fic: trouble is a friend (fringe/inception; peter/eames, arthur/ariadne; 1/2 )
Title: Trouble is a Friend
Author: empressearwig
Pairing/Fandom: Peter/Eames, Arthur/Ariadne; Fringe/Inception
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~11,800
Spoilers/Warnings: Season one of Fringe/Post-movie
Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is all for fun. This hasn't happened and will never happen. Etc.
Summary: Eames helps Peter solve crime. Really.
Author's Notes: I want it on record that this was not my idea. Thanks to normative_jean and irishmizzy for the help. Without them, this wouldn't have been finished. I leave it to you to decide if that would have been a good thing.
In the end, Peter doesn't need to find Eames; Eames finds him. When Peter finally drags Walter back to the hotel that night, there's a message waiting for him at the desk. Peter waits until he gets Walter fed and watered and drugged with his latest pharmaceuticals of choice before he reads it. The note is scrawled in messy handwriting, but is short and to the point.
I'm in town, it reads. We should talk.
Of course there's no contact information. Not an address, not a phone number, not even a name of a hotel. Peter can't say he's surprised, even if he wishes that Eames would have made things easy for him just this once. That would have been too simple.
Nothing with Eames is ever simple. Peter's surprised to find that he's actually kind of missed that about him.
***
When Peter gets back from his trip to buy Walter more licorice and a bag of banana Laffy Taffy, Eames is waiting for him at the lab. Only he's not alone like Peter expected him to be, he's brought company. Arthur, Peter recognizes instantly, but there's a woman with them, one that looks like she belongs out on the Yard with the rest of the co-eds.
Eames has his back is to the door and he's flirting shamelessly with Astrid and Peter can see her valiant efforts to not roll her eyes. He drops the paper bag full of sugar down on a lab table with a thunk. "Eames," he says. "Stop harassing her. She carries a gun, you know."
"Peter," Eames says, turning around in his chair with a wide smile on his face. "I've missed you."
"Right," Peter drawls. He looks over Eames' shoulder at Astrid. "Everything okay?" She gives him an "are you stupid" look and he holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Right. My mistake."
She nods towards the bag. "Is that for..."
"Yep. A one way trip to big rock candy mountain, just for Walter." He looks around the lab, noting his father's absence . "Where is he anyway?"
Astrid crosses the room to scoop up the bag. "Restroom. He'll be back in a minute." She glances back over her shoulder and lowers her voice. "You might want to take your friends somewhere else?" She says it like it's a question, but it's anything but.
Peter nods. She is, as always, the voice of reason. "Thanks, Astrid."
She shrugs, a faint smile on her face. "It's what they pay me for."
Peter laughs and touches her arm. They pay her far too little for so much more than that and they both know it. "Eames," he calls out. "Let's take a walk." He eyes Arthur and the still unnamed stranger with a mixture of wariness and naked curiosity. "Bring your friends."
"You only had to ask," Eames says, sounding offended. He stands, all loose-limbed grace, and brushes invisible dust off of his terrible tweed jacket. "After you, darling."
Somehow Peter manages not to roll his eyes.
***
He takes them to a seedy bar on the outskirts of campus, one where even the most die hard student drinkers won't be at this hour. The bartender barely nods to them when they walk in and Peter leads them to the pool table in the back. He's fairly certain he's not going to like whatever it is that Eames has to say and he thinks better when his hands are busy.
Walter has his ways of coping with the chaos that is his brain, Peter has his.
"So," he says, picking up a pool cue off the table. "Are you going to introduce me?"
"Ariadne," the woman says, not waiting for either of her companions. She holds out her hand. "I've heard a lot about you."
Peter raises an eyebrow at Eames, as he shakes Ariadne's hand. "Still talking about me, hm? I feel like I should be flattered."
"Actually," Ariadne says, with an impish look at Arthur. "It wasn't from him."
"Now I'm really flattered," Peter says, trying to hold the smile back. "Arthur, I didn't know you cared."
Ariadne nods. "You should be. He doesn't brag about anyone --"
"I think that's enough of that," Arthur interjects smoothly, pressing a warning hand against the small of Ariadne's back. His hand lingers for just a second too long, just long enough for Peter to notice. It makes him wonder. "Peter, it's nice to see you again."
Peter nods. "Likewise."
"This is all terribly fascinating and ever so sweet," Eames interrupts, sounding bored. "But we did have business to discuss, didn't we? Arthur, I know how being off schedule distresses you."
When Peter turns to face Eames, he's shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves and is racking the balls. Peter raises an eyebrow at him again and Eames returns the look evenly.
"You did want to play, didn't you?" Eames asks, and Peter laughs. He offers Eames the cue, but Eames shakes his head. "You break."
Peter nods his agreement and takes up a position at the other end of the table. He leans over to shoot and says, "So someone explain to me just why you've all shown up on my doorstep, right after I find out about a spree of dream thefts." He shoots and the balls scatter, three of them rolling into pockets in quick succession. "Solids." He lines up his next shot.
"You don't think we have anything to do with them, do you?" Eames asks, making a tsk-ing sound. "Really, Peter, I thought you knew me better than that."
"I do," Peter says, sinking his next ball. "You're too good to be that sloppy. But that doesn't explain why you're here."
"It's our understanding that your circumstances have changed," Arthur says, cutting off whatever Eames was going to say next with a sharp look. "You're working with the FBI now."
It's not a question and Peter just nods. He takes his next shot and misses. He steps aside, passing the pool cue to Eames.
Eames leans over to shoot. "It's such a waste of your talents, you know."
"I wasn't really given a choice in the matter," Peter points out, in a wry voice. He gives Arthur an inquiring look. "I assume you know that, too."
Arthur shrugs, almost apologetically. "I am good at my job."
Ariadne gives Peter a sympathetic look. "Aren't they annoying? The background check Arthur did on me, well, first date conversation is a lot more difficult --"
"I'm sure Peter doesn't want to hear about that," Arthur says, stepping forward and squeezing her shoulder. Peter hides his smile. It's nice to know that he hasn't totally lost his instincts. "He wants to know what we're doing here."
"Yes. I do."
"Are you sure?" Eames asks, with a conspiratorial wink at Ariadne. Peter gets them impression this has come up before. "I assure you, the trials and tribulations of their relationship aren't nearly as boring as you'd expect, given Arthur's involvement."
"I'm sure," Peter says, giving in to the urge and rolling his eyes at Eames. "Arthur?"
"We'd like to offer our services," he says simply.
Peter blinks. "Excuse me?" He couldn't possibly have heard that right. There's absolutely no way that he heard Arthur right.
"What part of it didn't you understand?" Eames asks, a smug smile on his face, his enjoyment of Peter's discomfort obvious. "I thought Arthur was rather clear for once."
"Eames," Arthur warns.
Peter points at Eames. "You. Be quiet."
Eames holds up his hands and does his best to look innocent. It's not in the least bit convincing.
Peter turns his attention back to Arthur. If he's going to get answers out of anyone, it's going to be Arthur. "Explain." It's not a request.
"Of course," Arthur says. "It's come to our attention that there have been a rash of dream thefts in the past few weeks. We believe we know who is responsible and we'd like to help you stop them."
"Why?"
Something in Arthur's jaw tightens. "You might call it a professional disagreement."
Peter stares. He can't help it. "You're telling me that you're offering to help catch a ring of thieves because you don't like the people doing the stealing?" he asks finally, unable to mask the incredulity in his voice. He rubs at his temples, trying to will away the headache that he can feel building behind his right eye. Somehow, he'd thought Walter was the only one that could have this kind of effect on him. He doesn't know how he managed to forget about Eames.
"In a manner of speaking," Arthur hedges.
Eames rounds the table and pats Peter on the back. "There, there. Help is help, isn't it?"
"I really don't think my FBI contact is going to see it that way." Peter looks back and forth between the three of them. This is not at all what he expected, at least not from Arthur. Peter expects insanity from Eames, but not from Arthur. And he's still not completely certain what Ariadne's role in all of this is, though he has his suspicions. "You do all realize that what you do is illegal," he says slowly, so there's no room for misunderstandings. "And that you're offering your help to a law enforcement agency and what, hoping that they'll just look the other way? You don't think they'll be curious as to how you got so well versed in just what's going on?"
None of their expressions change. Eames still looks amused, Ariadne, curious, and Arthur, well Arthur looks inflabbable. As always. Peter sighs. That headache isn't going to go away, he can tell.
"There are legitimate uses of dream sharing technology," Arthur points out.
"And when's the last time any of you did any dream sharing for reasons that were anywhere even close to legitimate?"
Arthur shrugs, unoffended by the truth.
"Your lack of faith in us hurts, Peter," Eames drawls.
Peter glares. Eames laughs.
"Excuse me," Ariadne says. Peter turns toward her a sense of dread growing in the pit of his stomach. She smiles. "I think I can help with that."
***
Ariadne, Peter learns, is a graduate student in Paris, where in addition to her architecture studies, she's also involved in dream sharing research. That she's worked with Eames and Arthur as an architect goes unsaid, but Peter's always been able to figure things out on his own. It's a lot of hats for someone so small to wear, Peter thinks fleetingly, at hearing all this, but he can feel Olivia and Astrid kicking his ass before he's even finished the thought and he shakes his head to clear it away.
They're sitting at a rickety table at the back of the bar, a pitcher of beer leaking condensation onto the battered wood, a glass in front of each of them. Peter takes a drink from his, trying to think. He can feel Eames' eyes on him from the next chair, where he's sprawled out like he doesn't have a care in the world. It makes Peter want to kick the legs of the chair out from under him. He resists the impulse.
"So," Peter says finally, "you'd like me to present you to Olivia --"
"Olivia, is it?" Eames interupts, and Peter keeps talking like he hadn't said anything at all.
"-- as an expert in the field who just happens to be in town? She won't buy that, but she'll probably let it go if it turns out you can actually help." He hooks his thumb over his shoulder at Eames and then across the table at Arthur. "How do I explain these two?"
"I can't just be your friend?" Eames asks. "I'm hurt, Peter. Deeply hurt."
"No," Peter says shortly. He looks across the table at Arthur. "I'm sure you have something in mind."
"Well," Ariadne says, cheeks turning the slightest bit pink. "I don't really think we need an explanation for Arthur, do we? Especially since I'm also here for a wedding, and well --" She shrugs, letting the gesture finish the sentence for her.
Peter takes pity on her. "That could work. It still leaves me without an explanation for Eames."
"I am sitting right here," Eames points out. "You really don't need to talk about me like I'm not in the room."
"Did you have something useful to contribute?" Peter asks, finally looking at him. Eames actually looks the slightest bit put out. Peter tries for a more gentle tone. "Eames, I'm just guessing here, but you probably have more to lose than anyone if the FBI decides to start digging."
Eames frowns. "Now I'm insulted. And possibly flattered. Are you worried about me, Peter?"
"No," Peter denies, but it's feeble at best and they both know it.
The frown slowly turns into a smile and Peter wants to groan. Encouraging Eames was not in his plans. It seems to have happened anyway.
"If you're both done," Arthur interjects. "We could get back to --"
"Right," Peter says, holding up a hand in apology. "Sorry."
The faintest hint of a smile crosses Arthur's face. "It's fine."
"You two aren't even half as bad as they are," Ariadne adds, not able to keep the laughter out of her voice. Peter turns his gaze to her, and she grins at him, open mirth in her eyes. He can feel the corners of his mouth turn up in return. From everything Peter's seen, she and Arthur make no sense at all. And yet Peter hasn't missed the way that Arthur rests his arm on the back of her chair, the way that Ariadne smiles at him when she thinks that no one's looking, the way that Arthur smiles back. Peter wonders what Eames thinks of it; if he feels left out of something he was once a part of.
Peter wonders when he turned into a twelve year old girl. If this is the effect that Eames has on him, Peter needs him gone immediately. People don't do this to him. Eames shouldn't do this to him.
Arthur's speaking again and Peter makes himself tune back into what he's saying. He only catches the tail end of it. "--be best if we kept it simple."
"Kept what simple?" Peter asks suspiciously. He should have been listening.
"Why I'm here," Eames says. He smirks and Peter's suspicions grow.
Arthur spreads his hands out in front of him. "It really would be easiest to explain that Eames is just here visiting you, Peter. As for why he knows so much about this," Arthur looks across the table at Eames and he nods, just once, and Arthur continues, "well, he was in the military." He waits a beat. "We both were. We do have legitimate reasons for knowing about dream sharing."
"Wait," Peter says, swiveling his head to look at Eames. "You were in the military?"
Eames shrugs, smirk still firmly in place. "We all have our little secrets."
"Is that where you two..." Peter asks, looking back and forth between Eames and Arthur.
"Arthur doesn't like to talk about that," Eames supplies, with a wink across the table.
"I really don't," Arthur agrees, pushing his chair back from the table and standing. "So do we have an arrangement?"
Peter sighs. It's not worth it to argue. It's as good a cover as any. It might even be true. "Yes."
Eames smiles. Peter feels certain that he's going to regret this.
***
They split up after that: Peter goes back to the lab, Ariadne goes to meet her colleague at the Harvard Neurological Center, and Peter doesn't bother to ask where Eames and Arthur are going. He doesn't really want to know. Ariadne gives him her cell phone number and Peter promises to call once he's had a chance to talk to Olivia.
It's not a conversation he's looking forward to.
He finds Astrid and Walter bent over a lab table, transferring a bright blue liquid from one set of flasks to another. He waits until they finished to announce his presence. He's seen what an unexpected interruption can do; he's still paying Astrid's dry cleaning bill a month later.
"Hey," Peter says, and two goggle covered heads swivel towards him. "What are you doing?"
"Peter!" Walter exclaims, pushing the goggles up to his forehead. "Come, you must try this!"
"What is 'this'?" Peter asks, taking a cautious step closer. It's not that he doesn't trust Walter -- actually, it is that he doesn't trust Walter, but he trusts Astrid not to let him do anything too stupid -- but even Walter's seemingly tame experiments can still go horribly wrong.
"Walter wanted a Mr. Misty," Astrid says, pulling her own goggles off and tossing them onto the table.
Peter frowns. "A what?"
"A Mr. Misty," she repeats patiently. "Only they don't call them that anymore and he swears that they taste different now, so he's trying to recreate the syrup." She gives the flasks a disgusted look. "This is the third batch."
Peter bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Something tells him that this is not the time.
"I think it's ready for a test," Walter says, looking back at the bright blue liquid. "Agent --"
She holds up a hand. "I'm not trying it this time. Ask Peter."
Walter gives him a hopeful smile and something in Peter's chest clenches just a little. Walter doesn't ask, and that makes it worse somehow.
"I'd better not end up needing my stomach pumped," is what Peter says, and Walter's smile brightens immeasurably.
It makes Peter feel just a little bit like shit.
Astrid pours him a glass of the mystery juice and passes it his way, patting him on the arm and giving him an supportive smile. He tips the glass to her in salute before he downs it in one gulp. The shudder that wracks through him is instantaneous and uncontrollable. "Walter, what was that?" he asks, trying to resist the urge to brush his tongue off. It feels like -- well, it feels wrong. Very, very wrong.
Walter's face falls. "It still must not be right," he says, turning his attention back to the flasks. "Maybe if I tried --"
Peter tunes him out and looks at Astrid. She passes him a bottle of water and he untwists the cap, taking a long, grateful drink. He wipes his mouth off with his sleeve.
"See?" she asks.
Peter nods. He takes another drink. "I don't know how you do it."
"A very strong stomach." She grins at him and Peter laughs. "Did you come back for something? I wasn't sure I'd see you again today, what with your visitors and all."
"About that," he says, trying for disinterest. He thinks he pulls it off. "Has Agent Dunham been by today?"
Astrid frowns. "Olivia? No, she hasn't been in." She gestures towards the phone. "Do you need me to --"
Peter waves her off. "No, no. I'll take care of it myself. It's not that important."
"If you're sure," Astrid says. She nods her head towards Walter. "I should get back to him then."
"Thanks, Astrid," he says. "Really. For everything."
"It's what I'm here for."
She turns back to help Walter with his project, and Peter heads for the door. No sense in putting it off any longer. Besides, Olivia needs him. He doesn't think she'll actually hurt him for what he's about to suggest. Much, anyway. She wouldn't hurt him much.
That's all he's letting himself hope for.
***
Peter finds Olivia in her office, one of the rare times when he's had to come to her instead of the other way around. Her back is to the door, and she's got the telephone pressed up against one ear as she hunches over something on her desk. He knocks, twice, against the open door and she swivels around in her chair to face him.
She waves him in and goes back to her phone call, so he takes the opportunity to drop into one of the chairs opposite the desk. He'd forgotten just how uncomfortable they are. Maybe there's a reason they always meet in the field or in the lab. He crosses his arms over his chest and waits.
"Get back to me when you have something," she says finally, hanging up the phone. She turns to face him and gives him a half smile, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Peter," she says. "Did Walter remember something that might help with the investigation?"
Peter shakes his head. "Actually," he says, watching her face carefully, "I might have remembered something that could help."
Olivia raises an eyebrow. "Go on."
"Well, see, it's like this," he says, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the desk. "I've got this friend and --"
"Do I really want to know the details about this friend?" she interrupts, and one corner of Peter's mouth turns up into a half smile. This is why he likes Olivia.
"No."
"Then keep the details to a minimum, " she sighs, shaking her head. "Do you have any friends that just work in offices? Have normal jobs?"
"You mean like us?" Peter grins at her and is more than a little proud when Olivia lets out a short laugh. It's not the easiest thing in the world to do, making her laugh. But worth the effort.
"Point taken," she says wryly, and makes a hand gesture that Peter interrupts as hurry up, before I decide to make this difficult, so he does just that.
"Anyway," he says. "I have this friend, well, this group of friends, really, that might, hypothetically, know how it would be possible to break into people's dreams."
"You mean by inducing a dream state with Somnacin and constructing a shared dreamspace?" Olivia asks, and Peter's not able to keep the surprise off his face. Olivia smiles, just a little. "I've done some research since yesterday."
"Clearly."
She narrows her eyes at him. "You knew more about this than you let on when I brought it up, didn't you?"
He opens his mouth to try to deny it, but changes his mind halfway through. There's no point in lying to Olivia when he doesn't have to. "Yes."
Olivia sighs and leans back in her chair. She looks disappointed, and it's the second time today that someone has made him feel like shit without saying a word. "Why didn't you say anything, Peter? I thought you trusted me more than that."
"I do," he insists, trying to make the words sound as sincere as they actually are. He does trust Olivia, as much as he trusts anyone these days. Maybe more. "I just -- there were other people involved."
"Your friends."
"Yes."
"Can they help find who's doing this?"
Peter nods. "Yes," he says again. They can.
"Well, okay then," Olivia says. "When do I meet these friends of yours?"
***
The meeting is set for the following morning. Ostensibly, it's to give Peter plenty of time to track down the necessary parties; it's actually because Peter wants to have a very long talk with Eames before this goes any further. Before anything happens that can't be undone.
He is worried about Eames, damn it. Not that he's willing to admit it to anyone else, not when he's barely willing to admit it to himself. It's probably another thing that they should talk about; Peter has no intention of bringing it up.
Peter heads back to the bar after placing two calls: one to Ariadne, to give her the details of the meeting; the other to Astrid, to make sure that she'll get Walter back safely. If Peter knows Eames -- and he likes to think that he does, as well as anyone can really know Eames, anyway -- Eames will be waiting there for him. It's what Eames does.
And sure enough, Eames is sitting at the bar, a half empty beer in front of him, chatting with the bartender and eating from the bowl of peanuts that Peter has never seen before. The fact that Eames has managed to charm the bartender does not surprise Peter. The fact that there's something twisting in his gut that feels perilously close to jealousy does.
He takes the seat at the bar next to Eames and nods to the bartender. "Hey, Jimmy." He twists his head to the side. "Eames."
"Peter," Eames says, a smile that's just a little bit wicked on his face. "I've been hearing all sorts of interesting stories about you."
Peter raises an eyebrow at Jimmy. "Really?"
Jimmy slides a beer in front of him and holds up his hands. "I don't know what happened. He should work for the CIA or something."
Peter can't stop himself from choking on his beer. Eames pounds him on the back, and Peter manages to bringing himself back under control. "I'm fine," he gasps out between coughs, shoving the hand that's still patting him on the back away. "Just went down wrong."
"You want water or something?" Jimmy asks, and Peter shakes his head. "Okay. Then I'm going to go get some stuff out of the store room. You change your mind, just let me know." He steps out from behind the bar and heads towards the back.
Eames watches him walk away and then turns back to Peter, a wide smile on his face. "Was it something he said?"
Peter points a finger at him and takes a testing sip of his drink. "Don't start."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Eames says, all innocence. If Peter didn't know him, it might be convincing. But he does and it isn't. Eames lets out a dramatic, heavy sigh. "Fine. Don't play, be a stick in the mud."
"A stick in the mud, really?" Peter asks, eyebrow raised.
"Insert whatever you'd like in it's place. You've gotten downright boring since you started working for the FBI, Peter." He eyes Peter speculatively. "Tell me, have you used any of your, let's say, more unusual talents, since you took up with law enforcement?"
Peter snorts. "Because that would be a good idea."
Eames shakes his head, a mournful expression on his face. "Like I said: stick in the mud."
"If you say so," Peter says, with a short laugh. He takes another drink and then turns serious. "So I need to know what exactly is going on." Eames opens his mouth to answer, but Peter holds up a hand. "I mean it. I can't keep Olivia out of areas you'd rather her not explore if I don't know what they are. Be straight with me."
"Have I mentioned how flattered I am by your concern for my safety?"
Peter gives him an unamused look.
Eames sighs. "You have to let me have my fun somewhere, Peter."
"I really don't. Talk."
"If you insist," Eames says, shooting a quick look at the back room. Still no sign of Jimmy. "A few months ago, not long after you worked with us, Arthur and Cobb worked a job that went very wrong. They were working with Nash -- you remember him, don't you? -- and he made a crucial error that led to them being caught by the mark and failing to get the information their employer wanted."
"And he's still alive?"
"Arthur didn't think so, not at first. But he -- or we, rather -- were rather distracted in the immediate aftermath, so he wasn't keeping as close of tabs as he might have been otherwise."
Peter raises an eyebrow at that. "Do I want to know?"
Eames gives him a half smile. "I think you'd enjoy the story, actually, but probably not, no. Your contact might frown upon it."
"Fair enough." Peter gestures for him to continue. "Go on."
"Afterward, once things started to calm back down, rumors began to surface of an underground ring of thieves; rather bad ones, at that. Arthur did some digging and found a trail that led him straight to our old friend, Nash." Eames spreads his hands out in front of him. "And here we are."
"And here you are," Peter repeats, studying Eames closely. He's almost positive that what Eames just told him was the truth. A condensed version of it, maybe, but the truth none the less. "Who's Ariadne?"
Eames smiles broadly at that question. "An architect, naturally. A rather brilliant one, too." He takes a sip of his own drink. "And Arthur's special friend, but I suspect you'd worked that out all on your own."
"Where's Cobb?"
"Retired." Eames quirks an eyebrow at him. "Are we playing twenty questions now?"
Peter shakes his head. "Just trying to get it all straight."
"Let me know if there's anything I can do to help with that," Eames says, and there's a suggestive undertone to the words that Peter doesn't want to think about.
Peter tries to refocus. "Is there anything else I need to know?"
Eames tilts his head to the side, considering. "No, I don't think so." He leans closer, just enough so that it feels like he's invaded Peter's space. Peter takes that as his cue to leave. "Now do I get to ask how you ended up working for the FBI?"
"No," Peter says, as he stands up and tosses money onto the bar. "And besides, you already know."
Eames nods in acknowledgment. "That's true. But I'd still like to hear the story from you."
"We can't always get what we want," Peter calls back over his shoulder as he heads for the door. "Good night, Eames."
He doesn't wait for a reply.
***
Morning comes too soon, and before he knows it he's trying to rush Walter out the door of their hotel and back to the lab. By the time that he's fought traffic and succumbed to Walter's insistence that he needs an Egg McMuffin, Peter's already exhausted and they're the last to arrive.
The lab looks like something out of a junior high school dance; Arthur and Eames ranged together on one side, Olivia on the other, with only Astrid and Ariadne breaching the gap, already chatting away like they're old friends. It worries Peter more than he'd like to admit. But this probably isn't the time to think about it.
"Sorry we're late," he says instead, as he ushers Walter into the lab. "How are we all doing this morning?"
Three heads turn towards him; Astrid and Ariadne keep talking.
There's no answer. "Right," he says, coming to stand next to Olivia. "Have we all introduced ourselves at least?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "Agent Olivia Dunham, this is Arthur, Eames, and Ariadne," he says, gesturing towards each in turn. Arthur nods in acknowledgment, Eames doesn't make any visible movements, and Ariadne waves. "Everyone, this is Agent Dunham."
"Peter," Walter says from behind him, confusion evident in his voice. "Who are these people?"
Peter nods. "Right. Everyone, this is Walter." He waits a beat. "My father." He looks down at Walter. "Walter, these are some friends of mine. They're going to be helping us with the case. You remember, the one with the dreams that Olivia asked us about?"
Walter's face clears. "Of course, that case." He turns to Olivia. "I seem to remember something about dream sharing from a project Belly and I did for the military --"
Peter steps away, leaving Olivia to listen to the rest of Walter's rambling answer. He crosses the room to where Eames and Arthur are sitting. "Everything alright?"
"Good morning, Peter," Eames says, with an easy smile. "Did you sleep well?"
Peter gives a short laugh. He looks over his shoulder at Ariadne and Astrid, who are bent over a lab table looking at something. "What do you think they're talking about?"
Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Do you really want to know?"
"That's a good point," Peter decides, taking another look. He turns back to Arthur and Eames. "Are you ready to get started?"
Eames shrugs. "It's your show, darling."
"I think that you'll find it's Olivia's show, but okay." Peter pivots and catches Olivia's eye. "Ready to do this?"
Olivia nods, gently prying Walter's fingers off her arm. "Of course." She looks around at the assembled parties, satisfied everyone's attention is on her and begins. "Over the course of the last three weeks, ten people have been admitted to Boston area hospitals with reports of high fever, nausea, vomiting, and hallucinations. During these hallucinations, they all mention being terrified of a man in black -- a man that they claim is trying to steal their dreams. When the fever breaks, they don't remember anything else. We haven't been able to find any connection between the victims; not work, where they went to school, who their friends are, where they were last seen before they disappeared, nothing we can see. Our best guess is that they're test subjects, in preparation for something more serious." She crosses her arms over her chest. "Thoughts?"
Peter sees Eames and Arthur having a very heated conversation with just their eyes. Finally, Arthur turns to Olivia. "I think," he says, "that we're going to need to call in another person."
Olivia raises an eyebrow. "Another person?" she repeats. "For what purpose?"
"He's a chemist," Eames says easily. "It sounds like -- and I'm not an expert here, mind you -- that someone is experimenting with Somnacin, tampering with the components, the dosage, something. None of us," he nods to Arthur and Ariadne, "is really qualified to tell you just what they've done. We need Yusuf."
"We have Dr. Bishop," Olivia says. "Surely he's qualified to handle this."
"I'm sure he is," Eames returns. "But if you want this stopped quickly, Yusuf is the most qualified to assist Dr. Bishop in the lab." He nods to Astrid. "No offense intended, of course."
"None taken," Astrid says. She looks at Olivia. "What's the harm in letting them call in someone else? We both know that when it comes to chemistry, I'm best suited to following instructions."
Olivia hesitates and Peter jumps in. "Tell you what, let's ask Walter." He turns to his father. "Walter, how would you like to have someone come and play mad scientist with you for a few days?"
Walter nods eagerly. "I would like to consult with this colleague of theirs very much, Agent Dunham. There's a great deal I don't know about this drug, Somnacin, and their assistance would be most beneficial."
"Fine," Olivia sighs. "Call this person. Have them here tomorrow, I don't want anymore victims if we can help it."
"Of course," Arthur says with a cool nod. "I'm just going to step outside and make a phone call." He exits the lab, Ariadne on his heels.
Olivia waits until they're gone and then steps to Peter's side. "A word?" she asks, but it's not really in the nature of a request. He nods and they seclude themselves in the corner of the lab. "I don't like this, Peter," she says. "Any of it."
"I know," he says. "I'm sorry about that."
She sighs again and tucks her hair behind her ear. "Just -- keep them under control, would you? Don't let them do anything --"
"Anything that you're afraid I would do?" he interrupts, grinning at her. The laugh escapes before Olivia can help it and Peter's grin deepens. "There, this won't be so bad, you'll see."
"I hope you're right," she says. She nods her head toward the door. "I'm going to go get some other work done. I'll have the medical records sent over today. Have Walter look at them, would you?"
Peter nods. "Of course. See you later, Olivia."
She smiles, briefly. "Goodbye, Peter."
He watches her leave, a contemplative smile on his face. When the door closes behind her, he turns to survey the room and the smile quickly falls away. Of all the ways this arrangement could make his life miserable, it seems Peter forgot to consider the most obvious: Walter and Eames chatting away as if they're the oldest of friends.
This is bad, Peter realizes. This is very bad. He needs to put a stop to this immediately.
He crosses the lab faster than he's ever done before and wraps his hand around Eames' arm. "Can I talk to you?" he asks, trying for a friendly, conversational tone, and failing miserably.
"Peter!" Walter exclaims. "This young man was just telling me what good friends you are and --"
Peter forces a smile. "That's nice, Walter," he says. He raises his voice just a little. "Astrid? Eames and I will be right back." He looks at Walter. "We'll be right back," he repeats.
Walter nods. "Yes, yes, that's fine." He smiles at Eames. "Make sure you come back, I have something you must try."
"I'd love to," Eames says, and it's at that point that Peter starts to physically escort Eames from the room, steering him through the maze of lab tables and equipment. He waits until they're out in the hall to relinquish his grip on Eames' arm.
"What was that?" Peter asks, not bothering to conceal the anger in his voice.
Eames raises an eyebrow. "What was what?"
Peter crosses his arms over his chest. "You know what I'm talking about."
"You mean the friendly conversation I was having with your father before you so rudely interrupted? That?"
Said like that, Peter starts to wonder if maybe he overreacted a little. Okay, overreacted a lot. "Yeah. That."
Eames laughs. "That's all it was. Peter, what did you think was going on? Did you think I was interrogating him as to the location of your baby pictures?"
The idea makes Peter pale just a little, even if there's no way that Walter remembers where things like that are stored, if he ever knew at all.
Eames laughs again, sounding delighted. "You can be so painfully transparent at times, you know that, don't you? It's why I beat you the first time we met."
Peter frowns. "It is not."
"It is," Eames says. "But we can agree to disagree." He pushes open the door to the lab, and looks back over his shoulder. "Coming?"
Peter follows him into the lab. Even if he overreacted, he's not leaving Eames and Walter together unsupervised. He has a feeling that would end very badly for him. He'd like to avoid that. If it's not already too late.
***
Arthur's chemist arrives by mid-morning, still rumpled from the plane and with dark circles under his eyes. But he greets Walter with a great deal of excitement and they begin mixing chemicals immediately, making Astrid run back and forth across the lab a dozen times as she assembles the materials that they claim to need.
Peter makes a note to bring Astrid one of the chocolate croissants she likes so much the next day. As he hears a crashing noise and the sound of glass breaking, he amends that to bringing them for her for at least the next week. This, like so many other things, was not what she signed on for.
The rest of them are gathered around one of the tables on the other side of the lab, while Arthur briefs Olivia on the person that they think is responsible for the thefts. Peter tries to pay attention -- really, he does -- but he's too distracted. The past six months have taught him that he can work through exhaustion, explosions, Walter, and practically everything else under the sun, but Eames is proving to be a distraction that Peter can't work through.
Eames.
As if on cue, Eames glances at Peter and catches him staring. A knowing smile blooms on his face and Peter quickly tries to focus on what Arthur's saying to Olivia. He can still feel Eames' eyes on him.
"Where do you think he is?" Olivia asks, staring down at the picture Arthur has passed her.
Arthur spread his hands out and shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. My resources only go so far. I traced him this far, but not beyond." He hesitates for just a second. "Frankly, that was one of the reasons we contacted Peter."
"You know that when we catch him he'll be prosectued," Olivia says. "He'll be tried within the system, not through whatever kind of vigilante justice got him into this."
Arthur nods. "Of course," he says, and Peter can tell that he's gone for matter-of-fact, but it just misses the mark. He's not the only one that notices; he sees Ariadne slip her hand beneath the table and take Arthur's in hers. Peter sneaks a look at Eames, and he can tell that Eames has noticed as well. Olivia doesn't seem to have caught on, though, and that's the important thing. None of them can risk her not trusting them now, not when they've already put their fates into her hands.
Still, looking at Arthur, Peter thinks he would very much like to hear the story that Eames didn't tell him. He thinks it would explain a lot.
Olivia stands. "Alright. I'm going to go back to the office and see if I can't start using this information to find Nash." She looks at Peter. "Walk me out?"
Peter blinks. "Sure," he says, standing up and following her out the door. He leans back against the wall. "What's up?"
"Do you trust them?" she asks bluntly, in the manner he's come to know well. Olivia doesn't bullshit unless she has to; it's one of the reasons that he likes her.
So he answers in kind. "Yes."
She nods, once. "Okay. Then I'll try to do the same." She holds up the file. "I'll call when I have something for you."
"I'll be waiting by the phone," he quips, and he's rewarded with a faint smile. "Bye, Olivia."
She smiles again, and walks away without another word. Peter lets himself back into the lab. Arthur and Ariadne are still seated at the lab table, but Eames has wandered over to where Walter and Yusuf are working, and Peter just manages to bite back his groan.
Apparently keeping Walter and Eames apart is a full time job. He wonders if Astrid would do it if he gave her chocolate croissants for life. It's something to think about, he decides as he hurries across the lab. Definitely something to think about.
Part Two
Author: empressearwig
Pairing/Fandom: Peter/Eames, Arthur/Ariadne; Fringe/Inception
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~11,800
Spoilers/Warnings: Season one of Fringe/Post-movie
Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is all for fun. This hasn't happened and will never happen. Etc.
Summary: Eames helps Peter solve crime. Really.
Author's Notes: I want it on record that this was not my idea. Thanks to normative_jean and irishmizzy for the help. Without them, this wouldn't have been finished. I leave it to you to decide if that would have been a good thing.
In the end, Peter doesn't need to find Eames; Eames finds him. When Peter finally drags Walter back to the hotel that night, there's a message waiting for him at the desk. Peter waits until he gets Walter fed and watered and drugged with his latest pharmaceuticals of choice before he reads it. The note is scrawled in messy handwriting, but is short and to the point.
I'm in town, it reads. We should talk.
Of course there's no contact information. Not an address, not a phone number, not even a name of a hotel. Peter can't say he's surprised, even if he wishes that Eames would have made things easy for him just this once. That would have been too simple.
Nothing with Eames is ever simple. Peter's surprised to find that he's actually kind of missed that about him.
***
When Peter gets back from his trip to buy Walter more licorice and a bag of banana Laffy Taffy, Eames is waiting for him at the lab. Only he's not alone like Peter expected him to be, he's brought company. Arthur, Peter recognizes instantly, but there's a woman with them, one that looks like she belongs out on the Yard with the rest of the co-eds.
Eames has his back is to the door and he's flirting shamelessly with Astrid and Peter can see her valiant efforts to not roll her eyes. He drops the paper bag full of sugar down on a lab table with a thunk. "Eames," he says. "Stop harassing her. She carries a gun, you know."
"Peter," Eames says, turning around in his chair with a wide smile on his face. "I've missed you."
"Right," Peter drawls. He looks over Eames' shoulder at Astrid. "Everything okay?" She gives him an "are you stupid" look and he holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Right. My mistake."
She nods towards the bag. "Is that for..."
"Yep. A one way trip to big rock candy mountain, just for Walter." He looks around the lab, noting his father's absence . "Where is he anyway?"
Astrid crosses the room to scoop up the bag. "Restroom. He'll be back in a minute." She glances back over her shoulder and lowers her voice. "You might want to take your friends somewhere else?" She says it like it's a question, but it's anything but.
Peter nods. She is, as always, the voice of reason. "Thanks, Astrid."
She shrugs, a faint smile on her face. "It's what they pay me for."
Peter laughs and touches her arm. They pay her far too little for so much more than that and they both know it. "Eames," he calls out. "Let's take a walk." He eyes Arthur and the still unnamed stranger with a mixture of wariness and naked curiosity. "Bring your friends."
"You only had to ask," Eames says, sounding offended. He stands, all loose-limbed grace, and brushes invisible dust off of his terrible tweed jacket. "After you, darling."
Somehow Peter manages not to roll his eyes.
***
He takes them to a seedy bar on the outskirts of campus, one where even the most die hard student drinkers won't be at this hour. The bartender barely nods to them when they walk in and Peter leads them to the pool table in the back. He's fairly certain he's not going to like whatever it is that Eames has to say and he thinks better when his hands are busy.
Walter has his ways of coping with the chaos that is his brain, Peter has his.
"So," he says, picking up a pool cue off the table. "Are you going to introduce me?"
"Ariadne," the woman says, not waiting for either of her companions. She holds out her hand. "I've heard a lot about you."
Peter raises an eyebrow at Eames, as he shakes Ariadne's hand. "Still talking about me, hm? I feel like I should be flattered."
"Actually," Ariadne says, with an impish look at Arthur. "It wasn't from him."
"Now I'm really flattered," Peter says, trying to hold the smile back. "Arthur, I didn't know you cared."
Ariadne nods. "You should be. He doesn't brag about anyone --"
"I think that's enough of that," Arthur interjects smoothly, pressing a warning hand against the small of Ariadne's back. His hand lingers for just a second too long, just long enough for Peter to notice. It makes him wonder. "Peter, it's nice to see you again."
Peter nods. "Likewise."
"This is all terribly fascinating and ever so sweet," Eames interrupts, sounding bored. "But we did have business to discuss, didn't we? Arthur, I know how being off schedule distresses you."
When Peter turns to face Eames, he's shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves and is racking the balls. Peter raises an eyebrow at him again and Eames returns the look evenly.
"You did want to play, didn't you?" Eames asks, and Peter laughs. He offers Eames the cue, but Eames shakes his head. "You break."
Peter nods his agreement and takes up a position at the other end of the table. He leans over to shoot and says, "So someone explain to me just why you've all shown up on my doorstep, right after I find out about a spree of dream thefts." He shoots and the balls scatter, three of them rolling into pockets in quick succession. "Solids." He lines up his next shot.
"You don't think we have anything to do with them, do you?" Eames asks, making a tsk-ing sound. "Really, Peter, I thought you knew me better than that."
"I do," Peter says, sinking his next ball. "You're too good to be that sloppy. But that doesn't explain why you're here."
"It's our understanding that your circumstances have changed," Arthur says, cutting off whatever Eames was going to say next with a sharp look. "You're working with the FBI now."
It's not a question and Peter just nods. He takes his next shot and misses. He steps aside, passing the pool cue to Eames.
Eames leans over to shoot. "It's such a waste of your talents, you know."
"I wasn't really given a choice in the matter," Peter points out, in a wry voice. He gives Arthur an inquiring look. "I assume you know that, too."
Arthur shrugs, almost apologetically. "I am good at my job."
Ariadne gives Peter a sympathetic look. "Aren't they annoying? The background check Arthur did on me, well, first date conversation is a lot more difficult --"
"I'm sure Peter doesn't want to hear about that," Arthur says, stepping forward and squeezing her shoulder. Peter hides his smile. It's nice to know that he hasn't totally lost his instincts. "He wants to know what we're doing here."
"Yes. I do."
"Are you sure?" Eames asks, with a conspiratorial wink at Ariadne. Peter gets them impression this has come up before. "I assure you, the trials and tribulations of their relationship aren't nearly as boring as you'd expect, given Arthur's involvement."
"I'm sure," Peter says, giving in to the urge and rolling his eyes at Eames. "Arthur?"
"We'd like to offer our services," he says simply.
Peter blinks. "Excuse me?" He couldn't possibly have heard that right. There's absolutely no way that he heard Arthur right.
"What part of it didn't you understand?" Eames asks, a smug smile on his face, his enjoyment of Peter's discomfort obvious. "I thought Arthur was rather clear for once."
"Eames," Arthur warns.
Peter points at Eames. "You. Be quiet."
Eames holds up his hands and does his best to look innocent. It's not in the least bit convincing.
Peter turns his attention back to Arthur. If he's going to get answers out of anyone, it's going to be Arthur. "Explain." It's not a request.
"Of course," Arthur says. "It's come to our attention that there have been a rash of dream thefts in the past few weeks. We believe we know who is responsible and we'd like to help you stop them."
"Why?"
Something in Arthur's jaw tightens. "You might call it a professional disagreement."
Peter stares. He can't help it. "You're telling me that you're offering to help catch a ring of thieves because you don't like the people doing the stealing?" he asks finally, unable to mask the incredulity in his voice. He rubs at his temples, trying to will away the headache that he can feel building behind his right eye. Somehow, he'd thought Walter was the only one that could have this kind of effect on him. He doesn't know how he managed to forget about Eames.
"In a manner of speaking," Arthur hedges.
Eames rounds the table and pats Peter on the back. "There, there. Help is help, isn't it?"
"I really don't think my FBI contact is going to see it that way." Peter looks back and forth between the three of them. This is not at all what he expected, at least not from Arthur. Peter expects insanity from Eames, but not from Arthur. And he's still not completely certain what Ariadne's role in all of this is, though he has his suspicions. "You do all realize that what you do is illegal," he says slowly, so there's no room for misunderstandings. "And that you're offering your help to a law enforcement agency and what, hoping that they'll just look the other way? You don't think they'll be curious as to how you got so well versed in just what's going on?"
None of their expressions change. Eames still looks amused, Ariadne, curious, and Arthur, well Arthur looks inflabbable. As always. Peter sighs. That headache isn't going to go away, he can tell.
"There are legitimate uses of dream sharing technology," Arthur points out.
"And when's the last time any of you did any dream sharing for reasons that were anywhere even close to legitimate?"
Arthur shrugs, unoffended by the truth.
"Your lack of faith in us hurts, Peter," Eames drawls.
Peter glares. Eames laughs.
"Excuse me," Ariadne says. Peter turns toward her a sense of dread growing in the pit of his stomach. She smiles. "I think I can help with that."
***
Ariadne, Peter learns, is a graduate student in Paris, where in addition to her architecture studies, she's also involved in dream sharing research. That she's worked with Eames and Arthur as an architect goes unsaid, but Peter's always been able to figure things out on his own. It's a lot of hats for someone so small to wear, Peter thinks fleetingly, at hearing all this, but he can feel Olivia and Astrid kicking his ass before he's even finished the thought and he shakes his head to clear it away.
They're sitting at a rickety table at the back of the bar, a pitcher of beer leaking condensation onto the battered wood, a glass in front of each of them. Peter takes a drink from his, trying to think. He can feel Eames' eyes on him from the next chair, where he's sprawled out like he doesn't have a care in the world. It makes Peter want to kick the legs of the chair out from under him. He resists the impulse.
"So," Peter says finally, "you'd like me to present you to Olivia --"
"Olivia, is it?" Eames interupts, and Peter keeps talking like he hadn't said anything at all.
"-- as an expert in the field who just happens to be in town? She won't buy that, but she'll probably let it go if it turns out you can actually help." He hooks his thumb over his shoulder at Eames and then across the table at Arthur. "How do I explain these two?"
"I can't just be your friend?" Eames asks. "I'm hurt, Peter. Deeply hurt."
"No," Peter says shortly. He looks across the table at Arthur. "I'm sure you have something in mind."
"Well," Ariadne says, cheeks turning the slightest bit pink. "I don't really think we need an explanation for Arthur, do we? Especially since I'm also here for a wedding, and well --" She shrugs, letting the gesture finish the sentence for her.
Peter takes pity on her. "That could work. It still leaves me without an explanation for Eames."
"I am sitting right here," Eames points out. "You really don't need to talk about me like I'm not in the room."
"Did you have something useful to contribute?" Peter asks, finally looking at him. Eames actually looks the slightest bit put out. Peter tries for a more gentle tone. "Eames, I'm just guessing here, but you probably have more to lose than anyone if the FBI decides to start digging."
Eames frowns. "Now I'm insulted. And possibly flattered. Are you worried about me, Peter?"
"No," Peter denies, but it's feeble at best and they both know it.
The frown slowly turns into a smile and Peter wants to groan. Encouraging Eames was not in his plans. It seems to have happened anyway.
"If you're both done," Arthur interjects. "We could get back to --"
"Right," Peter says, holding up a hand in apology. "Sorry."
The faintest hint of a smile crosses Arthur's face. "It's fine."
"You two aren't even half as bad as they are," Ariadne adds, not able to keep the laughter out of her voice. Peter turns his gaze to her, and she grins at him, open mirth in her eyes. He can feel the corners of his mouth turn up in return. From everything Peter's seen, she and Arthur make no sense at all. And yet Peter hasn't missed the way that Arthur rests his arm on the back of her chair, the way that Ariadne smiles at him when she thinks that no one's looking, the way that Arthur smiles back. Peter wonders what Eames thinks of it; if he feels left out of something he was once a part of.
Peter wonders when he turned into a twelve year old girl. If this is the effect that Eames has on him, Peter needs him gone immediately. People don't do this to him. Eames shouldn't do this to him.
Arthur's speaking again and Peter makes himself tune back into what he's saying. He only catches the tail end of it. "--be best if we kept it simple."
"Kept what simple?" Peter asks suspiciously. He should have been listening.
"Why I'm here," Eames says. He smirks and Peter's suspicions grow.
Arthur spreads his hands out in front of him. "It really would be easiest to explain that Eames is just here visiting you, Peter. As for why he knows so much about this," Arthur looks across the table at Eames and he nods, just once, and Arthur continues, "well, he was in the military." He waits a beat. "We both were. We do have legitimate reasons for knowing about dream sharing."
"Wait," Peter says, swiveling his head to look at Eames. "You were in the military?"
Eames shrugs, smirk still firmly in place. "We all have our little secrets."
"Is that where you two..." Peter asks, looking back and forth between Eames and Arthur.
"Arthur doesn't like to talk about that," Eames supplies, with a wink across the table.
"I really don't," Arthur agrees, pushing his chair back from the table and standing. "So do we have an arrangement?"
Peter sighs. It's not worth it to argue. It's as good a cover as any. It might even be true. "Yes."
Eames smiles. Peter feels certain that he's going to regret this.
***
They split up after that: Peter goes back to the lab, Ariadne goes to meet her colleague at the Harvard Neurological Center, and Peter doesn't bother to ask where Eames and Arthur are going. He doesn't really want to know. Ariadne gives him her cell phone number and Peter promises to call once he's had a chance to talk to Olivia.
It's not a conversation he's looking forward to.
He finds Astrid and Walter bent over a lab table, transferring a bright blue liquid from one set of flasks to another. He waits until they finished to announce his presence. He's seen what an unexpected interruption can do; he's still paying Astrid's dry cleaning bill a month later.
"Hey," Peter says, and two goggle covered heads swivel towards him. "What are you doing?"
"Peter!" Walter exclaims, pushing the goggles up to his forehead. "Come, you must try this!"
"What is 'this'?" Peter asks, taking a cautious step closer. It's not that he doesn't trust Walter -- actually, it is that he doesn't trust Walter, but he trusts Astrid not to let him do anything too stupid -- but even Walter's seemingly tame experiments can still go horribly wrong.
"Walter wanted a Mr. Misty," Astrid says, pulling her own goggles off and tossing them onto the table.
Peter frowns. "A what?"
"A Mr. Misty," she repeats patiently. "Only they don't call them that anymore and he swears that they taste different now, so he's trying to recreate the syrup." She gives the flasks a disgusted look. "This is the third batch."
Peter bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Something tells him that this is not the time.
"I think it's ready for a test," Walter says, looking back at the bright blue liquid. "Agent --"
She holds up a hand. "I'm not trying it this time. Ask Peter."
Walter gives him a hopeful smile and something in Peter's chest clenches just a little. Walter doesn't ask, and that makes it worse somehow.
"I'd better not end up needing my stomach pumped," is what Peter says, and Walter's smile brightens immeasurably.
It makes Peter feel just a little bit like shit.
Astrid pours him a glass of the mystery juice and passes it his way, patting him on the arm and giving him an supportive smile. He tips the glass to her in salute before he downs it in one gulp. The shudder that wracks through him is instantaneous and uncontrollable. "Walter, what was that?" he asks, trying to resist the urge to brush his tongue off. It feels like -- well, it feels wrong. Very, very wrong.
Walter's face falls. "It still must not be right," he says, turning his attention back to the flasks. "Maybe if I tried --"
Peter tunes him out and looks at Astrid. She passes him a bottle of water and he untwists the cap, taking a long, grateful drink. He wipes his mouth off with his sleeve.
"See?" she asks.
Peter nods. He takes another drink. "I don't know how you do it."
"A very strong stomach." She grins at him and Peter laughs. "Did you come back for something? I wasn't sure I'd see you again today, what with your visitors and all."
"About that," he says, trying for disinterest. He thinks he pulls it off. "Has Agent Dunham been by today?"
Astrid frowns. "Olivia? No, she hasn't been in." She gestures towards the phone. "Do you need me to --"
Peter waves her off. "No, no. I'll take care of it myself. It's not that important."
"If you're sure," Astrid says. She nods her head towards Walter. "I should get back to him then."
"Thanks, Astrid," he says. "Really. For everything."
"It's what I'm here for."
She turns back to help Walter with his project, and Peter heads for the door. No sense in putting it off any longer. Besides, Olivia needs him. He doesn't think she'll actually hurt him for what he's about to suggest. Much, anyway. She wouldn't hurt him much.
That's all he's letting himself hope for.
***
Peter finds Olivia in her office, one of the rare times when he's had to come to her instead of the other way around. Her back is to the door, and she's got the telephone pressed up against one ear as she hunches over something on her desk. He knocks, twice, against the open door and she swivels around in her chair to face him.
She waves him in and goes back to her phone call, so he takes the opportunity to drop into one of the chairs opposite the desk. He'd forgotten just how uncomfortable they are. Maybe there's a reason they always meet in the field or in the lab. He crosses his arms over his chest and waits.
"Get back to me when you have something," she says finally, hanging up the phone. She turns to face him and gives him a half smile, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Peter," she says. "Did Walter remember something that might help with the investigation?"
Peter shakes his head. "Actually," he says, watching her face carefully, "I might have remembered something that could help."
Olivia raises an eyebrow. "Go on."
"Well, see, it's like this," he says, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the desk. "I've got this friend and --"
"Do I really want to know the details about this friend?" she interrupts, and one corner of Peter's mouth turns up into a half smile. This is why he likes Olivia.
"No."
"Then keep the details to a minimum, " she sighs, shaking her head. "Do you have any friends that just work in offices? Have normal jobs?"
"You mean like us?" Peter grins at her and is more than a little proud when Olivia lets out a short laugh. It's not the easiest thing in the world to do, making her laugh. But worth the effort.
"Point taken," she says wryly, and makes a hand gesture that Peter interrupts as hurry up, before I decide to make this difficult, so he does just that.
"Anyway," he says. "I have this friend, well, this group of friends, really, that might, hypothetically, know how it would be possible to break into people's dreams."
"You mean by inducing a dream state with Somnacin and constructing a shared dreamspace?" Olivia asks, and Peter's not able to keep the surprise off his face. Olivia smiles, just a little. "I've done some research since yesterday."
"Clearly."
She narrows her eyes at him. "You knew more about this than you let on when I brought it up, didn't you?"
He opens his mouth to try to deny it, but changes his mind halfway through. There's no point in lying to Olivia when he doesn't have to. "Yes."
Olivia sighs and leans back in her chair. She looks disappointed, and it's the second time today that someone has made him feel like shit without saying a word. "Why didn't you say anything, Peter? I thought you trusted me more than that."
"I do," he insists, trying to make the words sound as sincere as they actually are. He does trust Olivia, as much as he trusts anyone these days. Maybe more. "I just -- there were other people involved."
"Your friends."
"Yes."
"Can they help find who's doing this?"
Peter nods. "Yes," he says again. They can.
"Well, okay then," Olivia says. "When do I meet these friends of yours?"
***
The meeting is set for the following morning. Ostensibly, it's to give Peter plenty of time to track down the necessary parties; it's actually because Peter wants to have a very long talk with Eames before this goes any further. Before anything happens that can't be undone.
He is worried about Eames, damn it. Not that he's willing to admit it to anyone else, not when he's barely willing to admit it to himself. It's probably another thing that they should talk about; Peter has no intention of bringing it up.
Peter heads back to the bar after placing two calls: one to Ariadne, to give her the details of the meeting; the other to Astrid, to make sure that she'll get Walter back safely. If Peter knows Eames -- and he likes to think that he does, as well as anyone can really know Eames, anyway -- Eames will be waiting there for him. It's what Eames does.
And sure enough, Eames is sitting at the bar, a half empty beer in front of him, chatting with the bartender and eating from the bowl of peanuts that Peter has never seen before. The fact that Eames has managed to charm the bartender does not surprise Peter. The fact that there's something twisting in his gut that feels perilously close to jealousy does.
He takes the seat at the bar next to Eames and nods to the bartender. "Hey, Jimmy." He twists his head to the side. "Eames."
"Peter," Eames says, a smile that's just a little bit wicked on his face. "I've been hearing all sorts of interesting stories about you."
Peter raises an eyebrow at Jimmy. "Really?"
Jimmy slides a beer in front of him and holds up his hands. "I don't know what happened. He should work for the CIA or something."
Peter can't stop himself from choking on his beer. Eames pounds him on the back, and Peter manages to bringing himself back under control. "I'm fine," he gasps out between coughs, shoving the hand that's still patting him on the back away. "Just went down wrong."
"You want water or something?" Jimmy asks, and Peter shakes his head. "Okay. Then I'm going to go get some stuff out of the store room. You change your mind, just let me know." He steps out from behind the bar and heads towards the back.
Eames watches him walk away and then turns back to Peter, a wide smile on his face. "Was it something he said?"
Peter points a finger at him and takes a testing sip of his drink. "Don't start."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Eames says, all innocence. If Peter didn't know him, it might be convincing. But he does and it isn't. Eames lets out a dramatic, heavy sigh. "Fine. Don't play, be a stick in the mud."
"A stick in the mud, really?" Peter asks, eyebrow raised.
"Insert whatever you'd like in it's place. You've gotten downright boring since you started working for the FBI, Peter." He eyes Peter speculatively. "Tell me, have you used any of your, let's say, more unusual talents, since you took up with law enforcement?"
Peter snorts. "Because that would be a good idea."
Eames shakes his head, a mournful expression on his face. "Like I said: stick in the mud."
"If you say so," Peter says, with a short laugh. He takes another drink and then turns serious. "So I need to know what exactly is going on." Eames opens his mouth to answer, but Peter holds up a hand. "I mean it. I can't keep Olivia out of areas you'd rather her not explore if I don't know what they are. Be straight with me."
"Have I mentioned how flattered I am by your concern for my safety?"
Peter gives him an unamused look.
Eames sighs. "You have to let me have my fun somewhere, Peter."
"I really don't. Talk."
"If you insist," Eames says, shooting a quick look at the back room. Still no sign of Jimmy. "A few months ago, not long after you worked with us, Arthur and Cobb worked a job that went very wrong. They were working with Nash -- you remember him, don't you? -- and he made a crucial error that led to them being caught by the mark and failing to get the information their employer wanted."
"And he's still alive?"
"Arthur didn't think so, not at first. But he -- or we, rather -- were rather distracted in the immediate aftermath, so he wasn't keeping as close of tabs as he might have been otherwise."
Peter raises an eyebrow at that. "Do I want to know?"
Eames gives him a half smile. "I think you'd enjoy the story, actually, but probably not, no. Your contact might frown upon it."
"Fair enough." Peter gestures for him to continue. "Go on."
"Afterward, once things started to calm back down, rumors began to surface of an underground ring of thieves; rather bad ones, at that. Arthur did some digging and found a trail that led him straight to our old friend, Nash." Eames spreads his hands out in front of him. "And here we are."
"And here you are," Peter repeats, studying Eames closely. He's almost positive that what Eames just told him was the truth. A condensed version of it, maybe, but the truth none the less. "Who's Ariadne?"
Eames smiles broadly at that question. "An architect, naturally. A rather brilliant one, too." He takes a sip of his own drink. "And Arthur's special friend, but I suspect you'd worked that out all on your own."
"Where's Cobb?"
"Retired." Eames quirks an eyebrow at him. "Are we playing twenty questions now?"
Peter shakes his head. "Just trying to get it all straight."
"Let me know if there's anything I can do to help with that," Eames says, and there's a suggestive undertone to the words that Peter doesn't want to think about.
Peter tries to refocus. "Is there anything else I need to know?"
Eames tilts his head to the side, considering. "No, I don't think so." He leans closer, just enough so that it feels like he's invaded Peter's space. Peter takes that as his cue to leave. "Now do I get to ask how you ended up working for the FBI?"
"No," Peter says, as he stands up and tosses money onto the bar. "And besides, you already know."
Eames nods in acknowledgment. "That's true. But I'd still like to hear the story from you."
"We can't always get what we want," Peter calls back over his shoulder as he heads for the door. "Good night, Eames."
He doesn't wait for a reply.
***
Morning comes too soon, and before he knows it he's trying to rush Walter out the door of their hotel and back to the lab. By the time that he's fought traffic and succumbed to Walter's insistence that he needs an Egg McMuffin, Peter's already exhausted and they're the last to arrive.
The lab looks like something out of a junior high school dance; Arthur and Eames ranged together on one side, Olivia on the other, with only Astrid and Ariadne breaching the gap, already chatting away like they're old friends. It worries Peter more than he'd like to admit. But this probably isn't the time to think about it.
"Sorry we're late," he says instead, as he ushers Walter into the lab. "How are we all doing this morning?"
Three heads turn towards him; Astrid and Ariadne keep talking.
There's no answer. "Right," he says, coming to stand next to Olivia. "Have we all introduced ourselves at least?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "Agent Olivia Dunham, this is Arthur, Eames, and Ariadne," he says, gesturing towards each in turn. Arthur nods in acknowledgment, Eames doesn't make any visible movements, and Ariadne waves. "Everyone, this is Agent Dunham."
"Peter," Walter says from behind him, confusion evident in his voice. "Who are these people?"
Peter nods. "Right. Everyone, this is Walter." He waits a beat. "My father." He looks down at Walter. "Walter, these are some friends of mine. They're going to be helping us with the case. You remember, the one with the dreams that Olivia asked us about?"
Walter's face clears. "Of course, that case." He turns to Olivia. "I seem to remember something about dream sharing from a project Belly and I did for the military --"
Peter steps away, leaving Olivia to listen to the rest of Walter's rambling answer. He crosses the room to where Eames and Arthur are sitting. "Everything alright?"
"Good morning, Peter," Eames says, with an easy smile. "Did you sleep well?"
Peter gives a short laugh. He looks over his shoulder at Ariadne and Astrid, who are bent over a lab table looking at something. "What do you think they're talking about?"
Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Do you really want to know?"
"That's a good point," Peter decides, taking another look. He turns back to Arthur and Eames. "Are you ready to get started?"
Eames shrugs. "It's your show, darling."
"I think that you'll find it's Olivia's show, but okay." Peter pivots and catches Olivia's eye. "Ready to do this?"
Olivia nods, gently prying Walter's fingers off her arm. "Of course." She looks around at the assembled parties, satisfied everyone's attention is on her and begins. "Over the course of the last three weeks, ten people have been admitted to Boston area hospitals with reports of high fever, nausea, vomiting, and hallucinations. During these hallucinations, they all mention being terrified of a man in black -- a man that they claim is trying to steal their dreams. When the fever breaks, they don't remember anything else. We haven't been able to find any connection between the victims; not work, where they went to school, who their friends are, where they were last seen before they disappeared, nothing we can see. Our best guess is that they're test subjects, in preparation for something more serious." She crosses her arms over her chest. "Thoughts?"
Peter sees Eames and Arthur having a very heated conversation with just their eyes. Finally, Arthur turns to Olivia. "I think," he says, "that we're going to need to call in another person."
Olivia raises an eyebrow. "Another person?" she repeats. "For what purpose?"
"He's a chemist," Eames says easily. "It sounds like -- and I'm not an expert here, mind you -- that someone is experimenting with Somnacin, tampering with the components, the dosage, something. None of us," he nods to Arthur and Ariadne, "is really qualified to tell you just what they've done. We need Yusuf."
"We have Dr. Bishop," Olivia says. "Surely he's qualified to handle this."
"I'm sure he is," Eames returns. "But if you want this stopped quickly, Yusuf is the most qualified to assist Dr. Bishop in the lab." He nods to Astrid. "No offense intended, of course."
"None taken," Astrid says. She looks at Olivia. "What's the harm in letting them call in someone else? We both know that when it comes to chemistry, I'm best suited to following instructions."
Olivia hesitates and Peter jumps in. "Tell you what, let's ask Walter." He turns to his father. "Walter, how would you like to have someone come and play mad scientist with you for a few days?"
Walter nods eagerly. "I would like to consult with this colleague of theirs very much, Agent Dunham. There's a great deal I don't know about this drug, Somnacin, and their assistance would be most beneficial."
"Fine," Olivia sighs. "Call this person. Have them here tomorrow, I don't want anymore victims if we can help it."
"Of course," Arthur says with a cool nod. "I'm just going to step outside and make a phone call." He exits the lab, Ariadne on his heels.
Olivia waits until they're gone and then steps to Peter's side. "A word?" she asks, but it's not really in the nature of a request. He nods and they seclude themselves in the corner of the lab. "I don't like this, Peter," she says. "Any of it."
"I know," he says. "I'm sorry about that."
She sighs again and tucks her hair behind her ear. "Just -- keep them under control, would you? Don't let them do anything --"
"Anything that you're afraid I would do?" he interrupts, grinning at her. The laugh escapes before Olivia can help it and Peter's grin deepens. "There, this won't be so bad, you'll see."
"I hope you're right," she says. She nods her head toward the door. "I'm going to go get some other work done. I'll have the medical records sent over today. Have Walter look at them, would you?"
Peter nods. "Of course. See you later, Olivia."
She smiles, briefly. "Goodbye, Peter."
He watches her leave, a contemplative smile on his face. When the door closes behind her, he turns to survey the room and the smile quickly falls away. Of all the ways this arrangement could make his life miserable, it seems Peter forgot to consider the most obvious: Walter and Eames chatting away as if they're the oldest of friends.
This is bad, Peter realizes. This is very bad. He needs to put a stop to this immediately.
He crosses the lab faster than he's ever done before and wraps his hand around Eames' arm. "Can I talk to you?" he asks, trying for a friendly, conversational tone, and failing miserably.
"Peter!" Walter exclaims. "This young man was just telling me what good friends you are and --"
Peter forces a smile. "That's nice, Walter," he says. He raises his voice just a little. "Astrid? Eames and I will be right back." He looks at Walter. "We'll be right back," he repeats.
Walter nods. "Yes, yes, that's fine." He smiles at Eames. "Make sure you come back, I have something you must try."
"I'd love to," Eames says, and it's at that point that Peter starts to physically escort Eames from the room, steering him through the maze of lab tables and equipment. He waits until they're out in the hall to relinquish his grip on Eames' arm.
"What was that?" Peter asks, not bothering to conceal the anger in his voice.
Eames raises an eyebrow. "What was what?"
Peter crosses his arms over his chest. "You know what I'm talking about."
"You mean the friendly conversation I was having with your father before you so rudely interrupted? That?"
Said like that, Peter starts to wonder if maybe he overreacted a little. Okay, overreacted a lot. "Yeah. That."
Eames laughs. "That's all it was. Peter, what did you think was going on? Did you think I was interrogating him as to the location of your baby pictures?"
The idea makes Peter pale just a little, even if there's no way that Walter remembers where things like that are stored, if he ever knew at all.
Eames laughs again, sounding delighted. "You can be so painfully transparent at times, you know that, don't you? It's why I beat you the first time we met."
Peter frowns. "It is not."
"It is," Eames says. "But we can agree to disagree." He pushes open the door to the lab, and looks back over his shoulder. "Coming?"
Peter follows him into the lab. Even if he overreacted, he's not leaving Eames and Walter together unsupervised. He has a feeling that would end very badly for him. He'd like to avoid that. If it's not already too late.
***
Arthur's chemist arrives by mid-morning, still rumpled from the plane and with dark circles under his eyes. But he greets Walter with a great deal of excitement and they begin mixing chemicals immediately, making Astrid run back and forth across the lab a dozen times as she assembles the materials that they claim to need.
Peter makes a note to bring Astrid one of the chocolate croissants she likes so much the next day. As he hears a crashing noise and the sound of glass breaking, he amends that to bringing them for her for at least the next week. This, like so many other things, was not what she signed on for.
The rest of them are gathered around one of the tables on the other side of the lab, while Arthur briefs Olivia on the person that they think is responsible for the thefts. Peter tries to pay attention -- really, he does -- but he's too distracted. The past six months have taught him that he can work through exhaustion, explosions, Walter, and practically everything else under the sun, but Eames is proving to be a distraction that Peter can't work through.
Eames.
As if on cue, Eames glances at Peter and catches him staring. A knowing smile blooms on his face and Peter quickly tries to focus on what Arthur's saying to Olivia. He can still feel Eames' eyes on him.
"Where do you think he is?" Olivia asks, staring down at the picture Arthur has passed her.
Arthur spread his hands out and shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. My resources only go so far. I traced him this far, but not beyond." He hesitates for just a second. "Frankly, that was one of the reasons we contacted Peter."
"You know that when we catch him he'll be prosectued," Olivia says. "He'll be tried within the system, not through whatever kind of vigilante justice got him into this."
Arthur nods. "Of course," he says, and Peter can tell that he's gone for matter-of-fact, but it just misses the mark. He's not the only one that notices; he sees Ariadne slip her hand beneath the table and take Arthur's in hers. Peter sneaks a look at Eames, and he can tell that Eames has noticed as well. Olivia doesn't seem to have caught on, though, and that's the important thing. None of them can risk her not trusting them now, not when they've already put their fates into her hands.
Still, looking at Arthur, Peter thinks he would very much like to hear the story that Eames didn't tell him. He thinks it would explain a lot.
Olivia stands. "Alright. I'm going to go back to the office and see if I can't start using this information to find Nash." She looks at Peter. "Walk me out?"
Peter blinks. "Sure," he says, standing up and following her out the door. He leans back against the wall. "What's up?"
"Do you trust them?" she asks bluntly, in the manner he's come to know well. Olivia doesn't bullshit unless she has to; it's one of the reasons that he likes her.
So he answers in kind. "Yes."
She nods, once. "Okay. Then I'll try to do the same." She holds up the file. "I'll call when I have something for you."
"I'll be waiting by the phone," he quips, and he's rewarded with a faint smile. "Bye, Olivia."
She smiles again, and walks away without another word. Peter lets himself back into the lab. Arthur and Ariadne are still seated at the lab table, but Eames has wandered over to where Walter and Yusuf are working, and Peter just manages to bite back his groan.
Apparently keeping Walter and Eames apart is a full time job. He wonders if Astrid would do it if he gave her chocolate croissants for life. It's something to think about, he decides as he hurries across the lab. Definitely something to think about.
Part Two