Fic: Thicker Than Blood: Part 3
Title: Thicker Than Blood
Fandom: Inception/500 Days of Summer
Pairing: Arthur/Eames, Tom/Autumn
Rating: R
Word Count: 4000-ish (this chapter)
Summary: "My brother, Tom, has been missing for three days."
Notes: Written for this prompt on the Inception Kink meme. Edited, beta checked (thanks Starlingthefool!) and reposted.
Part 1 | Part 2 |
****
Five minutes after Arthur and Autumn had disappeared into the building's front door, Eames was considering the merits of abandoning the car all together and going in after them. Arthur would no doubt be angry, but he could handle Arthur's anger.
He caught himself drumming fingers on his knee and forced his hand to lie flat, but his mood must have been catching for Rachel sighed loudly from the back seat.
"How long do you think they'll take?" she asked.
Eames' eyes had not wavered from the seventh floor window. "That would depend on many things. I'll give it a half hour before I become concerned."
Rachel sighed again, all teenager, even though she showed herself oddly mature for her years - Eames thought that Arthur must have been very much the same way, when he had been her age.
"I don't like this," Rachel said. "Anything can be happening up there."
"That, my dear, is why I loathe stakeouts," Eames admitted. "I prefer to be in the middle of things myself."
There was a curious silence from the back and Eames flicked his eyes away from the window to see Rachel bite her lip.
Her next words were spoken with a little too much forced levity, as if she were working to keep it casual. "We could play the truth game to pass the time. You know, I ask a question and you ask a question..."
Eames couldn't help it. He barked a laugh. "And what happens if I'm unwilling to answer?"
"Then I get to ask two questions." Her smirk was nearly malicious. It was Arthur's smirk, and Eames found himself a little charmed even though he knew this could lead nowhere good. Well, if she asked anything uncomfortable he could always lie.
"Go on then," he said, indulgently, returning to gaze at the unblinking wall of windows.
"How did you and Arthur meet?"
"Through work," Eames grinned at the memory. "Though we were on different sides at the time."
"Different sides of what?"
His grin grew wider. "I thought your rules specified one question per turn?"
Rachel scowled and he nearly laughed again. "Tell me about Tom," he said. "Is he very much like Arthur?"
"Yes and no," she answered, after a moment of thought. "He's not as serious, I guess. Arthur likes to pretend he doesn't have emotions, and Tom.... He must have watched The Graduate a hundred times because he thinks it's romantic." She made a face. "No offense, but no one expected Arthur to be the gay one."
Eames thought of the graduation picture he'd seen in the apartment - the two brothers, grinning, an arm looped about each shoulder. He had a feeling that something had distanced them. Could that be it?
"Most gay men I've met don't act the stereotype," he replied in gentle rebuke.
"I know, I know. My turn again. What were you on different sides of when you met?"
He met her eyes in the reflection of the rearview window, smiling. "Pass."
"What? No fair!" she squawked, but then brightened. "I get two questions then. Okay, how long have you known him?"
He thought about it. "Close to five years."
"Great." She leaned forward, intent. "Then tell me what was so important he couldn't come home two and a half years ago."
Two and a half years ago? "I don't take your meaning."
Rachel made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat. "When she," and she flipped a hand over in the direction of the building, meaning Summer, "broke Tom's heart he was... really messed up over it. He only remembered the good parts of the relationship, you know? Not how she actually treated him. Well, his friends called me because they were so worried about him, and I called Arthur. And do you know what he said? He said he couldn't come, and that Tom would get over it. Then he hung up, and I had to do all the work putting Tom back together. So I wanna know what was so important he couldn't come back for his own twin brother." She seemed a little winded by the end of this, and sat back as she finished, arms crossed, and clearly annoyed all over again.
Eames knew Arthur could be a cold-hearted bastard at times, but he suspected in this case he may have had his reasons. "I can only guess," he warned, and waited for Rachel's nod to continue. "Right around that time Arthur's best friend - the man who was mentoring him - his wife committed suicide, very suddenly. Arthur's friend was suspected of her murder." He paused, weighing his words carefully, wary of giving too much away. "Arthur dropped everything to come to his aid - he put his reputation and life on the line, in many cases. Had it been me in his position, I'm not certain I would have done the same."
"Oh," she said quietly, a whisper. "What happened?"
"Eventually, his friend was cleared of all charges." Eames nearly smiled, remembering Cobb's shocked, almost glazed look in the airport after the Fischer job. "But I guarantee he wouldn't have gotten there without Arthur's assistance." He sighed. "Try not to be too hard on him, pet. He's the most loyal man I know."
Rachel started to speak, but stopped as a light came on in the seventh story window. It stayed bright, however, without sign of flicker.
And ten minutes later, while Rachel was dutifully reciting her grades (Eames had tried to find a way to lighten the mood somehow) Arthur and Autumn walked out from the building's entrance.
They were too far away for Eames to see their expressions clearly, but Arthur's body language was tense - upset. Before Eames could do more than notice, Arthur glanced his way and gave a short wave, steering Autumn around the corner of the building.
"What was that about?" Rachel asked.
Eames wasn't sure, but he suspected it wasn't a precursor for anything good. Still, it wouldn't to do upset Rachel. "Was that officially your question?" he asked, tone light.
"No!"
Long story short, Autumn returned alone, her expression so dark that Eames knew something must have happened. She preceded then to politely, but firmly kick him out of the car with just his and Arthur's luggage in tow.
Arthur, when Eames found him, was the very picture of dejection. And although Eames would never admit it within his hearing, it did frighten him a little. Arthur was as tenacious as he was tough. The man didn't give up - not when turned around in a maze in an unbreakable mind, not when he was sick and exhausted and there were assassins on his hounding his trail, not even when his best friend had betrayed him and he was staring the threat of limbo straight in the face.
Eames dearly wanted to demand answers, but he held his tongue and offered comfort as best he could. And as they waited for the taxi to arrive, Arthur explained in a flat monotone what information he'd received on Tom's whereabouts.
"I see," Eames said, after Arthur was done. It was almost certainly the perfect worst-case scenario, then. For once, he wasn't sure quite what to say. So he approached the problem optimistically. "I've never worked with Carson or Muir. If they're in need of another team member, I should be able to slip in..."
Arthur had pulled away as he spoke, but still sat next to him, staring at his own clasped hands. "That will be a little too convenient, don't you think?"
"Give me some credit darling," Eames managed a smile. "I wouldn't be going in as myself."
"Carson has some skill as a forger." But it was more of an observation than an objection. The shock was wearing off, Eames thought. Arthur was coming back online.
"They don't have the best reputation in the business," Eames mused, watching Arthur carefully for reaction. Most people found Muir's blood thirstiness objectionable, and Carson was nearly as bad. "It would make it hard to acquire talent. They may not ask as many questions."
Arthur glanced at him. "They're sadistic, not stupid. I can't lose-" he bit off the rest of what he was going to say going to say, shaking of his head. "It doesn't matter. We have to find them first."
Eames would have replied, but yellow cab chose that moment to turn into the parking lot, and effectively cut short their conversation.
****
Eames opened his eyes and experienced a wholly unpleasant jolt as his vision swam into focus on an unfamiliar cream colored ceiling... and he hadn't a clue where he was. His hand shot to his pocket - his trousers were still on, but unbuttoned, and he was hampered by what looked like a hotel coverlet thrown over him to keep him warm.
That realization gave him a pause long enough for his mind to unfog and flick back through his memories. He remembered riding the cab with Arthur. He had signed them into a nearby hotel using one of his favorite fake passports: Mr. Hugh Jorgan. Jet lag, it seemed, finally caught up with him and Arthur had told him to get some sleep, but he was determined to stay up and call some of his contacts. He remembered sitting on the couch to do... something. Arthur had handed him a glass of water.
Eames lifted his head to see Arthur sitting at the little writing desk across the room, tapping away at his laptop. Eames knew he hadn't made a sound, but Arthur glanced over his shoulder as he said, "If you fell for your own trick, you were too tired to help."
Grumbling, Eames shoved the coverlet off himself and made a point to reach for his totem - more out of spite at this point, really, for he felt sure he was awake. The poker chip felt true and he said, "How long was I out?"
"Only three hours."
Which made it about four o'clock in the morning, local time. The king sized bed in the center of the room was calling to him, and it was an effort of will to get himself upright again and stumble into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He must have fallen asleep with his mouth open because his own mouth tasted horrible.
"Any news?" he called, after his necessaries were done and he'd splashed some water in his face.
"The contact number led to a prepaid cell phone. It was used twice: once to receive a call from Nash and once from Tom. It was used in public places, away from wherever they're working. They must have turned the phone off, or destroyed it, because none of the cell phones are triangulating to the SIM." Arthur's voice was cool and remote. He had once again slipped into his professional mode, and while it was a far cry from the stricken shadow he was before, Eames wasn't sure that was healthy either.
Arthur continued, "I called Hoshi, the chemist, but he only supplies remotely. He doesn't know where Muir's team was working, but I made sure he'll give me a call if he hears from them. There's been no contact through any of the usual third party dealers. No large corporate conventions or visitors of note to the area in the next few days..."
"Have you called Saito?" Eames asked, padding over. "I know he likes to keep a finger in every pie."
Arthur nodded, not looking from the screen. "He's in late meetings until seven. I left a message."
Saito was no doubt gleefully divvying up the remains of Fischer-Morrow between his company and his lesser competitors, Eames thought. He glanced over Arthur's shoulder to see what he could be doing, and stilled in surprise.
"Why Mexico, darling?"
"There haven't been any John Does found in Southern California, Nevada, or Arizona matching Tom's description in the last week," Arthur intoned, clicking through incredibly gruesome images in law enforcements' files. He paused on one for moment, too decayed to be unidentifiable, and read through the height and weight details before dismissing it and moving on. "Mexico is the next likely choice."
Eames had to fight the desire to grab the top of his laptop and shut it down. "For god sakes, I could have done this."
"I can do it." He paused at another likely picture, but then clicked on.
"It doesn't mean you should."
Arthur didn't reply, but he did stop clicking - the screen landed on a bloated man who was definitely not Tom.
"Arthur," Eames said. "You've gone over the likely paths tonight. Come to bed, please. There's nothing to be gained by further torturing yourself."
He still didn't answer, but he didn't object as Eames slowly reached across him to close the laptop. It clicked shut with a strange finality.
"They would have dumped the body locally anyway," Arthur muttered, his shoulders drooping. "Then probably called me or Dom to gloat."
"I can think of several reasons of why they would wish to keep him alive, for now," Eames said, but didn't elaborate. Every scenario didn't bode well for Tom, and most of those didn't for Arthur as well.
"Me too," Arthur admitted, rubbing absently at his left wrist. He stood and turned - his eyes were shadowed with stress and lack of sleep. "Bed?"
"Darling," Eames purred. "I never thought you would ask."
Eames had meant it as a joke - exhaustion and pictures of decaying, unidentified bodies would put many a man off, but when he had turned off the lights in the room, shed his clothes and crawled under the covers (Arthur had taken it upon himself to remake the bed. He had a quirk of being unable to fall asleep under messy blankets) he felt Arthur's hands, hot and insistent on him.
Arthur's lips pressed against his own, seeking, and there was such desperation to the touch - hurried and almost anxious and nothing like his usual self - that Eames pulled away, grabbing Arthur's wrist to stop him from reaching lower.
"Are you all right?" Eames asked.
It was dark in their room. He could only see Arthur as a shadowed outline, shaking out his hand. "I'm fine," he said. "I just want-I need to forget for awhile."
"Arthur." He slid his hand up to cup his jaw. Arthur's skin felt warm, nearly feverish, and Eames wondered at the fact that he would only allow his weaknesses to show in the dark.
I'm falling for an emotionally constipated man. Eames reflected as he leaned in to kiss Arthur again.
And he wouldn't have it any way, really.
Eames' body was much quicker to respond, after that. Gently, firmly, he maneuvered the other man to sit up and placed Arthur's hands to the headboard above his head. "These stay here," he said, his voice low and dark. He heard Arthur suck in a breath and felt him nod, almost shakily.
"Hurry."
He wanted to do nothing of the sort, but relationships were about compromise and Arthur was leaning back, gripping the headboard behind him with his legs open so invitingly that Eames had no problem bowing his head and taking Arthur into his mouth.
Arthur's orgasm came only a few minutes later - he'd always had a little bit of a hair-trigger when there was any bondage, real or implied, involved. And Eames might have teased him a little for it, if not for the fact that his own dick was rock hard, heavy and dripping with precum. He reached down and palmed himself off in a few hard strokes as Arthur lay, sweating and panting and beautiful under him.
In the clean-up and afterglow that followed, as his body cooled and his heart rate returned back to normal, Eames could feel the other man still lying awake beside him. Could almost hear the gears still turning in Arthur's head.
"I'm sixty-fifth in line of succession to the British throne," Eames blurted, at once.
He felt Arthur tense next to him. "What?"
"I'd have to off both of my brothers to get there, of course." Eames shifted to his back, grinning up into the darkness. He would have liked to see Arthur's face, but could imagine it very well. "My mother wanted me to go into the church - it's traditional for the youngest son."
"You would have been horrible as a priest," Arthur said after a stunned moment, but there was a bare hint of laughter in his voice.
"Why, thank you."
Arthur shifted to his side, facing him. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Should I be ever arrested or linked to my activities, it would be quite the scandal," Eames mused, out loud. "I may be only sixty-fifth, but those are rather close circles. Embarrassments of that caliber tend to follow a family for generations." He turned as well and saw Arthur's outline in the dark, the glint of his eyes.
"It's not the same as-"
"I'm telling you because you're not the only who's played Russian Roulette with their family. But darling, I know the measures you took to avoid this from happening."
"You ran a background on me?"
"No more thorough than the one you ran on me."
Arthur huffed. "And?"
"I found nothing. Arthur Hansen's identity is quite secure."
"It's been a long time since I heard that last name," Arthur muttered, but seemed to settle and relax, one arm thrown proprietarily across Eames' waist. Eames was starting to drift off when he heard Arthur's voice again, sounding drowsy and much more relaxed than he'd heard in days.
"So are you a Lord or an Earl?"
"I am a third son. My millions are self made, thank you." It came out a little more primly than Eames meant it to, but Arthur snorted in something very close to laughter and ducked his head against him.
Eames hesitated before he spoke again, but he was not above striking when the iron was hot. "Were you and Tom close?"
"Very." Arthur was silent for so long that Eames thought that would be the entire answer. Then Arthur said, "Our mother remarried when we were teens... and my step-dad and I didn't get along."
"Just with you?"
"He didn't like Tom either, but he really hated me, " Arthur admitted, and there was a hint of dark amusement there. Somehow Eames had no doubt Arthur had been the harder of the twins to get along with. Possibly on purpose. "Then, when I was sixteen, my step-dad caught me in bed with another boy from school."
Arthur didn't elaborate, but Eames remembered Rachel's words from earlier. " Tom knew - he was working at Burger King, and just took off in the middle of his shift to come home and stop it..."
"What happened?" Eames asked, although he already had a good guess.
The arm Arthur had thrown about his waist tightened briefly as he shrugged, then relaxed. "My step-dad and I got in a fight. It had been coming for awhile, I guess, and I thought I could kick his ass. I was wrong. Tom... he came home and broke it up before it got bad, and my step-dad kicked me out of the house." He paused, then said, bitterly. "My mom took her husband's side."
"Tom came with me, even though he didn't have to," Arthur went on, and his voice was distant as he thought back to another time. Another place. "He didn't even know I was gay until that day. He just... it didn't matter to him, you know? We crashed at some friends houses for a few weeks, but it wasn't fair to Tom, and he wouldn't leave me so... We went back. I played nice." He sighed. "But there was no way my parents were going to support both of us though college... I knew I was dragging Tom down. So I enlisted, instead."
Eames had long suspected that was how Arthur had been introduced into dream share. It had been much the same for him, really. Only when he had gone into service to escape his family, his father's influence had assured him a higher entry position than 'grunt'.
"Navy?" Eames teased, and received a sharp pinch under his ribs for it.
"Marines," he corrected, with no small amount of pride. Then he hesitated. "My mom apologized a few years ago, but...."
"The damage had long been done?"
He felt Arthur shift as he nodded. "And when I got out of the service, Tom had a different life. I was different, too. It was easy to stay away, at that point." He yawned, his voice lowering to a murmur as he started to slip off to sleep. "Visit for holidays... birthdays."
Eames had a vague urge something unpardonably sappy, that he liked Arthur as he was, that his family seemed like a nice lot, or at least his sister did. That life was short and months so easily slipped into years without contact. That he should try to rebuild bridges, and even if it was painful... Eames would be there for him.
But sleep was weighing heavily upon him, and Arthur had gone quiet, his breathing deep and even.
They were both asleep a few minutes later.
****
Eames woke later in the morning to the sound of his cell phone buzzing on the nightstand. Blearily, looking around to see Arthur still asleep, he flipped it open and answered in a gravelly voice, "Hello?"
"Mr. Eames," answered a solemn voice on the other end. "I may have some news of interest to you."
It was Saito.
Eames was aware of Arthur shifting beside him, coming awake and tilting his head to listen closely to the conversation. Eames put a finger to his lips to keep the other man from speaking.
"I'm listening." Could he possibly want another job, another inception? After the hell Saito went through to complete the first one?
"I received a message from Arthur. He wanted to know if I was aware of any activity, major corporate or otherwise in Southern California." He enunciated the word slightly, to mean dream share.
Eames felt his eyebrows rise. "That sounds like something Arthur would do," he said. "Why are you calling me, not him?"
There was a slight pause from the other line. "I wanted to test... a theory. I presume Arthur is nearby?"
Arthur mouthed a curse. Eames knew how he felt: it wasn't that he objected to Saito knowing - or suspecting - their relationship. It was that such knowledge could be a liability in the wrong hands. Eames kept his voice casual as he replied, "Is this why you called? The fact that Arthur and I are fucking is hardly news to me."
Saito laughed, a bassy rumble. He quickly sobered, though, and said, "Three days ago my head of security was alerted to the possibility of a threat against myself by my competitors. It seems there is a team who has been hired with the express purpose of being able to break into a militarized mind. Your Arthur asked if there was any activity in Southern California." Saito paused and Eames could easily imagine his shark-like smile as he said, "I will arrive in Los Angeles tomorrow to sign paperwork to acquire Petrox Green Energy company."
"That's rather convenient timing." Eames snapped his fingers, but Arthur was already digging around in his suitcase and a moment later had put a blank notepad and a pen in front of him. Eames wrote down Petrox Green and underlined it. "Who else knows of your schedule?"
"Select members of my security team, Petrox's board of directors, and now you."
"It sounds like someone on the board doesn't approve of the takeover."
"Most of the board does not." Saito agreed. "May I ask, what is your interest here?"
Eames was too practiced of a liar to give anything away. "We have been hired by the family of a missing architect. We believe he's been taken by people who have the same skills your head of security warned you about."
"Then it would appear we have the same interests." Saito was all pleasantries. "I would like to hire you and Arthur as additional consultants to my security team. You would, of course, have access to my resources."
"That sounds reasonable." But Eames wasn't in the mood to let Saito off that easily. If the businessman could play games, so could Eames. "But I would hate to agree to anything without consulting with my partner first. Why don't you give Arthur a ring, and see what he says? Ta." And he hung up.
Arthur gave him a look. "Was that really necessary?"
"Sometimes, darling, you must remind a client that he is the one seeking our services. Not the other way around."
A moment later Arthur's smart phone began to buzz. As Eames padded off for a shower, he heard Arthur speak to Saito in low tones.
Part 4
Fandom: Inception/500 Days of Summer
Pairing: Arthur/Eames, Tom/Autumn
Rating: R
Word Count: 4000-ish (this chapter)
Summary: "My brother, Tom, has been missing for three days."
Notes: Written for this prompt on the Inception Kink meme. Edited, beta checked (thanks Starlingthefool!) and reposted.
Part 1 | Part 2 |
****
Five minutes after Arthur and Autumn had disappeared into the building's front door, Eames was considering the merits of abandoning the car all together and going in after them. Arthur would no doubt be angry, but he could handle Arthur's anger.
He caught himself drumming fingers on his knee and forced his hand to lie flat, but his mood must have been catching for Rachel sighed loudly from the back seat.
"How long do you think they'll take?" she asked.
Eames' eyes had not wavered from the seventh floor window. "That would depend on many things. I'll give it a half hour before I become concerned."
Rachel sighed again, all teenager, even though she showed herself oddly mature for her years - Eames thought that Arthur must have been very much the same way, when he had been her age.
"I don't like this," Rachel said. "Anything can be happening up there."
"That, my dear, is why I loathe stakeouts," Eames admitted. "I prefer to be in the middle of things myself."
There was a curious silence from the back and Eames flicked his eyes away from the window to see Rachel bite her lip.
Her next words were spoken with a little too much forced levity, as if she were working to keep it casual. "We could play the truth game to pass the time. You know, I ask a question and you ask a question..."
Eames couldn't help it. He barked a laugh. "And what happens if I'm unwilling to answer?"
"Then I get to ask two questions." Her smirk was nearly malicious. It was Arthur's smirk, and Eames found himself a little charmed even though he knew this could lead nowhere good. Well, if she asked anything uncomfortable he could always lie.
"Go on then," he said, indulgently, returning to gaze at the unblinking wall of windows.
"How did you and Arthur meet?"
"Through work," Eames grinned at the memory. "Though we were on different sides at the time."
"Different sides of what?"
His grin grew wider. "I thought your rules specified one question per turn?"
Rachel scowled and he nearly laughed again. "Tell me about Tom," he said. "Is he very much like Arthur?"
"Yes and no," she answered, after a moment of thought. "He's not as serious, I guess. Arthur likes to pretend he doesn't have emotions, and Tom.... He must have watched The Graduate a hundred times because he thinks it's romantic." She made a face. "No offense, but no one expected Arthur to be the gay one."
Eames thought of the graduation picture he'd seen in the apartment - the two brothers, grinning, an arm looped about each shoulder. He had a feeling that something had distanced them. Could that be it?
"Most gay men I've met don't act the stereotype," he replied in gentle rebuke.
"I know, I know. My turn again. What were you on different sides of when you met?"
He met her eyes in the reflection of the rearview window, smiling. "Pass."
"What? No fair!" she squawked, but then brightened. "I get two questions then. Okay, how long have you known him?"
He thought about it. "Close to five years."
"Great." She leaned forward, intent. "Then tell me what was so important he couldn't come home two and a half years ago."
Two and a half years ago? "I don't take your meaning."
Rachel made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat. "When she," and she flipped a hand over in the direction of the building, meaning Summer, "broke Tom's heart he was... really messed up over it. He only remembered the good parts of the relationship, you know? Not how she actually treated him. Well, his friends called me because they were so worried about him, and I called Arthur. And do you know what he said? He said he couldn't come, and that Tom would get over it. Then he hung up, and I had to do all the work putting Tom back together. So I wanna know what was so important he couldn't come back for his own twin brother." She seemed a little winded by the end of this, and sat back as she finished, arms crossed, and clearly annoyed all over again.
Eames knew Arthur could be a cold-hearted bastard at times, but he suspected in this case he may have had his reasons. "I can only guess," he warned, and waited for Rachel's nod to continue. "Right around that time Arthur's best friend - the man who was mentoring him - his wife committed suicide, very suddenly. Arthur's friend was suspected of her murder." He paused, weighing his words carefully, wary of giving too much away. "Arthur dropped everything to come to his aid - he put his reputation and life on the line, in many cases. Had it been me in his position, I'm not certain I would have done the same."
"Oh," she said quietly, a whisper. "What happened?"
"Eventually, his friend was cleared of all charges." Eames nearly smiled, remembering Cobb's shocked, almost glazed look in the airport after the Fischer job. "But I guarantee he wouldn't have gotten there without Arthur's assistance." He sighed. "Try not to be too hard on him, pet. He's the most loyal man I know."
Rachel started to speak, but stopped as a light came on in the seventh story window. It stayed bright, however, without sign of flicker.
And ten minutes later, while Rachel was dutifully reciting her grades (Eames had tried to find a way to lighten the mood somehow) Arthur and Autumn walked out from the building's entrance.
They were too far away for Eames to see their expressions clearly, but Arthur's body language was tense - upset. Before Eames could do more than notice, Arthur glanced his way and gave a short wave, steering Autumn around the corner of the building.
"What was that about?" Rachel asked.
Eames wasn't sure, but he suspected it wasn't a precursor for anything good. Still, it wouldn't to do upset Rachel. "Was that officially your question?" he asked, tone light.
"No!"
Long story short, Autumn returned alone, her expression so dark that Eames knew something must have happened. She preceded then to politely, but firmly kick him out of the car with just his and Arthur's luggage in tow.
Arthur, when Eames found him, was the very picture of dejection. And although Eames would never admit it within his hearing, it did frighten him a little. Arthur was as tenacious as he was tough. The man didn't give up - not when turned around in a maze in an unbreakable mind, not when he was sick and exhausted and there were assassins on his hounding his trail, not even when his best friend had betrayed him and he was staring the threat of limbo straight in the face.
Eames dearly wanted to demand answers, but he held his tongue and offered comfort as best he could. And as they waited for the taxi to arrive, Arthur explained in a flat monotone what information he'd received on Tom's whereabouts.
"I see," Eames said, after Arthur was done. It was almost certainly the perfect worst-case scenario, then. For once, he wasn't sure quite what to say. So he approached the problem optimistically. "I've never worked with Carson or Muir. If they're in need of another team member, I should be able to slip in..."
Arthur had pulled away as he spoke, but still sat next to him, staring at his own clasped hands. "That will be a little too convenient, don't you think?"
"Give me some credit darling," Eames managed a smile. "I wouldn't be going in as myself."
"Carson has some skill as a forger." But it was more of an observation than an objection. The shock was wearing off, Eames thought. Arthur was coming back online.
"They don't have the best reputation in the business," Eames mused, watching Arthur carefully for reaction. Most people found Muir's blood thirstiness objectionable, and Carson was nearly as bad. "It would make it hard to acquire talent. They may not ask as many questions."
Arthur glanced at him. "They're sadistic, not stupid. I can't lose-" he bit off the rest of what he was going to say going to say, shaking of his head. "It doesn't matter. We have to find them first."
Eames would have replied, but yellow cab chose that moment to turn into the parking lot, and effectively cut short their conversation.
****
Eames opened his eyes and experienced a wholly unpleasant jolt as his vision swam into focus on an unfamiliar cream colored ceiling... and he hadn't a clue where he was. His hand shot to his pocket - his trousers were still on, but unbuttoned, and he was hampered by what looked like a hotel coverlet thrown over him to keep him warm.
That realization gave him a pause long enough for his mind to unfog and flick back through his memories. He remembered riding the cab with Arthur. He had signed them into a nearby hotel using one of his favorite fake passports: Mr. Hugh Jorgan. Jet lag, it seemed, finally caught up with him and Arthur had told him to get some sleep, but he was determined to stay up and call some of his contacts. He remembered sitting on the couch to do... something. Arthur had handed him a glass of water.
Eames lifted his head to see Arthur sitting at the little writing desk across the room, tapping away at his laptop. Eames knew he hadn't made a sound, but Arthur glanced over his shoulder as he said, "If you fell for your own trick, you were too tired to help."
Grumbling, Eames shoved the coverlet off himself and made a point to reach for his totem - more out of spite at this point, really, for he felt sure he was awake. The poker chip felt true and he said, "How long was I out?"
"Only three hours."
Which made it about four o'clock in the morning, local time. The king sized bed in the center of the room was calling to him, and it was an effort of will to get himself upright again and stumble into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He must have fallen asleep with his mouth open because his own mouth tasted horrible.
"Any news?" he called, after his necessaries were done and he'd splashed some water in his face.
"The contact number led to a prepaid cell phone. It was used twice: once to receive a call from Nash and once from Tom. It was used in public places, away from wherever they're working. They must have turned the phone off, or destroyed it, because none of the cell phones are triangulating to the SIM." Arthur's voice was cool and remote. He had once again slipped into his professional mode, and while it was a far cry from the stricken shadow he was before, Eames wasn't sure that was healthy either.
Arthur continued, "I called Hoshi, the chemist, but he only supplies remotely. He doesn't know where Muir's team was working, but I made sure he'll give me a call if he hears from them. There's been no contact through any of the usual third party dealers. No large corporate conventions or visitors of note to the area in the next few days..."
"Have you called Saito?" Eames asked, padding over. "I know he likes to keep a finger in every pie."
Arthur nodded, not looking from the screen. "He's in late meetings until seven. I left a message."
Saito was no doubt gleefully divvying up the remains of Fischer-Morrow between his company and his lesser competitors, Eames thought. He glanced over Arthur's shoulder to see what he could be doing, and stilled in surprise.
"Why Mexico, darling?"
"There haven't been any John Does found in Southern California, Nevada, or Arizona matching Tom's description in the last week," Arthur intoned, clicking through incredibly gruesome images in law enforcements' files. He paused on one for moment, too decayed to be unidentifiable, and read through the height and weight details before dismissing it and moving on. "Mexico is the next likely choice."
Eames had to fight the desire to grab the top of his laptop and shut it down. "For god sakes, I could have done this."
"I can do it." He paused at another likely picture, but then clicked on.
"It doesn't mean you should."
Arthur didn't reply, but he did stop clicking - the screen landed on a bloated man who was definitely not Tom.
"Arthur," Eames said. "You've gone over the likely paths tonight. Come to bed, please. There's nothing to be gained by further torturing yourself."
He still didn't answer, but he didn't object as Eames slowly reached across him to close the laptop. It clicked shut with a strange finality.
"They would have dumped the body locally anyway," Arthur muttered, his shoulders drooping. "Then probably called me or Dom to gloat."
"I can think of several reasons of why they would wish to keep him alive, for now," Eames said, but didn't elaborate. Every scenario didn't bode well for Tom, and most of those didn't for Arthur as well.
"Me too," Arthur admitted, rubbing absently at his left wrist. He stood and turned - his eyes were shadowed with stress and lack of sleep. "Bed?"
"Darling," Eames purred. "I never thought you would ask."
Eames had meant it as a joke - exhaustion and pictures of decaying, unidentified bodies would put many a man off, but when he had turned off the lights in the room, shed his clothes and crawled under the covers (Arthur had taken it upon himself to remake the bed. He had a quirk of being unable to fall asleep under messy blankets) he felt Arthur's hands, hot and insistent on him.
Arthur's lips pressed against his own, seeking, and there was such desperation to the touch - hurried and almost anxious and nothing like his usual self - that Eames pulled away, grabbing Arthur's wrist to stop him from reaching lower.
"Are you all right?" Eames asked.
It was dark in their room. He could only see Arthur as a shadowed outline, shaking out his hand. "I'm fine," he said. "I just want-I need to forget for awhile."
"Arthur." He slid his hand up to cup his jaw. Arthur's skin felt warm, nearly feverish, and Eames wondered at the fact that he would only allow his weaknesses to show in the dark.
I'm falling for an emotionally constipated man. Eames reflected as he leaned in to kiss Arthur again.
And he wouldn't have it any way, really.
Eames' body was much quicker to respond, after that. Gently, firmly, he maneuvered the other man to sit up and placed Arthur's hands to the headboard above his head. "These stay here," he said, his voice low and dark. He heard Arthur suck in a breath and felt him nod, almost shakily.
"Hurry."
He wanted to do nothing of the sort, but relationships were about compromise and Arthur was leaning back, gripping the headboard behind him with his legs open so invitingly that Eames had no problem bowing his head and taking Arthur into his mouth.
Arthur's orgasm came only a few minutes later - he'd always had a little bit of a hair-trigger when there was any bondage, real or implied, involved. And Eames might have teased him a little for it, if not for the fact that his own dick was rock hard, heavy and dripping with precum. He reached down and palmed himself off in a few hard strokes as Arthur lay, sweating and panting and beautiful under him.
In the clean-up and afterglow that followed, as his body cooled and his heart rate returned back to normal, Eames could feel the other man still lying awake beside him. Could almost hear the gears still turning in Arthur's head.
"I'm sixty-fifth in line of succession to the British throne," Eames blurted, at once.
He felt Arthur tense next to him. "What?"
"I'd have to off both of my brothers to get there, of course." Eames shifted to his back, grinning up into the darkness. He would have liked to see Arthur's face, but could imagine it very well. "My mother wanted me to go into the church - it's traditional for the youngest son."
"You would have been horrible as a priest," Arthur said after a stunned moment, but there was a bare hint of laughter in his voice.
"Why, thank you."
Arthur shifted to his side, facing him. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Should I be ever arrested or linked to my activities, it would be quite the scandal," Eames mused, out loud. "I may be only sixty-fifth, but those are rather close circles. Embarrassments of that caliber tend to follow a family for generations." He turned as well and saw Arthur's outline in the dark, the glint of his eyes.
"It's not the same as-"
"I'm telling you because you're not the only who's played Russian Roulette with their family. But darling, I know the measures you took to avoid this from happening."
"You ran a background on me?"
"No more thorough than the one you ran on me."
Arthur huffed. "And?"
"I found nothing. Arthur Hansen's identity is quite secure."
"It's been a long time since I heard that last name," Arthur muttered, but seemed to settle and relax, one arm thrown proprietarily across Eames' waist. Eames was starting to drift off when he heard Arthur's voice again, sounding drowsy and much more relaxed than he'd heard in days.
"So are you a Lord or an Earl?"
"I am a third son. My millions are self made, thank you." It came out a little more primly than Eames meant it to, but Arthur snorted in something very close to laughter and ducked his head against him.
Eames hesitated before he spoke again, but he was not above striking when the iron was hot. "Were you and Tom close?"
"Very." Arthur was silent for so long that Eames thought that would be the entire answer. Then Arthur said, "Our mother remarried when we were teens... and my step-dad and I didn't get along."
"Just with you?"
"He didn't like Tom either, but he really hated me, " Arthur admitted, and there was a hint of dark amusement there. Somehow Eames had no doubt Arthur had been the harder of the twins to get along with. Possibly on purpose. "Then, when I was sixteen, my step-dad caught me in bed with another boy from school."
Arthur didn't elaborate, but Eames remembered Rachel's words from earlier. " Tom knew - he was working at Burger King, and just took off in the middle of his shift to come home and stop it..."
"What happened?" Eames asked, although he already had a good guess.
The arm Arthur had thrown about his waist tightened briefly as he shrugged, then relaxed. "My step-dad and I got in a fight. It had been coming for awhile, I guess, and I thought I could kick his ass. I was wrong. Tom... he came home and broke it up before it got bad, and my step-dad kicked me out of the house." He paused, then said, bitterly. "My mom took her husband's side."
"Tom came with me, even though he didn't have to," Arthur went on, and his voice was distant as he thought back to another time. Another place. "He didn't even know I was gay until that day. He just... it didn't matter to him, you know? We crashed at some friends houses for a few weeks, but it wasn't fair to Tom, and he wouldn't leave me so... We went back. I played nice." He sighed. "But there was no way my parents were going to support both of us though college... I knew I was dragging Tom down. So I enlisted, instead."
Eames had long suspected that was how Arthur had been introduced into dream share. It had been much the same for him, really. Only when he had gone into service to escape his family, his father's influence had assured him a higher entry position than 'grunt'.
"Navy?" Eames teased, and received a sharp pinch under his ribs for it.
"Marines," he corrected, with no small amount of pride. Then he hesitated. "My mom apologized a few years ago, but...."
"The damage had long been done?"
He felt Arthur shift as he nodded. "And when I got out of the service, Tom had a different life. I was different, too. It was easy to stay away, at that point." He yawned, his voice lowering to a murmur as he started to slip off to sleep. "Visit for holidays... birthdays."
Eames had a vague urge something unpardonably sappy, that he liked Arthur as he was, that his family seemed like a nice lot, or at least his sister did. That life was short and months so easily slipped into years without contact. That he should try to rebuild bridges, and even if it was painful... Eames would be there for him.
But sleep was weighing heavily upon him, and Arthur had gone quiet, his breathing deep and even.
They were both asleep a few minutes later.
****
Eames woke later in the morning to the sound of his cell phone buzzing on the nightstand. Blearily, looking around to see Arthur still asleep, he flipped it open and answered in a gravelly voice, "Hello?"
"Mr. Eames," answered a solemn voice on the other end. "I may have some news of interest to you."
It was Saito.
Eames was aware of Arthur shifting beside him, coming awake and tilting his head to listen closely to the conversation. Eames put a finger to his lips to keep the other man from speaking.
"I'm listening." Could he possibly want another job, another inception? After the hell Saito went through to complete the first one?
"I received a message from Arthur. He wanted to know if I was aware of any activity, major corporate or otherwise in Southern California." He enunciated the word slightly, to mean dream share.
Eames felt his eyebrows rise. "That sounds like something Arthur would do," he said. "Why are you calling me, not him?"
There was a slight pause from the other line. "I wanted to test... a theory. I presume Arthur is nearby?"
Arthur mouthed a curse. Eames knew how he felt: it wasn't that he objected to Saito knowing - or suspecting - their relationship. It was that such knowledge could be a liability in the wrong hands. Eames kept his voice casual as he replied, "Is this why you called? The fact that Arthur and I are fucking is hardly news to me."
Saito laughed, a bassy rumble. He quickly sobered, though, and said, "Three days ago my head of security was alerted to the possibility of a threat against myself by my competitors. It seems there is a team who has been hired with the express purpose of being able to break into a militarized mind. Your Arthur asked if there was any activity in Southern California." Saito paused and Eames could easily imagine his shark-like smile as he said, "I will arrive in Los Angeles tomorrow to sign paperwork to acquire Petrox Green Energy company."
"That's rather convenient timing." Eames snapped his fingers, but Arthur was already digging around in his suitcase and a moment later had put a blank notepad and a pen in front of him. Eames wrote down Petrox Green and underlined it. "Who else knows of your schedule?"
"Select members of my security team, Petrox's board of directors, and now you."
"It sounds like someone on the board doesn't approve of the takeover."
"Most of the board does not." Saito agreed. "May I ask, what is your interest here?"
Eames was too practiced of a liar to give anything away. "We have been hired by the family of a missing architect. We believe he's been taken by people who have the same skills your head of security warned you about."
"Then it would appear we have the same interests." Saito was all pleasantries. "I would like to hire you and Arthur as additional consultants to my security team. You would, of course, have access to my resources."
"That sounds reasonable." But Eames wasn't in the mood to let Saito off that easily. If the businessman could play games, so could Eames. "But I would hate to agree to anything without consulting with my partner first. Why don't you give Arthur a ring, and see what he says? Ta." And he hung up.
Arthur gave him a look. "Was that really necessary?"
"Sometimes, darling, you must remind a client that he is the one seeking our services. Not the other way around."
A moment later Arthur's smart phone began to buzz. As Eames padded off for a shower, he heard Arthur speak to Saito in low tones.
Part 4