Fic: Mr. Eames and The Third Eye - Part 3
Title: Mr. Eames and The Third Eye
Author: avocado_love
Team: Angst
Prompt(s): Naked, Horizon, Natural
Word count: 2,300 (this chapter)
Rating: PG-13 (eventual NC-17)
Warnings: Character death in this chapter (Mal)
Notes: Based off of this prompt in the Kink Meme. This chapter is light-ish on angst right now, but expect more in the following chapters. Also, Eames is a little harsh on Dom in this chapter, but he's jaded, so take it as you will.
Summary: After a near fatal reaction to a bad somnacin mixture, Eames wakes up with the ability to see auras.
Part 1 | Part 2 |
*****
Depending on which story one was inclined to believe, Mallory Cobb had either jumped to her death after unsuccessfully attempting to manipulate her husband to do the same, or she had been pushed out a window from several stories up by a unhinged husband who had previously threatened her on several occasions.
Eames had the ability to see into a person's true nature, but he wasn't omnipresent and he couldn't predict the future... or see into the past for that matter.
He knew which story he believed: the love he'd seen between Mal and Dom had been a true thing, but whatever had happened on the night of Mal's death had left Dom a changed man. Eames didn't think he had killed his wife, but he could see at once that Dom wasn't entirely guiltless, either.
The orchid purple that had dominated Cobb's aura had become almost soupy with grief and self-directed hatred. The lighter greens around his head and heart had altered as well - no longer the nurturing glow it once been. Those too had darkened and turned inward, like veins pumping into his core.
Dom Cobb was now a man who would shortly become selfish in his grief. Men like that alternately flagellated themselves with their pain, like martyrs, and took what they could from the world, believing it was owed to them.
Had his aura been nearly this ominous when they'd met, Eames would have never taken that first job with him. Cobb was a bomb waiting to go off.
Arthur's aura, as usual, drew Eames' eye even amongst a rainbow of others attending the funeral. True, the honey and bronze looked rather washed out from sadness, but watching it - him, through the service was oddly comforting.
"Thank you for coming," Arthur said, after the rites were over and friends and family were milling about, consoling each other.
Eames disliked attending funerals, and especially so since he'd learned to see. Being subjected to a roomful of grieving colors for hours on end was enough to give him a splitting headache, and occasionally nauseous.
He had only showed up because Arthur had asked it.
"It was the least I could do," Eames said, leaning casually against the wall. "How's Cobb?"
Arthur sighed and reached up to scrub at his face with the back of his hand. The bronze flared through, loyal to the core, but so did frustrated flashes of burnished orange.
"Ah," Eames said, before Arthur could answer.
Arthur looked sharply at him. "What?"
"You believe Cobb is about to do something stupid." Eames smiled at Arthur's look of blank surprise. He normally didn't show his hand like this, but someone like Arthur would appreciate straightforwardness. Besides, he had his reasons for wanting to remind him that he was the best forger in the business for a reason. "It's quite plain in your body language, if you know what to do look for."
His brown eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't deny it. "I know he's about to do something stupid," Arthur corrected, pitching his voice low. He took a half step closer and Eames caught a whiff of some spicy, expensive cologne. "The police have been asking questions, but I've spoken with a few lawyers and there's not enough hard evidence for them to swear out an arrest warrant. Not yet."
It didn't matter, Eames knew. A man like Cobb, so torn with guilt, would look for any reason to run away from the pain. He would keep searching for someone to tell him what he wanted on some subconscious level to hear. Then, once he did, he would take the excuse and run.
And Arthur, with the bronze marbling in his aura shining through so brightly it might as well have been a noble shield, was too loyal not to follow along.
They were both idiots, in their own way. It annoyed Eames because he knew he ought to know better: he already knew what the outcome would be, so why did he insist on trying?
"Why don't you just ask me what you've brought me here to ask?" Eames said, weary suddenly with the game of it all.
Arthur did him a favor by not denying it. He met his gaze, square on. "Dom can build dreams like no other architect in the business, and he's one of the greatest extractors for getting into people's heads. You're the most talented forger we've ever worked with, and I'm damn good at my job," he said, without a hint of self consciousness or pride. "We could make a good team together. The best."
For the space between one breath and the next, Eames considered saying yes.
There was more to Arthur's offer than what appeared - probably more than what he himself knew. It was all there around Arthur's heart: a brief glimpse of a shard of white crystal aura. Eames' aura.
Eames glanced away, feeling for the first time in years that he had seen something that he shouldn't have.
He focused instead on Cobb, sitting by himself in the opposite corner of the room, ignored by angry, judgmental silences by those around him. Eames saw the tells in his aura - he had the same sickly shade of green that Murphy the chemist also had.
"There's a team forming up in Newport, Wales." Eames smiled, thinly. "Don't listen to what others tell you, it's a fantastic city. I could show you the sights."
Arthur didn't have the Eye, but somehow was able to see right through him. "But there's no room on that team for Dom," he said, flatly.
"No."
"He didn't murder Mal. You-" Arthur stopped and glanced around to make sure he wasn't drawing attention. Then he lowered his voice again. "You saw how she was."
"Yes, and he has the look of one about to bolt because he's entirely innocent, hm?"
Arthur's anger didn't flash red hot as it did with most people. It was a slow burning thing, as if the honey and bronze aura encapsulated any rage; keeping it close and contained, but no less dangerous.
Arthur stepped close to Eames. Right in his space. "You don't know Dom like I do. He and Mal made a mistake by dropping into limbo. It killed her, and I won't let it kill him, too."
If you could see what I see...
The words were on the tip of Eames' tongue, and he had to work to swallow them back.
"When he runs," Arthur said, mistaking Eames' silence for assent, "we'll both need your help. Will you come?"
"No, darling," Eames said, with true regret. "Not even for you."
Arthur's aura seemed to shrink briefly in on itself, but he only nodded once, sharply. He turned to go, but Eames caught his elbow.
"Arthur, you know me as a good forger."
"I just told you that," he replied, with no little bite to his voice.
The corner of Eames' lip ticked up. "Then you realize that I... know what makes people tick." He squeezed Arthur's elbow briefly before letting his hand drop. "Cobb will get worse before he gets better. You can lay money on that."
Arthur's aura brightened, dimmed, and brightened again in a rapid mix of emotions. "Don't tell me that you're worried, Mr. Eames."
Eames wanted to kiss him. Wanted to drag him far away from this place - and bloody Cobb - and put him up somewhere he could be showcased and admired, like the exquisite piece of art he was.
"Play Cobb's keeper if you must, but keep yourself safe," he said, and his voice came out rough.
Arthur blinked, opened his mouth to answer, but then shut it again. When he smiled, it was a hesitant, but true thing. He had dimples on each of his cheeks. "Of course I will."
Eames left the funeral soon after. Despite the fact that he had never been in the business of helping people, or chasing after a lost cause when he saw one, this time there was no doubt about it: he did feel like a coward for running away.
*****
One of the advantages of having the Eye was the ability to know when someone else had it as well. On infrequent occasions, Eames would spot another white, crystalline aura walking amongst a rainbow of colors on a crowded street, or on the tube. Their eyes would meet, a little nod of recognition exchanged.
Sometimes it would go further than that, turning into a parkside chat or a drink shared in a pub. It was odd how Eames would seem to meet up with another like him, just when he needed it most. Or visa-versa.
The woman who was sharing a small, dark corner of the bar with him now was named Maria Ortega. She had thick black hair, a long nose and a lilting Spanish accent. Eames watched with fascination as shadings of other colors played out across her crystalline aura - reflecting the exact hues of the other patrons in the room, as if she were constantly testing out parts of others on herself.
"I had a... a very bad day at work," Maria admitted, after fiddling with a shot of tequila she had ordered but not swallowed. "A little girl came into my office today with a broken arm - simple fracture, you see. But God save me, she had the shadow over her aura. She's accident prone, I suspect," she added bitterly.
Eames winced. "What did you do?"
"What could I do? Tell her parents that their baby has a week, maybe two left? And that I didn't know how or why it would happen, only that it will? No." She shook her head sharply, almost angrily. "I patched her up, sent her on way and pray she has a happy rest of her life."
Eames thought of Mal, her death nearly six months passed. "Have you ever seen a case of someone outliving the shadow?"
"No." Maria's answer was immediate and final. She gazed sadly at her shot-glass, her aura tinting to grey in unhappiness. "They call me a great doctor because they think I can save impossible cases. They're wrong - I just can see which ones can be saved and which are doomed. I'm a fraud."
"All people are frauds to a certain degree," Eames said. "Most are just practiced in lying to themselves about it."
"Even you?"
He smiled. "Well now, I've never found much use in lying to myself."
Maria chuckled, though there was a sad note to it, and threw back her shot in one swallow. Feeling generous, Eames ordered them both another round.
"When I was ten, my parents, my little brother and I were in a head-on collision," Maria said. "I was the only one to survive. When I came out of a three-week coma..." she trailed off, but Eames knew without her saying: after she woke up, she found she could see. "You?"
"Twenty-nine, and a poor reaction to a somnacin compound," he said, because ever since that day the only ones he felt he could be completely truthful with was others like himself. Besides, Maria would be able to tell if he was lying.
She grunted in sympathy and they chatted amiably for another hour. Eames felt the alcohol settling, pleasant and warm in his veins. Maria was more striking than pretty, but everything about her spoke of a deep-seeded loneliness. "Come on up to my hotel room with me, love," Eames offered. "We can both unwind for a bit, yeah?"
Maria's eyebrows rose and her eyes flicked to his chest and back up again. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Jack. I can see that your heart's already been taken by someone else." His expression blanked in shock and she smiled. "Tell me about her - no," she amended, eyebrows going even higher as she saw some sort of shift in his aura. "Tell me about him."
Sometimes, Eames forgot exactly how visible he was, how easily others with the Eye could read him as he could read everyone else. "It's complicated," he said, and took a pull of his drink. There was no doubt who she was talking about, and that, too, came as somewhat of a surprise. "He's complicated - he has a gold aura, you see."
"Gold." Maria's nose wrinkled in distaste. "I had a gold for a lab partner once. She was the most competent jackass I've ever dealt with. It was so aggravating... She was some kind of a judo blackbelt, too, in her spare time."
Eames found himself grinning foolishly, despite himself. "Yes, that sounds very much like Arthur. He has this bronze marbling effected laced throughout. It-" He had to stop, partially because he disliked sounding like a love struck teenager, half-sloshed or no, and partially because he couldn't seem to find the words to fully describe Arthur's aura - the richness and depth. How he could watch the bronze weave itself in with the amber and honey for hours, days, weeks without tiring. "It's remarkable," he said, quietly, looking again at the glass in his hand.
"To you, maybe," Maria's smile was crooked. "I once had a friend, another like us, who went on and on about his wife's aura. And do you know what color it was? Green. Not even an appealing shade - it reminded me of smashed peas. To him, though..." she trailed off, flicking her fingers. "He told me it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen."
Eames' eyebrows knit. Hadn't he thought very much the same of Arthur during that first job?
Well, it hardly mattered because Arthur and his striking aura were possibly thousands of miles away, following on the heels of a man who had self preservation foremost in his heart.
He did end up taking Maria to his hotel room that night, and didn't blame her when she kept her eyes closed, likely not wanting to see someone else in his heart as they fucked.
It would be nearly a year before Eames laid eyes on Arthur again.
*****
( Part 4)
Author: avocado_love
Team: Angst
Prompt(s): Naked, Horizon, Natural
Word count: 2,300 (this chapter)
Rating: PG-13 (eventual NC-17)
Warnings: Character death in this chapter (Mal)
Notes: Based off of this prompt in the Kink Meme. This chapter is light-ish on angst right now, but expect more in the following chapters. Also, Eames is a little harsh on Dom in this chapter, but he's jaded, so take it as you will.
Summary: After a near fatal reaction to a bad somnacin mixture, Eames wakes up with the ability to see auras.
Part 1 | Part 2 |
*****
Depending on which story one was inclined to believe, Mallory Cobb had either jumped to her death after unsuccessfully attempting to manipulate her husband to do the same, or she had been pushed out a window from several stories up by a unhinged husband who had previously threatened her on several occasions.
Eames had the ability to see into a person's true nature, but he wasn't omnipresent and he couldn't predict the future... or see into the past for that matter.
He knew which story he believed: the love he'd seen between Mal and Dom had been a true thing, but whatever had happened on the night of Mal's death had left Dom a changed man. Eames didn't think he had killed his wife, but he could see at once that Dom wasn't entirely guiltless, either.
The orchid purple that had dominated Cobb's aura had become almost soupy with grief and self-directed hatred. The lighter greens around his head and heart had altered as well - no longer the nurturing glow it once been. Those too had darkened and turned inward, like veins pumping into his core.
Dom Cobb was now a man who would shortly become selfish in his grief. Men like that alternately flagellated themselves with their pain, like martyrs, and took what they could from the world, believing it was owed to them.
Had his aura been nearly this ominous when they'd met, Eames would have never taken that first job with him. Cobb was a bomb waiting to go off.
Arthur's aura, as usual, drew Eames' eye even amongst a rainbow of others attending the funeral. True, the honey and bronze looked rather washed out from sadness, but watching it - him, through the service was oddly comforting.
"Thank you for coming," Arthur said, after the rites were over and friends and family were milling about, consoling each other.
Eames disliked attending funerals, and especially so since he'd learned to see. Being subjected to a roomful of grieving colors for hours on end was enough to give him a splitting headache, and occasionally nauseous.
He had only showed up because Arthur had asked it.
"It was the least I could do," Eames said, leaning casually against the wall. "How's Cobb?"
Arthur sighed and reached up to scrub at his face with the back of his hand. The bronze flared through, loyal to the core, but so did frustrated flashes of burnished orange.
"Ah," Eames said, before Arthur could answer.
Arthur looked sharply at him. "What?"
"You believe Cobb is about to do something stupid." Eames smiled at Arthur's look of blank surprise. He normally didn't show his hand like this, but someone like Arthur would appreciate straightforwardness. Besides, he had his reasons for wanting to remind him that he was the best forger in the business for a reason. "It's quite plain in your body language, if you know what to do look for."
His brown eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't deny it. "I know he's about to do something stupid," Arthur corrected, pitching his voice low. He took a half step closer and Eames caught a whiff of some spicy, expensive cologne. "The police have been asking questions, but I've spoken with a few lawyers and there's not enough hard evidence for them to swear out an arrest warrant. Not yet."
It didn't matter, Eames knew. A man like Cobb, so torn with guilt, would look for any reason to run away from the pain. He would keep searching for someone to tell him what he wanted on some subconscious level to hear. Then, once he did, he would take the excuse and run.
And Arthur, with the bronze marbling in his aura shining through so brightly it might as well have been a noble shield, was too loyal not to follow along.
They were both idiots, in their own way. It annoyed Eames because he knew he ought to know better: he already knew what the outcome would be, so why did he insist on trying?
"Why don't you just ask me what you've brought me here to ask?" Eames said, weary suddenly with the game of it all.
Arthur did him a favor by not denying it. He met his gaze, square on. "Dom can build dreams like no other architect in the business, and he's one of the greatest extractors for getting into people's heads. You're the most talented forger we've ever worked with, and I'm damn good at my job," he said, without a hint of self consciousness or pride. "We could make a good team together. The best."
For the space between one breath and the next, Eames considered saying yes.
There was more to Arthur's offer than what appeared - probably more than what he himself knew. It was all there around Arthur's heart: a brief glimpse of a shard of white crystal aura. Eames' aura.
Eames glanced away, feeling for the first time in years that he had seen something that he shouldn't have.
He focused instead on Cobb, sitting by himself in the opposite corner of the room, ignored by angry, judgmental silences by those around him. Eames saw the tells in his aura - he had the same sickly shade of green that Murphy the chemist also had.
"There's a team forming up in Newport, Wales." Eames smiled, thinly. "Don't listen to what others tell you, it's a fantastic city. I could show you the sights."
Arthur didn't have the Eye, but somehow was able to see right through him. "But there's no room on that team for Dom," he said, flatly.
"No."
"He didn't murder Mal. You-" Arthur stopped and glanced around to make sure he wasn't drawing attention. Then he lowered his voice again. "You saw how she was."
"Yes, and he has the look of one about to bolt because he's entirely innocent, hm?"
Arthur's anger didn't flash red hot as it did with most people. It was a slow burning thing, as if the honey and bronze aura encapsulated any rage; keeping it close and contained, but no less dangerous.
Arthur stepped close to Eames. Right in his space. "You don't know Dom like I do. He and Mal made a mistake by dropping into limbo. It killed her, and I won't let it kill him, too."
If you could see what I see...
The words were on the tip of Eames' tongue, and he had to work to swallow them back.
"When he runs," Arthur said, mistaking Eames' silence for assent, "we'll both need your help. Will you come?"
"No, darling," Eames said, with true regret. "Not even for you."
Arthur's aura seemed to shrink briefly in on itself, but he only nodded once, sharply. He turned to go, but Eames caught his elbow.
"Arthur, you know me as a good forger."
"I just told you that," he replied, with no little bite to his voice.
The corner of Eames' lip ticked up. "Then you realize that I... know what makes people tick." He squeezed Arthur's elbow briefly before letting his hand drop. "Cobb will get worse before he gets better. You can lay money on that."
Arthur's aura brightened, dimmed, and brightened again in a rapid mix of emotions. "Don't tell me that you're worried, Mr. Eames."
Eames wanted to kiss him. Wanted to drag him far away from this place - and bloody Cobb - and put him up somewhere he could be showcased and admired, like the exquisite piece of art he was.
"Play Cobb's keeper if you must, but keep yourself safe," he said, and his voice came out rough.
Arthur blinked, opened his mouth to answer, but then shut it again. When he smiled, it was a hesitant, but true thing. He had dimples on each of his cheeks. "Of course I will."
Eames left the funeral soon after. Despite the fact that he had never been in the business of helping people, or chasing after a lost cause when he saw one, this time there was no doubt about it: he did feel like a coward for running away.
*****
One of the advantages of having the Eye was the ability to know when someone else had it as well. On infrequent occasions, Eames would spot another white, crystalline aura walking amongst a rainbow of colors on a crowded street, or on the tube. Their eyes would meet, a little nod of recognition exchanged.
Sometimes it would go further than that, turning into a parkside chat or a drink shared in a pub. It was odd how Eames would seem to meet up with another like him, just when he needed it most. Or visa-versa.
The woman who was sharing a small, dark corner of the bar with him now was named Maria Ortega. She had thick black hair, a long nose and a lilting Spanish accent. Eames watched with fascination as shadings of other colors played out across her crystalline aura - reflecting the exact hues of the other patrons in the room, as if she were constantly testing out parts of others on herself.
"I had a... a very bad day at work," Maria admitted, after fiddling with a shot of tequila she had ordered but not swallowed. "A little girl came into my office today with a broken arm - simple fracture, you see. But God save me, she had the shadow over her aura. She's accident prone, I suspect," she added bitterly.
Eames winced. "What did you do?"
"What could I do? Tell her parents that their baby has a week, maybe two left? And that I didn't know how or why it would happen, only that it will? No." She shook her head sharply, almost angrily. "I patched her up, sent her on way and pray she has a happy rest of her life."
Eames thought of Mal, her death nearly six months passed. "Have you ever seen a case of someone outliving the shadow?"
"No." Maria's answer was immediate and final. She gazed sadly at her shot-glass, her aura tinting to grey in unhappiness. "They call me a great doctor because they think I can save impossible cases. They're wrong - I just can see which ones can be saved and which are doomed. I'm a fraud."
"All people are frauds to a certain degree," Eames said. "Most are just practiced in lying to themselves about it."
"Even you?"
He smiled. "Well now, I've never found much use in lying to myself."
Maria chuckled, though there was a sad note to it, and threw back her shot in one swallow. Feeling generous, Eames ordered them both another round.
"When I was ten, my parents, my little brother and I were in a head-on collision," Maria said. "I was the only one to survive. When I came out of a three-week coma..." she trailed off, but Eames knew without her saying: after she woke up, she found she could see. "You?"
"Twenty-nine, and a poor reaction to a somnacin compound," he said, because ever since that day the only ones he felt he could be completely truthful with was others like himself. Besides, Maria would be able to tell if he was lying.
She grunted in sympathy and they chatted amiably for another hour. Eames felt the alcohol settling, pleasant and warm in his veins. Maria was more striking than pretty, but everything about her spoke of a deep-seeded loneliness. "Come on up to my hotel room with me, love," Eames offered. "We can both unwind for a bit, yeah?"
Maria's eyebrows rose and her eyes flicked to his chest and back up again. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Jack. I can see that your heart's already been taken by someone else." His expression blanked in shock and she smiled. "Tell me about her - no," she amended, eyebrows going even higher as she saw some sort of shift in his aura. "Tell me about him."
Sometimes, Eames forgot exactly how visible he was, how easily others with the Eye could read him as he could read everyone else. "It's complicated," he said, and took a pull of his drink. There was no doubt who she was talking about, and that, too, came as somewhat of a surprise. "He's complicated - he has a gold aura, you see."
"Gold." Maria's nose wrinkled in distaste. "I had a gold for a lab partner once. She was the most competent jackass I've ever dealt with. It was so aggravating... She was some kind of a judo blackbelt, too, in her spare time."
Eames found himself grinning foolishly, despite himself. "Yes, that sounds very much like Arthur. He has this bronze marbling effected laced throughout. It-" He had to stop, partially because he disliked sounding like a love struck teenager, half-sloshed or no, and partially because he couldn't seem to find the words to fully describe Arthur's aura - the richness and depth. How he could watch the bronze weave itself in with the amber and honey for hours, days, weeks without tiring. "It's remarkable," he said, quietly, looking again at the glass in his hand.
"To you, maybe," Maria's smile was crooked. "I once had a friend, another like us, who went on and on about his wife's aura. And do you know what color it was? Green. Not even an appealing shade - it reminded me of smashed peas. To him, though..." she trailed off, flicking her fingers. "He told me it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen."
Eames' eyebrows knit. Hadn't he thought very much the same of Arthur during that first job?
Well, it hardly mattered because Arthur and his striking aura were possibly thousands of miles away, following on the heels of a man who had self preservation foremost in his heart.
He did end up taking Maria to his hotel room that night, and didn't blame her when she kept her eyes closed, likely not wanting to see someone else in his heart as they fucked.
It would be nearly a year before Eames laid eyes on Arthur again.
*****
( Part 4)