Fic: Thicker Than Blood: Part 4
Title: Thicker Than Blood
Fandom: Inception/500 Days of Summer
Pairing: Arthur/Eames, Tom/Autumn
Rating: R
Word Count: 5,000
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 | Part 3
*****
Giving a frustrated sigh, Arthur leaned back in his chair. He had been sitting in front of his laptop all day, but with little to show for it. Saito had been good as his word and allowed Arthur access to his resources - and he had vast resources. Arthur used to wonder how exactly Saito had managed to get Dom's charges dropped, but he wondered no longer.
If he wasn't certain Saito was on his side, he'd be a little frightened.
Still, with all of this power at his finger-tips, Arthur hadn't gotten very far in his search for Muir or Carson. If they were working anywhere local, they were being smart and very quiet about it. None of the usual red flags - either Arthur's or Saito's - were going up.
Arthur was usually a very patient digital hunter, but he couldn't stop irritation from mounting as the computer returned one empty query after another. Even the local morgues had turned up nothing.
He heard, but barely registered, the door at the front of the room open and Eames returning from his jaunt around the city. Arthur suspected that his bad temper had been the main reason why Eames had suggested he go out and get some air, but Arthur couldn't find it in himself to feel guilty.
And why wasn't the computer coming up with anything?!
Arthur resisted the urge to growl, barely aware his normally steel-armored self control was dissolving away. The ache in his wrist sharpened and he rubbed at it, almost viciously.
"Arthur?" He heard Eames' voice, as if from far away and realized the other man had called his name several times. "Are you okay?"
Eames walked up from behind him and touched his shoulder.
Arthur surged up, twisting to into a sloppy kick in his assailant's direction. He might have landed it, but the cuff about his wrist keeping his hand locked to the grate in the wall held him back.
Carson lurched back, falling on his ass in surprise. His partner gave a bark of laughter.
Arthur hated the sound of that laugh.
"Watch yourself. The little prick has some life in him." Muir said, from the safety of ten feet away.
"Fuck you!" Arthur spat, tugging down on the restraint. He wished he knew that trick of dislocating his own thumb and getting free - no doubt his brother knew how, but he'd tried all last night and it wasn't as easy as the movies led him to believe. "I'm not going down there with you again! Do you hear me?"
Carson's - what did they call them? Projections? - were the worst. Arthur had been stabbed in the gut by a little girl last time and had barely got away... spent hours bleeding, almost wishing for death until the music had finally come, and he woke up.
Muir leered at him from across the room - all brown dirty teeth and yellowed, almost jaundiced eyes. Arthur felt his stomach roil, despite himself. He hadn't been down into Muir's dreams since that first time... since they thought he was his brother, and he barely remembered it. He had a feeling he didn't want to remember it. The leer, like Muir had scoured him open and knew every secret, every thought, told him enough.
"You'll go under again," Muir said in that quiet, threatening way of his. Carson screamed. Muir didn't have to. "You'll go under until both levels are perfect. Saito isn't a fool, and if you cock this up I'll make sure you never see your girlfriend again."
"Let me see her," Arthur pleaded, his chest clenching. He hadn't seen Autumn since the second day when he'd fought the drugs enough to resist. Muir had dragged her in, put a gun to her head and ordered him to do what they said. "I'll do what you say. I just need to know she's okay."
Oh God, oh God if they had hurt her in any way...
"Later," Muir promised, and then nodded to Carson who sat up and approached Arthur again.
This time, he didn't resist as Carson pushed the cannula in...
... Arthur came back to himself, his face mashed into the carpet, one hand locked behind around, and what felt like a knee pushed into the small of his back. He tried to thrash, instinctively wanting to throw the other man off, and realized belatedly that it was Eames' labored breathing he heard above him.
"Eames!" he demanded, voice muffled by the carpet. "Get off!"
"Are you alright?" Eames' voice was close to his ear. Arthur felt the soft touch of fingers on his neck as Eames was checked for a pulse.
Arthur bucked up, annoyed. "Get off!"
There was a slight hesitation before the knee lifted. Arthur could immediately breathe easier. He rolled over onto his back carefully and sat up as Eames moved away from him. The other man was sweating slightly, massaging the side of his jaw. He didn't look amused.
"Care to tell me what that was about?" Eames bit out as he rubbed at the side of his jaw.
Arthur shook his head. "Tom's still alive. They got him, but he's still there. We have to move quickly because if Saito..." he got to his feet and trailed off. The writing desk he had been sitting at only moments before had been knocked over, the laptop sprawled across the floor in two pieces. "What happened?"
Eames rose to his feet, wincing, and Arthur realized that there was a mark on his jaw where he had been rubbing. It looked like he had been struck. "You were having a fit," Eames said carefully. "You attacked me. Do you remember?"
"No." Arthur shook his head again and his hand went into his pocket for his die, but this was reality. "No... Tom was..." he blinked as the rest came back to him. "Shit, they have Autumn. They're using her as leverage."
"Perhaps you should sit down, Arthur," Eames said.
He glared at him. "Do you think I would make this up?"
Eames went quiet for a moment, his gaze assessing. "No, but you have been under quite a lot of stress. For a moment I don't think you realized where you were at all."
"I didn't," he admitted, and some of the newfound energy drained away, replaced by the beginnings of embarrassment. Arthur stepped closer to Eames, eyeing his reddened jaw. "Did I hurt you?"
He meant it sincerely, but Eames' lip twitched in amusement. "The day I'm felled by your left hook is the day I will retire."
"Remember Istanbul?" Arthur shot back.
Eames flat out grinned at him. "Only bits of it, but that was the point." Then the grin slipped a little and he reached to tilt Arthur's jaw up slightly and look into his eyes. "Your sister mentioned a 'freaky twin thing'."
"Yeah." Feeling his cheeks heat, he twisted away from Eames to go hunt for his cell phone. It was easier to talk about this when he wasn't looking at him. "Tom and I used to know when the other was upset or hurt. But that hasn't happened... for a long time."
He located his cell phone half buried under scattered papers.
"Who are you calling?" Eames asked almost warily.
"Autumn. Either she's in danger, or she knows more than what she's been telling us."
He dialed and the phone rang three times before she picked it up. "Hello?"
The sound of her voice made Arthur's heart lurch into double-time. He flashed again to how Tom had felt for her - how frightened he was that she could be hurt. The depth of that feeling was still real and vivid in his mind - familiar, too, Arthur realized as he hazarded a look at Eames.
"It's Arthur. Are you alright?" he asked, and he could hear the bite in his own voice.
"Arthur? I-I'm fine. What do you want?" She went on, before he had time to respond, "Is it about Tom? Do you have any news?"
Eames was watching him with a carefully neutral expression. Arthur looked away.
"We've received information that he may be alive, but I need to talk to you in person. Where can we meet?" He didn't want to have this conversation over the phone, not if she was being intimidated somehow.
"I can get off work right now."
Arthur gave her the address of their hotel and hung up.
"I'm surprised she agreed to meet, considering she may still be upset with you," Eames said, a touch too lightly.
Arthur cut a glance at him, wondering if Autumn was the only one upset with him right now. With the connection with Tom gone, his wrist no longer ached, but there was a definite throb in his knuckles. Eames, he knew, liked to play it off as if he wasn't hurt, but Arthur knew he could hit hard.
Coming to a decision, Arthur righted a sprawled desk chair and straddled it. "Tom's being held by Muir and Carson," he started, and then began to recount everything that he experienced, briefly, through Tom's eyes.
Eames was a good listener. He did not interrupt or shift his expression to anything but politely interested. He spoke only when Arthur finished, "How certain are you that this was real and not some sort of a stress related daydream?"
Arthur let out a breath and ran his fingers back through his hair. "It happened."
Eames granted him another long, assessing look, but then nodded once, sharply.
"You believe me then?" Arthur asked, and felt something clench anew in his chest. He wasn't sure if he would, had the positions been reversed.
"I've always had faith in your ability to discern dream from reality, darling," he replied easily.
Arthur decided at that moment he would have to repay Eames somehow for dealing with his bullshit. Maybe he would take him on vacation for a few weeks in one of those hot, dry locations that Eames loved. Was there a greeting card that would cover this? I know you probably don't believe me, but thanks for being there anyway.
"So you say their plan is to take Saito down two levels." Eames mused, leaning back on the hotel bed. "Risky business when your architect is green and intimidated into cooperating. Any disturbance by agitated projections could cause the whole thing to collapse. What could they be planning?"
"I don't know." But the reminder of two levels got his mind spinning in other directions. "Shit," Arthur breathed. "Carson is a forger."
"Not as good as I am," Eames sniffed.
"No, but Tom wouldn't know the difference. They could have taken him down two levels, forged Autumn and scared him into working with them that way or..." he trailed off as something even worse struck him.
Eames' jaw tightened. "They already have someone who looks like you, and if Carson could passably forge me... Then they'd have two people that Saito trusts, wouldn't they?"
*****
Eames took it upon himself to contact Saito to give him the heads up while Arthur went about putting the room back in order. He didn't know how - even with the struggle he and Eames had - it could have gotten into its messy, strewn state. Disorganization itched at his soul, and he had just gotten the desk, chairs and papers put back into place when Eames' raised voice floated in from the balcony.
"Then you bloody well get him on the phone. He's on a jet plane, not-" his voice cut short, and Arthur straightened, listening.
"Yeah," Eames said again, still sharp. "Yes, I'm sure you will." Then he lowered the phone, hitting the end-call key in disgust. He turned, and seeing Arthur watching him said darkly, "Saito's head of security tells me he's currently in flight and not available."
Arthur's brows knit. "They should still be able to get a hold of him using his satellite phone. Unless..." he paused, a feeling of dread tightening his gut, "Unless it's a precursor for the extraction."
"If someone was able to pay off his head of security, they might have access to more of Saito's people," Eames said, his face settling into grim lines. "What would you bet that his flight gets diverted, perhaps to a smaller airport? More private."
"Shit," Arthur muttered and glanced around the room - the mess, his laptop still laying in two broken pieces from earlier. And for one horrible, black moment he had no idea what he was supposed to do next. Perhaps Muir and Carson had gotten wind of him and Eames hunting for Tom... or they had always been working on a quick timeline. Either way, events were happening too fast. If that airplane landed and Saito realized that one of the extractors looked like Arthur... if the job was completed and Muir decided he didn't need Tom anymore... if...
There was a sharp knock on the door. Arthur was too well trained to startle, but he did reach for the gun which still sat on the nightstand. It was only a small relief that Eames did the same - his weapon holstered under his cream colored jacket.
With a motion to Eames to cover his back, Arthur checked the peephole: it was Autumn, standing there puffy-faced and red-eyed, but with what could only be described as a expression of triumph on her face.
She outright grinned at Arthur as he opened the door, holding up her cell phone. "You wouldn't believe who I just got a call from," she said, before Arthur had time to let her in. "Someone just used Tom's debit card, ten minutes ago."
*****
"Ten minutes ago?" Eames repeated, a little dumbfounded.
"Who gave you that information?" Arthur asked, sharply.
Autumn looked at him, and some of her triumph seemed to drain from her face as she seemed to remember she was angry at him. She tilted her head up, mouth set in a stubborn line. "Summer," she said. "She works at the bank - the one where Tom keeps his account, and she called me to apologize for... everything. And to tell me that his card had just been used at a Shell gas station in San Juan Capistrano."
Eames didn't need to see Arthur's face to tell what he was thinking - the stillness in his body said it all: Summer was Nash's husband, and this information was a little too convenient to be taken at face value.
"Why don't you come in?" Eames suggested, before Arthur could chase her away with something suitably Arthur-ish. "We have some information of our own to share."
Autumn stepped in, so obviously hesitant and gripping her brand-name purse so tightly under her arm that Eames would have bet money on the fact she was carrying either a taser or a can of mace.
"Well?" Autumn asked. "Shouldn't we go... do something?"
"It will take at least an hour to get over there at this time of day, with traffic. If it was a gas station whoever used that card will be gone by now," Arthur said. "Besides, Tom's working for Muir and Carson - they'll need him alive until the extraction is completed."
"Extraction?"
Arthur didn't elaborate, only swept her up and down with the type of assessing gaze Eames had seen make marks and clients squirm. "Autumn," Arthur said. "We've received information that Tom is working with these people because he believes you're in danger. If you've had any contact with him, we need to know now."
"No!" She shook her head vigorously. "I would have told you last night."
Arthur eyes met Eames, and there was a question in there. Eames shrugged his reply - he knew himself to be very good with reading and forging people, and her reaction seemed genuine enough, but it wasn't as if he were some sort of living lie detector. "The only way to know for certain would be to take her under."
Autumn's eyes widened and her hand slid to the zipper of her purse.
But Arthur shook his head. "We don't have time." He looked again towards Autumn. "If you're keeping back anything at all-"
"I'm not the one who keeps secrets from people," she said, so much venom in her voice that Eames had no doubt that, at least, was a genuine answer.
He saw Arthur wince at that, very slightly. It put Eames' back up.
"We're not in a kind business, pet," he told her. "Arthur has done what he must to try to keep his family safe."
"Eames," Arthur said. "It's fine. I don't care what she thinks."
But Eames did. "He needn't have come at all, you realize that? I know many men who wouldn't."
"Tom wouldn't be in trouble if it wasn't for him!" Autumn snapped, pointing a finger accusingly at Arthur.
"And if it wasn't for Tom looking so much like him, Muir and Carson wouldn't have as clear of a shot at making a grab at their mark as they now do." Eames shot back. "They are targeting someone Arthur knows well, and will be using that similarity to get at him. It's not Arthur's fault Tom went dashing after a job opportunity that must have been too good to be true without a second thought. It's not-"
"Enough." Arthur said, coming between them. He graced Eames the look he usually reserved when Eames was messing around when they were trying to work. "It doesn't matter Eames." And before Eames could reply, Arthur turned towards Autumn. "You are sticking with us from now on. The people who have Tom know who you are, and I'm not going to have you used against us or him."
Autumn opened her mouth, looking like she wanted to argue, but then reluctantly admitted, "I was going to ask to come anyway."
"Good." Arthur turned from her and strode back to his stack of notes he had compiled last night - his movements so brisk and efficient and in control -- the Arthur that Eames knew best, that he stood back and watched him appreciatively for a moment. "I don't trust anything to do with Nash, but the gas station is our best lead, and I'll need a laptop," Arthur said, with a glance towards his broken one.
"I have my netbook I use for work in my car," Autumn said, tentatively. "Will that work?"
Arthur looked as if he was on the verge of smiling. "That'll work. Let's go."
****
Autumn insisted on driving her own car. Eames called the back seat, knowing he would get the best shot from there in case things got hairy. That left Arthur to the passenger’s seat, balancing Autumn’s tiny netbook - pink with glittery swirls along the top - on his lap.
“Your internet provider is horrible,” Arthur griped, after ten minutes of typing.
A ghost of a smile flickered across Autumn’s face. “That’s what Tom says, too.”
“Tom has good taste,” Arthur replied, and went back to his study of the screen.
A few minutes later, they hit pay-dirt.
Arthur’s steady clack-clacking of the keys suddenly stilled and Eames saw him lean forward, squinting at the tiny screen. “According to the security tape at the gas station… there was only one car parked at the pump at the time Tom’s debit was used. It looks like a white or cream colored GMC van.”
“Wait,” said Autumn, “So if you guys aren’t CIA or something, how do you even have access to this kind of information?”
“Arthur has friends in high places.” Like Proclus Global. Eames leaned forward, reading over Arthur’s shoulder. The image itself was definitely gas station quality - grainy and indistinct and shot with a frame every few seconds. The driver was a blur. “Can you zoom in at all? A plate number would be useful.”
Arthur shook his head. “Not without destroying the resolution.”
Eames hummed slightly as he thought. “That’s an unusual enough make and model. Do you think-“
“I’ll look,” Arthur said, on the heels of his thought. He started furiously typing again. “I still have access to the metro police files from last night. If nothing else we might be able to forge an APV on the van-“ He stopped suddenly as a new file sprang up on the screen. Eames was too far back to read the tiny writing clearly, but Arthur’s jaw clenched as he read.
Then he broke out into a smile that could only be deemed predatory.
“There have been three parking tickets in the last week issued on a white GMC Savana registered to a Thomas Solomon.”
“Who?” Autumn asked.
“Probably a fake identity, pet,” Eames clarified, his heart picking up the pace. “But that may help to explain how Tom’s debit card was used. You must be very careful with identities - it’s easier than people think to mix them up if you’re using more than a few. Whoever is using Thomas Solomon might have grabbed Thomas Hansen’s card by mistake and not realized it.”
“Very, very sloppy of them.” But Arthur didn’t sound like he was complaining. His grin widened, showing teeth. “Two of the tickets were issued at the same block for parking overnight in a business district.” He glanced back at Eames, his eyes dark with anticipation - and Eames could have almost felt sorry for those who had taken Arthur’s brother. Almost.
“I have an address,” Arthur told them.
*****
The warehouse was in an old part of the city - an area in trouble even before the depths of the recession, with buildings and factories left hollow and open. The professional in Eames was a little disgusted that someone had picked this as a worksite at all. Yes, it was private, but overly so: any activity would be instantly noticed and there was virtually no chance of blending in.
The white van was parked in a shadowed part alongside a warehouse with half the windows busted out of the face of it.
Sloppy, Arthur had said, and Eames silently added complacent to it. Muir and Carson were acting like men who had nothing to fear, and thought they were smart enough to get away with cutting corners.
Though perhaps it had a grain of truth in that. From what Eames had heard of their particular form of extraction, the marks were usually left incapable of functioning on higher levels, much less coming after them.
Arthur directed Autumn to drive by the warehouse at normal speed while he and Eames looked intently towards the building.
"There," Eames said, pointing to the second window from the right on the second story. The pane had a large crack in it, but he had caught sight of a darker square - a camera to watch the outside traffic.
Autumn turned the car in a wide circle and they parked well away, in an alley two warehouses down. Eames checked the rounds in his handgun and saw Arthur do the same.
"What do we do next?" Autumn asked. "Call the police?"
"No, you don't want the police caught up in this," Eames said, replacing his gun. "Stay here and keep the car running. Arthur and I-"
"No, absolutely not." Autumn twisted her key out of the ignition, cutting off the engine as if to underline her words. "If you think Tom is in there, I'm coming too."
Eames had half expected this. He looked over to Arthur for help, but the other man had eyes only for the warehouse. "These are dangerous people," Eames told her. "This won't be a jaunt in the park."
"I... I don't care. Look, I'll stay behind you the whole time. I won't get in the way."
"You'll be between us," Arthur corrected, "I need Eames to watch our backs."
That had not been what Eames had expected to hear at all. He started to say, "Arthur-" but Arthur cut him off with a quick shake of his head and turned to Autumn.
"I don't know exactly what Tom's been through in there, but he may not know reality from fantasy." He caught Autumn's widening eyes, held her gaze. "He may not know he's awake and try to hurt one of us - but I don't think he would ever hurt you."
Autumn sucked in a quick breath and her glance slid over towards Eames as if for confirmation. When he nodded in reluctant agreement, she faced Arthur. "He would never hurt me," she confirmed, though her voice shook slightly, as if she only now was starting to realize the level of danger she was in for.
"I don't think this is a good idea, Arthur," Eames said, although he saw the logic in his reasoning. If Tom was forced to muck about in two levels without a totem, he could easily lose himself. "She could be a liability."
"I have a taser," Autumn offered, holding up her purse.
"Do you now? Oh, well that makes all the difference."
Arthur's mouth twitched again into his almost-smile. "She gave Nash a few bruises last night. I think she can handle herself. Let's go, Eames. I need you to cover my six."
"Don't I always, darling?"
****
The side door to the warehouse was held shut by a simple, but new looking, padlock. Eames easily defeated it with the slim pick he always had handy in his pocket. Gun drawn, Arthur nodded for the two of them to stay back while he pushed open the door.
It swung open with a wrenching squeal of rust and disuse - the sound seemed to echo inside the building. Arthur stepped in first and called back "clear" after only a few moments.
The warehouse looked to be stripped down of anything remotely recyclable years ago, leaving only concrete floors and open space. There was a single shaky looking staircase leading up to the second level, bereft of even a safety banister.
Again, Arthur led the way, gun drawn.
"They're here!" he called. And abandoning caution, Eames rushed up, outpacing Autumn to the top floor.
Someone had dragged simple furniture up to the second floor. Eames spotted two figures - one reclined upon a worn looking armchair, and the second laid out upon a utilitarian army cot against the wall. A PASIV device hissed quietly between them.
Arthur was already bent by the man at the cot, and with a little cry Autumn joined him.
"Tom!? Is he okay?"
"He'll be fine," Eames heard Arthur murmur.
Eames glanced at the second man - thick, and balding, but he didn't know if it was Carson or Muir. A quick check of his pockets, however, found no weapons. The PASIV looked to be a second generation knockoff with up to four leads. Not top quality, but good enough for most work. The timer read eighteen more minutes.
"Eames," Arthur said, "Come help me get these cuffs off him."
He joined the others by the cot, and the despite the fact he knew what he would still see... his stomach still gave an unpleasant little flip. Tom, unconscious and pale, was Arthur's almost exact double - a little longer hair, more messily done, and more wan... although that could have been the treatment he had been suffering over the last few days. His left wrist was handcuffed to grate in the wall, the skin underneath purpled and bruised.
"Tom," Autumn said, a little bit louder now, combing her fingers through his hair. She looked at Arthur. "Why isn't he waking up?"
"He's still hooked to the PASIV, sweet. He's under sedation." Eames said, and with a click the cuffs released. "Shall we give him the kick, Arthur?"
Autumn looked alarmed. "The what?"
Arthur however, now stood several paces back, his fists clenched so hard that his knuckles stood out pale yellow against his skin. "No," he said, "If he's the architect the dream will collapse as soon as we wake him up." The glance he gave at the other, balding man, was pure murder. "This is our chance to find out what - how much they know and what they're planning."
"Bit risky," Eames said, but he wasn't arguing.
"I know. Give me ten minutes. If I'm not back by then, kick us both out." Arthur strode to the PASIV and started uncoiling the spare lead.
"Wait... what are you doing?" Autumn started to rise, but then, looking like she didn't want to leave her boyfriend's side, knelt protectively by Tom again. "Why can't we just yank out the IV?"
As Arthur was busy rubbing down the cannula with alcohol, Eames explained, "Arthur will join the dream and wake him up from there. It will be a gentler for Tom. Better for him, if he's already been traumatized." Then he looked towards Arthur. "It will be dangerous down there. The projections will be on high alert."
"I can handle myself," Arthur replied, sitting down and bracing his back against the cot. Eames took the cannula from him and waited until Arthur had rolled up his sleeve.
"Keep our bodies safe," Arthur said. "That's Carson over there. We're lucky Muir isn't around, but he could be back any minute."
"I can handle myself," Eames replied, in the same intonation Arthur had used a moment before.
Arthur flashed him a smile, and didn't wince as Eames pushed the needle in. His eyes slipped shut a moment later and his head lolled back.
"What now?" Autumn asked quietly, as if she were now afraid of waking them.
"Now," said Eames as he rose with cuffs in hand to take care of Carson. "It's up to Arthur."
Part 5
Fandom: Inception/500 Days of Summer
Pairing: Arthur/Eames, Tom/Autumn
Rating: R
Word Count: 5,000
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 | Part 3
*****
Giving a frustrated sigh, Arthur leaned back in his chair. He had been sitting in front of his laptop all day, but with little to show for it. Saito had been good as his word and allowed Arthur access to his resources - and he had vast resources. Arthur used to wonder how exactly Saito had managed to get Dom's charges dropped, but he wondered no longer.
If he wasn't certain Saito was on his side, he'd be a little frightened.
Still, with all of this power at his finger-tips, Arthur hadn't gotten very far in his search for Muir or Carson. If they were working anywhere local, they were being smart and very quiet about it. None of the usual red flags - either Arthur's or Saito's - were going up.
Arthur was usually a very patient digital hunter, but he couldn't stop irritation from mounting as the computer returned one empty query after another. Even the local morgues had turned up nothing.
He heard, but barely registered, the door at the front of the room open and Eames returning from his jaunt around the city. Arthur suspected that his bad temper had been the main reason why Eames had suggested he go out and get some air, but Arthur couldn't find it in himself to feel guilty.
And why wasn't the computer coming up with anything?!
Arthur resisted the urge to growl, barely aware his normally steel-armored self control was dissolving away. The ache in his wrist sharpened and he rubbed at it, almost viciously.
"Arthur?" He heard Eames' voice, as if from far away and realized the other man had called his name several times. "Are you okay?"
Eames walked up from behind him and touched his shoulder.
Arthur surged up, twisting to into a sloppy kick in his assailant's direction. He might have landed it, but the cuff about his wrist keeping his hand locked to the grate in the wall held him back.
Carson lurched back, falling on his ass in surprise. His partner gave a bark of laughter.
Arthur hated the sound of that laugh.
"Watch yourself. The little prick has some life in him." Muir said, from the safety of ten feet away.
"Fuck you!" Arthur spat, tugging down on the restraint. He wished he knew that trick of dislocating his own thumb and getting free - no doubt his brother knew how, but he'd tried all last night and it wasn't as easy as the movies led him to believe. "I'm not going down there with you again! Do you hear me?"
Carson's - what did they call them? Projections? - were the worst. Arthur had been stabbed in the gut by a little girl last time and had barely got away... spent hours bleeding, almost wishing for death until the music had finally come, and he woke up.
Muir leered at him from across the room - all brown dirty teeth and yellowed, almost jaundiced eyes. Arthur felt his stomach roil, despite himself. He hadn't been down into Muir's dreams since that first time... since they thought he was his brother, and he barely remembered it. He had a feeling he didn't want to remember it. The leer, like Muir had scoured him open and knew every secret, every thought, told him enough.
"You'll go under again," Muir said in that quiet, threatening way of his. Carson screamed. Muir didn't have to. "You'll go under until both levels are perfect. Saito isn't a fool, and if you cock this up I'll make sure you never see your girlfriend again."
"Let me see her," Arthur pleaded, his chest clenching. He hadn't seen Autumn since the second day when he'd fought the drugs enough to resist. Muir had dragged her in, put a gun to her head and ordered him to do what they said. "I'll do what you say. I just need to know she's okay."
Oh God, oh God if they had hurt her in any way...
"Later," Muir promised, and then nodded to Carson who sat up and approached Arthur again.
This time, he didn't resist as Carson pushed the cannula in...
... Arthur came back to himself, his face mashed into the carpet, one hand locked behind around, and what felt like a knee pushed into the small of his back. He tried to thrash, instinctively wanting to throw the other man off, and realized belatedly that it was Eames' labored breathing he heard above him.
"Eames!" he demanded, voice muffled by the carpet. "Get off!"
"Are you alright?" Eames' voice was close to his ear. Arthur felt the soft touch of fingers on his neck as Eames was checked for a pulse.
Arthur bucked up, annoyed. "Get off!"
There was a slight hesitation before the knee lifted. Arthur could immediately breathe easier. He rolled over onto his back carefully and sat up as Eames moved away from him. The other man was sweating slightly, massaging the side of his jaw. He didn't look amused.
"Care to tell me what that was about?" Eames bit out as he rubbed at the side of his jaw.
Arthur shook his head. "Tom's still alive. They got him, but he's still there. We have to move quickly because if Saito..." he got to his feet and trailed off. The writing desk he had been sitting at only moments before had been knocked over, the laptop sprawled across the floor in two pieces. "What happened?"
Eames rose to his feet, wincing, and Arthur realized that there was a mark on his jaw where he had been rubbing. It looked like he had been struck. "You were having a fit," Eames said carefully. "You attacked me. Do you remember?"
"No." Arthur shook his head again and his hand went into his pocket for his die, but this was reality. "No... Tom was..." he blinked as the rest came back to him. "Shit, they have Autumn. They're using her as leverage."
"Perhaps you should sit down, Arthur," Eames said.
He glared at him. "Do you think I would make this up?"
Eames went quiet for a moment, his gaze assessing. "No, but you have been under quite a lot of stress. For a moment I don't think you realized where you were at all."
"I didn't," he admitted, and some of the newfound energy drained away, replaced by the beginnings of embarrassment. Arthur stepped closer to Eames, eyeing his reddened jaw. "Did I hurt you?"
He meant it sincerely, but Eames' lip twitched in amusement. "The day I'm felled by your left hook is the day I will retire."
"Remember Istanbul?" Arthur shot back.
Eames flat out grinned at him. "Only bits of it, but that was the point." Then the grin slipped a little and he reached to tilt Arthur's jaw up slightly and look into his eyes. "Your sister mentioned a 'freaky twin thing'."
"Yeah." Feeling his cheeks heat, he twisted away from Eames to go hunt for his cell phone. It was easier to talk about this when he wasn't looking at him. "Tom and I used to know when the other was upset or hurt. But that hasn't happened... for a long time."
He located his cell phone half buried under scattered papers.
"Who are you calling?" Eames asked almost warily.
"Autumn. Either she's in danger, or she knows more than what she's been telling us."
He dialed and the phone rang three times before she picked it up. "Hello?"
The sound of her voice made Arthur's heart lurch into double-time. He flashed again to how Tom had felt for her - how frightened he was that she could be hurt. The depth of that feeling was still real and vivid in his mind - familiar, too, Arthur realized as he hazarded a look at Eames.
"It's Arthur. Are you alright?" he asked, and he could hear the bite in his own voice.
"Arthur? I-I'm fine. What do you want?" She went on, before he had time to respond, "Is it about Tom? Do you have any news?"
Eames was watching him with a carefully neutral expression. Arthur looked away.
"We've received information that he may be alive, but I need to talk to you in person. Where can we meet?" He didn't want to have this conversation over the phone, not if she was being intimidated somehow.
"I can get off work right now."
Arthur gave her the address of their hotel and hung up.
"I'm surprised she agreed to meet, considering she may still be upset with you," Eames said, a touch too lightly.
Arthur cut a glance at him, wondering if Autumn was the only one upset with him right now. With the connection with Tom gone, his wrist no longer ached, but there was a definite throb in his knuckles. Eames, he knew, liked to play it off as if he wasn't hurt, but Arthur knew he could hit hard.
Coming to a decision, Arthur righted a sprawled desk chair and straddled it. "Tom's being held by Muir and Carson," he started, and then began to recount everything that he experienced, briefly, through Tom's eyes.
Eames was a good listener. He did not interrupt or shift his expression to anything but politely interested. He spoke only when Arthur finished, "How certain are you that this was real and not some sort of a stress related daydream?"
Arthur let out a breath and ran his fingers back through his hair. "It happened."
Eames granted him another long, assessing look, but then nodded once, sharply.
"You believe me then?" Arthur asked, and felt something clench anew in his chest. He wasn't sure if he would, had the positions been reversed.
"I've always had faith in your ability to discern dream from reality, darling," he replied easily.
Arthur decided at that moment he would have to repay Eames somehow for dealing with his bullshit. Maybe he would take him on vacation for a few weeks in one of those hot, dry locations that Eames loved. Was there a greeting card that would cover this? I know you probably don't believe me, but thanks for being there anyway.
"So you say their plan is to take Saito down two levels." Eames mused, leaning back on the hotel bed. "Risky business when your architect is green and intimidated into cooperating. Any disturbance by agitated projections could cause the whole thing to collapse. What could they be planning?"
"I don't know." But the reminder of two levels got his mind spinning in other directions. "Shit," Arthur breathed. "Carson is a forger."
"Not as good as I am," Eames sniffed.
"No, but Tom wouldn't know the difference. They could have taken him down two levels, forged Autumn and scared him into working with them that way or..." he trailed off as something even worse struck him.
Eames' jaw tightened. "They already have someone who looks like you, and if Carson could passably forge me... Then they'd have two people that Saito trusts, wouldn't they?"
*****
Eames took it upon himself to contact Saito to give him the heads up while Arthur went about putting the room back in order. He didn't know how - even with the struggle he and Eames had - it could have gotten into its messy, strewn state. Disorganization itched at his soul, and he had just gotten the desk, chairs and papers put back into place when Eames' raised voice floated in from the balcony.
"Then you bloody well get him on the phone. He's on a jet plane, not-" his voice cut short, and Arthur straightened, listening.
"Yeah," Eames said again, still sharp. "Yes, I'm sure you will." Then he lowered the phone, hitting the end-call key in disgust. He turned, and seeing Arthur watching him said darkly, "Saito's head of security tells me he's currently in flight and not available."
Arthur's brows knit. "They should still be able to get a hold of him using his satellite phone. Unless..." he paused, a feeling of dread tightening his gut, "Unless it's a precursor for the extraction."
"If someone was able to pay off his head of security, they might have access to more of Saito's people," Eames said, his face settling into grim lines. "What would you bet that his flight gets diverted, perhaps to a smaller airport? More private."
"Shit," Arthur muttered and glanced around the room - the mess, his laptop still laying in two broken pieces from earlier. And for one horrible, black moment he had no idea what he was supposed to do next. Perhaps Muir and Carson had gotten wind of him and Eames hunting for Tom... or they had always been working on a quick timeline. Either way, events were happening too fast. If that airplane landed and Saito realized that one of the extractors looked like Arthur... if the job was completed and Muir decided he didn't need Tom anymore... if...
There was a sharp knock on the door. Arthur was too well trained to startle, but he did reach for the gun which still sat on the nightstand. It was only a small relief that Eames did the same - his weapon holstered under his cream colored jacket.
With a motion to Eames to cover his back, Arthur checked the peephole: it was Autumn, standing there puffy-faced and red-eyed, but with what could only be described as a expression of triumph on her face.
She outright grinned at Arthur as he opened the door, holding up her cell phone. "You wouldn't believe who I just got a call from," she said, before Arthur had time to let her in. "Someone just used Tom's debit card, ten minutes ago."
*****
"Ten minutes ago?" Eames repeated, a little dumbfounded.
"Who gave you that information?" Arthur asked, sharply.
Autumn looked at him, and some of her triumph seemed to drain from her face as she seemed to remember she was angry at him. She tilted her head up, mouth set in a stubborn line. "Summer," she said. "She works at the bank - the one where Tom keeps his account, and she called me to apologize for... everything. And to tell me that his card had just been used at a Shell gas station in San Juan Capistrano."
Eames didn't need to see Arthur's face to tell what he was thinking - the stillness in his body said it all: Summer was Nash's husband, and this information was a little too convenient to be taken at face value.
"Why don't you come in?" Eames suggested, before Arthur could chase her away with something suitably Arthur-ish. "We have some information of our own to share."
Autumn stepped in, so obviously hesitant and gripping her brand-name purse so tightly under her arm that Eames would have bet money on the fact she was carrying either a taser or a can of mace.
"Well?" Autumn asked. "Shouldn't we go... do something?"
"It will take at least an hour to get over there at this time of day, with traffic. If it was a gas station whoever used that card will be gone by now," Arthur said. "Besides, Tom's working for Muir and Carson - they'll need him alive until the extraction is completed."
"Extraction?"
Arthur didn't elaborate, only swept her up and down with the type of assessing gaze Eames had seen make marks and clients squirm. "Autumn," Arthur said. "We've received information that Tom is working with these people because he believes you're in danger. If you've had any contact with him, we need to know now."
"No!" She shook her head vigorously. "I would have told you last night."
Arthur eyes met Eames, and there was a question in there. Eames shrugged his reply - he knew himself to be very good with reading and forging people, and her reaction seemed genuine enough, but it wasn't as if he were some sort of living lie detector. "The only way to know for certain would be to take her under."
Autumn's eyes widened and her hand slid to the zipper of her purse.
But Arthur shook his head. "We don't have time." He looked again towards Autumn. "If you're keeping back anything at all-"
"I'm not the one who keeps secrets from people," she said, so much venom in her voice that Eames had no doubt that, at least, was a genuine answer.
He saw Arthur wince at that, very slightly. It put Eames' back up.
"We're not in a kind business, pet," he told her. "Arthur has done what he must to try to keep his family safe."
"Eames," Arthur said. "It's fine. I don't care what she thinks."
But Eames did. "He needn't have come at all, you realize that? I know many men who wouldn't."
"Tom wouldn't be in trouble if it wasn't for him!" Autumn snapped, pointing a finger accusingly at Arthur.
"And if it wasn't for Tom looking so much like him, Muir and Carson wouldn't have as clear of a shot at making a grab at their mark as they now do." Eames shot back. "They are targeting someone Arthur knows well, and will be using that similarity to get at him. It's not Arthur's fault Tom went dashing after a job opportunity that must have been too good to be true without a second thought. It's not-"
"Enough." Arthur said, coming between them. He graced Eames the look he usually reserved when Eames was messing around when they were trying to work. "It doesn't matter Eames." And before Eames could reply, Arthur turned towards Autumn. "You are sticking with us from now on. The people who have Tom know who you are, and I'm not going to have you used against us or him."
Autumn opened her mouth, looking like she wanted to argue, but then reluctantly admitted, "I was going to ask to come anyway."
"Good." Arthur turned from her and strode back to his stack of notes he had compiled last night - his movements so brisk and efficient and in control -- the Arthur that Eames knew best, that he stood back and watched him appreciatively for a moment. "I don't trust anything to do with Nash, but the gas station is our best lead, and I'll need a laptop," Arthur said, with a glance towards his broken one.
"I have my netbook I use for work in my car," Autumn said, tentatively. "Will that work?"
Arthur looked as if he was on the verge of smiling. "That'll work. Let's go."
****
Autumn insisted on driving her own car. Eames called the back seat, knowing he would get the best shot from there in case things got hairy. That left Arthur to the passenger’s seat, balancing Autumn’s tiny netbook - pink with glittery swirls along the top - on his lap.
“Your internet provider is horrible,” Arthur griped, after ten minutes of typing.
A ghost of a smile flickered across Autumn’s face. “That’s what Tom says, too.”
“Tom has good taste,” Arthur replied, and went back to his study of the screen.
A few minutes later, they hit pay-dirt.
Arthur’s steady clack-clacking of the keys suddenly stilled and Eames saw him lean forward, squinting at the tiny screen. “According to the security tape at the gas station… there was only one car parked at the pump at the time Tom’s debit was used. It looks like a white or cream colored GMC van.”
“Wait,” said Autumn, “So if you guys aren’t CIA or something, how do you even have access to this kind of information?”
“Arthur has friends in high places.” Like Proclus Global. Eames leaned forward, reading over Arthur’s shoulder. The image itself was definitely gas station quality - grainy and indistinct and shot with a frame every few seconds. The driver was a blur. “Can you zoom in at all? A plate number would be useful.”
Arthur shook his head. “Not without destroying the resolution.”
Eames hummed slightly as he thought. “That’s an unusual enough make and model. Do you think-“
“I’ll look,” Arthur said, on the heels of his thought. He started furiously typing again. “I still have access to the metro police files from last night. If nothing else we might be able to forge an APV on the van-“ He stopped suddenly as a new file sprang up on the screen. Eames was too far back to read the tiny writing clearly, but Arthur’s jaw clenched as he read.
Then he broke out into a smile that could only be deemed predatory.
“There have been three parking tickets in the last week issued on a white GMC Savana registered to a Thomas Solomon.”
“Who?” Autumn asked.
“Probably a fake identity, pet,” Eames clarified, his heart picking up the pace. “But that may help to explain how Tom’s debit card was used. You must be very careful with identities - it’s easier than people think to mix them up if you’re using more than a few. Whoever is using Thomas Solomon might have grabbed Thomas Hansen’s card by mistake and not realized it.”
“Very, very sloppy of them.” But Arthur didn’t sound like he was complaining. His grin widened, showing teeth. “Two of the tickets were issued at the same block for parking overnight in a business district.” He glanced back at Eames, his eyes dark with anticipation - and Eames could have almost felt sorry for those who had taken Arthur’s brother. Almost.
“I have an address,” Arthur told them.
*****
The warehouse was in an old part of the city - an area in trouble even before the depths of the recession, with buildings and factories left hollow and open. The professional in Eames was a little disgusted that someone had picked this as a worksite at all. Yes, it was private, but overly so: any activity would be instantly noticed and there was virtually no chance of blending in.
The white van was parked in a shadowed part alongside a warehouse with half the windows busted out of the face of it.
Sloppy, Arthur had said, and Eames silently added complacent to it. Muir and Carson were acting like men who had nothing to fear, and thought they were smart enough to get away with cutting corners.
Though perhaps it had a grain of truth in that. From what Eames had heard of their particular form of extraction, the marks were usually left incapable of functioning on higher levels, much less coming after them.
Arthur directed Autumn to drive by the warehouse at normal speed while he and Eames looked intently towards the building.
"There," Eames said, pointing to the second window from the right on the second story. The pane had a large crack in it, but he had caught sight of a darker square - a camera to watch the outside traffic.
Autumn turned the car in a wide circle and they parked well away, in an alley two warehouses down. Eames checked the rounds in his handgun and saw Arthur do the same.
"What do we do next?" Autumn asked. "Call the police?"
"No, you don't want the police caught up in this," Eames said, replacing his gun. "Stay here and keep the car running. Arthur and I-"
"No, absolutely not." Autumn twisted her key out of the ignition, cutting off the engine as if to underline her words. "If you think Tom is in there, I'm coming too."
Eames had half expected this. He looked over to Arthur for help, but the other man had eyes only for the warehouse. "These are dangerous people," Eames told her. "This won't be a jaunt in the park."
"I... I don't care. Look, I'll stay behind you the whole time. I won't get in the way."
"You'll be between us," Arthur corrected, "I need Eames to watch our backs."
That had not been what Eames had expected to hear at all. He started to say, "Arthur-" but Arthur cut him off with a quick shake of his head and turned to Autumn.
"I don't know exactly what Tom's been through in there, but he may not know reality from fantasy." He caught Autumn's widening eyes, held her gaze. "He may not know he's awake and try to hurt one of us - but I don't think he would ever hurt you."
Autumn sucked in a quick breath and her glance slid over towards Eames as if for confirmation. When he nodded in reluctant agreement, she faced Arthur. "He would never hurt me," she confirmed, though her voice shook slightly, as if she only now was starting to realize the level of danger she was in for.
"I don't think this is a good idea, Arthur," Eames said, although he saw the logic in his reasoning. If Tom was forced to muck about in two levels without a totem, he could easily lose himself. "She could be a liability."
"I have a taser," Autumn offered, holding up her purse.
"Do you now? Oh, well that makes all the difference."
Arthur's mouth twitched again into his almost-smile. "She gave Nash a few bruises last night. I think she can handle herself. Let's go, Eames. I need you to cover my six."
"Don't I always, darling?"
****
The side door to the warehouse was held shut by a simple, but new looking, padlock. Eames easily defeated it with the slim pick he always had handy in his pocket. Gun drawn, Arthur nodded for the two of them to stay back while he pushed open the door.
It swung open with a wrenching squeal of rust and disuse - the sound seemed to echo inside the building. Arthur stepped in first and called back "clear" after only a few moments.
The warehouse looked to be stripped down of anything remotely recyclable years ago, leaving only concrete floors and open space. There was a single shaky looking staircase leading up to the second level, bereft of even a safety banister.
Again, Arthur led the way, gun drawn.
"They're here!" he called. And abandoning caution, Eames rushed up, outpacing Autumn to the top floor.
Someone had dragged simple furniture up to the second floor. Eames spotted two figures - one reclined upon a worn looking armchair, and the second laid out upon a utilitarian army cot against the wall. A PASIV device hissed quietly between them.
Arthur was already bent by the man at the cot, and with a little cry Autumn joined him.
"Tom!? Is he okay?"
"He'll be fine," Eames heard Arthur murmur.
Eames glanced at the second man - thick, and balding, but he didn't know if it was Carson or Muir. A quick check of his pockets, however, found no weapons. The PASIV looked to be a second generation knockoff with up to four leads. Not top quality, but good enough for most work. The timer read eighteen more minutes.
"Eames," Arthur said, "Come help me get these cuffs off him."
He joined the others by the cot, and the despite the fact he knew what he would still see... his stomach still gave an unpleasant little flip. Tom, unconscious and pale, was Arthur's almost exact double - a little longer hair, more messily done, and more wan... although that could have been the treatment he had been suffering over the last few days. His left wrist was handcuffed to grate in the wall, the skin underneath purpled and bruised.
"Tom," Autumn said, a little bit louder now, combing her fingers through his hair. She looked at Arthur. "Why isn't he waking up?"
"He's still hooked to the PASIV, sweet. He's under sedation." Eames said, and with a click the cuffs released. "Shall we give him the kick, Arthur?"
Autumn looked alarmed. "The what?"
Arthur however, now stood several paces back, his fists clenched so hard that his knuckles stood out pale yellow against his skin. "No," he said, "If he's the architect the dream will collapse as soon as we wake him up." The glance he gave at the other, balding man, was pure murder. "This is our chance to find out what - how much they know and what they're planning."
"Bit risky," Eames said, but he wasn't arguing.
"I know. Give me ten minutes. If I'm not back by then, kick us both out." Arthur strode to the PASIV and started uncoiling the spare lead.
"Wait... what are you doing?" Autumn started to rise, but then, looking like she didn't want to leave her boyfriend's side, knelt protectively by Tom again. "Why can't we just yank out the IV?"
As Arthur was busy rubbing down the cannula with alcohol, Eames explained, "Arthur will join the dream and wake him up from there. It will be a gentler for Tom. Better for him, if he's already been traumatized." Then he looked towards Arthur. "It will be dangerous down there. The projections will be on high alert."
"I can handle myself," Arthur replied, sitting down and bracing his back against the cot. Eames took the cannula from him and waited until Arthur had rolled up his sleeve.
"Keep our bodies safe," Arthur said. "That's Carson over there. We're lucky Muir isn't around, but he could be back any minute."
"I can handle myself," Eames replied, in the same intonation Arthur had used a moment before.
Arthur flashed him a smile, and didn't wince as Eames pushed the needle in. His eyes slipped shut a moment later and his head lolled back.
"What now?" Autumn asked quietly, as if she were now afraid of waking them.
"Now," said Eames as he rose with cuffs in hand to take care of Carson. "It's up to Arthur."
Part 5