The Fischer Job (Part 1)
Title: The Fischer Job (Part 1)
Author: i_m_pk & venilia
Team: ♥ Romance ♥
Prompt: Innocence
Word Count: ~5000
Warnings: mentions of addiction, violence
Rating: PG/PG-13
Summary: Leverage fusion AU. Familiarity with the Leverage universe a plus, but not necessary.
They were supposed to do the job and just walk away. That's what Browning was counting on. But he's about to find out that you can't con a con man, much less a team of the best thieves in the business.
I suggest reading The Baltimore Run first, but again, not necessary.
He’s wiping his hands on his last clean dishtowel when the doorbell rings, and it means Arthur doesn’t even get to enjoy the sight of his freshly oiled guns, laid out and gleaming on his kitchen table. He tucks his favorite Glock into the back of his trousers and hastily throws the others in the dishwasher, just in case. The doorbell trills again, insistently.
Arthur cat-steps across the freshly installed hardwood. He’s not expecting company or takeout, which usually means bad news or cops. Or both.
Fingers caressing the handle of his gun, he looks through the peephole, and his eye starts to twitch.
He swings the door open, bodily blocking the entrance. “You should have called.”
Cobb smiles at him sheepishly. Or rather, he smiles like a sheep that is slightly constipated and has finally realized it’s responsible for the worst three years of Arthur’s life. And then attempts to smile. “You wouldn’t have answered.”
Arthur steps aside, and Cobb shoulders past him into his clean kitchen. His stainless steel appliances don’t have even as much as a fingerprint on them. “I’m not answering now, Cobb. You have three minutes, and then I kick you out.”
Cobb throws a file on the table. “I have a job for us.”
“Yeah?” Arthur raises an eyebrow. “What happened to you going legit?”
Looking away, Cobb scrubs a hand over his eyes. “This is different.”
Arthur just gives him a look. He still hasn’t put his Glock down.
“I’ve been approached by a man named Peter Browning. He’s--”
“Peter Browning of Fischer-Marrow? The one who ousted his former employer’s son from the board of directors?”
“The kid landed on his feet just fine, apparently. Fischer Jr. took with him the blueprints for an engineering breakthrough. Some sort of new semiconductor technology.”
“And?” Arthur glances at his watch. Two minutes left.
“And he can’t let that be known. If the board found out, to say that Browning would be fired is the understatement of the year. If it gets out that this happened under his watch-”
“I see.” Arthur taps his Glock against his leg thoughtfully. “And you came here to what? Convince me to let you use my PASIV? I thought you swore that off after what happened to Mal.”
To his credit, Cobb doesn’t flinch. “Cobol is the insurer.”
“Out.”
“Arthur-”
“Your time is up. My answer’s no.” Arthur grabs Cobb by the wrist and jerks him towards the door.
“Arthur, wait.”
“Get out of my home, Cobb.”
“It’s good money. Three hundred grand. Ow.”
Arthur tightens his grip on Cobb just to be petty. He yanks Cobb’s sleeve hard enough to make the buttons pop off his cuff and rolls it up past his elbow. The needle marks aren’t even a week old.
“If we do this, we do this old school. Break in, steal, and leave. No dreaming.”
Nodding, Cobb rubs at his wrist. “I thought you might say that. Fine, then we’ll do it your way. Besides, Browning already hired a team. Real-life criminals.”
“If Browning already hired your team, why are you even here, Cobb?” Arthur snaps, stalking back into his kitchen and retrieving his Beretta from the dishwasher.
“Well, I told him you were on board, of course,” Cobb says, following him in. “The guest bedroom’s the second door on the left, right?”
-------
“Ok, people. Clear comms,” Cobb says. Arthur reaches up and readjusted the communicator. Years of working with them don’t make it any less annoying when Cobb sounds like he’s standing right behind him, talking straight into his ear.
“Clear,” Arthur replies.
The tiny girl next to him taps on hers for another moment before reporting the same. Arthur has the sneaking suspicion that this might be Ariadne. She’s smiling like it’s her birthday, fiddling with the rappelling equipment and checking everything over. Arthur has never met a stone cold sane criminal, but she’s a little too crazy-eyed for comfort.
The round-faced, curly-haired man Cobb has for a techie is frowning at his communicator. “What is this, a relic of the eighties?”
They’re four or five years old, but Arthur doesn’t say anything. It’s Cobb’s problem.
“Yusuf, they work fine. We’re on a schedule.”
Yusuf shakes his head as if Cobb saddens him. He digs in one of the pockets of his leather satchel which is also his laptop carrier.
“Here,” Yusuf passes around tiny flesh-colored buds. “These are bone conduction earpiece mics. You put them over your bottom molar and they work off the vibrations in your jaw.”
Arthur puts his in. Yusuf motions for him to say something. “Testing.”
“See?” Yusuf says with his own. “Very clear, isn’t it?” It sounds even more up-close and intimate than the old ones.
“Are you a mad scientist?” the girl asks as if this is a perfectly normal question, like ‘do you like ketchup on your hotdog?’ Yusuf beams at her.
“These are not my own design, but I am working on-”
“Schedule,” Arthur reminds them, because Cobb is apparently ignoring them.
“What do you do?” the girl asks, undeterred.
“I’ve been wondering that,” Yusuf says.
“Arthur makes things go smoothly. And he’s right, it’s time. Ariadne, if you please.”
“This is so much fun,” Ariadne says. “I’m all nostalgic. Last time I used this rig was in Paris, three years ago.”
“The Caravaggio,” Cobb mutters. “Nevermind. Alright, on my count. Five. Four. Three.”
Ariadne goes shrieking past them and dives headfirst off the roof.
“She’s gone,” Arthur reports. Cobb sighs into his comm. Arthur leans over the roof’s edge to watch her descent. She lets the ropes run for a few seconds, clearly enjoying the free-fall before expertly slowing to a stop twenty floors down.
“Ok, it looks like the vibration detectors are on,” she reports cheerfully.
“You’re going to use the binary, Ariadne,” Cobb says. “No cutting.”
“Uh-huh.”
Arthur’s not sure if she’s listening, or just dismissing Cobb. Either way, he doesn’t like that they’re working with Ariadne. She’s the best, but she’s also unpredictable and a notorious loner. If Yusuf is who Arthur thinks he is, the same could be said for him. Arthur’s been known to quietly take his own jobs, but he needs to be able to predict his teammates and compensate for their actions if he’s going to keep everyone safe. The whole job was making him nervous.
He watches her until he can see the glow of the binary as she starts on the window, and then he and Yusuf hustle down the roof’s emergency ladder and onto the top of the express elevator. Then they wait. Arthur’s heart pounds with the rhythm of the seconds ticking by. Ariadne should be breaking into the control room to rewire the elevators and override the alarms.
“Ariadne?” he whispers into the com, and then the elevator drops.
“There we go,” Ariadne says.
“Ok, we’re doing good on time. How are we on security?” Cobb says, pacing the rooftop.
In dreams, Arthur would have his Glock out, station himself outside the door, and simply take on all comers. But this is the real world where guns actually kill people, and he has to rely on Ariadne watching the security footage, and Cobb with his high-powered binoculars and digital schematics in the building across from Pinwheel Energy. Cobb’s good at keeping all the little circus rings organized. Still, Arthur hates not knowing every inch of this building and exactly where everyone is.
“They’re still oblivious,” Ariadne answers. She sounds smug.
The elevator stops on the thirtieth floor, and Arthur takes point as he and Yusuf scurry down hallways.
“Yusuf, I’m sure if there was chatter we’d be able to hear it,” Cobb says, careful to question without being accusatory.
“Yes, of course.” They’ve found the door to the servers and Yusuf pulls a digital code-breaker from his satchel and attaches it to the input panel. “Oh, ten digits. Respectable.”
“Well,” says Cobb, and Arthur inwardly sighs because he knows that tone. “I only see four guards at their posts.”
Damn. There are eight on the duty roster. Even if one is taking an illicit smoke break or in the bathroom that’s still three armed men unaccounted for.
“Hold on,” Ariadne says, “I’m running through the other cameras. There. Wait, they’re doing their rounds.”
“They’re not scheduled to do that for another hour,” Cobb says. “Arthur, you hearing this?”
“Yeah. Yeah I am. Cobb, who’s playing tonight?” Arthur only watches the Playoffs and the Super Bowl, but Cobb’s love of football boarders on obsession.
“Shit. The Bears. They’re doing their rounds early to catch the game.”
“They’re on your stairwell,” Ariadne reports.
“I’ve got it,” Arthur says.
“Squelch them,” Cobb orders.
“Wait, how do I do that?”
“There should be an option on your menu,” Yusuf says, distractedly. “My program is very user-friendly.”
“Arthur, you have to clear the zone,” Cobb says over Yusuf’s attempts to explain simple communications hacks to Ariadne.
Arthur snorts. “On it, boss.”
“I can’t hide, the code’s almost through,” Yusuf says, glancing up. When sees Arthur’s not there he asks, “Wait, am I bait?”
Which is when the guards find them.
The click of safetys being flicked off as the guards level their guns at Yusuf really pisses Arthur off since the hacker is clearly unarmed and frightened. Still, he takes advantage of their surprise, slipping from his hiding place and sneaking up right behind the four uniformed men.
“Oh, I see,” Yusuf says, and one of the brighter guards spins around to see who he’s talking to but it’s already too late.
Arthur grabs the nearest man by the neck, slinging him headfirst into the concrete wall with enough force that he crumples immediately. He kicks out at the next man’s gun, spinning him off balance, and buying some extra seconds. Jamming his hand into the third guard’s throat, Arthur lands a few quick jabs to his stomach, and the guard keels over from lack of oxygen. The second guard starts to catch his breath, but Arthur elbows him in the face, and he backs off, clutching his nose.
The fourth guard finally decides to join the fray; he’s got at least fifty pounds and four inches on the rest of them, but he’s slow, and Arthur easily sidesteps his clumsy punch. He skips behind the big guy to twist his arm into an elbow lock and snap his wrist. The only other guard still standing remembers that he’s still armed, and raises his gun with a warning.
Swinging the bigger guy between himself and the armed guard, Arthur uses the momentum to shove the big guy into his friend, sending them both stumbling back against the wall. He’s on them before they straighten up, a right hook to one man’s face so that it smacks against the cinderblock, and then one last vicious side kick into the knee, cracking it. The man finally drops his gun with a scream, falling to the floor to clutch his leg. Arthur turns around to be sure the all of the other guards are still out. The guard he’d choked is gamely trying to get to his feet from where he sunk to his knees, face white, and it only takes a light knee to the chest to take him out of the game.
Sniffing, he brushes down any wrinkles in his suit. Three unconscious, one incapacitated. Arthur uses his foot to gently slide their guns around the near corner.
When he looks up, Yusuf is wide-eyed and wordless, hands still up in surrender.
“I make things go smoothly,” Arthur says, smug.
“My name’s Arthur, I make things go smoothly. I’m a damn ninja,” Yusuf mumbles, turning back to his code-breaker.
Ariadne’s laughter is loud and clear through the comm. Yusuf shoots a worried glance at Arthur who raises an eyebrow, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The code-breaker beeps happily and the door swings open. The inside is green like a bad sci-fi effect, and Yusuf breaks into a grin. “Ah. Here we are.”
“Arthur? I assume everything is taken care of?” Cobb says.
“We’re in. Yusuf’s on it.”
While Yusuf strips the drives, Arthur takes the time to drag the security guards into the server room, laying them out neatly. The one he hit in the throat seems to be breathing well, if still woozy, and the one with the broken knee passes out when Arthur hefts him up, which is probably for the best.
“I’ve got all of the designs and the back-up,” Yusuf announces.
“Then drop the spike,” Cobb says.
With a dramatic flourish of his fingers like a concert pianist, Yusuf presses a few keys and the screen flashes and goes black and the servers shut down in groups. He’s humming softly under his breath.
“Done. And a little virus for them to remember us by.”
“Just one virus?” Arthur asks.
“Oh no. I was being facetious. I gave them quite a few viruses.” He looks a little proud.
“Uh, guys? Little problem,” Ariadne says. “The guards Arthur ninja’d reset the alarms on floors from your floor to the roof. We’re stuck down here.”
“Then I’ll say goodbye to all of you. Every man for himself,” Yusuf says.
“You can’t do that,” Ariadne says. She sounds a little offended.
“I have the merchandise, so yes, I can do that,” Yusuf corrects.
“And I have the way out, so no, you can’t.”
“You’re not leaving,” Arthur agrees. He doesn’t take a step closer and intimidate Yusuf because he doesn’t think Yusuf will actually cut out on them, but he does straighten to his full height.
“Gentlemen,” Cobb cuts in, “And lady. I know not all of you play well with others, but that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that I’m the one with the plan, and I can get you all out. Now go back down to the elevators. Arthur, seven minutes.”
Arthur nods even though Cobb can’t see him because at the end of the day, he was a soldier and he knew how to take orders. “What’s the plan?”
“We’re going to move on to Plan G.”
Inside the elevator, Yusuf pulls a tie and suit coat out of the bag he brought, and Arthur strips off his gloves.
“In the bag. The spray can and the compact,” Yusuf mumbles, trying to do a Windsor with one hand and his teeth while he fumbles with his buttons with the other. The door dings and Ariadne rushes in and without turning around strips off her shirt. Arthur and Yusuf politely look away while she shimmies into a little black dress and a pair of flats. They’re a little over halfway down to the lobby, and Arthur stops the elevator so that Yusuf can apply something from the compact to one side of Ariadne’s face and then shield her eyes as he sprays something else over it.
Ariadne limps out of the elevator with a sort of resentful dignity that Arthur has to admire. She keeps her left knee slightly locked, leaning heavily on the cane as Yusuf keeps one hand under her elbow for support and Arthur tries to look like he’s worried she’ll fall over. The men at the front desk stare in horror at the scars that are etched across her face and leg, and Arthur bristles because even if this is fiction, you don’t make someone uncomfortable like that. What a dick thing to do.
“You want to stare a little more?” he asks loudly.
“No, Tom don’t. It’s ok,” Ariadne says softly. They’re halfway through the lobby.
“It is not!” Arthur says.
“Please, don’t make a scene,” Ariadne whispers just loudly enough that the guard can hear it.
“Sorry, I’m sorry. Do you, can I do anything?” he asks guiltily, starting toward them and then pausing, uncertain.
“Yeah, you can hold the door open for my sister and then learn some god-damned manners.”
Yusuf breaks off to go on ahead and open the door of the sleek, black car that suddenly appears, and Ariadne leans on Arthur as the guard tries to swing the revolving door around for them, one hand crossing awkwardly into Arthur’s way. It makes Arthur uncomfortable and annoyed, but Ariadne leans into it, getting her cane caught in the door which makes the man even more flustered. Flustered is good because it means he’s too self-conscious to try to figure out why three people are making their way across the lobby after business hours. Once out the door Ariadne keeps up the facade as Yusuf helps her into the back of the car. Cobb smiles from the front seat.
------
“Has it transferred yet?” Cobb asks.
They’re standing around like tourists in Daley Plaza. Ariadne actually has her phone out and is snapping pictures of the fountains all lit up. The bubbling of the water covers the sound of Arthur’s tapping foot.
Yusuf grunts in acknowledgement. “Give me a- ah. There we go. The designs are sent.”
“The money will be in your accounts by eight am tomorrow. Good job, guys,” Cobb says.
“It has been nice working with you, boys.” With a wave, Ariadne turns and wanders off, her focus solely on her viewfinder.
Yusuf waves at her retreating back. “It was good to meet you,” he calls. “Gentlemen.” He nods once at Arthur and Cobb and heads his own way.
Clapping Arthur on the shoulder, Cobb shoots him a smug glance. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Could have been worse.”
“So,” Cobb continues, ignoring how Arthur shrugs off his hand. “What’s for dinner?”
------
The loud brrrmmm of a cell phone vibrating off of the nightstand is enough to shake the veil of sleep from Cobb. He gropes around on the floor for it, rubbing at his eyes. According to the alarm clock blinking at him, it’s just past nine in the morning.
“Hello?”
“Don’t ‘hello’ me, Mr. Cobb. You screwed me.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Browning, what?” Cobb sits up, wide awake. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb with me. The files, Mr. Cobb. I never received them.”
“I assure you, they were sent. I oversaw the transfer myself.”
Browning’s voice is forceful, but hushed, like he’s afraid of being overheard. “You don’t get your money until I get my blueprints.”
“Fine, I’ll bring them by in thirty minutes.” Cobb reaches for the button-down shirt hanging on the end of the bed.
“No, you can’t show up here. People would ask questions,” Browning says. “We have a warehouse in Berwyn. We’ll meet there in an hour.”
--------
The warehouse is squat and boxy and alarmingly nondescript when Cobb and Arthur arrive. Arthur brushes a cobweb off of a light switch with his elbow before flicking it on. Following the click-click-click of fluorescent lights coming on, Cobb makes his way past the boxes into the center of the empty floor.
“Browning?” he calls out, spinning slowly, taking in his surroundings.
“Not quite,” Ariadne replies from behind him.
Her gun is pressed between Arthur’s shoulder blades, and he has his hands in the air, scowling.
“Where is my money?” She asks, prodding him slightly.
The sound of a heavy door opening distracts them, giving Arthur the seconds he needs to duck under Ariadne’s arm and twist the gun from her grip. He pops the bullet out of the chamber and slides the magazine from the pistol, tucking them both into his waistband.
She glares at him, but before she can make a move to get it back, another gun is waved in Arthur’s face.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Yusuf growls. “Why haven’t I been paid?”
Cobb extends his hands slowly in front of him, like he’s trying to soothe an angry dog. “I have a feeling that none of us are getting paid. And I have a strong suspicion that unless we make a very quick exit, none of us will ever get paid.”
Yusuf’s gun wavers. “No one is leaving until I see that paycheck in my account. Why didn’t you transfer it?”
“Yusuf, Ariadne, you’re both smart, capable criminals. Now, the plan was, and correct me if I’m wrong, we pull the job and walk away, never to see each other again.”
They nod, reluctantly.
“So,” Cobb hisses, “If you wanted to make sure we did all meet in the same place, one very last time, how would you do it?”
“Oh, snap,” Ariadne says, the realization dawning on her.
They all turn in unison, sprinting for the exit, Arthur reassembling the stolen handgun as he runs. He reaches the door first, ushering the others through and taking one last look to make sure they weren’t followed before running out after them.
They’re a block away when the warehouse explodes with enough force to knock them off their feet.
-------
Cobb wakes up on a couch with a groan and a headache.
Sighing in relief, Arthur sets a glass of water on the coffee table. Arthur is paranoid in the best of circumstances, but once he learned the truth about Cobb’s Somnacin addiction, the idea that Cobb wouldn’t wake up one day was a constant itch in the back of his mind.
“Wh-?” Cobb says.
“We’re at my apartment. We got out in time. You caught some debris to the side of your head.”
Cobb squints up at him, miserably. “Throbbing.”
Arthur holds his finger up for Cobb to track. Cobb’s pupils are even.
“No concussion. You’ll be fine,” Arthur says, but he hands Cobb the bottle of aspirin.
“I think he’s turning purple back there,” Ariadne says, out of nowhere. She swings up onto the back of Arthur’s couch and reclines, balancing there effortlessly. “I can see the bruising through his hair.”
“Bruises are maybe not our priority right now?” Yusuf suggests from across the room where he’s glued to his laptop screen. There’s a bandage on his left hand, and he’s been getting more and more frustrated trying to compensate for it as he types.
Cobb sits up slowly. “Browning tried to kill us,” he says, as if testing the theory.
Arthur nods. “Browning has a death wish.”
“Yes, yes. That’s wonderful. But can we focus, please? How am I going to get my money?” Yusuf asks.
Arthur doesn’t roll his eyes because he’s classier than that. Ariadne does.
“It’s not about the money anymore,” she says.
“Of course it’s about-”
“No,” Cobb sits forward. “No, she’s right. You can get another job and get more money. Unless,” he pauses, dragging the moment out for some manufactured tension.
Yusuf gives him an impatient look.
“Unless you can’t take any more jobs. Say, because you’re dead. Or letting everyone assume you’re dead so that someone, someone important, influential, well connected-”
“Browning,” Arthur interrupts to move things along.
Cobb frowns at him a little. “Yes, Browning. So that he doesn’t put a hit out on all of us.”
“You think he has something to hide,” Arthur catches on.
“Wait,” Ariadne raises a hand like she’s in class. Cobb looks charmed, and nods for her to ask her question. “So, you’re saying he tried to kill us because of the job, not because of the money? Is that it?”
“It’s a theory.”
“And I should go to ground because of a theory?” Yusuf asks, but he’s sounding more convinced the longer Cobb talks. Cobb’s good at getting to people that way.
“If you walk out of here,” Arthur points out, “and we’re right, you get us all killed, not just yourself.”
“Yeah,” says Ariadne, and Yusuf looks at her quietly for moment.
“Alright,” Yusuf says. He’s pulls off his glasses and begins wiping them with his shirt. “Say I go along with you. What do you want to do? We can’t hide forever. What is Browning protecting?” He slides his glasses back up his nose like an exclamation point. “We don’t know, and we can’t know, because we can’t get close enough to find out! He knows our faces.”
“He’s right,” Arthur tells Cobb.
“Yeah,” Cobb replies, thoughtful.
Arthur frowns. He knows that look. He leans in. “You said this was a dry con. You promised, Cobb.”
“For me, yes,” Cobb nods distractedly. Arthur can almost see the little charts being assembled in his head, the pros and cons lists and data points. Cobb’s planning.
“If we go in without you, we’ll need an extractor.”
“If we pull someone into this,” Cobb says, looking up slowly as his equations solve themselves into a neat little sum, “We’ll need someone who can go in, meet Browning, and still run a con after that. Someone he’ll never recognize.”
Arthur sits back, thinking that he maybe should have seen this one coming. Resigned, he sighs. “Eames.”
“Eames,” Cobb confirms.
“Who’s Eames?” Ariadne asks.
“Is he still in Mexico?” Cobb asks.
“Vegas,” Arthur admits. “Last I heard.” He always knows exactly where Eames is, but there no reason to let anyone else know that.
“Vegas,” Yusuf says, excited. “So we’re not stuck in Chicago then. That’s good.”
Ignoring Yusuf’s apparent distaste for Arthur’s hometown, he asks, “You want us all to go to Vegas?”
“Unless you wanted to babysit,” Cobb says.
“No really, who’s Eames?” Ariadne asks.
“We can overnight by train. I’ll work out some identities,” Arthur says.
Yusuf begins clicking at his laptop.
Cobb stumbles up from Arthur’s sofa and towards the bathroom. “I need a solid night’s sleep, first.”
“We’ll leave tomorrow morning,” Arthur says. He heads for his office, Yusuf in tow.
“Do we want first class?” Yusuf asks.
“I still want to know who Eames is,” Ariadne yells after them as Yusuf closes the door.
Ariadne stands in the empty room for a moment. Then she sighs and heads up the loft’s ladder. She is so stealing the softest pillows.
-------
They ride in pairs, Arthur with Cobb because he thinks Cobb needs someone to keep an eye on him, and Ariadne with Yusuf because no one looks too hard at couples on romantic getaways. Vegas doesn’t believe in trains, so they’re taking the Southwest Chief for the thirty-seven hours to Arizona, and taking a motor coach from there. Cobb tries to sleep against Arthur’s shoulder for most of the train ride, until Arthur sacrifices his jacket as a pillow for Cobb to cushion against the window. There was one sleeper available at short notice, but for appearances’ sake Ariadne and Yusuf have it.
Arthur doesn’t get much sleep. He comforts himself with the thought of Yusuf and Ariadne squished uncomfortably into one bed together. At least the dining car had good coffee.
They arrive in Las Vegas at three in the morning, but in Vegas, that’s par for the course. They settle for one of the nicer hotels just off the strip, even though Yusuf promises he could get them a penthouse at the Bellagio in under thirty minutes. Cobb has to remind him four times that they’re trying to keep a low profile. Grouchy from lack of sleep, back stiff, and ass sore from uncomfortable bus seats, Arthur finally grabs them both by the shoulder and marches them to their rooms.
As he stretches out on his bed, he can see the lights of the casinos from his bedroom window. Vegas is all about bright, shiny things in eye-catching colors. Arthur can see the appeal if he squints, but it’s a little like being locked in a nightmare inducing combination of a kindergarten class and a disco. It’s exactly the sort of place Eames loves.
--------
Cobb raises an eyebrow when Arthur directs their cab off the Strip into a quieter part of town. “Not one of the casinos?” he asks.
Arthur passes out their tickets in answer.
“The Importance of Being Earnest? Well, that’s one way to go wild in Vegas,” Ariadne muses.
Yusuf frowns at his ticket. “I have to say, I prefer the more traditional route. What are we even doing here? I thought you said Eames was a forger, not an off-Broadway hack.”
“Open your mind, my friend,” Cobb replies, pushing through the doors of the theater.
---------
“He’s kind of hot, for an older guy,” Ariadne whispers into Arthur’s ear. She has managed to curl her legs underneath her in the tiny velvet seat, and is clutching a giant tub of popcorn like she’s Gollum and it’s her precious. “Does he have a girlfriend?”
Arthur grunts noncommittally, focused completely on the play.
On stage, Jack was stuttering through his proposal to his fair Gwendolen. The brunette opposite Eames had already forgotten her lines twice, but Eames didn’t break character, ad libbing seamlessly to cover for her mistakes. By the second act, Yusuf had gotten his hand slapped three times for trying to steal popcorn, Arthur was about ready to put an overly boisterous Algernon in a sleeper hold, and Ariadne was convinced that Jack was truly and madly in love with his Gwendolen. Cobb was asleep.
------
The alley behind the theater stinks like car exhaust and rancid grease from the rundown burger joint next door, but that’s where Eames was, chain smoking after his performance. He tosses his cigarette to the ground as Cobb approaches.
“No.”
Sighing, Cobb holds his hands up like a hostage. “I’m clean, I swear.”
“You’re insane is what you are,” Eames replies. His gaze flicks over the others, standing a respectful distance away. It lingers on Arthur before snapping back to Cobb’s face. “And apparently, you’ve found people even madder than you.”
“I have a job for you.”
“I’m not interested.”
“An innocent man’s livelihood is at stake.” He pauses, but Eames simply raises a skeptical eyebrow. “I can make it worth your while.”
“Believe it or not, Cobb, I value my skin more than your cash.” Eames narrows his eyes, but Cobb holds his ground.
“Eames,” Arthur calls, striding over and standing between the two men. Fishing a green and blue poker chip from his breast pocket, he flicks it at the other man, who snatches it effortlessly out of the air. “Prague. You owe me.”
Eames runs the chip over the back of his knuckles contemplatively. “Arthur, you wanker.”
“So,” Ariadne whispers to Yusuf, watching the two men daring the other to break eye contact first, “I’m guessing he doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
“What?” Yusuf asks, hushed. “I missed something, didn’t I?”
Author: i_m_pk & venilia
Team: ♥ Romance ♥
Prompt: Innocence
Word Count: ~5000
Warnings: mentions of addiction, violence
Rating: PG/PG-13
Summary: Leverage fusion AU. Familiarity with the Leverage universe a plus, but not necessary.
They were supposed to do the job and just walk away. That's what Browning was counting on. But he's about to find out that you can't con a con man, much less a team of the best thieves in the business.
I suggest reading The Baltimore Run first, but again, not necessary.
He’s wiping his hands on his last clean dishtowel when the doorbell rings, and it means Arthur doesn’t even get to enjoy the sight of his freshly oiled guns, laid out and gleaming on his kitchen table. He tucks his favorite Glock into the back of his trousers and hastily throws the others in the dishwasher, just in case. The doorbell trills again, insistently.
Arthur cat-steps across the freshly installed hardwood. He’s not expecting company or takeout, which usually means bad news or cops. Or both.
Fingers caressing the handle of his gun, he looks through the peephole, and his eye starts to twitch.
He swings the door open, bodily blocking the entrance. “You should have called.”
Cobb smiles at him sheepishly. Or rather, he smiles like a sheep that is slightly constipated and has finally realized it’s responsible for the worst three years of Arthur’s life. And then attempts to smile. “You wouldn’t have answered.”
Arthur steps aside, and Cobb shoulders past him into his clean kitchen. His stainless steel appliances don’t have even as much as a fingerprint on them. “I’m not answering now, Cobb. You have three minutes, and then I kick you out.”
Cobb throws a file on the table. “I have a job for us.”
“Yeah?” Arthur raises an eyebrow. “What happened to you going legit?”
Looking away, Cobb scrubs a hand over his eyes. “This is different.”
Arthur just gives him a look. He still hasn’t put his Glock down.
“I’ve been approached by a man named Peter Browning. He’s--”
“Peter Browning of Fischer-Marrow? The one who ousted his former employer’s son from the board of directors?”
“The kid landed on his feet just fine, apparently. Fischer Jr. took with him the blueprints for an engineering breakthrough. Some sort of new semiconductor technology.”
“And?” Arthur glances at his watch. Two minutes left.
“And he can’t let that be known. If the board found out, to say that Browning would be fired is the understatement of the year. If it gets out that this happened under his watch-”
“I see.” Arthur taps his Glock against his leg thoughtfully. “And you came here to what? Convince me to let you use my PASIV? I thought you swore that off after what happened to Mal.”
To his credit, Cobb doesn’t flinch. “Cobol is the insurer.”
“Out.”
“Arthur-”
“Your time is up. My answer’s no.” Arthur grabs Cobb by the wrist and jerks him towards the door.
“Arthur, wait.”
“Get out of my home, Cobb.”
“It’s good money. Three hundred grand. Ow.”
Arthur tightens his grip on Cobb just to be petty. He yanks Cobb’s sleeve hard enough to make the buttons pop off his cuff and rolls it up past his elbow. The needle marks aren’t even a week old.
“If we do this, we do this old school. Break in, steal, and leave. No dreaming.”
Nodding, Cobb rubs at his wrist. “I thought you might say that. Fine, then we’ll do it your way. Besides, Browning already hired a team. Real-life criminals.”
“If Browning already hired your team, why are you even here, Cobb?” Arthur snaps, stalking back into his kitchen and retrieving his Beretta from the dishwasher.
“Well, I told him you were on board, of course,” Cobb says, following him in. “The guest bedroom’s the second door on the left, right?”
-------
“Ok, people. Clear comms,” Cobb says. Arthur reaches up and readjusted the communicator. Years of working with them don’t make it any less annoying when Cobb sounds like he’s standing right behind him, talking straight into his ear.
“Clear,” Arthur replies.
The tiny girl next to him taps on hers for another moment before reporting the same. Arthur has the sneaking suspicion that this might be Ariadne. She’s smiling like it’s her birthday, fiddling with the rappelling equipment and checking everything over. Arthur has never met a stone cold sane criminal, but she’s a little too crazy-eyed for comfort.
The round-faced, curly-haired man Cobb has for a techie is frowning at his communicator. “What is this, a relic of the eighties?”
They’re four or five years old, but Arthur doesn’t say anything. It’s Cobb’s problem.
“Yusuf, they work fine. We’re on a schedule.”
Yusuf shakes his head as if Cobb saddens him. He digs in one of the pockets of his leather satchel which is also his laptop carrier.
“Here,” Yusuf passes around tiny flesh-colored buds. “These are bone conduction earpiece mics. You put them over your bottom molar and they work off the vibrations in your jaw.”
Arthur puts his in. Yusuf motions for him to say something. “Testing.”
“See?” Yusuf says with his own. “Very clear, isn’t it?” It sounds even more up-close and intimate than the old ones.
“Are you a mad scientist?” the girl asks as if this is a perfectly normal question, like ‘do you like ketchup on your hotdog?’ Yusuf beams at her.
“These are not my own design, but I am working on-”
“Schedule,” Arthur reminds them, because Cobb is apparently ignoring them.
“What do you do?” the girl asks, undeterred.
“I’ve been wondering that,” Yusuf says.
“Arthur makes things go smoothly. And he’s right, it’s time. Ariadne, if you please.”
“This is so much fun,” Ariadne says. “I’m all nostalgic. Last time I used this rig was in Paris, three years ago.”
“The Caravaggio,” Cobb mutters. “Nevermind. Alright, on my count. Five. Four. Three.”
Ariadne goes shrieking past them and dives headfirst off the roof.
“She’s gone,” Arthur reports. Cobb sighs into his comm. Arthur leans over the roof’s edge to watch her descent. She lets the ropes run for a few seconds, clearly enjoying the free-fall before expertly slowing to a stop twenty floors down.
“Ok, it looks like the vibration detectors are on,” she reports cheerfully.
“You’re going to use the binary, Ariadne,” Cobb says. “No cutting.”
“Uh-huh.”
Arthur’s not sure if she’s listening, or just dismissing Cobb. Either way, he doesn’t like that they’re working with Ariadne. She’s the best, but she’s also unpredictable and a notorious loner. If Yusuf is who Arthur thinks he is, the same could be said for him. Arthur’s been known to quietly take his own jobs, but he needs to be able to predict his teammates and compensate for their actions if he’s going to keep everyone safe. The whole job was making him nervous.
He watches her until he can see the glow of the binary as she starts on the window, and then he and Yusuf hustle down the roof’s emergency ladder and onto the top of the express elevator. Then they wait. Arthur’s heart pounds with the rhythm of the seconds ticking by. Ariadne should be breaking into the control room to rewire the elevators and override the alarms.
“Ariadne?” he whispers into the com, and then the elevator drops.
“There we go,” Ariadne says.
“Ok, we’re doing good on time. How are we on security?” Cobb says, pacing the rooftop.
In dreams, Arthur would have his Glock out, station himself outside the door, and simply take on all comers. But this is the real world where guns actually kill people, and he has to rely on Ariadne watching the security footage, and Cobb with his high-powered binoculars and digital schematics in the building across from Pinwheel Energy. Cobb’s good at keeping all the little circus rings organized. Still, Arthur hates not knowing every inch of this building and exactly where everyone is.
“They’re still oblivious,” Ariadne answers. She sounds smug.
The elevator stops on the thirtieth floor, and Arthur takes point as he and Yusuf scurry down hallways.
“Yusuf, I’m sure if there was chatter we’d be able to hear it,” Cobb says, careful to question without being accusatory.
“Yes, of course.” They’ve found the door to the servers and Yusuf pulls a digital code-breaker from his satchel and attaches it to the input panel. “Oh, ten digits. Respectable.”
“Well,” says Cobb, and Arthur inwardly sighs because he knows that tone. “I only see four guards at their posts.”
Damn. There are eight on the duty roster. Even if one is taking an illicit smoke break or in the bathroom that’s still three armed men unaccounted for.
“Hold on,” Ariadne says, “I’m running through the other cameras. There. Wait, they’re doing their rounds.”
“They’re not scheduled to do that for another hour,” Cobb says. “Arthur, you hearing this?”
“Yeah. Yeah I am. Cobb, who’s playing tonight?” Arthur only watches the Playoffs and the Super Bowl, but Cobb’s love of football boarders on obsession.
“Shit. The Bears. They’re doing their rounds early to catch the game.”
“They’re on your stairwell,” Ariadne reports.
“I’ve got it,” Arthur says.
“Squelch them,” Cobb orders.
“Wait, how do I do that?”
“There should be an option on your menu,” Yusuf says, distractedly. “My program is very user-friendly.”
“Arthur, you have to clear the zone,” Cobb says over Yusuf’s attempts to explain simple communications hacks to Ariadne.
Arthur snorts. “On it, boss.”
“I can’t hide, the code’s almost through,” Yusuf says, glancing up. When sees Arthur’s not there he asks, “Wait, am I bait?”
Which is when the guards find them.
The click of safetys being flicked off as the guards level their guns at Yusuf really pisses Arthur off since the hacker is clearly unarmed and frightened. Still, he takes advantage of their surprise, slipping from his hiding place and sneaking up right behind the four uniformed men.
“Oh, I see,” Yusuf says, and one of the brighter guards spins around to see who he’s talking to but it’s already too late.
Arthur grabs the nearest man by the neck, slinging him headfirst into the concrete wall with enough force that he crumples immediately. He kicks out at the next man’s gun, spinning him off balance, and buying some extra seconds. Jamming his hand into the third guard’s throat, Arthur lands a few quick jabs to his stomach, and the guard keels over from lack of oxygen. The second guard starts to catch his breath, but Arthur elbows him in the face, and he backs off, clutching his nose.
The fourth guard finally decides to join the fray; he’s got at least fifty pounds and four inches on the rest of them, but he’s slow, and Arthur easily sidesteps his clumsy punch. He skips behind the big guy to twist his arm into an elbow lock and snap his wrist. The only other guard still standing remembers that he’s still armed, and raises his gun with a warning.
Swinging the bigger guy between himself and the armed guard, Arthur uses the momentum to shove the big guy into his friend, sending them both stumbling back against the wall. He’s on them before they straighten up, a right hook to one man’s face so that it smacks against the cinderblock, and then one last vicious side kick into the knee, cracking it. The man finally drops his gun with a scream, falling to the floor to clutch his leg. Arthur turns around to be sure the all of the other guards are still out. The guard he’d choked is gamely trying to get to his feet from where he sunk to his knees, face white, and it only takes a light knee to the chest to take him out of the game.
Sniffing, he brushes down any wrinkles in his suit. Three unconscious, one incapacitated. Arthur uses his foot to gently slide their guns around the near corner.
When he looks up, Yusuf is wide-eyed and wordless, hands still up in surrender.
“I make things go smoothly,” Arthur says, smug.
“My name’s Arthur, I make things go smoothly. I’m a damn ninja,” Yusuf mumbles, turning back to his code-breaker.
Ariadne’s laughter is loud and clear through the comm. Yusuf shoots a worried glance at Arthur who raises an eyebrow, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The code-breaker beeps happily and the door swings open. The inside is green like a bad sci-fi effect, and Yusuf breaks into a grin. “Ah. Here we are.”
“Arthur? I assume everything is taken care of?” Cobb says.
“We’re in. Yusuf’s on it.”
While Yusuf strips the drives, Arthur takes the time to drag the security guards into the server room, laying them out neatly. The one he hit in the throat seems to be breathing well, if still woozy, and the one with the broken knee passes out when Arthur hefts him up, which is probably for the best.
“I’ve got all of the designs and the back-up,” Yusuf announces.
“Then drop the spike,” Cobb says.
With a dramatic flourish of his fingers like a concert pianist, Yusuf presses a few keys and the screen flashes and goes black and the servers shut down in groups. He’s humming softly under his breath.
“Done. And a little virus for them to remember us by.”
“Just one virus?” Arthur asks.
“Oh no. I was being facetious. I gave them quite a few viruses.” He looks a little proud.
“Uh, guys? Little problem,” Ariadne says. “The guards Arthur ninja’d reset the alarms on floors from your floor to the roof. We’re stuck down here.”
“Then I’ll say goodbye to all of you. Every man for himself,” Yusuf says.
“You can’t do that,” Ariadne says. She sounds a little offended.
“I have the merchandise, so yes, I can do that,” Yusuf corrects.
“And I have the way out, so no, you can’t.”
“You’re not leaving,” Arthur agrees. He doesn’t take a step closer and intimidate Yusuf because he doesn’t think Yusuf will actually cut out on them, but he does straighten to his full height.
“Gentlemen,” Cobb cuts in, “And lady. I know not all of you play well with others, but that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that I’m the one with the plan, and I can get you all out. Now go back down to the elevators. Arthur, seven minutes.”
Arthur nods even though Cobb can’t see him because at the end of the day, he was a soldier and he knew how to take orders. “What’s the plan?”
“We’re going to move on to Plan G.”
Inside the elevator, Yusuf pulls a tie and suit coat out of the bag he brought, and Arthur strips off his gloves.
“In the bag. The spray can and the compact,” Yusuf mumbles, trying to do a Windsor with one hand and his teeth while he fumbles with his buttons with the other. The door dings and Ariadne rushes in and without turning around strips off her shirt. Arthur and Yusuf politely look away while she shimmies into a little black dress and a pair of flats. They’re a little over halfway down to the lobby, and Arthur stops the elevator so that Yusuf can apply something from the compact to one side of Ariadne’s face and then shield her eyes as he sprays something else over it.
Ariadne limps out of the elevator with a sort of resentful dignity that Arthur has to admire. She keeps her left knee slightly locked, leaning heavily on the cane as Yusuf keeps one hand under her elbow for support and Arthur tries to look like he’s worried she’ll fall over. The men at the front desk stare in horror at the scars that are etched across her face and leg, and Arthur bristles because even if this is fiction, you don’t make someone uncomfortable like that. What a dick thing to do.
“You want to stare a little more?” he asks loudly.
“No, Tom don’t. It’s ok,” Ariadne says softly. They’re halfway through the lobby.
“It is not!” Arthur says.
“Please, don’t make a scene,” Ariadne whispers just loudly enough that the guard can hear it.
“Sorry, I’m sorry. Do you, can I do anything?” he asks guiltily, starting toward them and then pausing, uncertain.
“Yeah, you can hold the door open for my sister and then learn some god-damned manners.”
Yusuf breaks off to go on ahead and open the door of the sleek, black car that suddenly appears, and Ariadne leans on Arthur as the guard tries to swing the revolving door around for them, one hand crossing awkwardly into Arthur’s way. It makes Arthur uncomfortable and annoyed, but Ariadne leans into it, getting her cane caught in the door which makes the man even more flustered. Flustered is good because it means he’s too self-conscious to try to figure out why three people are making their way across the lobby after business hours. Once out the door Ariadne keeps up the facade as Yusuf helps her into the back of the car. Cobb smiles from the front seat.
------
“Has it transferred yet?” Cobb asks.
They’re standing around like tourists in Daley Plaza. Ariadne actually has her phone out and is snapping pictures of the fountains all lit up. The bubbling of the water covers the sound of Arthur’s tapping foot.
Yusuf grunts in acknowledgement. “Give me a- ah. There we go. The designs are sent.”
“The money will be in your accounts by eight am tomorrow. Good job, guys,” Cobb says.
“It has been nice working with you, boys.” With a wave, Ariadne turns and wanders off, her focus solely on her viewfinder.
Yusuf waves at her retreating back. “It was good to meet you,” he calls. “Gentlemen.” He nods once at Arthur and Cobb and heads his own way.
Clapping Arthur on the shoulder, Cobb shoots him a smug glance. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Could have been worse.”
“So,” Cobb continues, ignoring how Arthur shrugs off his hand. “What’s for dinner?”
------
The loud brrrmmm of a cell phone vibrating off of the nightstand is enough to shake the veil of sleep from Cobb. He gropes around on the floor for it, rubbing at his eyes. According to the alarm clock blinking at him, it’s just past nine in the morning.
“Hello?”
“Don’t ‘hello’ me, Mr. Cobb. You screwed me.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Browning, what?” Cobb sits up, wide awake. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb with me. The files, Mr. Cobb. I never received them.”
“I assure you, they were sent. I oversaw the transfer myself.”
Browning’s voice is forceful, but hushed, like he’s afraid of being overheard. “You don’t get your money until I get my blueprints.”
“Fine, I’ll bring them by in thirty minutes.” Cobb reaches for the button-down shirt hanging on the end of the bed.
“No, you can’t show up here. People would ask questions,” Browning says. “We have a warehouse in Berwyn. We’ll meet there in an hour.”
--------
The warehouse is squat and boxy and alarmingly nondescript when Cobb and Arthur arrive. Arthur brushes a cobweb off of a light switch with his elbow before flicking it on. Following the click-click-click of fluorescent lights coming on, Cobb makes his way past the boxes into the center of the empty floor.
“Browning?” he calls out, spinning slowly, taking in his surroundings.
“Not quite,” Ariadne replies from behind him.
Her gun is pressed between Arthur’s shoulder blades, and he has his hands in the air, scowling.
“Where is my money?” She asks, prodding him slightly.
The sound of a heavy door opening distracts them, giving Arthur the seconds he needs to duck under Ariadne’s arm and twist the gun from her grip. He pops the bullet out of the chamber and slides the magazine from the pistol, tucking them both into his waistband.
She glares at him, but before she can make a move to get it back, another gun is waved in Arthur’s face.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Yusuf growls. “Why haven’t I been paid?”
Cobb extends his hands slowly in front of him, like he’s trying to soothe an angry dog. “I have a feeling that none of us are getting paid. And I have a strong suspicion that unless we make a very quick exit, none of us will ever get paid.”
Yusuf’s gun wavers. “No one is leaving until I see that paycheck in my account. Why didn’t you transfer it?”
“Yusuf, Ariadne, you’re both smart, capable criminals. Now, the plan was, and correct me if I’m wrong, we pull the job and walk away, never to see each other again.”
They nod, reluctantly.
“So,” Cobb hisses, “If you wanted to make sure we did all meet in the same place, one very last time, how would you do it?”
“Oh, snap,” Ariadne says, the realization dawning on her.
They all turn in unison, sprinting for the exit, Arthur reassembling the stolen handgun as he runs. He reaches the door first, ushering the others through and taking one last look to make sure they weren’t followed before running out after them.
They’re a block away when the warehouse explodes with enough force to knock them off their feet.
-------
Cobb wakes up on a couch with a groan and a headache.
Sighing in relief, Arthur sets a glass of water on the coffee table. Arthur is paranoid in the best of circumstances, but once he learned the truth about Cobb’s Somnacin addiction, the idea that Cobb wouldn’t wake up one day was a constant itch in the back of his mind.
“Wh-?” Cobb says.
“We’re at my apartment. We got out in time. You caught some debris to the side of your head.”
Cobb squints up at him, miserably. “Throbbing.”
Arthur holds his finger up for Cobb to track. Cobb’s pupils are even.
“No concussion. You’ll be fine,” Arthur says, but he hands Cobb the bottle of aspirin.
“I think he’s turning purple back there,” Ariadne says, out of nowhere. She swings up onto the back of Arthur’s couch and reclines, balancing there effortlessly. “I can see the bruising through his hair.”
“Bruises are maybe not our priority right now?” Yusuf suggests from across the room where he’s glued to his laptop screen. There’s a bandage on his left hand, and he’s been getting more and more frustrated trying to compensate for it as he types.
Cobb sits up slowly. “Browning tried to kill us,” he says, as if testing the theory.
Arthur nods. “Browning has a death wish.”
“Yes, yes. That’s wonderful. But can we focus, please? How am I going to get my money?” Yusuf asks.
Arthur doesn’t roll his eyes because he’s classier than that. Ariadne does.
“It’s not about the money anymore,” she says.
“Of course it’s about-”
“No,” Cobb sits forward. “No, she’s right. You can get another job and get more money. Unless,” he pauses, dragging the moment out for some manufactured tension.
Yusuf gives him an impatient look.
“Unless you can’t take any more jobs. Say, because you’re dead. Or letting everyone assume you’re dead so that someone, someone important, influential, well connected-”
“Browning,” Arthur interrupts to move things along.
Cobb frowns at him a little. “Yes, Browning. So that he doesn’t put a hit out on all of us.”
“You think he has something to hide,” Arthur catches on.
“Wait,” Ariadne raises a hand like she’s in class. Cobb looks charmed, and nods for her to ask her question. “So, you’re saying he tried to kill us because of the job, not because of the money? Is that it?”
“It’s a theory.”
“And I should go to ground because of a theory?” Yusuf asks, but he’s sounding more convinced the longer Cobb talks. Cobb’s good at getting to people that way.
“If you walk out of here,” Arthur points out, “and we’re right, you get us all killed, not just yourself.”
“Yeah,” says Ariadne, and Yusuf looks at her quietly for moment.
“Alright,” Yusuf says. He’s pulls off his glasses and begins wiping them with his shirt. “Say I go along with you. What do you want to do? We can’t hide forever. What is Browning protecting?” He slides his glasses back up his nose like an exclamation point. “We don’t know, and we can’t know, because we can’t get close enough to find out! He knows our faces.”
“He’s right,” Arthur tells Cobb.
“Yeah,” Cobb replies, thoughtful.
Arthur frowns. He knows that look. He leans in. “You said this was a dry con. You promised, Cobb.”
“For me, yes,” Cobb nods distractedly. Arthur can almost see the little charts being assembled in his head, the pros and cons lists and data points. Cobb’s planning.
“If we go in without you, we’ll need an extractor.”
“If we pull someone into this,” Cobb says, looking up slowly as his equations solve themselves into a neat little sum, “We’ll need someone who can go in, meet Browning, and still run a con after that. Someone he’ll never recognize.”
Arthur sits back, thinking that he maybe should have seen this one coming. Resigned, he sighs. “Eames.”
“Eames,” Cobb confirms.
“Who’s Eames?” Ariadne asks.
“Is he still in Mexico?” Cobb asks.
“Vegas,” Arthur admits. “Last I heard.” He always knows exactly where Eames is, but there no reason to let anyone else know that.
“Vegas,” Yusuf says, excited. “So we’re not stuck in Chicago then. That’s good.”
Ignoring Yusuf’s apparent distaste for Arthur’s hometown, he asks, “You want us all to go to Vegas?”
“Unless you wanted to babysit,” Cobb says.
“No really, who’s Eames?” Ariadne asks.
“We can overnight by train. I’ll work out some identities,” Arthur says.
Yusuf begins clicking at his laptop.
Cobb stumbles up from Arthur’s sofa and towards the bathroom. “I need a solid night’s sleep, first.”
“We’ll leave tomorrow morning,” Arthur says. He heads for his office, Yusuf in tow.
“Do we want first class?” Yusuf asks.
“I still want to know who Eames is,” Ariadne yells after them as Yusuf closes the door.
Ariadne stands in the empty room for a moment. Then she sighs and heads up the loft’s ladder. She is so stealing the softest pillows.
-------
They ride in pairs, Arthur with Cobb because he thinks Cobb needs someone to keep an eye on him, and Ariadne with Yusuf because no one looks too hard at couples on romantic getaways. Vegas doesn’t believe in trains, so they’re taking the Southwest Chief for the thirty-seven hours to Arizona, and taking a motor coach from there. Cobb tries to sleep against Arthur’s shoulder for most of the train ride, until Arthur sacrifices his jacket as a pillow for Cobb to cushion against the window. There was one sleeper available at short notice, but for appearances’ sake Ariadne and Yusuf have it.
Arthur doesn’t get much sleep. He comforts himself with the thought of Yusuf and Ariadne squished uncomfortably into one bed together. At least the dining car had good coffee.
They arrive in Las Vegas at three in the morning, but in Vegas, that’s par for the course. They settle for one of the nicer hotels just off the strip, even though Yusuf promises he could get them a penthouse at the Bellagio in under thirty minutes. Cobb has to remind him four times that they’re trying to keep a low profile. Grouchy from lack of sleep, back stiff, and ass sore from uncomfortable bus seats, Arthur finally grabs them both by the shoulder and marches them to their rooms.
As he stretches out on his bed, he can see the lights of the casinos from his bedroom window. Vegas is all about bright, shiny things in eye-catching colors. Arthur can see the appeal if he squints, but it’s a little like being locked in a nightmare inducing combination of a kindergarten class and a disco. It’s exactly the sort of place Eames loves.
--------
Cobb raises an eyebrow when Arthur directs their cab off the Strip into a quieter part of town. “Not one of the casinos?” he asks.
Arthur passes out their tickets in answer.
“The Importance of Being Earnest? Well, that’s one way to go wild in Vegas,” Ariadne muses.
Yusuf frowns at his ticket. “I have to say, I prefer the more traditional route. What are we even doing here? I thought you said Eames was a forger, not an off-Broadway hack.”
“Open your mind, my friend,” Cobb replies, pushing through the doors of the theater.
---------
“He’s kind of hot, for an older guy,” Ariadne whispers into Arthur’s ear. She has managed to curl her legs underneath her in the tiny velvet seat, and is clutching a giant tub of popcorn like she’s Gollum and it’s her precious. “Does he have a girlfriend?”
Arthur grunts noncommittally, focused completely on the play.
On stage, Jack was stuttering through his proposal to his fair Gwendolen. The brunette opposite Eames had already forgotten her lines twice, but Eames didn’t break character, ad libbing seamlessly to cover for her mistakes. By the second act, Yusuf had gotten his hand slapped three times for trying to steal popcorn, Arthur was about ready to put an overly boisterous Algernon in a sleeper hold, and Ariadne was convinced that Jack was truly and madly in love with his Gwendolen. Cobb was asleep.
------
The alley behind the theater stinks like car exhaust and rancid grease from the rundown burger joint next door, but that’s where Eames was, chain smoking after his performance. He tosses his cigarette to the ground as Cobb approaches.
“No.”
Sighing, Cobb holds his hands up like a hostage. “I’m clean, I swear.”
“You’re insane is what you are,” Eames replies. His gaze flicks over the others, standing a respectful distance away. It lingers on Arthur before snapping back to Cobb’s face. “And apparently, you’ve found people even madder than you.”
“I have a job for you.”
“I’m not interested.”
“An innocent man’s livelihood is at stake.” He pauses, but Eames simply raises a skeptical eyebrow. “I can make it worth your while.”
“Believe it or not, Cobb, I value my skin more than your cash.” Eames narrows his eyes, but Cobb holds his ground.
“Eames,” Arthur calls, striding over and standing between the two men. Fishing a green and blue poker chip from his breast pocket, he flicks it at the other man, who snatches it effortlessly out of the air. “Prague. You owe me.”
Eames runs the chip over the back of his knuckles contemplatively. “Arthur, you wanker.”
“So,” Ariadne whispers to Yusuf, watching the two men daring the other to break eye contact first, “I’m guessing he doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
“What?” Yusuf asks, hushed. “I missed something, didn’t I?”