his confectionery.

"I'm sorry, I don't." His light brown leather jacket is crunching at his elbows, as if he's restraining himself against all his will.

"You're a bad liar."

Now the man's looking him right in the eye, and suddenly Robert wishes he wouldn't because oh god, that was a very deep shade of brown.

"Are you tailing me?" It takes Robert a moment to realize that he's been asked a direct question.

"Um...no. Which makes this all the more coincidental, don't you think?" He slides down into the now-vacated seat.

"Your point?" The guy takes another spoonful of vanilla ice cream, and Robert is starting to wonder if he might have some kind of unnatural attention to mouths.

"I'm Robert," he extends his hand. "Well, Robert Fischer. But you can forget about that last part if you want."

"I'm leaving." He finishes his beer and Robert can't do a thing because there's nothing between the man and the door.

"If you don't give me your name, I'm gonna have to invent one for you."

His hand was almost to the door knob, but he sighs. "Arthur."

- - - - -

"This is insane. There's no way this could ever happen."

"Half of my father's empire was centered in London," Robert explains, pressing his forehead against the cool window.

"If you're so used to this place, why are you in the biggest tourist trap in the city?" Arthur is leafing through a pamphlet about all the sites one can see from the London Eye on a clear day.

"It relaxes me."

There is a pause while Arthur gives him one of the strangest looks he's even encountered. Not that he minds.

"Why are you? Here, I mean."

"Recon. But mostly because my boss ordered me to have fun. Do people have fun on the London Eye?"

"Maybe if they've had an aneurysm."

Arthur cracked a smile. He cracked a smile. And it was because of Robert. Mission accomplished. Let's wrap up folks, the job is all but done.

"You're not going to ask?"

To marry you? Not until second base. But all he said was, "What?"

"Why I'm working recon." Arthur had finished with the pamphlet minutes ago, but he was still leafing through every page.

"You don't ask about my business, and please do not ask about my business," Robert paused for another smile, "and I won't ask about yours."

"Sounds fair enough."

Arthur still seemed more familiar that he ought to have been. And now that he was a frequent visitor in Robert's dreams, it was as if all this had been planned somehow.

They never even looked at London's sunset skyline.

- - - - -

It's been six weeks, and Robert hasn't gotten a single message from Arthur. He's wondering if he should start checking pigeons for little notes strapped to their legs. He tries to interpret the message of certain stacks of smoke billowing up into the New York skyline.

He is completely and utterly hopeless.

Not that he cares.

He decides, as a last act of independence, that he will in fact buy that little ice cream shoppe he'd always wanted. He just wants it to be a part of his life, not own it, or fire anybody, or even change the name on the sign or menus. He just wants to know that it'll always be there.

"Okay, James, do you want hot chocolate or ice cream?" There is a man holding the hands of two little kids. Robert thinks he recognizes him. And even more strangely, there is a man he knows he recognizes next to him.

"Cobb, you're going to melt those kids' teeth out."

"Easy choice for you to make, Mr. Vanilla," the man says. Somehow, in Robert's memories, his voice has never been quite so cheerful. "I bet you're getting a salad."

"Actually, I was thinking about that Creme de la Creme Cream Cheese Cake," he says, eyes meandering lightly over the display case.

"Oooh, can I have some, Uncle Arthur?" The girl asks, tugging at a leather sleeve.

"Maybe," Arthur teases. He finally finally looks up.

Robert is behind the counter, with a white apron on that looks like it belongs on someone not wearing a $1000 suit.

The man named Cobb latches on quickly after that. He looks absolutely mortified.

"Arthur," he says quietly, very seriously, and he's suddenly extremely reminiscent of Robert's memory again. "Arthur."

Arthur's eyes are still locked with Robert's, and neither of them quite know when and how things could have ever been different between them.

"It's alright, Cobb," Arthur says absently, slowly patting the girl on the head, "It's okay."

"It's okay?!? It's just okay now to randomly bump into - "

Arthur's elbow jabs out and back so quickly that the only evidence of it ever being moved at all is Cobb's whimper of pain and his expression as he leans over to grasp at his ribs.

"I think," Arthur says slowly, resting both arms onto the counter and leaning over a bit to far over for Robert to keep his coherency intact, "I would like a Forbidden Broadway Sundae."

"That's big enough for two," Robert points out.

"Yep."

Robert thinks it's the best error of judgment he's ever encountered.