Darling,

Arthur leaves the country the day after Mal’s funeral. He meets up with Dom in St. Petersburg and the two of them take up a job that Dom has found there. It’s a fairly routine Extraction, and all they need is an Architect, who Dom has already located. Her name is Maria, and they’ve run into her before. She’s very good at constructing dreams, and the three of them are able to complete the job right on schedule, just as planned.

It’s a relatively simple job, the kind that Arthur and Dom excel at, but for some reason, it’s not as fun as it used to be. Perhaps it’s because now they’re working to buy back Dom’s freedom or maybe it’s just because Mal is no longer there, but whatever it is, the job feels like, well, just that – a job. It’s never felt like work before; it’s always been such an enjoyable way for Arthur to spend his time, so much more like a hobby that leads up to a nice paycheck than an actual job.

But Arthur sucks it up and goes through with it anyways, because it’s for Dom, it’s for his kids, it’s to get back the life he was forced to leave behind. Arthur is and always will be Dom’s right hand man; he’s not about to back out now, he can’t. It just wouldn’t be right.
So Arthur works with Dom as they run all over the world, working high profile jobs and simple ones alike, whatever pays the best, whatever brings Dom one step closer to home. It’s hard for Arthur to fall sleep at night, as he sleeps so much during the day with all of the work he and Dom are taking on, and even when he does sleep, he sleeps fitfully, dreamlessly, and often wakes feeling as if he hasn’t really rested at all.

Mal haunts Arthur’s thoughts, his daydreams, flitting in and out of the edges, and Arthur sometimes lays awake in the dead of the night, wanting, wishing, needing her to be back, so much that he almost feels like he can’t breathe. And somewhere, somewhere Arthur knows that if he’s feeling this bad, it must be infinitely worse for Dom, who was actually married to her, but at times like this, there’s no room for Arthur to feel sympathy (and it’s not that he’s being cold or cruel towards the man he considers his closest friend; it’s just that he feels like there’s not enough room in his body for him to be grieving this much and still worrying about anyone else).

Arthur doesn’t hear from Eames again after the funeral. He doesn’t really expect to, not after how he acted towards Eames, and he can’t really bring himself to care. They don’t work with Eames now, and Arthur thinks that maybe Dom knows that something happened between him and Eames, and Arthur is glad that Dom doesn’t push them together. It’s not necessary, anyways. The jobs they take on don’t need the best forger there is, they just need a decent one. So they make do without Eames and Arthur doesn’t even think about him (doesn’t, not once, not ever).

Arthur goes back to visit James and Phillipa every so often, and he brings them gifts and messages from Dom because Dom can’t go back despite how much he wants to. Arthur goes back and visits them and they’re always so happy to see him, clamoring away at him, crying Uncle Arthur, Uncle Arthur, Uncle Arthur! They’re so excitable and loud and almost as happy as they were before (that’s how Arthur thinks about it; there’s a before and an after and it all pivots around Mal’s death).

James and Phillipa complain about missing their father, and Arthur says that he knows, he understands, but Dom’s busy, he’s working, he’ll be home as soon as he can.

“Promise?” Phillipa asks Arthur with wide eyes. She stretches out her arm and holds out her pinky for a pinky promise.

Arthur doesn’t want to say yes for fear of encouraging false hopes in the girl, but there’s no way he could possibly say no and crush her spirit even more. So he smiles as naturally as he can manage these days and hooks his pinky with hers.

“Promise,” he assures her, and she’s happy. Arthur feels satisfied and guilty about it at the same time.

Arthur rolls his die too many times to count these days. He’s like Dom with his top but, Arthur thinks, maybe even worse, because Arthur’s not sure what exactly he’s running from, what he’s fighting so hard for, but he’s just always getting this chilling fear that everything he knows is a lie. He rolls his die and it always lands on the three, just like he expects, only sometimes he’s a little disappointed. Sometimes, he wants it to land on one of the other faces; sometimes, he really does want this to all be a dream, because then he could wake up, and this would all be a dream and Mal would still be here, smelling of crushed roses and laughing delicately at him over a glass of wine.

When Arthur goes back to visit, it’s very often that Phillipa has a playdate with that Blythe girl, the brunette girl with knowing, inquisitive eyes and the air about her like she’s an old soul trapped in a child’s body. Arthur likes Blythe. She’s adorable and quick to understand things and laughs when Arthur does magic tricks for her. She’s particularly fond of the tricks in which Arthur makes quarters disappear and reappear with just a swish of his hand.

It’s one of these afternoons when Blythe is over and Arthur is to be in town for a couple days when it happens. Arthur’s sitting on the couch reading the newspaper while the kids play house and make sugary goodies with their little Easy-Bake Oven. Adélie is humming softly to herself as she goes about cooking dinner. The doorbell rings, and Adélie hurries to answer the door, calling out at Blythe that that’s probably her aunt coming to get her.

“No,” Blythe shakes her head. She looks defiantly at no one in particular, “It’s not auntie; it’s daddy. He said so.”

Arthur smiles affectionately at the little girl who’s already so sure of who she is. And sure enough, just like Blythe asserted, it’s not a woman’s voice Arthur hears when Adélie answers the door but a man’s. Adélie hurriedly introduces herself as Phillipa’s grandmother and then invites him in, telling him the kids are playing in the living room. Arthur gets this niggling feeling at the back of his head but doesn’t know why. He ignores it and continues reading his newspaper.

Arthur hears Adélie walk into the room with Blythe’s father, and Blythe cheers enthusiastically, “Daddy!”

She drops whatever she’d been baking with Phillipa and her small feet patter against the wooden flooring as she runs to her father. He laughs and then Arthur knows. He knows and he’s scared and shocked and dumbfounded all at once. He lowers his newspaper with a noisy crackle of paper and doesn’t care how he looks, all wide-eyed and open-mouthed with surprise. He has every right to be absolutely flabbergasted, because standing right there before him, being called “daddy” by this sweet little girl he’s known for the past few years now, is the last person Arthur would ever think to be called a father by anyone.

Because standing there, smile quickly fading from his face to be replaced by an expression not unlike Arthur’s, is Eames.