[ The house doesn't seem empty as much as it simply feels empty, Dom's presence alone not enough to make it quite the home it's been despite that nothing has changed within the walls themselves. Her belongings have been set aside but not packed away, not thrown out -- they're constant reminders of what Cobb doesn't forget for a second anyway, what weighs as heavily on his mind as the idea did on Mal's, and he knows he should, but won't, not now. Not yet.
She's gone and the world hasn't crashed down like he feels as though it should have or stopped turning; he holds what he can together for James and for Phillipa, but the guilt is thick enough to be almost touchable even when shoved to the side like it has to be to keep it from eating him alive. He's not been far from his phone and he's aware of that Arthur has called, seen the text messages pile up in his inbox and told himself he'll respond eventually but not done so. Not now, not yet -- shutting Arthur out is easier, and unfair and selfish as well and Dom knows this too, but that does little to stop him and he's thankful, somehow, for that hand on his shoulder that isn't what he truly needs but still couldn't do without.
It shows subtly, because he doesn't want to rely on Arthur as much as he does, doesn't think he has the right to or can allow himself to, but he looks, bluntly put, terrible when he emerges from the living room after a long moment of silence. Sleep doesn't come easy for him these days; hasn't in some time now, and he's been running on close to nothing for the past few days and he needs to eat and maybe, he thinks, he needs a drink. ]
You brought groceries.
[ No apology for the missed calls, but it's not that he doesn't think Arthur deserves one and he knows that Arthur knows this and doesn't expect it. It's there, somewhere, the I'm sorry and thank you but being grateful means accepting whatever's being offered or given and that's something he can only do silently, so nothing more is said. ]
Yeah. [ His voice is quiet, as if speaking any louder would disturb whatever absence that has settled over this house. (It's not a house, Arthur, it's a tomb, Eames had said once, and Arthur had felt a rage he wasn't quite sure what to do with at the time.) He understands what he meant now, maybe. Something is not dead in this house; something is still dying, decaying and clawing and suffocating, something that has a familiar shape to her eyes and a lilting accent to her voice.
Arthur's eyes quickly take in the man in-front of him. There is a dullness in his eyes and a hollow in his hands and Arthur wonders if this means Cobb has been dreaming, not sleeping. There are worse things than dreaming — the dead do not dream, after all.
Hefting the paper bag in his hands, Arthur tips his chin in a shall we gesture as he makes his way to the kitchen. He sets it on the counter and unpacks slowly but methodically, and Arthur doesn't meet Cobb's eyes when he asks: ]
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She's gone and the world hasn't crashed down like he feels as though it should have or stopped turning; he holds what he can together for James and for Phillipa, but the guilt is thick enough to be almost touchable even when shoved to the side like it has to be to keep it from eating him alive. He's not been far from his phone and he's aware of that Arthur has called, seen the text messages pile up in his inbox and told himself he'll respond eventually but not done so. Not now, not yet -- shutting Arthur out is easier, and unfair and selfish as well and Dom knows this too, but that does little to stop him and he's thankful, somehow, for that hand on his shoulder that isn't what he truly needs but still couldn't do without.
It shows subtly, because he doesn't want to rely on Arthur as much as he does, doesn't think he has the right to or can allow himself to, but he looks, bluntly put, terrible when he emerges from the living room after a long moment of silence. Sleep doesn't come easy for him these days; hasn't in some time now, and he's been running on close to nothing for the past few days and he needs to eat and maybe, he thinks, he needs a drink. ]
You brought groceries.
[ No apology for the missed calls, but it's not that he doesn't think Arthur deserves one and he knows that Arthur knows this and doesn't expect it. It's there, somewhere, the I'm sorry and thank you but being grateful means accepting whatever's being offered or given and that's something he can only do silently, so nothing more is said. ]
no subject
Arthur's eyes quickly take in the man in-front of him. There is a dullness in his eyes and a hollow in his hands and Arthur wonders if this means Cobb has been dreaming, not sleeping. There are worse things than dreaming — the dead do not dream, after all.
Hefting the paper bag in his hands, Arthur tips his chin in a shall we gesture as he makes his way to the kitchen. He sets it on the counter and unpacks slowly but methodically, and Arthur doesn't meet Cobb's eyes when he asks: ]
Have you been sleeping?