[FIC - Inception] The Paradox Job Part 4
To Master Post
Part 4 of 4
Arthur arrived at the Ambergreen Tower building just after ten in the evening. He had dressed up, in three pieces with a new waistcoat and a patterned, plum necktie. He told Olivia he had chosen it to match the bruises still purpling his jaw and almost received a slap. After much swearing and a forced tear or two, she forgave him for the scare and whispered in his ear, "Meet me on twelve at one."
The party was already in high and drunken spirits. Arthur picked his way casually from floor to floor, engaging pleasantly with the familiar faces. He received many startled looks and sympathetic winces for the injuries still healing on his face, and he was happy to tell an embarrassing story about him and Olivia fleeing in terror from back alley thugs. More than one woman offered to kiss him better.
When he had a moment to himself he texted Bone. 12th floor, 1am. Penthouse.
Within seconds the reply came: Ready.
Arthur was tempted to ask where he was, but he held back. He knows what he's doing. We all have the layout mostly memorized--it's going to be fine. Instead, he texted Roger to find out which floor he was on.
The elevator opened onto the fifth floor, and Arthur felt a chill. As he stared down the crowded hallway he couldn't help but imagine bodies reeling and spattering. Some of the people milling about in the doorways were even the same as his projections, or close enough, their voices clanging in a ruckus fit to be gunfire. Arthur moved through them swiftly, his smile charming, trying not to imagine blood on the walls or a Glock in his hand.
He spotted Eames in the condo at the end of the hall: he was standing in the open door of the balcony as a night rain pattered outside. He had one hand in his pocket, the other pressing a cigarette between his full lips. The city lights glistened off his slick cheeks and eyelashes as if he had been caught outside at the rain's onset; combined with his distinctive profile and faraway eyes he looked like an old Hollywood painting, or maybe a photography major's first lucky snap of an art he couldn't understand yet.
Eames glanced back, and when he noticed Arthur watching him, he smiled. It put very unprofessional butterflies in Arthur's stomach, but he came over anyway. "Enjoying the party?" he asked.
"Sure." Eames smirked around his cigarette. "My date just went to find me a beer."
Arthur glanced away and spotted Roger in the kitchen, chatting with a group of their peers. When he managed to catch Roger's eye he waved, sending him back into the refrigerator for another beer.
"I feel kind of bad," Eames said. "I'm pretty sure I broke his arm in that dream of yours the other night."
Arthur frowned; he didn't remember Roger being there, but then, he hadn't been exactly clear. You have a job to do, he reminded himself, and he turned quickly back to Eames. "Olivia invited me up to the twelfth floor at one in the morning. It's her parents' penthouse and there'll probably be security. Think you can find a way up?"
"Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something," he replied.
Roger came over with the beers, and had much concern to shower on Arthur for his bruises and scrapes. Arthur laughed it off, and shared a slightly more heroic version of the story he had been passing around the party all night. He only took a few sips of his beer as the conversation turned to lighter topics.
At one Arthur made an excuse to leave, and cast Eames a brief but meaningful look as he disengaged. Eames winked. It shouldn't have been so reassuring.
Inside the elevator Arthur pulled out his phone, pretending to text. As soon as the elevator doors opened onto the twelfth floor he snapped a picture and sent it to Eames thinking it might be useful to him, but when he raised his eyes he found himself being watched by a barrel-chested black man wearing a tailored suit and an earpiece. Immediately the security guard reached for his phone.
"There you are!" sang Olivia. She danced forward and grabbed Arthur by the arm, pulling him out of the elevator before the guard could. "You're almost late, you know," she said as she led him through the sitting room. And then to the guard, "This is the last one! No one else is allowed in, all right?"
"Yes, Miss Platt."
Arthur looked left and right, trying to take stock of everything he saw and compare it to the plans he had compiled for Bone and Eames earlier in the week. Past the small sitting room was the spacious great room, decorated with a crisp, modern esthetic, all hardwood floors and white leather sofas. Seated around the glass coffee table were two more men, three women, and Wallace, dressed in her usual leather bustier and strapped pants. The others he recognized as well: people from Olivia's short list of trusted friends that also doubled as Wallace's clientele. They were all speaking in hushed, excited tones.
"All right, everyone's here," Olivia said as moved around them, motioning Arthur into a seat on the end of one sofa. "I hope you're ready." Her eyes sparkled, and she leaned over the coffee table, running her fingertips over the silver briefcase poised on top of it. She tipped it onto its side and flicked the latches open.
The lid popped up, and everyone leaned forward as Olivia slowly unveiled her prize. Though from the outside it looked to be nothing more than a sleek business accessory, the inside of the case was filled with gleaming electronics, glass beakers, and coiled tubes. Arthur's eyes widened as he surveyed its clean lines and strong build, so different from the mess of soldered parts that made up Bone's replica. He was immediately envious and he couldn't help but ask, "Where did you get it?"
Wallace cocked an eye at him, and he almost detected a warning therein. Olivia, however, looked only amused as she replied, "My mother bought it. She's been absolutely horrid about it--made me promise not to tell a soul." She glared at each of them in turn with sudden ferocity. "Which means you'd all better keep your fucking mouths shut."
Everyone nodded, and a few chuckled nervously to each other. "So how does this work?" one of the girls asked. "We get to watch you dream?"
"More than watch." Olivia motioned to Wallace, who bent over the device with her and began pulling out the IV lines. "I've got the best dream all set up for you," she said, tapping the side of her head. "You're going to love it, trust me." Her tongue flickered over her upper lip as she glanced to the two men next to her.
The IVs were handed out, and Wallace helped insert the needles. When she got to Arthur he waved her off and did it himself. He barely felt the sting anymore. Once everyone was seated and ready he turned his wrist down and pinched the hanging IV tube tightly between two fingers.
"Ten minutes," said Wallace as she programmed the PASIV's timer. "Of course, it'll feel like a lot longer when you're under. Ready?"
Olivia settled into her chair and closed her eyes, grinning. "Do it."
Wallace pressed the plunger, and with a quiet hiss the device engaged. Arthur closed his eyes and waited for a few seconds, listening to the bodies around him settle and go still. When he heard footsteps padding away he peeked with one eye and saw Wallace moving swiftly into the next room: Meredith's home office.
Up to something, he thought as he tugged the needle out of his wrist and let it snap back into the briefcase. I knew it.
Arthur cast a quick glance to the closed front door and followed her, his footsteps silent even on the hardwood. He expected robbery, but was surprised when Wallace sat herself down at Mrs. Platt's laptop and booted it up. She bypassed the screensaver password easily and immediately began clicking through saved files.
"I doubt she keeps her coke in there," Arthur said from the doorway.
Wallace whirled, but when she saw who it was she sighed and immediately went back to work. "Tricky Arthur," she chided. "I knew you were up to something."
"Likewise." He pulled out his cell phone as he moved behind her. "What are you after? You wanted me to be here, didn't you?"
"I thought I might need your help to get in here," she said, jutting her chin at the laptop. A few keystrokes later a security alert popped up. "There. See?" She hopped out of the chair and gestured for him to take her place. "If you'd be so kind."
Arthur frowned, but he dialed and then tucked his phone against his shoulder as he dropped into the chair. "What am I breaking into, exactly?"
"Just get in, and you'll see," Wallace said, leaning against the back of the chair.
Arthur reached into his inside jacket pocket, pulling out a micro-USB that he always took with him into the field. Once in place it went right to work, executing a program of his creation to get through the laptop's security.
Eames answered his phone. "Yeah?"
"The PASIV is here," he said as he watched the progress on the screen. "Olivia and her friends are under now, but won't be for long. I can't exactly steal it while they're hooked up, though." He glanced at Wallace, and she raised her eyebrows, but had no objections.
"Do you want me up there?" Eames asked. "I got your photo, but--" Arthur could hear him smirk "--I think I can take him."
"Probably, but it's Olivia I'm worried about. The timer only has a few minutes on it, and if she wakes up to us stealing from her, she'll--"
A sharp procession from the front hall made him and Wallace turn. It was followed by the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the floor, and then the lights in main room flickered, a few of them shutting off.
Arthur frowned. "You'd better get up here."
Wallace crept to the door and closed it until only a sliver was left open for her to peek through. Her bare shoulders hitched with the sound of the great room's main door being slammed open. "Damn it," she whispered. "I knew I shouldn't have waited this long." She backed away as heavy footsteps stomped through the condo, and men growled to each other.
"What's going on?" asked Eames.
Before Arthur could answer, the computer beeped. He turned back and saw "complete" flash across the screen. Despite the commotion going on outside he leaned over the keyboard and clicked through the documents his program had listed as being protected. Most were videos and other obviously personal files, but a few were labeled in strings of numbers and upper case letters. He opened a PDF and scrolled through to what looked like a technical manual.
It's PASIV instructions, he realized when he came to the first illustration. Another file was labeled almost the same way and he hastily opened it, revealing paragraphs of cited sources and long medical jargon. He scrolled through until he came across a diagram made up of joined hexagons and connecting letters.
"It's the formula," he said, stunned, taking in the Y shaped configuration of molecules. He dropped his phone as his fingers flew over the keys. "Eames, it's the formula for Somnacin--here on Meredith's computer!"
Wallace leaned over his shoulder and shoved his hands away from the keyboard. He started to reach for them again--he only needed a few keystrokes to email the files to himself--but then Wallace pulled a vile out of her pocket and overturned its contents onto the laptop. A clear liquid seeped between the keys and immediately began to eat through the plastic, hissing as it contacted the metal blow. The screen distorted and then went black.
Arthur had just enough time to snatch his USB out as he lurched back. "What the hell are you doing?"
The door to the office burst open, and a heavy-set man dressed in a repairman's uniform blinked at the two of them in surprise. "There's someone in here!" he called over his shoulder.
Arthur snatched up the laptop by its screen and heaved it at him. It caught the intruder in the chest and caused him to stumble out of the doorway just enough that Arthur was able to dart past him with Wallace on his heels. As they retreated into the great room Arthur spotted three more men inside, who were busy placing hoods and leg restraints on Olivia and her unconscious guests. They all glanced up sharply; two of them were badly bruised and their eyes gleamed with angry recognition.
The assholes from the alley, Arthur knew at once. He spotted a handgun shoved into the belt of one and turned to make a run for the exit, but another man was already leaning against the doors. The click of a hammer stopped Arthur in his tracks.
The man, a toned African American in a designer suit, limped away from the door. "You must be Arthur," he said.
Arthur glanced down at the man's feet; one was not nearly as flexible and responsive as the other. "You must be Mr. Roth," he replied in kind. "Did you tell Meredith about the PASIV so she'd bring it here? Make it easier for you to steal?" He pursed his lips. "Why did you have your boys rough me up when you knew it was here all along?"
"I wanted to know how much you knew--see if you would interfere with my plans."
Roth shoved the silencer attached to his handgun into Arthur's stomach. The pressure was cold through his vest, and Arthur's pulse quickened, but then he told himself, It doesn't matter if he shoots you; you'll just wake up. It made his face calm as he stared his attacker down.
"Who are you working for?" Roth demanded. The rest of the men finished their task and fanned out behind Arthur and Wallace, surrounding them.
"No one," said Arthur, shrugging, feeling the gun drag against his skin. "I just wanted that PASIV for myself."
"Then there's no reason to keep you around." Roth curled his finger around the trigger.
"Wait," Wallace said quickly. She squeezed Arthur's hand, and smirked. "It's not in your best interests to kill him."
Roth snorted. "I'm just here for the PASIV, and it's right there. So--"
"The formula for Somnacin was on that computer," Wallace said. She tipped her head toward the broken laptop in the office doorway. "It's pretty much useless now, but Arthur saw the formula before it was destroyed."
Arthur stared at her. "What are you doing?"
The PASIV beeped, and with gasps Olivia and her guests began to wake up. One by one they came to the realization that they were tied into place, and they began to squirm and shout in panic. Olivia especially could be heard cursing vigorously through the sack on her head.
"The formula may still be in his subconscious mind," Wallace continued regardless. "And I'm sure you know how much it's worth. There's only one way for you to get it now."
Roth's brow furrowed, and Arthur felt a cold shudder pass through him when narrowed eyes fell on him. Arthur fell back a step. "You're not going into my mind," he said.
Roth motioned to his hired muscle, and two of them stepped forward to grab Arthur by the elbows. He jerked, and managed to get away from one, but then a third wrapped his arm around his neck from behind. The last of the men detained Wallace as Arthur was dragged, kicking and swearing, to a nearby chair.
"Get off me!" Arthur shouted, but the arm around his neck tightened, making his face throb and his lungs ache from deprivation. By the time they forced him into the chair he was light-headed, but he still struggled weakly as they pinned his wrists to the armrest. "I saw it, all right? But I don't remember it!" He watched with mounting panic as Roth ripped the IVs out of Olivia's guests and dragged the PASIV over to them. "Get that the fuck away from me!"
"Have you even done an extraction before?" one of the men asked as Roth reset the PASIV timer.
"I know how it works," Roth replied, sliding a needle into his skin. "Give us ten minutes, and if it doesn't work, we'll just shoot him." He helped two of his men with their needles and then pulled out his phone and dialed a number. "In ten minutes, hit it," he instructed to whoever was on the other line. "And keep an eye out--that rat is here and he's probably got friends around." He hung up.
Arthur continued to fight, but then one punched him soundly in the gut, forcing air out of his lungs and bile into his throat. He choked and couldn't force enough strength into his arm to free it from the approaching IV. The puncture spread goose bumps up his arm. "Don't," he wheezed. "Stay the fuck out of my head!"
Roth pressed the plunger, and Arthur slumped as the drug flowed into his system, his last conscious thoughts of Eames.
***
The party was dreadfully generic. Everyone was dressed to their best and he still managed to stand out, weaving through the familiar faces as they gossiped over their parents' wine. In an hour or two the alcohol would loosen tongues and make things more interesting, but Arthur was already on his way out.
This party is pointless anyway, he thought as he moved through the halls. I might as well leave. He checked his phone for any messages he might have missed. Or try to get some real work.
Arthur was considering texting a stranger when five steely fingers wrapped over his face. He fought, but it wasn't until he heard his phone crack on the hardwood that he became angry. He jabbed with heels and elbows as he was dragged into the guest room, and thrilled when his captor grunted in pain. He almost managed to get away but then the man twisted, heaving him to the floor.
"Arthur!" a familiar voice snapped. The door slammed shut and locked. "Calm down, it's me."
Arthur scrambled to his feet but then the room began to spin, and he had to brace his palm to the wall to get his bearings. He rubbed his eyes, and suddenly everything came back to him. "Bone?" When he looked again he realized it really was him, and he heaved a sigh. "What the hell was that for?"
Bone advanced on him, his face as hard as Arthur had ever seen it, and he backed away involuntarily. "I want it," Bone said. "Right now."
"What?" Arthur's back hit the wall, but rather than feel fright, indignation flushed his cheeks. "What are you talking about? What are you doing here?"
"The formula!" Bone slammed his palm into the wall just beside Arthur's ear. "I know that's what Roth is trying to extract from you. Show it to me, right now!"
Arthur sighed. "Can't this wait? Aren't we..." He glanced around them and was suddenly disoriented--he couldn't remember where he was or how he had gotten there, until Eames's little smirk recharged him. That was Roth--him and his goons. "We're under," he said, and all the laughing and cheering voices from within the house immediately ceased. "Are you real, or--"
Bone growled impatiently. "Forget about that!" He turned toward the guest room's dresser and cleared it of its lamp and other accessories with a sweep of his arm. When he slapped his hands on the bare top a laptop appeared, and he hastily booted it up. "You're getting me that formula."
Arthur pushed away from the wall as it all came back to him. "Is Eames here, too? How did you get here?"
"Platt's security are all dead," Bone said as he dragged a chair away from the vanity and shoved it in front of the loading computer. "Eames and Wallace are looking after the thugs. Now come on." He grabbed Arthur by the arm and yanked him into the chair.
Arthur sat down with a thud. "Calm down," he said, but was given pause by the look on Bone's face. He had seen him anxious in their dreams before, even furious, but the eyes on him then were wild and almost panicked. His fingers felt cold. "You're trying to extract from me, too?"
Bone leaned back, and his jaw worked, but he couldn't answer. His hand was clenched and trembling around the back of the chair. It's worth more to him than the PASIV, Arthur thought, and with a shake of his head he turned to the laptop. More than me, even. That's fine. He took a deep breath and reached into his inside pocket for his USB, retracing his steps. "This could have waited until we got out, you know," he said.
"Sorry," Bone grumbled. He scraped the back of his palm over his mouth. "Sorry."
What was it that blog said? Arthur closed his eyes, grateful that the rest of the party was still quiet as he concentrated. Knowledge can't be unlearned. If I saw that formula only a few minutes ago, it should still be in here. He glared down at the laptop and it shifted, becoming Meredith's brand. He plugged in his USB and it went to work just as it had in the condo. If Eames is taking care of Roth's men up top, that means the Eames I just saw was--
"Well?" Bone asked impatiently.
"It's working. I think." Arthur watched the progress of his program, remembering how he had called Eames, followed by Roth and his men breaking in, and then... "There was a PASIV manual in there," he said, and it appeared on his screen. He scrolled through and then closed it. "Roth's men were coming closer, and I clicked on...this one, and..."
The diagram appeared. Arthur lowered his eyes, concerned that his imperfect memory might distort the image. The subconscious mind is stronger than the conscious one, the blog had said. Sometimes you just have to get out of its way.
Bone leaned over the keyboard. His lips moved, whispering the letters over and over, repeating the configuration. Arthur stayed quiet and out of the way, until the walls gave a shudder. He closed his eyes. Now all we have to do is get out.
***
Arthur woke up. It wasn't with a jarring gasp after a horrible death that he was used to, but it left him shaken. He blinked at the unfamiliar surroundings and jumped when he noticed Roth and his two goons stirring; the other two were slumped in a corner, unconscious. Arthur tried to move, wary that there might be more threats waiting, and found Bone leaning against his knees.
"Hold on," said Eames, close to his ear. Strong hands touched his arm and pulled the IV out. "Are you all right? Steady, there."
Arthur wavered in his seat, and when he could get a good grip on Eames's arm he used it to help pull himself upright. "Thanks." He stared down at Bone as he packed up the PASIV. He sighed, but he couldn't bring himself to be angry. "You got what you wanted?"
Bone snapped the case shut. "Yeah."
"I'm sorry," Eames said, giving Arthur's elbow a gentle squeeze. "I tried to tell him no."
Arthur shook his head. "No, it's all right. I understand."
Across from them, Roth twisted and groaned. When he pulled on his arms and found them bound to the armrest with his necktie he swore and immediately began to fight, but blanched at the sight of Bone pushing to his feet. "Fuck...you?"
"Told you you couldn't get away from me," Bone grumbled. He shoved the PASIV case into his duffel and slung it over his back. "Let's go."
Before he could take a step, the lights went out. The condo was plunged into darkness except for the neon signs gleaming through the far windows, which was only enough for Arthur to make out the barest outlines. His hand tightened reflexively on Eames's arm. He turned on Roth for an explanation but was halted again when a clanging bell screamed to life over their heads. Olivia and her friends screamed as the fire alarm filled the condo and left their ears ringing.
"What is this?" Arthur grabbed the front of Roth's shirt. "You set the goddamn building on fire?"
"I'm not an idiot," he spat. "But the alarm makes for a decent escape."
"Let's go," Bone said again. He started across the room with Wallace close behind. "With the alarm there might be cops soon."
Arthur started to follow, but when he heard Olivia whimper he changed course. "Hold on--we have to get these people out."
"We don't have time," Bone protested.
"Then go ahead! I'll catch up."
Arthur pulled the sack off Olivia's head. Tears had made a mess of her makeup and she immediately spat at him. "What the fuck is going on? Who the fuck tied me up?"
"Hold on, I'm getting you out." Arthur unmasked the rest of her guests, and when he bent down to untie Olivia's legs found Eames doing the same for the man next to her. He smiled around a wince. "Thank you."
"Hurry up, yeah?" Eames moved down the line.
Arthur turned to aid the women as well, but found Bone and Wallace were already there, helping them off the sofa. Relieved, he untied Olivia's wrists. "The elevators won't be working because of the alarm," he told her. "We'll take the stairs down."
"Where's the PASIV?" she croaked. "My mom's gonna fucking kill me."
"It's safe, don't worry." He helped her up and nudged her in the direction of the door. "Hurry, just go."
"That PASIV is mine!" Roth screamed as Olivia and her guests made a run for it. "Don't you dare take it! Someone fucking shoot them!"
Arthur ran for the exit, his peers close behind. He could hear Roth's chair scraping the floor as he rocked and struggled, and knew their impromptu restraints wouldn't hold him long. With the alarm everyone will be evacuating. All we have to do is run out with everyone else, and disappear. Job complete.
Gunshots barked across the room, drowned out far more effectively by the wailing fire alarm than the silencer. Arthur almost wasn't even sure at first if he hadn't imagined it, until he heard the clink of shell casings to the hardwood. He dove for the open doorway, and as he skidded into the closed elevator door he felt a body crash into him from behind. The hot chest against his back sent his heart into his throat and he whirled. "Eames?" He reeled, pulling Eames out of range of the entranceway. "Shit, are you--"
"I'm fine--I'm not hit." Eames pushed the door to the stairwell open. "Watch out for the body."
Arthur ducked through. He could hear Olivia's telltale cursing, already a floor below amidst the sirens and flashing red emergency lights. Wallace came through after him, and he helped her past the corpse of a security guard. "Go," he told her, "but I'm getting a full story out of you later, I swear to God."
"Thanks for your help," Wallace chirped, and with a shaky smile she rushed down the stairs.
Eames and Bone came through, and dragged the corpse over in an attempt to block the door. "Fucking goons woke up," Bone grumbled as he started down the stairs ahead of them. "They'll be after us in--"
Bone jerked. He didn't make a sound, and then he was falling back into Arthur's knees. As they tumbled to the ground Arthur looked past, and saw a man running up the stairs toward them. His gun was out and his finger was on the trigger. "Don't move!" the man snapped. "Where's Mr. Roth?"
Eames hopped over his two partners, and even when the gun fired he didn't stop, punching their attacker in the jaw. The man tripped over the stairs and fell, landing on his head with a horrible crack on the landing below. Arthur watched, his breath held, until he was sure he wasn't moving before drawing his attention to warm fluid seeping into his pant leg.
"Bone?" He wriggled out from under him as carefully as he could, and supported him as he looked him over. Blood was pouring down his chest, black in the red lighting, and Arthur let it stain his hands as he followed it back to the source: a ragged bullet wound that had torn a hunk of flesh out of Bone's collar. "Shit," he hissed, patting himself down, but he didn't have so much as a handkerchief to cover it with. "Shit, Eames."
Eames rejoined them and leaned over Bone. When he probed the wound bluntly with his fingers Bone jerked and shoved at him. "Fuck!" Bone slapped his hand over his collar and groaned. "That fucker... Is the PASIV all right?"
Eames snorted. "He'll be fine," he said to Arthur. "Help me get this off him."
As they wrestled the duffle off Bone the twelfth floor door began to rattle, and when it opened a crack Roth's angry shouting filtered through. Eames yanked the duffle onto his own back and then tried to pull Bone upright, but he had trouble getting his legs beneath him.
"I fucking hate getting shot," Bone whined as it took Eames and Arthur together to get him on his feet. His eyes were wide, and his skin was already clammy to the touch.
Arthur gulped. The blood was sick and sticky on his fingers, and the lights and siren were making his head pound. "Come on," he said, grabbing Bone's belt as he helped him down the stairs. "Don't be a baby--the hero never dies from a shot to the shoulder, remember?"
Bone groaned. "I'm not your fucking hero."
The door continued to bang above, and below, Arthur could hear shrieks and angry shouts. Everything was too loud and maddening but he had the presence of mind to remember, Roth was talking to someone on the phone. There are more of them below, probably in the basement, since they cut the power. They'll be on their way up.
"Take him," Arthur said, pushing Bone against Eames. "I can't hold him and someone has to take point."
Eames pulled Bone's arm over his shoulders and ignored his pained groan. "What are you going to do?"
"Just keep up." He crouched down next to the thug Eames had dispatched and stole his gun. This isn't a dream, he reminded himself as he led the way down the stairs. I can't just kill everyone--or anyone. He took a deep breath and slicked his hair back with his sweat. But I can still do this. I can do anything.
They had only gone down two floors when they ran into another gun-toting goon. He caught Arthur by surprise and fired almost immediately--Arthur could have sworn he felt the breath of the bullet against his neck. The man was fast but Arthur made himself faster, smashing the heel of his hand into the bridge of his nose. As he fell back Arthur pursued and wielded the heel of his gun into his temple, knocking him to the floor.
A hammer clicked back. Even in the screaming stairwell Arthur heard it, and he turned to see a man on the ninth floor landing. He was raising his arm, and without thinking Arthur pounced. He sailed down the flight of stairs and crashed into the man's chest, flinging them both into the wall with a bone-jarring impact. His joints ached but it didn't stop him from kneeing the man unconscious.
"Jesus." Eames stumbled after him with Bone still clutched to his side. "You do know we're awake this time, don't you?"
Arthur pulled himself upright. "It doesn't matter," he said, and realized with a kind of out-of-body clarity that it was the truth. Dream, reality, it's all the same. I can do this. His heart fluttered and he took in a deep breath as if trying to savor the sensation. I want this.
A gunshot smashed into the concrete wall behind them, and Arthur pushed his partners ahead of him. "Keep going," he said. "I'm right behind you." He twisted his stolen gun around the corner and fired at too high of an angle to hit anything but ceiling, but he heard men shout and scatter. He stopped, waited for Roth and his thugs to collect themselves, then did it again, emptying the magazine in his attempt to buy time. When he pulled the trigger and got only a click he abandoned the weapon and charged to the next floor.
"They're going to catch up with us at this rate," Arthur said. He reached into Bone's jacket and pulled out the familiar Glock 17. "Keep going, and I'll cover you."
Eames turned back. "No--we go together. Or take him, and I'll stay."
"I can't carry him," Arthur insisted. "Just go, before they catch us all!"
"I don't need to be carried," said Bone, but when he tried to step away from Eames's side his knees wobbled. He was still bleeding heavily and Arthur glared Eames down, willing him to understand. Like hell I'm letting you stay behind.
Eames ground his teeth, but the shouting from behind them spurred him on. "We'll meet you downstairs," he said, as if it were an order. His face was hard as he yanked Bone down the next flight.
Arthur opened the door to the eighth floor and ducked inside, leaving it open just enough that he could see the upward stairs. You can do this, he told himself, making each breath a slow, deliberate deliver of oxygen. The siren faded to white noise at the back of his mind; the soreness seeped out of his limbs and shoulders and back; his hands tightened around the gun, firm and still. Focus. All you have to do is be faster than them. You can do that much. He took another deep breath in, closed his eyes, let it out. Be as good as Eames thinks you are.
A man stepped onto the landing. Arthur's eyes flicked open but he waited, his shoulder to the door, until the steps passed by him. Do it, he thought, digging his boots into the carpet. Do it!
Arthur threw his weight into the door. It swung open with all the force he could muster, smashing the man in the back and sending him tumbling down the next flight. Another almost crashed right into him and he swung his arm, elbowing him in the throat. It was a good hit--he felt muscle spasm beneath his triceps--and he continued the rotation, throwing out his foot into another man's stomach. He didn't know how he did it, only that there were men in front of him, and Eames behind, and a gun clutched in his hand he didn't dare use.
Roth leveled his weapon. Arthur knew that he would, and he used the handle on the open door as leverage to propel him back into the eighth floor hallway. Bullets ricocheted off the open fire door and he heard a scream, but it didn't stop him. He twisted and fired into the ceiling, just twice, giving himself time to dive into the nearest open condo.
"You fucking junkies make me sick!" Arthur called, pressing his back to the wall just beside the open doorway. He glanced around but the condo was empty, having been swiftly evacuated. Follow me--don't follow them. Follow me. "You're worse than that asshole Boner. At least he knows how to perform a proper extraction."
Roth stormed into the hallway; Arthur could hear the uneven tread of his limp. "You're in way over your head, kid. Give me the PASIV and we'll make a deal! You're not really ready to die for that hunk of crap, are you?"
No, not for that. Arthur's breath came faster despite his attempts to calm it. For him? A self-deprecating smile twisted his lips. God, I'm so hopeless.
Bullets howled through the open doorway, and Arthur jumped, scurrying deeper into the condo. It occurred to him too late that he had given himself away to a bluff. As the men charged after him he ducked into the kitchen and dove behind its tiled island. More gunshots cracked tile and splintered the IKEA cabinetry, and with a thrill of fright Arthur knew he was pinned down.
"Just toss it out," Roth taunted. "It's not worth it, you little puke."
"Sure it is," Arthur whispered. He pressed his back into the wood behind him and felt it shift. It's on wheels, he thought, and when he heard Roth limp onto the tile he braced his heels to the cabinets and pushed as hard as he could. The island swerved, and even before he was sure that it would hit Arthur scrambled to his feet. He jumped, sliding across the island on his hip, and his momentum carried him straight into one of Roth's remaining thugs. As they tumbled to the ground he swung his arm, pistol-whipping the man across the face. Blood poured from his nose and he cried out, rolling over.
Fingers closed around his neck from behind. Arthur started to fight but then simply aimed the Glock over his shoulder, and was swiftly released. As soon as he was free he twisted onto his back and kicked his attacker soundly in his left kneecap. Something snapped, and the man collapsed next to his peer. Another kick to his face left him unconscious.
"Son of a--" Roth, partially doubled over the corner of the island, raised his pistol. They were too far apart for Arthur to retaliate and there was nowhere for him to take cover. He swung his gun forward. His finger was tense around the trigger, and for the briefest of moments he thought of all the projections he had killed, their heads popping open in a spray of gore. He aimed, and he pulled.
Roth fired, but he was already hit; his ankle shredded beneath lead and he dropped, throwing his aim off enough that the bullet buried into the carpet three feet from its target of Arthur's head. On his hands and knees he tried to fire again but Arthur jumped on him and twisted his arm around his throat.
"You fuck," Roth growled. He tried to roll but Arthur jammed his knee into the floor and pulled on his wrist with his other hand, pinning them. "That was...my good foot!"
Arthur licked the taste of blood off his lips. "I'm not nice," he agreed.
"Arthur!" Eames rushed into the condo, and by the time he located Arthur and Roth outside the kitchen the latter was already sagging into unconsciousness. He stood back, looking over the two downed men and their boss with wide, blinking eyes. "Are you all right?"
Arthur craned his neck to see him. "What are you doing back here?" He felt Roth go limp beneath his arm and released him. At first Roth felt too still, but when Arthur gave his shoulder a shake, he took in a choking breath. He wheezed weakly against the carpet.
Eames came forward and offered a hand in pulling Arthur upright. "I couldn't leave you to take the five of them yourself," he said, but then he looked over Arthur's work again, and his eyebrow quirked. "I guess I underestimated you."
"Yeah." Arthur shoved the Glock in the back of his pants. "So did I."
They raced together down another two flights, to where Bone was slumped against the wall, his palm shoved into his open wound. He was pale even in the off lighting and when Arthur touched his arm, he felt him shiver. "He's losing a lot of blood," Arthur said as he helped Eames haul him to his feet again. "You shouldn't have stopped."
"I told him to," Bone grumbled. He pulled something out of his pants pocket and shoved it directly into Arthur's. "Soldiers don't leave men behind."
"I would have gone back anyway," Eames retorted, so defensively that Arthur smiled.
They stumbled down the last floors, and were greeted in the lobby by police with weapons drawn. By then Bone was more red than otherwise and they had little trouble convincing the officers that they were victims instead of threats. A path cleared for them, and by the time they were at the entrance paramedics were rushing forward. As Bone collapsed onto a stretcher Arthur moved close to Eames's side, their shoulders rubbing. "He'll be all right," he said.
Eames nodded. "Yeah, he's fine."
A pair of cops stopped in front of them. "We need you to tell us what's happening up there," said one.
"Some asshole was trying to rob Ms. Platt," Arthur replied. "We found that guy in the stairwell when we tried to make a run for it."
The officer eyed Eames's duffle. "Then what's that?"
Arthur and Eames exchanged a look. Eames's eyebrows rose, asking, and Arthur sighed. "Fuck it," he agreed.
Eames punched the officer full in the face, and at the same time Arthur flung the other aside. Together they charged into the street, where the city's elite were crowding up and down the sidewalk like miserable, rain-drenched cattle. Arthur weaved through them as easily as if they were his own projections. With Eames at his side he ran, letting the rain wash the blood from his hands and cool his pulse as it raged close to his surface. He was escaping and he was free, and when he cast a brief glance at the sky he saw a glint of the moon peeking through the clouds. It was round and huge, and he laughed at it, pushing himself faster, until his limbs ached and his time ran out.
***
Arthur awoke shivering. The sounds of the city were all around him, blaring and keening, and dewdrops splashed off his eyelashes when he went to open them. He was met with his own haggard reflection in the dusty Plexiglas of a bus stop enclosure. He closed his eyes again. His entire body was throbbing as if on fire, and all he wanted was to bury himself deeper into the body that was his pillow. So he did.
A warm nose nudged the top of his head. "You awake?"
Arthur groaned a negative, but slowly it came back to him, and he had little choice but to open his eyes again. He was sitting on a bus stop bench, drying but still mostly damp, huddled against a strong and welcoming shoulder: Eames. He let his breath out slowly as if it were an experiment. "Where are we?"
"I'm not exactly sure," Eames admitted. His voice was a rough, warm rumble stirring Arthur's hair. "Far away from where we were, at least."
Arthur rubbed his eyes and looked around, though he tried to do it by moving as little as possible. "Oh. I know where we are." My place is three blocks down. Damn, we came a long way.
They fell quiet. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a shredded and weary cloud canopy through which the first light of dawn was spilling. Everything was soft and yellow and gray, and Arthur sighed. He watched the shadows redefine themselves on the sidewalks, content not to think about what had happened, or where Bone and Roth were, or if the police were still chasing them. He was too exhausted to move and it was the most peaceful he had felt in days.
"Are you all right?" Eames asked.
Arthur gave the question much longer consideration than was needed. "Yeah," he said. "I am." With a deep breath he straightened and rubbed the crick out of his neck. "Are you?"
Eames rotated his shoulders. "I'm perfect."
Arthur glanced down at the duffle between Eames's feet. "All that, for this," he murmured.
Eames was quiet a moment as if debating. "Not worth it?" he asked.
"I don't know." Arthur snorted quietly with good humor. "I don't get to keep it."
Again Eames hesitated. "Well. You could."
Arthur frowned intensely down at the bag and thought of the sleek silver PASIV inside. A pulse went through him, fluttering and eager, and a future blossomed inside his mind. He pictured himself floating around the globe, darting into one city and then the next as easily as he had moved from one of Roth's thugs to the other. He could feel Eames at his back and by his side and between his thighs. It was so tempting that he ached, but when he looked to Eames and saw the look of reckless hope restrained in his eyes, he shook his head.
"No," Arthur said. "Thanks, but I don't think your little team is ready for me."
Eames snorted, and then laughed. "You might be right," he said. "You really might be." With a groan he pushed to his feet.
Arthur straightened. "Where are you going?"
"I've got to figure out which hospital they took Benny to, and then spring him," Eames said, hoisting the duffle onto his back. "He has a record, so it shouldn't take too long for the cops to figure out who he is. I figure we'll head south before trying to leave the country."
"Do you need my help?" He started to get up. "I could--"
"No, no. You've done your part." Eames smirked. "And then some. There's a chemist back in Kenya that'll pay out his arse for that formula you got us."
Arthur sagged into the bench and tried hard not to look as deflated as he felt. "Will you tell Benjamin something for me? Tell him...thanks." He rubbed his nose. "For everything. I mean it."
He nodded as if having understood some deeper meaning behind the words. "Sure."
They both fell silent, and Arthur remained very still even though he felt as if he were squirming in his skin. "So," he said. "I guess that's it, then."
Eames started to answer, but then shook his head. Without another word he stepped in front of Arthur and leaned down to brace his hand on the back of the bench. Arthur only had to tip forward to meet him for a kiss. Eames's lips were hot against his, his tongue gently seeking, as if he were trying to convey a message. Rather than attempt to interpret Arthur slid his hands to Eames's jaw and held him close as he delivered his own.
When we meet again, everything you think I am will be true, he thought. After the kiss ended he kept Eames close a moment longer and tasted a sigh against his lips. I'll be ready for you.
Eames kissed him again and then finally pulled back. "I'll stay in touch," he said, and Arthur believed him. "But next time, I want to meet your team."
"Deal." Arthur smiled. "But only if you introduce me to your projections."
Eames chuckled. "We'll see," he said, but by the time he turned to go his grin had softened. "Take care of yourself, Arthur."
"You, too."
Eames moved to the curb; Arthur watched until he managed to wave down a taxi and speed off down the street. Once he was out of sight Arthur sank deeper into the bench and closed his eyes. Despite the weight of fatigue his body felt alive and new to him, and he sighed, getting used to it. He could still taste Eames against his mouth.
He'll never know what all this meant to me, Arthur thought, licking his lips. And he liked it that way.
Someone sat down on the bench next to him. At first he was too tired to look, but then the stranger edged closer, until they were touching. It was a woman's narrow shoulder pressing into his, and he cocked one eye open. He sighed. "There you are."
"It took me a while to find you," said Wallace. She set a McDonald's coffee on his knee. "Thirsty?"
Arthur made a face, but he knew he would need the caffeine if he was going to make it back to his apartment. The first sip burned his tongue but he drank it down anyway. "I hope you're here to apologize for using me," he said.
Wallace smiled sheepishly, and to his surprise immediately offered, "I'm sorry. When I found out that you were after the PASIV I wanted to tell you, but until I knew who you were working for I couldn't risk it."
"Tell me what?"
"That I was hired to get to it, too." She took a sip of her coffee and turned toward him. "When Abida's team hit the general's mansion they also hacked out the formula. We go way back so he sold me some of the Somnacin they lifted, but of course when I tried to sell it myself an extractor found me. She said if I was able to get into this party and destroy the formula she'd let me join her team."
"Her team?" Arthur scoffed. "You? An extractor?"
Wallace's face grew hard, and there was something familiar in her determination. "I'm getting out," she said firmly. "I'm sick of pushing coke and smack on your yuppie friends. This is my chance to do something--be something--and I thought..." Her eyes crinkled at the edges. "...maybe you'd like that chance, too."
Arthur's heart skipped. "By that do you mean you're going to lure me to this friend of yours so she can hack the formula from my brain herself?" he asked warily.
Wallace waved her hand dismissively. "She already has it," she said. "And a PASIV--a real one, top of the line." She leaned forward. "And we could use you. Please say you'll consider it."
Arthur shifted, and remembered suddenly the bulge in his pocket. He slipped his hand inside and felt out the shape of a motel room key. Can't be an extractor with just that, he thought, picturing Bone's denim sack waiting for him under the bed. He glanced down the street in the direction Eames's taxi had gone. Can't be an extractor by myself. His chest swelled and he took a deep breath. I need this.
"I'll consider it," he said. He took another long gulp of the coffee and pushed to his feet. "But I'm too tired to think straight right now. Give me some time."
Wallace smiled up at him; she had seen through to his answer already. "All right. Oh!" She reached into her pocket and pulled out his cell phone. "You dropped this at Olivia's."
Arthur accepted the phone and checked it for damage before slipping it into his pocket. "Thanks. I'll text you later when I decide, all right?"
"Sure. Thanks for your help tonight, Arthur."
She went back to her coffee, and Arthur left, limping only a little as he headed down the three blocks toward his apartment. He was sore and soaked and exhausted, but when he thought of the bottle hiding in his nightstand, he smiled, remembering the stretch of golden beach that awaited him.
Thank you for reading!
To Master Post
Part 4 of 4
Arthur arrived at the Ambergreen Tower building just after ten in the evening. He had dressed up, in three pieces with a new waistcoat and a patterned, plum necktie. He told Olivia he had chosen it to match the bruises still purpling his jaw and almost received a slap. After much swearing and a forced tear or two, she forgave him for the scare and whispered in his ear, "Meet me on twelve at one."
The party was already in high and drunken spirits. Arthur picked his way casually from floor to floor, engaging pleasantly with the familiar faces. He received many startled looks and sympathetic winces for the injuries still healing on his face, and he was happy to tell an embarrassing story about him and Olivia fleeing in terror from back alley thugs. More than one woman offered to kiss him better.
When he had a moment to himself he texted Bone. 12th floor, 1am. Penthouse.
Within seconds the reply came: Ready.
Arthur was tempted to ask where he was, but he held back. He knows what he's doing. We all have the layout mostly memorized--it's going to be fine. Instead, he texted Roger to find out which floor he was on.
The elevator opened onto the fifth floor, and Arthur felt a chill. As he stared down the crowded hallway he couldn't help but imagine bodies reeling and spattering. Some of the people milling about in the doorways were even the same as his projections, or close enough, their voices clanging in a ruckus fit to be gunfire. Arthur moved through them swiftly, his smile charming, trying not to imagine blood on the walls or a Glock in his hand.
He spotted Eames in the condo at the end of the hall: he was standing in the open door of the balcony as a night rain pattered outside. He had one hand in his pocket, the other pressing a cigarette between his full lips. The city lights glistened off his slick cheeks and eyelashes as if he had been caught outside at the rain's onset; combined with his distinctive profile and faraway eyes he looked like an old Hollywood painting, or maybe a photography major's first lucky snap of an art he couldn't understand yet.
Eames glanced back, and when he noticed Arthur watching him, he smiled. It put very unprofessional butterflies in Arthur's stomach, but he came over anyway. "Enjoying the party?" he asked.
"Sure." Eames smirked around his cigarette. "My date just went to find me a beer."
Arthur glanced away and spotted Roger in the kitchen, chatting with a group of their peers. When he managed to catch Roger's eye he waved, sending him back into the refrigerator for another beer.
"I feel kind of bad," Eames said. "I'm pretty sure I broke his arm in that dream of yours the other night."
Arthur frowned; he didn't remember Roger being there, but then, he hadn't been exactly clear. You have a job to do, he reminded himself, and he turned quickly back to Eames. "Olivia invited me up to the twelfth floor at one in the morning. It's her parents' penthouse and there'll probably be security. Think you can find a way up?"
"Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something," he replied.
Roger came over with the beers, and had much concern to shower on Arthur for his bruises and scrapes. Arthur laughed it off, and shared a slightly more heroic version of the story he had been passing around the party all night. He only took a few sips of his beer as the conversation turned to lighter topics.
At one Arthur made an excuse to leave, and cast Eames a brief but meaningful look as he disengaged. Eames winked. It shouldn't have been so reassuring.
Inside the elevator Arthur pulled out his phone, pretending to text. As soon as the elevator doors opened onto the twelfth floor he snapped a picture and sent it to Eames thinking it might be useful to him, but when he raised his eyes he found himself being watched by a barrel-chested black man wearing a tailored suit and an earpiece. Immediately the security guard reached for his phone.
"There you are!" sang Olivia. She danced forward and grabbed Arthur by the arm, pulling him out of the elevator before the guard could. "You're almost late, you know," she said as she led him through the sitting room. And then to the guard, "This is the last one! No one else is allowed in, all right?"
"Yes, Miss Platt."
Arthur looked left and right, trying to take stock of everything he saw and compare it to the plans he had compiled for Bone and Eames earlier in the week. Past the small sitting room was the spacious great room, decorated with a crisp, modern esthetic, all hardwood floors and white leather sofas. Seated around the glass coffee table were two more men, three women, and Wallace, dressed in her usual leather bustier and strapped pants. The others he recognized as well: people from Olivia's short list of trusted friends that also doubled as Wallace's clientele. They were all speaking in hushed, excited tones.
"All right, everyone's here," Olivia said as moved around them, motioning Arthur into a seat on the end of one sofa. "I hope you're ready." Her eyes sparkled, and she leaned over the coffee table, running her fingertips over the silver briefcase poised on top of it. She tipped it onto its side and flicked the latches open.
The lid popped up, and everyone leaned forward as Olivia slowly unveiled her prize. Though from the outside it looked to be nothing more than a sleek business accessory, the inside of the case was filled with gleaming electronics, glass beakers, and coiled tubes. Arthur's eyes widened as he surveyed its clean lines and strong build, so different from the mess of soldered parts that made up Bone's replica. He was immediately envious and he couldn't help but ask, "Where did you get it?"
Wallace cocked an eye at him, and he almost detected a warning therein. Olivia, however, looked only amused as she replied, "My mother bought it. She's been absolutely horrid about it--made me promise not to tell a soul." She glared at each of them in turn with sudden ferocity. "Which means you'd all better keep your fucking mouths shut."
Everyone nodded, and a few chuckled nervously to each other. "So how does this work?" one of the girls asked. "We get to watch you dream?"
"More than watch." Olivia motioned to Wallace, who bent over the device with her and began pulling out the IV lines. "I've got the best dream all set up for you," she said, tapping the side of her head. "You're going to love it, trust me." Her tongue flickered over her upper lip as she glanced to the two men next to her.
The IVs were handed out, and Wallace helped insert the needles. When she got to Arthur he waved her off and did it himself. He barely felt the sting anymore. Once everyone was seated and ready he turned his wrist down and pinched the hanging IV tube tightly between two fingers.
"Ten minutes," said Wallace as she programmed the PASIV's timer. "Of course, it'll feel like a lot longer when you're under. Ready?"
Olivia settled into her chair and closed her eyes, grinning. "Do it."
Wallace pressed the plunger, and with a quiet hiss the device engaged. Arthur closed his eyes and waited for a few seconds, listening to the bodies around him settle and go still. When he heard footsteps padding away he peeked with one eye and saw Wallace moving swiftly into the next room: Meredith's home office.
Up to something, he thought as he tugged the needle out of his wrist and let it snap back into the briefcase. I knew it.
Arthur cast a quick glance to the closed front door and followed her, his footsteps silent even on the hardwood. He expected robbery, but was surprised when Wallace sat herself down at Mrs. Platt's laptop and booted it up. She bypassed the screensaver password easily and immediately began clicking through saved files.
"I doubt she keeps her coke in there," Arthur said from the doorway.
Wallace whirled, but when she saw who it was she sighed and immediately went back to work. "Tricky Arthur," she chided. "I knew you were up to something."
"Likewise." He pulled out his cell phone as he moved behind her. "What are you after? You wanted me to be here, didn't you?"
"I thought I might need your help to get in here," she said, jutting her chin at the laptop. A few keystrokes later a security alert popped up. "There. See?" She hopped out of the chair and gestured for him to take her place. "If you'd be so kind."
Arthur frowned, but he dialed and then tucked his phone against his shoulder as he dropped into the chair. "What am I breaking into, exactly?"
"Just get in, and you'll see," Wallace said, leaning against the back of the chair.
Arthur reached into his inside jacket pocket, pulling out a micro-USB that he always took with him into the field. Once in place it went right to work, executing a program of his creation to get through the laptop's security.
Eames answered his phone. "Yeah?"
"The PASIV is here," he said as he watched the progress on the screen. "Olivia and her friends are under now, but won't be for long. I can't exactly steal it while they're hooked up, though." He glanced at Wallace, and she raised her eyebrows, but had no objections.
"Do you want me up there?" Eames asked. "I got your photo, but--" Arthur could hear him smirk "--I think I can take him."
"Probably, but it's Olivia I'm worried about. The timer only has a few minutes on it, and if she wakes up to us stealing from her, she'll--"
A sharp procession from the front hall made him and Wallace turn. It was followed by the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the floor, and then the lights in main room flickered, a few of them shutting off.
Arthur frowned. "You'd better get up here."
Wallace crept to the door and closed it until only a sliver was left open for her to peek through. Her bare shoulders hitched with the sound of the great room's main door being slammed open. "Damn it," she whispered. "I knew I shouldn't have waited this long." She backed away as heavy footsteps stomped through the condo, and men growled to each other.
"What's going on?" asked Eames.
Before Arthur could answer, the computer beeped. He turned back and saw "complete" flash across the screen. Despite the commotion going on outside he leaned over the keyboard and clicked through the documents his program had listed as being protected. Most were videos and other obviously personal files, but a few were labeled in strings of numbers and upper case letters. He opened a PDF and scrolled through to what looked like a technical manual.
It's PASIV instructions, he realized when he came to the first illustration. Another file was labeled almost the same way and he hastily opened it, revealing paragraphs of cited sources and long medical jargon. He scrolled through until he came across a diagram made up of joined hexagons and connecting letters.
"It's the formula," he said, stunned, taking in the Y shaped configuration of molecules. He dropped his phone as his fingers flew over the keys. "Eames, it's the formula for Somnacin--here on Meredith's computer!"
Wallace leaned over his shoulder and shoved his hands away from the keyboard. He started to reach for them again--he only needed a few keystrokes to email the files to himself--but then Wallace pulled a vile out of her pocket and overturned its contents onto the laptop. A clear liquid seeped between the keys and immediately began to eat through the plastic, hissing as it contacted the metal blow. The screen distorted and then went black.
Arthur had just enough time to snatch his USB out as he lurched back. "What the hell are you doing?"
The door to the office burst open, and a heavy-set man dressed in a repairman's uniform blinked at the two of them in surprise. "There's someone in here!" he called over his shoulder.
Arthur snatched up the laptop by its screen and heaved it at him. It caught the intruder in the chest and caused him to stumble out of the doorway just enough that Arthur was able to dart past him with Wallace on his heels. As they retreated into the great room Arthur spotted three more men inside, who were busy placing hoods and leg restraints on Olivia and her unconscious guests. They all glanced up sharply; two of them were badly bruised and their eyes gleamed with angry recognition.
The assholes from the alley, Arthur knew at once. He spotted a handgun shoved into the belt of one and turned to make a run for the exit, but another man was already leaning against the doors. The click of a hammer stopped Arthur in his tracks.
The man, a toned African American in a designer suit, limped away from the door. "You must be Arthur," he said.
Arthur glanced down at the man's feet; one was not nearly as flexible and responsive as the other. "You must be Mr. Roth," he replied in kind. "Did you tell Meredith about the PASIV so she'd bring it here? Make it easier for you to steal?" He pursed his lips. "Why did you have your boys rough me up when you knew it was here all along?"
"I wanted to know how much you knew--see if you would interfere with my plans."
Roth shoved the silencer attached to his handgun into Arthur's stomach. The pressure was cold through his vest, and Arthur's pulse quickened, but then he told himself, It doesn't matter if he shoots you; you'll just wake up. It made his face calm as he stared his attacker down.
"Who are you working for?" Roth demanded. The rest of the men finished their task and fanned out behind Arthur and Wallace, surrounding them.
"No one," said Arthur, shrugging, feeling the gun drag against his skin. "I just wanted that PASIV for myself."
"Then there's no reason to keep you around." Roth curled his finger around the trigger.
"Wait," Wallace said quickly. She squeezed Arthur's hand, and smirked. "It's not in your best interests to kill him."
Roth snorted. "I'm just here for the PASIV, and it's right there. So--"
"The formula for Somnacin was on that computer," Wallace said. She tipped her head toward the broken laptop in the office doorway. "It's pretty much useless now, but Arthur saw the formula before it was destroyed."
Arthur stared at her. "What are you doing?"
The PASIV beeped, and with gasps Olivia and her guests began to wake up. One by one they came to the realization that they were tied into place, and they began to squirm and shout in panic. Olivia especially could be heard cursing vigorously through the sack on her head.
"The formula may still be in his subconscious mind," Wallace continued regardless. "And I'm sure you know how much it's worth. There's only one way for you to get it now."
Roth's brow furrowed, and Arthur felt a cold shudder pass through him when narrowed eyes fell on him. Arthur fell back a step. "You're not going into my mind," he said.
Roth motioned to his hired muscle, and two of them stepped forward to grab Arthur by the elbows. He jerked, and managed to get away from one, but then a third wrapped his arm around his neck from behind. The last of the men detained Wallace as Arthur was dragged, kicking and swearing, to a nearby chair.
"Get off me!" Arthur shouted, but the arm around his neck tightened, making his face throb and his lungs ache from deprivation. By the time they forced him into the chair he was light-headed, but he still struggled weakly as they pinned his wrists to the armrest. "I saw it, all right? But I don't remember it!" He watched with mounting panic as Roth ripped the IVs out of Olivia's guests and dragged the PASIV over to them. "Get that the fuck away from me!"
"Have you even done an extraction before?" one of the men asked as Roth reset the PASIV timer.
"I know how it works," Roth replied, sliding a needle into his skin. "Give us ten minutes, and if it doesn't work, we'll just shoot him." He helped two of his men with their needles and then pulled out his phone and dialed a number. "In ten minutes, hit it," he instructed to whoever was on the other line. "And keep an eye out--that rat is here and he's probably got friends around." He hung up.
Arthur continued to fight, but then one punched him soundly in the gut, forcing air out of his lungs and bile into his throat. He choked and couldn't force enough strength into his arm to free it from the approaching IV. The puncture spread goose bumps up his arm. "Don't," he wheezed. "Stay the fuck out of my head!"
Roth pressed the plunger, and Arthur slumped as the drug flowed into his system, his last conscious thoughts of Eames.
***
The party was dreadfully generic. Everyone was dressed to their best and he still managed to stand out, weaving through the familiar faces as they gossiped over their parents' wine. In an hour or two the alcohol would loosen tongues and make things more interesting, but Arthur was already on his way out.
This party is pointless anyway, he thought as he moved through the halls. I might as well leave. He checked his phone for any messages he might have missed. Or try to get some real work.
Arthur was considering texting a stranger when five steely fingers wrapped over his face. He fought, but it wasn't until he heard his phone crack on the hardwood that he became angry. He jabbed with heels and elbows as he was dragged into the guest room, and thrilled when his captor grunted in pain. He almost managed to get away but then the man twisted, heaving him to the floor.
"Arthur!" a familiar voice snapped. The door slammed shut and locked. "Calm down, it's me."
Arthur scrambled to his feet but then the room began to spin, and he had to brace his palm to the wall to get his bearings. He rubbed his eyes, and suddenly everything came back to him. "Bone?" When he looked again he realized it really was him, and he heaved a sigh. "What the hell was that for?"
Bone advanced on him, his face as hard as Arthur had ever seen it, and he backed away involuntarily. "I want it," Bone said. "Right now."
"What?" Arthur's back hit the wall, but rather than feel fright, indignation flushed his cheeks. "What are you talking about? What are you doing here?"
"The formula!" Bone slammed his palm into the wall just beside Arthur's ear. "I know that's what Roth is trying to extract from you. Show it to me, right now!"
Arthur sighed. "Can't this wait? Aren't we..." He glanced around them and was suddenly disoriented--he couldn't remember where he was or how he had gotten there, until Eames's little smirk recharged him. That was Roth--him and his goons. "We're under," he said, and all the laughing and cheering voices from within the house immediately ceased. "Are you real, or--"
Bone growled impatiently. "Forget about that!" He turned toward the guest room's dresser and cleared it of its lamp and other accessories with a sweep of his arm. When he slapped his hands on the bare top a laptop appeared, and he hastily booted it up. "You're getting me that formula."
Arthur pushed away from the wall as it all came back to him. "Is Eames here, too? How did you get here?"
"Platt's security are all dead," Bone said as he dragged a chair away from the vanity and shoved it in front of the loading computer. "Eames and Wallace are looking after the thugs. Now come on." He grabbed Arthur by the arm and yanked him into the chair.
Arthur sat down with a thud. "Calm down," he said, but was given pause by the look on Bone's face. He had seen him anxious in their dreams before, even furious, but the eyes on him then were wild and almost panicked. His fingers felt cold. "You're trying to extract from me, too?"
Bone leaned back, and his jaw worked, but he couldn't answer. His hand was clenched and trembling around the back of the chair. It's worth more to him than the PASIV, Arthur thought, and with a shake of his head he turned to the laptop. More than me, even. That's fine. He took a deep breath and reached into his inside pocket for his USB, retracing his steps. "This could have waited until we got out, you know," he said.
"Sorry," Bone grumbled. He scraped the back of his palm over his mouth. "Sorry."
What was it that blog said? Arthur closed his eyes, grateful that the rest of the party was still quiet as he concentrated. Knowledge can't be unlearned. If I saw that formula only a few minutes ago, it should still be in here. He glared down at the laptop and it shifted, becoming Meredith's brand. He plugged in his USB and it went to work just as it had in the condo. If Eames is taking care of Roth's men up top, that means the Eames I just saw was--
"Well?" Bone asked impatiently.
"It's working. I think." Arthur watched the progress of his program, remembering how he had called Eames, followed by Roth and his men breaking in, and then... "There was a PASIV manual in there," he said, and it appeared on his screen. He scrolled through and then closed it. "Roth's men were coming closer, and I clicked on...this one, and..."
The diagram appeared. Arthur lowered his eyes, concerned that his imperfect memory might distort the image. The subconscious mind is stronger than the conscious one, the blog had said. Sometimes you just have to get out of its way.
Bone leaned over the keyboard. His lips moved, whispering the letters over and over, repeating the configuration. Arthur stayed quiet and out of the way, until the walls gave a shudder. He closed his eyes. Now all we have to do is get out.
***
Arthur woke up. It wasn't with a jarring gasp after a horrible death that he was used to, but it left him shaken. He blinked at the unfamiliar surroundings and jumped when he noticed Roth and his two goons stirring; the other two were slumped in a corner, unconscious. Arthur tried to move, wary that there might be more threats waiting, and found Bone leaning against his knees.
"Hold on," said Eames, close to his ear. Strong hands touched his arm and pulled the IV out. "Are you all right? Steady, there."
Arthur wavered in his seat, and when he could get a good grip on Eames's arm he used it to help pull himself upright. "Thanks." He stared down at Bone as he packed up the PASIV. He sighed, but he couldn't bring himself to be angry. "You got what you wanted?"
Bone snapped the case shut. "Yeah."
"I'm sorry," Eames said, giving Arthur's elbow a gentle squeeze. "I tried to tell him no."
Arthur shook his head. "No, it's all right. I understand."
Across from them, Roth twisted and groaned. When he pulled on his arms and found them bound to the armrest with his necktie he swore and immediately began to fight, but blanched at the sight of Bone pushing to his feet. "Fuck...you?"
"Told you you couldn't get away from me," Bone grumbled. He shoved the PASIV case into his duffel and slung it over his back. "Let's go."
Before he could take a step, the lights went out. The condo was plunged into darkness except for the neon signs gleaming through the far windows, which was only enough for Arthur to make out the barest outlines. His hand tightened reflexively on Eames's arm. He turned on Roth for an explanation but was halted again when a clanging bell screamed to life over their heads. Olivia and her friends screamed as the fire alarm filled the condo and left their ears ringing.
"What is this?" Arthur grabbed the front of Roth's shirt. "You set the goddamn building on fire?"
"I'm not an idiot," he spat. "But the alarm makes for a decent escape."
"Let's go," Bone said again. He started across the room with Wallace close behind. "With the alarm there might be cops soon."
Arthur started to follow, but when he heard Olivia whimper he changed course. "Hold on--we have to get these people out."
"We don't have time," Bone protested.
"Then go ahead! I'll catch up."
Arthur pulled the sack off Olivia's head. Tears had made a mess of her makeup and she immediately spat at him. "What the fuck is going on? Who the fuck tied me up?"
"Hold on, I'm getting you out." Arthur unmasked the rest of her guests, and when he bent down to untie Olivia's legs found Eames doing the same for the man next to her. He smiled around a wince. "Thank you."
"Hurry up, yeah?" Eames moved down the line.
Arthur turned to aid the women as well, but found Bone and Wallace were already there, helping them off the sofa. Relieved, he untied Olivia's wrists. "The elevators won't be working because of the alarm," he told her. "We'll take the stairs down."
"Where's the PASIV?" she croaked. "My mom's gonna fucking kill me."
"It's safe, don't worry." He helped her up and nudged her in the direction of the door. "Hurry, just go."
"That PASIV is mine!" Roth screamed as Olivia and her guests made a run for it. "Don't you dare take it! Someone fucking shoot them!"
Arthur ran for the exit, his peers close behind. He could hear Roth's chair scraping the floor as he rocked and struggled, and knew their impromptu restraints wouldn't hold him long. With the alarm everyone will be evacuating. All we have to do is run out with everyone else, and disappear. Job complete.
Gunshots barked across the room, drowned out far more effectively by the wailing fire alarm than the silencer. Arthur almost wasn't even sure at first if he hadn't imagined it, until he heard the clink of shell casings to the hardwood. He dove for the open doorway, and as he skidded into the closed elevator door he felt a body crash into him from behind. The hot chest against his back sent his heart into his throat and he whirled. "Eames?" He reeled, pulling Eames out of range of the entranceway. "Shit, are you--"
"I'm fine--I'm not hit." Eames pushed the door to the stairwell open. "Watch out for the body."
Arthur ducked through. He could hear Olivia's telltale cursing, already a floor below amidst the sirens and flashing red emergency lights. Wallace came through after him, and he helped her past the corpse of a security guard. "Go," he told her, "but I'm getting a full story out of you later, I swear to God."
"Thanks for your help," Wallace chirped, and with a shaky smile she rushed down the stairs.
Eames and Bone came through, and dragged the corpse over in an attempt to block the door. "Fucking goons woke up," Bone grumbled as he started down the stairs ahead of them. "They'll be after us in--"
Bone jerked. He didn't make a sound, and then he was falling back into Arthur's knees. As they tumbled to the ground Arthur looked past, and saw a man running up the stairs toward them. His gun was out and his finger was on the trigger. "Don't move!" the man snapped. "Where's Mr. Roth?"
Eames hopped over his two partners, and even when the gun fired he didn't stop, punching their attacker in the jaw. The man tripped over the stairs and fell, landing on his head with a horrible crack on the landing below. Arthur watched, his breath held, until he was sure he wasn't moving before drawing his attention to warm fluid seeping into his pant leg.
"Bone?" He wriggled out from under him as carefully as he could, and supported him as he looked him over. Blood was pouring down his chest, black in the red lighting, and Arthur let it stain his hands as he followed it back to the source: a ragged bullet wound that had torn a hunk of flesh out of Bone's collar. "Shit," he hissed, patting himself down, but he didn't have so much as a handkerchief to cover it with. "Shit, Eames."
Eames rejoined them and leaned over Bone. When he probed the wound bluntly with his fingers Bone jerked and shoved at him. "Fuck!" Bone slapped his hand over his collar and groaned. "That fucker... Is the PASIV all right?"
Eames snorted. "He'll be fine," he said to Arthur. "Help me get this off him."
As they wrestled the duffle off Bone the twelfth floor door began to rattle, and when it opened a crack Roth's angry shouting filtered through. Eames yanked the duffle onto his own back and then tried to pull Bone upright, but he had trouble getting his legs beneath him.
"I fucking hate getting shot," Bone whined as it took Eames and Arthur together to get him on his feet. His eyes were wide, and his skin was already clammy to the touch.
Arthur gulped. The blood was sick and sticky on his fingers, and the lights and siren were making his head pound. "Come on," he said, grabbing Bone's belt as he helped him down the stairs. "Don't be a baby--the hero never dies from a shot to the shoulder, remember?"
Bone groaned. "I'm not your fucking hero."
The door continued to bang above, and below, Arthur could hear shrieks and angry shouts. Everything was too loud and maddening but he had the presence of mind to remember, Roth was talking to someone on the phone. There are more of them below, probably in the basement, since they cut the power. They'll be on their way up.
"Take him," Arthur said, pushing Bone against Eames. "I can't hold him and someone has to take point."
Eames pulled Bone's arm over his shoulders and ignored his pained groan. "What are you going to do?"
"Just keep up." He crouched down next to the thug Eames had dispatched and stole his gun. This isn't a dream, he reminded himself as he led the way down the stairs. I can't just kill everyone--or anyone. He took a deep breath and slicked his hair back with his sweat. But I can still do this. I can do anything.
They had only gone down two floors when they ran into another gun-toting goon. He caught Arthur by surprise and fired almost immediately--Arthur could have sworn he felt the breath of the bullet against his neck. The man was fast but Arthur made himself faster, smashing the heel of his hand into the bridge of his nose. As he fell back Arthur pursued and wielded the heel of his gun into his temple, knocking him to the floor.
A hammer clicked back. Even in the screaming stairwell Arthur heard it, and he turned to see a man on the ninth floor landing. He was raising his arm, and without thinking Arthur pounced. He sailed down the flight of stairs and crashed into the man's chest, flinging them both into the wall with a bone-jarring impact. His joints ached but it didn't stop him from kneeing the man unconscious.
"Jesus." Eames stumbled after him with Bone still clutched to his side. "You do know we're awake this time, don't you?"
Arthur pulled himself upright. "It doesn't matter," he said, and realized with a kind of out-of-body clarity that it was the truth. Dream, reality, it's all the same. I can do this. His heart fluttered and he took in a deep breath as if trying to savor the sensation. I want this.
A gunshot smashed into the concrete wall behind them, and Arthur pushed his partners ahead of him. "Keep going," he said. "I'm right behind you." He twisted his stolen gun around the corner and fired at too high of an angle to hit anything but ceiling, but he heard men shout and scatter. He stopped, waited for Roth and his thugs to collect themselves, then did it again, emptying the magazine in his attempt to buy time. When he pulled the trigger and got only a click he abandoned the weapon and charged to the next floor.
"They're going to catch up with us at this rate," Arthur said. He reached into Bone's jacket and pulled out the familiar Glock 17. "Keep going, and I'll cover you."
Eames turned back. "No--we go together. Or take him, and I'll stay."
"I can't carry him," Arthur insisted. "Just go, before they catch us all!"
"I don't need to be carried," said Bone, but when he tried to step away from Eames's side his knees wobbled. He was still bleeding heavily and Arthur glared Eames down, willing him to understand. Like hell I'm letting you stay behind.
Eames ground his teeth, but the shouting from behind them spurred him on. "We'll meet you downstairs," he said, as if it were an order. His face was hard as he yanked Bone down the next flight.
Arthur opened the door to the eighth floor and ducked inside, leaving it open just enough that he could see the upward stairs. You can do this, he told himself, making each breath a slow, deliberate deliver of oxygen. The siren faded to white noise at the back of his mind; the soreness seeped out of his limbs and shoulders and back; his hands tightened around the gun, firm and still. Focus. All you have to do is be faster than them. You can do that much. He took another deep breath in, closed his eyes, let it out. Be as good as Eames thinks you are.
A man stepped onto the landing. Arthur's eyes flicked open but he waited, his shoulder to the door, until the steps passed by him. Do it, he thought, digging his boots into the carpet. Do it!
Arthur threw his weight into the door. It swung open with all the force he could muster, smashing the man in the back and sending him tumbling down the next flight. Another almost crashed right into him and he swung his arm, elbowing him in the throat. It was a good hit--he felt muscle spasm beneath his triceps--and he continued the rotation, throwing out his foot into another man's stomach. He didn't know how he did it, only that there were men in front of him, and Eames behind, and a gun clutched in his hand he didn't dare use.
Roth leveled his weapon. Arthur knew that he would, and he used the handle on the open door as leverage to propel him back into the eighth floor hallway. Bullets ricocheted off the open fire door and he heard a scream, but it didn't stop him. He twisted and fired into the ceiling, just twice, giving himself time to dive into the nearest open condo.
"You fucking junkies make me sick!" Arthur called, pressing his back to the wall just beside the open doorway. He glanced around but the condo was empty, having been swiftly evacuated. Follow me--don't follow them. Follow me. "You're worse than that asshole Boner. At least he knows how to perform a proper extraction."
Roth stormed into the hallway; Arthur could hear the uneven tread of his limp. "You're in way over your head, kid. Give me the PASIV and we'll make a deal! You're not really ready to die for that hunk of crap, are you?"
No, not for that. Arthur's breath came faster despite his attempts to calm it. For him? A self-deprecating smile twisted his lips. God, I'm so hopeless.
Bullets howled through the open doorway, and Arthur jumped, scurrying deeper into the condo. It occurred to him too late that he had given himself away to a bluff. As the men charged after him he ducked into the kitchen and dove behind its tiled island. More gunshots cracked tile and splintered the IKEA cabinetry, and with a thrill of fright Arthur knew he was pinned down.
"Just toss it out," Roth taunted. "It's not worth it, you little puke."
"Sure it is," Arthur whispered. He pressed his back into the wood behind him and felt it shift. It's on wheels, he thought, and when he heard Roth limp onto the tile he braced his heels to the cabinets and pushed as hard as he could. The island swerved, and even before he was sure that it would hit Arthur scrambled to his feet. He jumped, sliding across the island on his hip, and his momentum carried him straight into one of Roth's remaining thugs. As they tumbled to the ground he swung his arm, pistol-whipping the man across the face. Blood poured from his nose and he cried out, rolling over.
Fingers closed around his neck from behind. Arthur started to fight but then simply aimed the Glock over his shoulder, and was swiftly released. As soon as he was free he twisted onto his back and kicked his attacker soundly in his left kneecap. Something snapped, and the man collapsed next to his peer. Another kick to his face left him unconscious.
"Son of a--" Roth, partially doubled over the corner of the island, raised his pistol. They were too far apart for Arthur to retaliate and there was nowhere for him to take cover. He swung his gun forward. His finger was tense around the trigger, and for the briefest of moments he thought of all the projections he had killed, their heads popping open in a spray of gore. He aimed, and he pulled.
Roth fired, but he was already hit; his ankle shredded beneath lead and he dropped, throwing his aim off enough that the bullet buried into the carpet three feet from its target of Arthur's head. On his hands and knees he tried to fire again but Arthur jumped on him and twisted his arm around his throat.
"You fuck," Roth growled. He tried to roll but Arthur jammed his knee into the floor and pulled on his wrist with his other hand, pinning them. "That was...my good foot!"
Arthur licked the taste of blood off his lips. "I'm not nice," he agreed.
"Arthur!" Eames rushed into the condo, and by the time he located Arthur and Roth outside the kitchen the latter was already sagging into unconsciousness. He stood back, looking over the two downed men and their boss with wide, blinking eyes. "Are you all right?"
Arthur craned his neck to see him. "What are you doing back here?" He felt Roth go limp beneath his arm and released him. At first Roth felt too still, but when Arthur gave his shoulder a shake, he took in a choking breath. He wheezed weakly against the carpet.
Eames came forward and offered a hand in pulling Arthur upright. "I couldn't leave you to take the five of them yourself," he said, but then he looked over Arthur's work again, and his eyebrow quirked. "I guess I underestimated you."
"Yeah." Arthur shoved the Glock in the back of his pants. "So did I."
They raced together down another two flights, to where Bone was slumped against the wall, his palm shoved into his open wound. He was pale even in the off lighting and when Arthur touched his arm, he felt him shiver. "He's losing a lot of blood," Arthur said as he helped Eames haul him to his feet again. "You shouldn't have stopped."
"I told him to," Bone grumbled. He pulled something out of his pants pocket and shoved it directly into Arthur's. "Soldiers don't leave men behind."
"I would have gone back anyway," Eames retorted, so defensively that Arthur smiled.
They stumbled down the last floors, and were greeted in the lobby by police with weapons drawn. By then Bone was more red than otherwise and they had little trouble convincing the officers that they were victims instead of threats. A path cleared for them, and by the time they were at the entrance paramedics were rushing forward. As Bone collapsed onto a stretcher Arthur moved close to Eames's side, their shoulders rubbing. "He'll be all right," he said.
Eames nodded. "Yeah, he's fine."
A pair of cops stopped in front of them. "We need you to tell us what's happening up there," said one.
"Some asshole was trying to rob Ms. Platt," Arthur replied. "We found that guy in the stairwell when we tried to make a run for it."
The officer eyed Eames's duffle. "Then what's that?"
Arthur and Eames exchanged a look. Eames's eyebrows rose, asking, and Arthur sighed. "Fuck it," he agreed.
Eames punched the officer full in the face, and at the same time Arthur flung the other aside. Together they charged into the street, where the city's elite were crowding up and down the sidewalk like miserable, rain-drenched cattle. Arthur weaved through them as easily as if they were his own projections. With Eames at his side he ran, letting the rain wash the blood from his hands and cool his pulse as it raged close to his surface. He was escaping and he was free, and when he cast a brief glance at the sky he saw a glint of the moon peeking through the clouds. It was round and huge, and he laughed at it, pushing himself faster, until his limbs ached and his time ran out.
***
Arthur awoke shivering. The sounds of the city were all around him, blaring and keening, and dewdrops splashed off his eyelashes when he went to open them. He was met with his own haggard reflection in the dusty Plexiglas of a bus stop enclosure. He closed his eyes again. His entire body was throbbing as if on fire, and all he wanted was to bury himself deeper into the body that was his pillow. So he did.
A warm nose nudged the top of his head. "You awake?"
Arthur groaned a negative, but slowly it came back to him, and he had little choice but to open his eyes again. He was sitting on a bus stop bench, drying but still mostly damp, huddled against a strong and welcoming shoulder: Eames. He let his breath out slowly as if it were an experiment. "Where are we?"
"I'm not exactly sure," Eames admitted. His voice was a rough, warm rumble stirring Arthur's hair. "Far away from where we were, at least."
Arthur rubbed his eyes and looked around, though he tried to do it by moving as little as possible. "Oh. I know where we are." My place is three blocks down. Damn, we came a long way.
They fell quiet. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a shredded and weary cloud canopy through which the first light of dawn was spilling. Everything was soft and yellow and gray, and Arthur sighed. He watched the shadows redefine themselves on the sidewalks, content not to think about what had happened, or where Bone and Roth were, or if the police were still chasing them. He was too exhausted to move and it was the most peaceful he had felt in days.
"Are you all right?" Eames asked.
Arthur gave the question much longer consideration than was needed. "Yeah," he said. "I am." With a deep breath he straightened and rubbed the crick out of his neck. "Are you?"
Eames rotated his shoulders. "I'm perfect."
Arthur glanced down at the duffle between Eames's feet. "All that, for this," he murmured.
Eames was quiet a moment as if debating. "Not worth it?" he asked.
"I don't know." Arthur snorted quietly with good humor. "I don't get to keep it."
Again Eames hesitated. "Well. You could."
Arthur frowned intensely down at the bag and thought of the sleek silver PASIV inside. A pulse went through him, fluttering and eager, and a future blossomed inside his mind. He pictured himself floating around the globe, darting into one city and then the next as easily as he had moved from one of Roth's thugs to the other. He could feel Eames at his back and by his side and between his thighs. It was so tempting that he ached, but when he looked to Eames and saw the look of reckless hope restrained in his eyes, he shook his head.
"No," Arthur said. "Thanks, but I don't think your little team is ready for me."
Eames snorted, and then laughed. "You might be right," he said. "You really might be." With a groan he pushed to his feet.
Arthur straightened. "Where are you going?"
"I've got to figure out which hospital they took Benny to, and then spring him," Eames said, hoisting the duffle onto his back. "He has a record, so it shouldn't take too long for the cops to figure out who he is. I figure we'll head south before trying to leave the country."
"Do you need my help?" He started to get up. "I could--"
"No, no. You've done your part." Eames smirked. "And then some. There's a chemist back in Kenya that'll pay out his arse for that formula you got us."
Arthur sagged into the bench and tried hard not to look as deflated as he felt. "Will you tell Benjamin something for me? Tell him...thanks." He rubbed his nose. "For everything. I mean it."
He nodded as if having understood some deeper meaning behind the words. "Sure."
They both fell silent, and Arthur remained very still even though he felt as if he were squirming in his skin. "So," he said. "I guess that's it, then."
Eames started to answer, but then shook his head. Without another word he stepped in front of Arthur and leaned down to brace his hand on the back of the bench. Arthur only had to tip forward to meet him for a kiss. Eames's lips were hot against his, his tongue gently seeking, as if he were trying to convey a message. Rather than attempt to interpret Arthur slid his hands to Eames's jaw and held him close as he delivered his own.
When we meet again, everything you think I am will be true, he thought. After the kiss ended he kept Eames close a moment longer and tasted a sigh against his lips. I'll be ready for you.
Eames kissed him again and then finally pulled back. "I'll stay in touch," he said, and Arthur believed him. "But next time, I want to meet your team."
"Deal." Arthur smiled. "But only if you introduce me to your projections."
Eames chuckled. "We'll see," he said, but by the time he turned to go his grin had softened. "Take care of yourself, Arthur."
"You, too."
Eames moved to the curb; Arthur watched until he managed to wave down a taxi and speed off down the street. Once he was out of sight Arthur sank deeper into the bench and closed his eyes. Despite the weight of fatigue his body felt alive and new to him, and he sighed, getting used to it. He could still taste Eames against his mouth.
He'll never know what all this meant to me, Arthur thought, licking his lips. And he liked it that way.
Someone sat down on the bench next to him. At first he was too tired to look, but then the stranger edged closer, until they were touching. It was a woman's narrow shoulder pressing into his, and he cocked one eye open. He sighed. "There you are."
"It took me a while to find you," said Wallace. She set a McDonald's coffee on his knee. "Thirsty?"
Arthur made a face, but he knew he would need the caffeine if he was going to make it back to his apartment. The first sip burned his tongue but he drank it down anyway. "I hope you're here to apologize for using me," he said.
Wallace smiled sheepishly, and to his surprise immediately offered, "I'm sorry. When I found out that you were after the PASIV I wanted to tell you, but until I knew who you were working for I couldn't risk it."
"Tell me what?"
"That I was hired to get to it, too." She took a sip of her coffee and turned toward him. "When Abida's team hit the general's mansion they also hacked out the formula. We go way back so he sold me some of the Somnacin they lifted, but of course when I tried to sell it myself an extractor found me. She said if I was able to get into this party and destroy the formula she'd let me join her team."
"Her team?" Arthur scoffed. "You? An extractor?"
Wallace's face grew hard, and there was something familiar in her determination. "I'm getting out," she said firmly. "I'm sick of pushing coke and smack on your yuppie friends. This is my chance to do something--be something--and I thought..." Her eyes crinkled at the edges. "...maybe you'd like that chance, too."
Arthur's heart skipped. "By that do you mean you're going to lure me to this friend of yours so she can hack the formula from my brain herself?" he asked warily.
Wallace waved her hand dismissively. "She already has it," she said. "And a PASIV--a real one, top of the line." She leaned forward. "And we could use you. Please say you'll consider it."
Arthur shifted, and remembered suddenly the bulge in his pocket. He slipped his hand inside and felt out the shape of a motel room key. Can't be an extractor with just that, he thought, picturing Bone's denim sack waiting for him under the bed. He glanced down the street in the direction Eames's taxi had gone. Can't be an extractor by myself. His chest swelled and he took a deep breath. I need this.
"I'll consider it," he said. He took another long gulp of the coffee and pushed to his feet. "But I'm too tired to think straight right now. Give me some time."
Wallace smiled up at him; she had seen through to his answer already. "All right. Oh!" She reached into her pocket and pulled out his cell phone. "You dropped this at Olivia's."
Arthur accepted the phone and checked it for damage before slipping it into his pocket. "Thanks. I'll text you later when I decide, all right?"
"Sure. Thanks for your help tonight, Arthur."
She went back to her coffee, and Arthur left, limping only a little as he headed down the three blocks toward his apartment. He was sore and soaked and exhausted, but when he thought of the bottle hiding in his nightstand, he smiled, remembering the stretch of golden beach that awaited him.
Thank you for reading!
To Master Post