a man had a dream about a woman and then he met her (2/2)

[acidpop25]

Title: a man had a dream about a woman and then he met her
Previous part


Arlet's muscles are stiff and she is cranky by the time the plane lands in Los Angeles. If there's no Somnacin involved, she tends to sleep badly on planes, and her legs always end up uncomfortably cramped. Eames is wise enough to not talk to her much, leaving Arlet to simmer in her tension and irritation on the cab ride to Cobb's house. The pop music on the radio is mindless and repetitive, and Arlet stares out the window and watches the city go by. Eames has his own ideas about why she's in such a mood, but he keeps them to himself for the time being.

Cobb doesn't have the old heaviness when he opens the door for them- what he's been through isn't something you ever quite get over, but he looks happier now, more like the man they had known when they were younger and greener than like the man who had performed inception.

"Arthur," Cobb greets her, and Eames watches the tension in Arlet's shoulders wind tighter. The switch from being alone with Eames and being herself to once again having to be Arthur the point man, the point man, is clearly not going to be an easy one. Eames had suspected as much.

"It's good to see you," Arlet says, smiling. Eames doubts that Cobb can see where it strains at the corners of her mouth, the telltale tension that comes with forcing the expression. Cobb has known her a long time, but he doesn't have a forger's eye.

"Arthur!" shrieks a high voice, and then Philippa is clambering into Arlet's arms. She picks her up and spins her around, and her smile warms into something more genuine.

"Philippa, precious," Arlet says, hugging her, "I missed you."

"Then you should visit more."

Arlet chuckles. "Probably. You've grown so much, look at you. You're getting so big." Arlet kisses Philippa's cheek, then sets her down. "I have to talk to your dad for a little while, honey, all right? But I'll come play with you later, I promise."

"Okay!" she chirps, and adds a passing, "Hi Mr. Eames," before she disappears, probably to her room.

"She likes me better," Arlet says slyly, and Eames rolls his eyes.

"That's because she knows you better."

"Not the point."

"If you boys are finished," Cobb says wryly, "we have a job to discuss."

Eames and Arlet exchange glances and follow Cobb into the house and to the study.

"The D.A. has been taking bribes," Cobb explains once they're all sitting, "keeping key evidence out of court for the right price. Or so we think, but there's no proof. What we need to do is find a way to prove it." Cobb hands them both files, and Arlet flips hers open, scanning the page with quick eyes.

"Lancer must have done something with the physical evidence he covered up," Arlet says, "so either we find out where it is, or we find a way to trace that bribe money. Either would be enough hard evidence to work from."

"The money will probably be easiest," Eames says thoughtfully. "Build a bank, and the numbers we need will fill in on their own. You'd enjoy a good bank heist, wouldn't you, darling?"

"It's a classic," Arlet replies, jotting a note on her file. "I think we should layer the dream and try to get at the evidence as well, but that will take more planning."

"How's this: you find me a few fairly recent cases that say "corruption" to you and get me the names. We find them, tail them, and you and I forge them on the second level. It'll suggest secrets to do with the cases to her subconscious, and she should put where she hid her evidence somewhere for us to find."

Arlet presses her lips together for a moment. "You think I'm good enough to pull that off?"

"I trust you completely, darling. You can have first pick of the lot, choose which one you think will be easiest for you."

Cobb clears his throat, and Arlet looks over at him. "Eames taught me to forge," she says by way of explanation, and doesn't offer anything more. "How does that plan sound?"

"I think it can work. I'd like to see you forge before we get locked into this, though."

"Of course. If it can wait until I'm over the jetlag...?"

"Sure, right, sorry. You must both be tired. There's the guest room and the couch if you don't want to go find a hotel-"

"First, we'd only need one room," Eames says meaningfully, "and second, we already have a reservation. Thanks, though."

"You- oh." Cobb blinks at them. "I didn't know. Really?"

"I don't tell you everything about my personal life," Arlet say mildly, "but yes, really."

"Good for you, then." Cobb gets up, and they stand as well. "See you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Eames agrees.

Arlet emerges from the shower looking no more relaxed than she had when she entered it, all tension and fraying nerves and broken-glass eyes. She's wrapped in a forest green dress made of some soft-looking knitted fabric and her hair is damp and curling at her brow and she looks completely miserable.

"Would you fuck me?" Arlet asks, and Eames looks up at her with startled eyes.

"I- what? Pet..."

Arlet lets out a harsh, bitter sound that is much too unhappy to be called a laugh and throws herself down violently on the bed. "Of course you won't," she says, "I'm Arthur. I'm a point man and I wear suits and I have a dick."

"Arlet," Eames starts, alarmed, and gets to his feet to go to her. Arlet's fingernails are digging bleeding crescents into her palms, and she flips over with a full-body thrash and starts pounding her fists desperately, furiously, helplessly into the mattress with such force that Eames is afraid she's going to hurt herself. Unthinking, he climbs on top of her, his sudden weight and level head enough to overpower even Arlet, keep her restrained until she goes limp, face buried in the duvet. Her shoulders are quivering.

"Please talk to me," Eames says, and releases her, moving to kneel at her side. Arlet doesn't move.

"Arlet?"

She makes a strangled noise in her throat, almost like she's choking, and when Eames tries to gather her into his arms she twists away, face still resolutely hidden, and he gets it. Eames watches, powerless, and lays down beside her, presses close and drapes an arm over her waist. Holding her like this, he can feel the faint tremors, hear the soft noises of her muffled sobs against the bed, but he doesn't push to be allowed to see her cry. He isn't sure he could handle it; Eames has seen a lot of things, known a lot of people, but he thinks the sight of Arlet- strong, brave, resolute Arlet- in tears might break his heart.

It takes a long, long time for her to lift her head, and when she does her eyes are shiny and bloodshot.

"I've forgotten how to do this," she says dully. "Being alone with you that long... I got spoiled."

"Being able to be yourself isn't being spoiled, darling."

"All well for you to say. You can be anyone."

"It's not about me."

"No. No, it's not." Arlet exhales a long breath and sits up. "I've done it before. I'll remember again." She flashes Eames a brief, strained smile meant to be reassuring. It isn't.

Eames lays a hand over hers. "You could just tell Cobb."

"I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because he... what if he..." Arlet can't finish the thought, but she doesn't need to. Eames' chest feels tight.

"Cobb trusts you more than anyone," he reminds her, "and you are more to him than a point man. He cares about you, Arlet, and this won't change that. He might not get it, but you know he'd try for you."

"He shouldn't have to. I'm supposed to make his life easier."

"Putting your safety on the line is nothing like having to hide who you are."

Arlet looks away.

"I'll think about it," she says, and nothing more.

The dreamscape is an expansive park in the bloom of spring, lush grass and blossoming trees and the sound of birdsong. It reminds Eames of the garden he had seen Arlet in, their first time together. Verdant green and warm, a sunny day. The kind of thing she dreams when she needs calm.

Cobb, used to her sleek cities of steel and concrete and glass, looks around in faint surprise. His gaze flits right over Arlet, who sits near them on a bench, the wind ruffling her hair. She is dressed, still, much as she does in reality- Eames recognizes the black pinstriped suit she wears, although it is tailored to her soft curves and she has left off the jacket. Her shirt, sleeves cuffed up to the elbows, is a pale pink.

"Where's Arthur?" Cobb asks, and she laughs.

"I told you she could do it," Eames says, amused. The look on Cobb's face is pretty priceless, and he doesn't even seem to register that Eames just called her "she." He shakes off the surprise after a moment and studies her, smiling just a little.

"She's very you, Arthur."

"You have no idea," Arlet replies, getting to her feet. Eames' eyes track the fluid movement of her hips as she steps toward them, and he forcibly reminds himself that this is business and he can't just jump her in front of Cobb no matter how good she looks.

"Show me something different, then."

Eames takes over the vacated bench and watches as Cobb puts Arlet through her paces, shifting between Ariadne, Eames, Cobb himself.

"You learned well," Cobb tells her, "but these are still all people you know, people you've spent a lot of time with."

Saito. Fischer. Yusuf. Eames' blonde girl. Arlet slides in and out of each, and Eames registers with a faint note of impressed irritation that his blonde looks even better on her- less plastic, more lushly sensual. He'll have to ask her how she does that. Eames wolf-whistles, and Arlet glances at him with the blonde's coy little promising half-smile.

"Satisfied yet?" she asks Cobb. Her voice is a cocky alto, the forgery now a young woman who looks to be no older than twenty, dressed in a torn black t-shirt, fishnets, a miniskirt, and chunky motorcycle boots. Her hair is bright purple and spiky, and there are marker scrawls up her arms. If this forgery was invented on the fly, Eames may have made himself obsolete when he taught her how to do this, but he doesn't think that's the case. Her swagger, her challenging bright eyes, the tilt of her head- they all seem too solid, too natural to be the creation of fantasy. Eames files the information away to ask about later, and watches in amusement as Cobb backs down.

"I had to make sure," he says, unapologetic but perhaps mildly conciliatory. Evidently it's enough to satisfy Arlet, who drops back into her own shape once more. If Cobb is curious about her choice to return to her female self instead of the Arthur he is used to, he doesn’t comment.

"You'd be a terrible excuse for a team leader if you didn't," she says, brushing it off, and Cobb nods slightly, acknowledging.

"Ariadne's flight gets in tomorrow," Cobb tells them, all business, "and she'll have the first draft of the maze in a week. I want you both ready to try first runs of your forgeries by the time we test the maze."

"Aye aye, captain," Eames answers lightly, complete with a mock salute.

Cobb resists what's doubtless a strong urge to roll his eyes and just shoots himself awake instead. He decides not to think about it too much when the other two don't choose to do likewise.

Surveillance is a necessary part of their jobs, both forging and point research. That doesn't, however, change the fact that it's boring as all hell most of the time.

"How can he possibly watch television for this long," Arlet grouses quietly to herself. Eames smiles in wry agreement and leans his seat back.

"The less than thrilling side of a life of crime," Eames agrees, stretching. "Mind if I ask you something?"

Arlet shrugs. "May as well. There's not a lot better to do."

"That forgery the other day, the one with the purple hair. Who is she?"

"How do you know she's not just made up?"

"Because, darling, while you do have more imagination than I originally credited you with, she felt real."

Arlet smiles, then. "She is. Her name's Kate."

"Kate," Eames repeats, then asks, "who is she to you?"

"An old friend. I knew her in high school- that forgery was her when we were seniors. Eighteen."

"Huh." Eames smiles, ruffles Arlet's hair. "You don't strike me as someone who kept many good friends, even when you were younger."

"I didn't. But Kate and I were close." Her voice is a little wry and a little wistful. "Outcasts together, I guess."

"You, an outcast, love? I refuse to believe it."

"The preppy gay boy and the lesbian punk," Arlet says, "that's how everyone saw us in high school." She shrugs. "Kate was a cool girl, she kind of just... let my secrets be and talked if I wanted to talk. I haven't seen her in years, though. We lost touch when I went to college. Cobb didn't know that, though."

"She's cute. Not as cute as you, mind..."

"Flatterer."

Eames grins. "It gets me everywhere." He glances up at their mark, but no, the man is still watching some mindless sitcom, so he diverts the conversation, fractionally. "I have a younger sister."

"I know you do," Arlet says, and dimples prettily in the dark of the car. "Theresa Eames, a year younger than you. I'm a point, Eames, I do look into my teams."

"Of course you do."

"She looks like you," Arlet murmurs, smiling, "same eyes, same hair. Pretty mouth."

"My sister's a good-looking girl. So thanks," Eames says with a wink. "She's a writer. Or an artist. Or a musician. Depends when you ask her."

"Actor?" Arlet asks, brow quirking, and Eames shakes his head.

"That's just me. You should meet her sometime."

"Really?"

Eames shrugs, affecting nonchalance. "Sure, why not?"

"No reason why not, it's just. Meeting the family."

"She doesn't bite," Eames replies, amused, "and she did say she'd like to meet you."

"Did she?"

Eames curls a hand around Arlet's. "I don't usually have anyone in my life worth telling my sister about in the first place."

Arlet chews on her lower lip for a moment, charmingly uncertain, then nods. "Okay. I can do that. After the job, maybe?"

"Well certainly not before." Eames leans over and kisses her cheek, and they fall back into companionable silence once more.

Their test run goes smoothly enough. Arlet still isn't quite comfortable with her forgery of Madison Keller, who had gotten off on manslaughter charges- it's close, but Arlet needs a little more time tailing her before she feels like it's all there, and Eames gently agrees. It's a good first draft, though, and Arlet knows she'll be able to hold on to it when the time comes.

Ariadne takes them all through her bank maze, shows them exactly how to get to the safety deposit boxes, and Cobb and Eames take turns cracking the combination with expert hands and sharp ears. The lock is of a simple, obsolete design- secure enough to lock, but nothing to make the extraction too difficult.

Cobb waits while Ariadne takes Arlet and Eames down to the level below, a re-creation of the mark's part of town. "Here you guys are kind of on your own," she explains as she walks them through the layout. "Cobb and I will be up above to keep an eye on things and give you your kicks. There's no safe on this level- basically, you guys just need to see if you can get anything out of the mark down here. If not, then not- we should already have the finances, so this is more like insurance than anything."

"I've run this kind of con before," Eames assures her, "I know what I'm doing."

Ariadne smiles. "Yeah, I know you do. Any questions about the layout?"

Arlet shakes her head. "It's straight from the map. Quite clear."

"Great." Ariadne perches on a porch railing, feet swinging. They have some time to kill on this level before Cobb kicks them back up. Eames leans against the rail next to her; Arlet stays standing, but her posture is relaxed, unworried. They're in Ariadne's subconscious for this level of the test run, and her mind is generally very well-behaved. The projections are few and scattered, and so far seem to be paying them absolutely no mind.

"Do you always wear that forgery now?" Ariadne asks, tilting her head curiously at Arlet. "I mean, she's nice, but you don't have to. No one questions your ability."

Arlet shakes her head and touches a self-conscious hand to her hair. "I know that. I... I like her."

"I can tell." Ariadne is quiet for a moment, watching Arlet with clear, slightly hesitant eyes, like she's on the verge of speaking but isn't sure she should. At last, she says, "You know... I know we aren't really close and haven't known each other very long. But if you wanted to talk or you had anything you needed to tell me, Arthur, I'd listen. People tell me I'm pretty good at it."

Eames could kiss her for that, her unassuming sensitivity and her quiet reassurance. She's guessed, spent more time under with Arlet than Cobb has, and the flicker of nerves in Arlet's expression is only that- a flicker.

"How long have you known?" she asks quietly, and Ariadne smiles gently and hops down from the railing.

"Kind of suspected it when you started showing up like this all the time in dreams. And, well, the projections don't gang up on her- on you like they do on Eames when he forges. It just seemed to make sense." She shrugs a little. "Sorry if I wasn't supposed to know."

"It... it wasn't that." Arlet flounders for a moment, lost, then steps forward and hugs Ariadne. "Thank you."

Ariadne smiles up at her. "What's your name, pretty lady?"

"Arlet," she tells her, and then comes the kick.

"Does Cobb know?"

Arlet sighs. Nosy, Ariadne has always been nosy, and now with Cobb's issues more or less under wraps of course Arlet would be the next one on the team to catch her interest. It's well-intentioned, Arlet reminds herself.

"No. Mal did, but."

"Really? Why haven't you told him?"

"He met me when I was military. I... I might tell him. I've been thinking about it." She sighs. "Eames thinks I should."

"It's good that you have him," Ariadne says, unexpectedly diverted, "you seem happier than you did when I met you."

"You met me working on a job that could have gotten us all killed," Arlet points out, "while there was a price on my head and my extractor was half crazy."

Ariadne's lips quirk. "Are you saying you were under a little stress?"

"Something like that," Arlet agrees, a touch of dark humor in her voice. Her eyes crinkle at the corners with amusement, and Ariadne still isn't used to seeing her seem at all at ease.

"Still. I think he's good for you."

"Someone's a romantic," Arlet says, but without any hint of mockery. Ariadne smiles and flops back on her hotel bed with a gentle bounce.

"I'm just happy for you, Arlet," she says, and something in Arlet goes all warm inside at hearing her chosen name spoken. It's not the same warmth as when Eames says it, Arlet, breathless and longing; it's the warmth of finding herself with something she hasn't really had since Mal died- a friend.

The mark, John Lancer, is already asleep when the team gets there, and his assistant lets them in. This is the nice part of working on the right side of the law, Arlet supposes- no need to catch him outside or bribe anyone or sneak past security. Cobb sets the timer on the music while Arlet passes out the leads. She glances between them, then nods slightly and puts them all under.

Her high heels click on the polished floor as she walks into the bank. Cobb stands behind the bank counter; Ariadne and Eames sit unobtrusively in the waiting area as the mark approaches the front of his line.

"I need to put something in my safety deposit box."

"Of course, sir. Right this way."

Cobb leads Lancer off toward the back, and Arlet motions the other two to follow with her after a moment. By the time they're through, Lancer is slumped unconscious in a chair, an open bottle of water at his side.

"I'll crack it while you're under," Cobb says, "go. Good luck."

"You too," Arlet says, sliding her IV in, "see you after the kick."

"Goodnight," Ariadne says, and puts them under again.

Arlet doesn't like being Madison Keller, rough and unpolished and aggressive, with hollow cheeks and sharp, cruel eyes. Her gait is as much prowl as walk, like an alley cat. Keep the image in mind, Eames had told her when she had used that description after a night of tailing the real Madison. Eames himself is broader and brawnier even than his own body, all rough muscle. The forge is of a murderer, and the man looks it- Arlet has a hard time believing the jury didn't convict on appearance alone, even without crucial evidence. They exchange glances, nod, and split apart; Lancer can't see them together.

Arlet finds him first.

"Lancer," she says; her voice is that of a longtime smoker, harsh like it's been dragged over gravel, "you sure I'm off the hook?"

Lancer glances around, but there is no one listening. "Absolutely. Double jeopardy."

"Even if the evidence gets found?"

"It won't get found."

Lancer's glance flits in the direction of the retention pond; Arlet doesn't miss it.

"If you're sure." Arlet excuses herself to find somewhere to hide in the dream; she hears Eames' footsteps heading toward Lancer, but can't stay to eavesdrop. She ducks into a nearby shed and lets herself melt back into her own shape with a grateful sigh, then slips out to make her way to the pond. The water is glass-clear, not like water at all, and Arlet can see straight down to the box at the bottom.

Figures.

She slips quietly into the water, sucks in a breath, and dives. The box is heavy, a struggle to drag back to the surface but simple enough to pry open, and Arlet commits the gun inside to memory just as the kick knocks her back to the bank, then up to the mark's bedroom, to reality.

Cobb shoots Arlet a questioning look as they quickly pack up the PASIV to slip away; she simply nods. "Got it," she tells him, "make the call."

"So I have a job offer in Seattle-"

"Can’t," Arlet interrupts, "I'm flying to London at the end of the week. It's not negotiable."

Cobb frowns at her. "It used to be you'd never turn down a job unless you thought it was too dangerous or impossible. This one's neither of those."

Arlet nods slightly in acknowledgment. "Things change. You've changed. You don't need me the way you did before."

There's a moment of silence. "It was because of Mal?"

"Essentially. You had to have someone, then. I don't regret that decision for an instant, but you're so much better now. Not over her, of course- you probably never will be, not really. But you don't need me to hold you together, and I'm only human. I have things I need, too."

Cobb sighs and closes his eyes for a moment, scrubs a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I've been very selfish, haven't I?"

"I would never say that," Arlet says archly. "I would... strongly imply it, at most."

He chuckles. "London, huh."

"Eames wants me to meet his sister.

At that, Cobb's eyebrows climb his forehead. "Sounds serious."

"I guess it is, yeah," Arlet agrees. "He's pretty close with her. And I. Well." A slight shrug, slightly uneasy. "I'm serious about him."

"You know, I always felt like there was something between you two," Cobb remarks thoughtfully, "but you always seemed so determined not to let anything come of it. I kind of just figured you weren't gay."

Arlet bites her lip. "I'm not."

Cobb's brow crinkles with confusion. "You're going to need to be a little less cryptic."

Her lip is still caught between her teeth, worrying it white. The tension rolling off Arlet is almost a living, breathing thing in the air between them, a coiled snake she dares not disturb. The warning rattle on the edge of hearing, prepared to poison everything.

"I'm trans, Dom."

For long minutes all Arlet can hear is the heavy thud of her heartbeat, the rushing blood in her veins. Cobb's mouth works like he wants to speak, but it takes a long time for him to do so.

"You mean, like. Um. You used to be a girl?" he tries, face scrunched in confusion. Arlet shakes her head.

"No. I am a woman, I just- my body isn’t."

"But you can’t be," Cobb protests, "I’ve known you for years. Arthur, did something happen in the dreams- maybe the forging, I don’t know, that-"

"No!" she snaps. "It’s always been this way, I’m trying to tell you!"

"Just because you’re in a relationship with Eames, Arthur, it doesn’t mean you’re a woman. You don’t act like one."

Arlet’s jaw tightens. "I'd better go," she says shortly, and flees before anything can get worse.

Arlet looks wrecked when she gets back to the hotel room, and Eames doesn't have to ask to know her talk with Cobb went badly. Pieces of Arlet's suit start hitting the floor the second the lock clicks shut; she strips down to bare skin with no regard or recognition of Eames and then locks herself in the bathroom. The sound of water running. Eames waits for over an hour, but she still doesn't emerge. Still the water running, the steady stream of the shower that has by now surely gone cold.

Eames tries the doorknob; locked. Unlocked, really- very few doors are locked as far as Eames is concerned, if he's interested enough. The one on their suite's bathroom is almost pathetically easy to click open- it's not designed for security, after all, and Eames has proper lock picks, though he could probably have done it with a couple paper clips. He pushes the door open and freezes on the threshold.

Arlet is sitting on the edge of the tub under the icy spray, wet hair sticking to her face. Her body is smooth, hairless, glistening with moisture, and she is staring down at her flaccid cock and turning the straight razor she shaves her face with over and over in her hand. Like she's thinking, like she's trying to make up her mind.

"Darling," Eames says, and Arlet startles like a frightened bird or a child caught misbehaving. She curses when the razor bites at her pale skin with the sudden jerk and sends a rivulet of blood welling from her hand and dripping down her thigh. She brings it to her mouth, sucking on the wound, and looks up at Eames with miserable, reproachful eyes.

Eames takes the straight razor away and she puts up no fight, just lets him pull it loose from nerveless, wrinkled fingers. Her skin is cold. Eames turns the water off, soaking his sleeve in the process, and wraps a towel around Arlet's narrow shoulders and gently rubs through the soft terrycloth.

"Sorry," Arlet murmurs, barely audible. Her voice is hoarse.

"Don't be," Eames tells her, "just do me a favour? If you want to cut it off, let a professional do it, all right? I know bleeding down there is the feminine thing to do, but not quite like that."

Arlet lets out a brief but genuine bark of laughter. "Gross, Eames."

"Says the one fantasising about slicing her dick off with a razor and no anesthesia."

Arlet looks down, frowns. "I can't have a professional do it."

"You can't legally have a professional do it," Eames amends, because they are, after all, criminals. Arlet's mouth makes a rueful little moue.

"It’s not that simple, Eames. It’s not just a surgery, it’s- there’s psych evaluations, hormones, passing long-term, all these hoops to go through before you can even start thinking about seeing a surgeon."

Eames lets it drop. The room is quiet for long minutes save for the sound of Arlet's hair dripping.

"I take it things with Cobb didn't go very well."

"You could put it that way, yes."

Eames sighs. "I'm sorry."

She shrugs. "Not your fault."

"I'm sorry it happened. I know how important he is to you."

Arlet sighs and pulls the towel off her shoulders, starts drying her hair. "Thanks," she says, muffled by the fabric, then starts drying the rest of herself. "Would you bring me my dress?"

"Of course, love."

Eames digs the soft loose gray dress that Arlet likes to wear when she's comfortable and alone out of its hiding place at the bottom of her bag beside the green one. It's a sign of change, Eames knows, that she had even brought them with her in the first place. When he returns to the bathroom with it in his hands, Arlet is more or less dried off and permits Eames to slip it over her head. He nuzzles at the back of her neck; her hair is still damp, and her skin smells of soap.

"Come lie down with me," he coaxes, and Arlet acquiesces with a wordless nod, curling up under the blankets while Eames strips down to his boxers to join her. Neither sleeps for a very long time; they simply lie, silent, in the warmth of one another's arms.

"How is she?" Ariadne asks quietly. She's sitting across the aisle from Eames on a Paris-bound plane- Arlet had insisted on a stop and brief rest at her Paris apartment before going to London to meet Eames' sister- and watching them both. Arlet is asleep in the window seat, crisp oxford shirt rumpled and hair falling loose over her forehead. She looks relaxed in sleep, quiet and calm, her long eyelashes sweeping dark semicircles on her skin. Her head rests against the solid bulk of Eames' shoulder, and he can feel the warmth of her breaths.

"She's..." Eames trails off. "She'll be okay. Did Cobb say something?"

"He asked me if I knew," Ariadne agrees, "I told him yes, but for all he knew I didn't, in which case he would probably have been in serious shit for outing her like that."

"It's probably safe to say that he wasn't thinking very clearly."

Ariadne snorts. "Yeah. But I think he'll come around."

"I think so too. Hope so, definitely. You know how she is about Cobb."

Ariadne nods her agreement. "They love each other. But it is a pretty big bombshell, I mean, Cobb thought he knew her better than any of us, and he never figured it out. Even though I'd already guessed, and I'm not a forger, you know? It's not my job to learn people, I don't have to understand them any better than anyone else does."

"Yeah, but you're nosy."

Ariadne sticks out her tongue at him. "Still. Cobb's spent way more time in Arlet's head than I have."

"I'm pretty sure she'd have killed him if he ever tried to extract from her, though. I don't just mean her subconscious security, either."

"She's a private person." Ariadne is regarding Arlet thoughtfully, her expression sympathetic. "It all seems awfully unfair. You and I and most people match our bodies fine and we don't have to think about it, but she does. All the time. I don't know how she thinks about anything else."

Eames makes a thoughtful noise. His hand is resting on Arlet's lean thigh, warm under those sleek slacks. "She dissociates," he says at length, "she's always done that, shutting down on feelings that she doesn't want to deal with. Lots of people do, but she's better at it than anyone I ever met." Eames' fingers twitch, like he wants to pet her leg but is refraining. "She loved Mal, you know. Absolutely loved her. But I don't think she ever let herself grieve, she just- she was so busy being there for Cobb that she just shut it all down."

"That can't be healthy."

"Honey, people do a lot of things that aren't," Eames says with a certainty gleaned of long years as a forger and a con man. "You do, I do, she does... everyone you've ever met does something that's bad for them. At least she does it to keep herself sane."

Ariadne doesn't really have anything to say to that. "I'm going to get some sleep," she tells him, reclining her seat back and curling up into a tiny ball. "Wake me if we're gonna crash or something."

Eames grins. "Night, kitten," he tells her, and closes his own eyes as well.

"You're nervous," Eames says a little wonderingly as he watches Arlet fluttering around his London flat. She's twitchy, almost, restless and anxious and not like herself. Arlet gives him a look that is half disparaging and half panic.

"Of course I'm nervous, I'm meeting your family."

"Just my sister. She doesn't bite, I promise."

She stares at him. "I don't know what to wear."

Eames manages not to snicker. "Is that what you're fretting about, love?"

"One thing among many."

"Well, let's start there, shall we?" he says, heading into the bedroom with her. He kneels by her bag and begins digging through the contents, and Arlet makes an irritated sound.

"You're making a mess of my things."

"I'll fix it later," he promises. She doesn't seem particularly mollified, but opts not to dig her heels in on the matter.

"So you did pack jeans," Eames says, pulling a pair out.

"Not those," Arlet protests, "they make me look-"

"Sexy, I bet. Denim would do amazing things for your arse."

She flushes faintly. "But they make me look like a man in women's clothes."

"Which she knows isn't the case," Eames says. "Try them for me?"

Arlet sighs and relents, but locks herself in the bathroom to do it. Eames was right, the jeans do make her ass look amazing, though he can't help but wonder how she has managed to tuck herself into them.

"Are you sure?" she asks doubtfully, and Eames runs a hand up her leg.

"I feel a little cheated that I haven't seen you in these in the dreams," Eames replies, and undoes the top button of Arlet's shirt. "You look good, darling. Relax."

There is a knock at the door, and Eames rushes to open it. Arlet follows at a more sedate pace to find Eames with his arms wrapped around his sister. She really does look uncannily like him, though her fashion sense seems to be mercifully free of paisley.

"-never in London anymore," she is saying as Arlet walks in, "and I know, I know, international man of criminal mystery and all that, but I missed you. Two years is ridiculous, Jack."

"I know." He kisses the top of her head and lets her go. "Theresa, this is Arlet. Love, this is my younger sister, Theresa."

"Pleased to meet you," Arlet says, extending a hand to shake.

"Oh, none of that," Theresa tells her, and hugs Arlet too. "You're my brother's girl, not a business associate. It's good to finally meet you."

Arlet tentatively returns the hug, a bit taken aback by the ease with which Theresa doles out physical contact but finding it hard to really mind. Maybe it's an Eames family thing, that comfortable physicality, but Arlet has never been one for casual touch. She's never been warm that way.

"I'll make us some tea, darlings," Eames says, disappearing into the kitchen, and the two women sit down, Arlet on the couch and Theresa in the armchair.

"So," she says brightly, "how did you two meet?"

Arlet barks out a laugh. "I shot him."

Theresa looks caught between laughter and horror, uncertain how to take it, so Arlet elaborates, "Dream-sharing project in the military. That was years ago, though."

"I never could resist a good shot," Eames says as he walks back into the room, having set the kettle on to heat, "but we didn't properly meet until Arlet's partner at the time needed a forger. She spent the whole job giving me death glares."

"I don't like having my job disrupted," Arlet retorts, "you were a distraction."

Eames waggles his eyebrows at her. "If only you knew."

Arlet rolls her eyes, and Theresa smiles at them.

"You must have had quite a courtship," she says, "I see why you like her, Jack."

"Now if only I knew why I liked him," Arlet deadpans, and Theresa bursts into bubbling laughter, eyes bright and wickedly amused.

"Great," Eames says, "already ganging up on me."

"Girls will be girls," Theresa replies. She winks at Arlet, who smiles slightly, just enough that her cheeks dimple.

The kettle whistles in the kitchen, and Eames gets to his feet. "Arlet, love, would you be a dear and help me?"

"Sure." She follows Eames into the kitchen and watches him take the kettle off the heat and start making the tea.

"Your sister's nice."

"My sister is a terror," Eames corrects lightly, "but she likes you, that much is obvious. I told you it'd be fine."

"I've never been introduced to anyone's family before," Arlet reminds him, "especially as a girlfriend."

"Theresa's pretty openminded. Almost everyone she knows is some flavour of queer, as far as I can tell." Eames shrugs. "She runs with an unusual crowd."

"So do you," Arlet says, and Eames chuckles and hands her a mug of tea.

"Criminals generally are. Come on."

They return to the living room and Eames hands his sister her tea. Theresa is wearing a smile like she knows exactly what they'd been discussing in the kitchen, but she doesn't bring it up, just thanks Eames for her tea.

Arlet's apartment is peaceful. Eames is out "running errands," which could mean anything from actually running errands (they're low on bread) to selling international secrets. Arlet hadn't bothered to ask which- she knows he'll be back eventually, and if he's gone too long she also knows full well that she can find him again. She has turned her stereo on and curled up on the couch with a cup of steaming black coffee and the newspaper, a blanket thrown over her bare legs. Late morning light streams in through the windows, illuminating everything in the room in pale gold.

The calm is interrupted around the time Arlet is reading the business section by a knock at the door. With a sigh, she sets the paper aside and goes to the door, peering through the peephole. She expects Eames, maybe Ariadne. Not Cobb.

Shit, Arlet thinks, I'm wearing a skirt. She debates not answering, or at least running back to her bedroom to change first.

"I know you're there," Cobb calls, sounding exasperated, and so Arlet relents and pulls the door open, gesturing for him to come inside. His expression flickers, briefly, at the sight of her clothing, but the look is gone too quickly for Arlet to identify it.

"Arthur," he says, hesitant, "can we talk?"

"It's Arlet," she murmurs.

"Arlet," he repeats, trying the name out, testing it. "Arlet. It's nice."

"Thanks." She sits down and Cobb does likewise, a little uncomfortably.

"I came to apologize," he tells her, "I was an asshole when you told me, and I'm sorry. Look, you've always been there for me and you're the best point in the business, and that- whether you're a man or a woman or a woman with a man's body doesn't change either of those things. You've stuck with me through some terrible stuff, and you deserve the same from me."

She smiles faintly. "You flew all the way to Paris to tell me all that?"

"I did," Cobb agrees, "and I'm sorry I had to because I didn't get it right the first time. I was angry you hadn't thought you could tell me, but- but obviously you had reason to think that."

"Oh, Dom," Arlet says, because there's nothing else to say, and she crosses to him and hugs him tightly, and he wraps his arms around her in turn. The last time he'd done that, his wife had just died.

"Are we okay?"

"We're okay," Arlet assures him, and Cobb gives her shoulders one last squeeze and then lets her go.

"If you're interested," he says carefully, "I happen to know that Saito is pretty good at making the world work however is convenient."

She blinks, eyes rounding. "You're not suggesting..."

Cobb smiles and gets to his feet. "Just something to think about," he answers, heading for the door, "tell Eames I said hello."

"Hey, Dom?"

He pauses, hand on the doorknob. "Yes?"

"Ariadne told you to come, didn't she?"

Cobb laughs. "I would have anyway. But yes, she did."

"Meddlesome," Arlet says, but fondly. "I'll see you on the next job."

"You certainly will," Cobb promises, and then he is gone.

Arlet picks up her phone off the table, scrolling through her contacts. S, Saito. The name stares up at her, waiting.

Arlet smiles.