Good Luck Charm.
Title: Good Luck Charm
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ariadne/Eames
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan and not to me. His toys are fun to play with!
Spoilers/Warnings: Post-movie. For the inception_kink meme prompt in round 16: Eames has a spectacularly bad day/week (think Murphy's Law), but meeting up with Ariadne at the end of the day/week makes up for it. Also for the "head trauma" box on my hc_bingo card.
Summary: What it says for the prompt: Without Ariadne, Eames' luck takes a nosedive.
Some days, nothing went right. It was an inevitability in life, though Eames often was able to get around those standard inevitabilities of death and taxes. Looking back on this one particular week, he was glad that Ariadne was off at an international conference.
It began on his way back from the airport to the tiny flat that they were living in. He ran over some kind of debris on the highway, which actually sent him into another lane. This wouldn't have been terrible if there hadn't been another car that he nearly hit, and then he ran over some other debris on the highway that punctured the tire. Eames actually felt the shudder roll through the car, and he cursed his bad luck. At least it hadn't happened while on the way to the airport, since Ariadne was nervous enough about the conference. She had been utterly convinced that her credentials would be recognized as fake, and other mainstream architects would realize that her firm didn't actually exist. It was silly, of course, since ordinary people didn't double check that sort of thing. If you had the proper passes and security badges and acted as if you belonged, people generally didn't think twice about it.
Eames managed to steer himself toward the shoulder of the highway, though one car clipped the edge of his rear bumper just as he made it. His head slammed into the car's frame; he didn't think he blacked out, but he was sluggish for some time afterward and couldn't be sure. He tried to find his phone and his wallet, to see if he had remembered to set up some kind of auto insurance for this identity. His fingers slipped over the different ID's in the wallet, but he couldn't find any insurance cards for any names. Even worse, his phone had no current signal and less battery life than he thought. It was all but dead, on the last sliver of charge. He let out a filthy curse; he had thought he'd charged it the evening before while giving Ariadne a night to last her all week long.
Putting everything back into his pockets, he locked the car and started walking toward the highway's exit. From there he could hopefully find someone willing to let him call for a tow or something. It was a pain in the arse, but less so than getting a whole new car to drive.
The plan seemed sound enough, but he couldn't seem to find the exit. He knew he had passed one, and had walked toward it. It felt as if he was walking for miles upon miles, not getting anywhere, and the oncoming traffic seemed to swim a bit in his vision. This was decidedly Not Good, even if he knew he didn't have any kind of laceration.
A police car pulled up after some time, and Eames swore under his breath. It was easy enough to play befuddled accident victim, since he honestly did feel tired and hadn't found any insurance card to match the name on the ID he flashed the officer. He sat in the back of the car, which was altogether too uncomfortably familiar an experience. The police officer found his abandoned vehicle; apparently Eames had walked in the wrong direction and would have had to go another five miles before finding an exit. He was brought to the closest emergency room and informed that his vehicle would be towed to the closest garage. They had his cell phone number as contact information, though when Eames checked, there was no battery life left at all on the phone.
Lovely.
There was no getting around the hospital, which wanted to keep him overnight for observation. No one particularly cared about his lack of cell phone battery and thus connectivity to the outside world, and arguing to leave against medical advice made him stand out far too much. Eames fumed silently and decided to sneak out of the hospital during shift change. He had done it thousands of times before.
Apparently, this day was destined to be the one time it didn't work.
He had to make a break for it, and ran through the zigzagging streets long after he was dizzy and reeling, crashing into walls and tripping over random debris. He wanted to curse in a half dozen different languages. This had to be a concussion following the stupid car accident. He'd had one before, when he was thrashed within an inch of his life. That wasn't a particularly fun part of his history, and he had been telling himself for years that he would never do anything that stupid again. Surely this didn't quite count, right?
Eames managed to stumble his way to a busy enough intersection that he could get a cab ride home. He had enough to cover the fare, at least, though that left him without any money left to any of his false names.
He plugged in his phone and as soon as he was able, set it to wake him every two hours. If this was a concussion, he couldn't take the chance of sleeping through the night.
More irritable the following morning, Eames staggered to the shower. He'd missed the call from the garage that had his car; apparently, the damage was much more than the mechanic initially thought and they would need to hang onto it for a few more days to await a missing part that was on order. Without reliable transportation, Eames would be subject to cabs or mass transit to get around. He had initially planned to get some errands done while Ariadne was away, as well as surprise her with a present, maybe something lacy they could both enjoy. It was just as well he couldn't drive anywhere now, since his head still hurt like a bitch and there was a faint ringing in his ears. Ah, the troublesome sounds of a concussion.
He continued with the alarms every two hours just to be on the safe side. That seemed to be overkill until he actually had dozed off without meaning to while he was putting together a fake passport that he had been hired on to do. The last thing he remembered was setting up the typeface, but apparently he had tried to place the photograph while half asleep and had somehow offset the printing on the pages for visa stamps. It ruined all the work he had put in so far, and he had been on the finishing touches. Dammit.
There wasn't enough of the proper weight paper to recut the pages he was working on, which meant that he would indeed have to go out of the apartment to hunt for supplies. Dammit again.
Tugging on serviceable clothes, he checked the charge on his phone. It was ready to go, and he tucked it into his pocket along with whatever spare cash he had on hand in the apartment. His gait was more of a lurch, but he would have to deal with that as he went around into different neighborhoods looking for the right kind of paper. He knew the way if he drove, but it was harder to walk the distance to the dealers and fences that he needed to visit. They didn't exactly advertise, after all. Along the way, Eames growled and muttered under his breath when he realized that his last pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket were crushed.
Apparently, the word of the day was dammit, because nothing was going right today.
"You've got a tail," Hector Viera told him as he entered the shop. The fence tsk'ed at Eames, shaking his head. "That's not like you at all."
Eames glowered at him. "Car accident yesterday, Hector. Still have the sodding concussion."
"You should know better than to head this way, then," Hector remarked mildly.
"I need more of those papers you found me." Eames rubbed at his temples, the ringing in the back of his head insistent and painful. "Still got work to do, and I need materials."
Hector sighed. "I'll be able to get you what you need, but not today. Got me?" Hector's eyes slid past Eames to the door. Whoever was following him still hadn't entered the shop. "The tail is obvious on the CCTV, at least. I'm surprised you didn't pick him up yourself."
"Two words: sodding concussion."
Shaking his head, Hector pointed toward the door. "Gray suit jacket, dark pants, dark hair. Come back tomorrow, then. I'll have everything set up for the purchase. Lose the tail before then, will you? They're bad for business."
"All right, all right." Eames scrubbed his jaw. "Get me enough for two jobs, just in case."
"That's doable," Hector replied with a nod. "Go on, then. Get yourself something to eat, will you? You look ready to fall over."
"Feels like it, too." Eames nodded and winced as the room seemed to tilt. This had been a supremely bad idea after all, but Hector didn't have a phone so there was no other way to make arrangements. Hopefully by tomorrow the concussion would clear. It was already better than this morning, at least.
He spotted the tail that Hector had vaguely described, and the man followed him to a sidewalk cafe. He sat at a table a few feet away and sipped at a coffee while Eames tried to work his way through tea and toast. His stomach rebelled, but Eames managed to keep it all down as he tried to figure out who would possibly tail him. He was between jobs in dream share and hadn't angered any of the major players. Ariadne had no enemies, since she built fantastic levels and had learned to keep her mouth shut about whatever secrets she discovered along the way. Eames had his forgery jobs and con games, but other than the passport he was supposed to finish up soon, there were no outstanding jobs. He was coasting, which had felt nice at the time.
Now he was starting to wonder if Arthur's policy of constantly working at something was a better plan of action.
Dammit, things had to be bad if he was contemplating behaving like Arthur.
Eames ducked into the cafe to pay for breakfast and use the bathroom. The tail was watching him through the glass windows; there was no easy way to exit the building without the tail knowing about it. He would have to take that into account, but he wasn't exactly at his best and this was now the second day running that his luck had been utter shite. Surely it had to get better from here?
He left the cafe and ducked into an alleyway not far from the exit. He waited until the tail walked past him and yanked him into the alley, shoving him up against the wall. The move was rapid, making Eames' vision spin for a moment. "Why are you following me?"
"You're a hard man to track down."
"Not a good enough answer," Eames snarled.
"I think if you weren't feeling ill, I wouldn't have found you," the man continued, taking in the vague sheen of sweat at Eames' temples. "We have a mutual friend in Kenya that thought perhaps you could help me find work."
"This isn't the way to go about it," Eames replied through grit teeth, willing his tea and toast to stay down.
"Like I said, you're hard to track down. And I had good descriptions and directions from our mutual friend."
"You say he's a mutual friend."
"Well, more like he's the best chemist I've ever had the pleasure of speaking with," the man continued, eyes never leaving Eames' gray face. "He'd likely fix you up, right as rain."
"What do you want?"
"Work."
"I haven't anything going on right now, so you're not even on the right track."
The stranger frowned. "But he said you'd know where to go."
"Likely, but that kind of work is quiet right now. Nothing new in these parts." Eames let go of the man but didn't step back just yet. Mostly because he thought he might fall over if he did, and that would look awful. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.
"Can you point me in the right direction of something I can do?" He tried to flash Eames a charming smile. "I owe a rather large sum of money in one of the casinos..."
Eames let out a humorless bark of laughter. "Then you're a walking dead man if you don't have the cash when they want it."
"I'm fast approaching that deadline."
"Sorry, mate," Eames said, remembering not to shake his head in pity. "I haven't got anything lined up myself, and everyone's keeping their heads down right now. You heard of the mess that went down in Singapore and Moscow? Makes everyone else a mite tetchy in response."
"Something not in dream share, then..."
"Haven't got any leads," Eames said, finally stepping back. He had presence of mind enough to surreptitiously feel for his wallet and phone, and both were in place. Pickpocketing was a rare art at this point, but there were plenty of practitioners still working the trade in Mombasa. "If you're going to run, you'd best run far and fast."
The tail nodded and then ran out of the alley. Eames didn't bother to track where he went, but just leaned back against the brick wall of the alley. He took a deep breath to try to settle the raging headache that was building up.
Thankfully, he managed to get home in one piece, without further incident.
***
Annoyances after that were thankfully minor: running out of shampoo, nicking himself while shaving, bumping into the walls because of his ringing headache, burning his toast and finding out that he was low on cash to pay Hector. That was embarrassing, and Hector was already giving him a sad look because of the concussion. The worst of it seemed to be over at least, and Eames was trying to push the thought of the head injury behind him. His car still wasn't ready, and wouldn't be until the end of the week. He was stuck walking about on foot, and Eames tried to be extra careful with the passport forgery. His client was accepting that there was a slight delay and it would be ready later than originally anticipated, so Eames thought that perhaps his unlucky streak was coming to an end.
Ariadne was coming home tomorrow. The past few days were horrid, and perhaps she was his lucky charm. If so, he was never letting her out of his sight again.
Eames managed to pick up his car and drive to the airport. Though he was late getting there, the delay for her flight meant that he was at the gate on time to pick her up. She was as radiant and luminous as he had dreamed of her through his days of miserable luck. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me," he said with heartfelt sincerity after kissing her breathless.
"I take it you missed me," Ariadne teased. She threaded her fingers through Eames' and grinned up at him. "I missed you, too."
"I thought about you every day." Mostly he had thanked whatever God might exist that she hadn't been around to see him at his most graceless.
She tugged on his hand as they approached his car. "You know what would have made my conference better?"
"Nope. What?"
"You. Next time? Forge yourself some credentials and come with me. It was dreadfully boring without you."
Eames couldn't help but laugh. He swept her up in his arms and kissed her breathless again. He was already planning out the evening with her in his arms, mostly involving a fancy dinner and at least four different positions in bed. Or the bed and floor and couch and table, with various positions to accommodate that. As a result, his grin was both relieved and downright filthy. "It's a deal."
The End
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ariadne/Eames
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan and not to me. His toys are fun to play with!
Spoilers/Warnings: Post-movie. For the inception_kink meme prompt in round 16: Eames has a spectacularly bad day/week (think Murphy's Law), but meeting up with Ariadne at the end of the day/week makes up for it. Also for the "head trauma" box on my hc_bingo card.
Summary: What it says for the prompt: Without Ariadne, Eames' luck takes a nosedive.
Some days, nothing went right. It was an inevitability in life, though Eames often was able to get around those standard inevitabilities of death and taxes. Looking back on this one particular week, he was glad that Ariadne was off at an international conference.
It began on his way back from the airport to the tiny flat that they were living in. He ran over some kind of debris on the highway, which actually sent him into another lane. This wouldn't have been terrible if there hadn't been another car that he nearly hit, and then he ran over some other debris on the highway that punctured the tire. Eames actually felt the shudder roll through the car, and he cursed his bad luck. At least it hadn't happened while on the way to the airport, since Ariadne was nervous enough about the conference. She had been utterly convinced that her credentials would be recognized as fake, and other mainstream architects would realize that her firm didn't actually exist. It was silly, of course, since ordinary people didn't double check that sort of thing. If you had the proper passes and security badges and acted as if you belonged, people generally didn't think twice about it.
Eames managed to steer himself toward the shoulder of the highway, though one car clipped the edge of his rear bumper just as he made it. His head slammed into the car's frame; he didn't think he blacked out, but he was sluggish for some time afterward and couldn't be sure. He tried to find his phone and his wallet, to see if he had remembered to set up some kind of auto insurance for this identity. His fingers slipped over the different ID's in the wallet, but he couldn't find any insurance cards for any names. Even worse, his phone had no current signal and less battery life than he thought. It was all but dead, on the last sliver of charge. He let out a filthy curse; he had thought he'd charged it the evening before while giving Ariadne a night to last her all week long.
Putting everything back into his pockets, he locked the car and started walking toward the highway's exit. From there he could hopefully find someone willing to let him call for a tow or something. It was a pain in the arse, but less so than getting a whole new car to drive.
The plan seemed sound enough, but he couldn't seem to find the exit. He knew he had passed one, and had walked toward it. It felt as if he was walking for miles upon miles, not getting anywhere, and the oncoming traffic seemed to swim a bit in his vision. This was decidedly Not Good, even if he knew he didn't have any kind of laceration.
A police car pulled up after some time, and Eames swore under his breath. It was easy enough to play befuddled accident victim, since he honestly did feel tired and hadn't found any insurance card to match the name on the ID he flashed the officer. He sat in the back of the car, which was altogether too uncomfortably familiar an experience. The police officer found his abandoned vehicle; apparently Eames had walked in the wrong direction and would have had to go another five miles before finding an exit. He was brought to the closest emergency room and informed that his vehicle would be towed to the closest garage. They had his cell phone number as contact information, though when Eames checked, there was no battery life left at all on the phone.
Lovely.
There was no getting around the hospital, which wanted to keep him overnight for observation. No one particularly cared about his lack of cell phone battery and thus connectivity to the outside world, and arguing to leave against medical advice made him stand out far too much. Eames fumed silently and decided to sneak out of the hospital during shift change. He had done it thousands of times before.
Apparently, this day was destined to be the one time it didn't work.
He had to make a break for it, and ran through the zigzagging streets long after he was dizzy and reeling, crashing into walls and tripping over random debris. He wanted to curse in a half dozen different languages. This had to be a concussion following the stupid car accident. He'd had one before, when he was thrashed within an inch of his life. That wasn't a particularly fun part of his history, and he had been telling himself for years that he would never do anything that stupid again. Surely this didn't quite count, right?
Eames managed to stumble his way to a busy enough intersection that he could get a cab ride home. He had enough to cover the fare, at least, though that left him without any money left to any of his false names.
He plugged in his phone and as soon as he was able, set it to wake him every two hours. If this was a concussion, he couldn't take the chance of sleeping through the night.
More irritable the following morning, Eames staggered to the shower. He'd missed the call from the garage that had his car; apparently, the damage was much more than the mechanic initially thought and they would need to hang onto it for a few more days to await a missing part that was on order. Without reliable transportation, Eames would be subject to cabs or mass transit to get around. He had initially planned to get some errands done while Ariadne was away, as well as surprise her with a present, maybe something lacy they could both enjoy. It was just as well he couldn't drive anywhere now, since his head still hurt like a bitch and there was a faint ringing in his ears. Ah, the troublesome sounds of a concussion.
He continued with the alarms every two hours just to be on the safe side. That seemed to be overkill until he actually had dozed off without meaning to while he was putting together a fake passport that he had been hired on to do. The last thing he remembered was setting up the typeface, but apparently he had tried to place the photograph while half asleep and had somehow offset the printing on the pages for visa stamps. It ruined all the work he had put in so far, and he had been on the finishing touches. Dammit.
There wasn't enough of the proper weight paper to recut the pages he was working on, which meant that he would indeed have to go out of the apartment to hunt for supplies. Dammit again.
Tugging on serviceable clothes, he checked the charge on his phone. It was ready to go, and he tucked it into his pocket along with whatever spare cash he had on hand in the apartment. His gait was more of a lurch, but he would have to deal with that as he went around into different neighborhoods looking for the right kind of paper. He knew the way if he drove, but it was harder to walk the distance to the dealers and fences that he needed to visit. They didn't exactly advertise, after all. Along the way, Eames growled and muttered under his breath when he realized that his last pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket were crushed.
Apparently, the word of the day was dammit, because nothing was going right today.
"You've got a tail," Hector Viera told him as he entered the shop. The fence tsk'ed at Eames, shaking his head. "That's not like you at all."
Eames glowered at him. "Car accident yesterday, Hector. Still have the sodding concussion."
"You should know better than to head this way, then," Hector remarked mildly.
"I need more of those papers you found me." Eames rubbed at his temples, the ringing in the back of his head insistent and painful. "Still got work to do, and I need materials."
Hector sighed. "I'll be able to get you what you need, but not today. Got me?" Hector's eyes slid past Eames to the door. Whoever was following him still hadn't entered the shop. "The tail is obvious on the CCTV, at least. I'm surprised you didn't pick him up yourself."
"Two words: sodding concussion."
Shaking his head, Hector pointed toward the door. "Gray suit jacket, dark pants, dark hair. Come back tomorrow, then. I'll have everything set up for the purchase. Lose the tail before then, will you? They're bad for business."
"All right, all right." Eames scrubbed his jaw. "Get me enough for two jobs, just in case."
"That's doable," Hector replied with a nod. "Go on, then. Get yourself something to eat, will you? You look ready to fall over."
"Feels like it, too." Eames nodded and winced as the room seemed to tilt. This had been a supremely bad idea after all, but Hector didn't have a phone so there was no other way to make arrangements. Hopefully by tomorrow the concussion would clear. It was already better than this morning, at least.
He spotted the tail that Hector had vaguely described, and the man followed him to a sidewalk cafe. He sat at a table a few feet away and sipped at a coffee while Eames tried to work his way through tea and toast. His stomach rebelled, but Eames managed to keep it all down as he tried to figure out who would possibly tail him. He was between jobs in dream share and hadn't angered any of the major players. Ariadne had no enemies, since she built fantastic levels and had learned to keep her mouth shut about whatever secrets she discovered along the way. Eames had his forgery jobs and con games, but other than the passport he was supposed to finish up soon, there were no outstanding jobs. He was coasting, which had felt nice at the time.
Now he was starting to wonder if Arthur's policy of constantly working at something was a better plan of action.
Dammit, things had to be bad if he was contemplating behaving like Arthur.
Eames ducked into the cafe to pay for breakfast and use the bathroom. The tail was watching him through the glass windows; there was no easy way to exit the building without the tail knowing about it. He would have to take that into account, but he wasn't exactly at his best and this was now the second day running that his luck had been utter shite. Surely it had to get better from here?
He left the cafe and ducked into an alleyway not far from the exit. He waited until the tail walked past him and yanked him into the alley, shoving him up against the wall. The move was rapid, making Eames' vision spin for a moment. "Why are you following me?"
"You're a hard man to track down."
"Not a good enough answer," Eames snarled.
"I think if you weren't feeling ill, I wouldn't have found you," the man continued, taking in the vague sheen of sweat at Eames' temples. "We have a mutual friend in Kenya that thought perhaps you could help me find work."
"This isn't the way to go about it," Eames replied through grit teeth, willing his tea and toast to stay down.
"Like I said, you're hard to track down. And I had good descriptions and directions from our mutual friend."
"You say he's a mutual friend."
"Well, more like he's the best chemist I've ever had the pleasure of speaking with," the man continued, eyes never leaving Eames' gray face. "He'd likely fix you up, right as rain."
"What do you want?"
"Work."
"I haven't anything going on right now, so you're not even on the right track."
The stranger frowned. "But he said you'd know where to go."
"Likely, but that kind of work is quiet right now. Nothing new in these parts." Eames let go of the man but didn't step back just yet. Mostly because he thought he might fall over if he did, and that would look awful. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.
"Can you point me in the right direction of something I can do?" He tried to flash Eames a charming smile. "I owe a rather large sum of money in one of the casinos..."
Eames let out a humorless bark of laughter. "Then you're a walking dead man if you don't have the cash when they want it."
"I'm fast approaching that deadline."
"Sorry, mate," Eames said, remembering not to shake his head in pity. "I haven't got anything lined up myself, and everyone's keeping their heads down right now. You heard of the mess that went down in Singapore and Moscow? Makes everyone else a mite tetchy in response."
"Something not in dream share, then..."
"Haven't got any leads," Eames said, finally stepping back. He had presence of mind enough to surreptitiously feel for his wallet and phone, and both were in place. Pickpocketing was a rare art at this point, but there were plenty of practitioners still working the trade in Mombasa. "If you're going to run, you'd best run far and fast."
The tail nodded and then ran out of the alley. Eames didn't bother to track where he went, but just leaned back against the brick wall of the alley. He took a deep breath to try to settle the raging headache that was building up.
Thankfully, he managed to get home in one piece, without further incident.
***
Annoyances after that were thankfully minor: running out of shampoo, nicking himself while shaving, bumping into the walls because of his ringing headache, burning his toast and finding out that he was low on cash to pay Hector. That was embarrassing, and Hector was already giving him a sad look because of the concussion. The worst of it seemed to be over at least, and Eames was trying to push the thought of the head injury behind him. His car still wasn't ready, and wouldn't be until the end of the week. He was stuck walking about on foot, and Eames tried to be extra careful with the passport forgery. His client was accepting that there was a slight delay and it would be ready later than originally anticipated, so Eames thought that perhaps his unlucky streak was coming to an end.
Ariadne was coming home tomorrow. The past few days were horrid, and perhaps she was his lucky charm. If so, he was never letting her out of his sight again.
Eames managed to pick up his car and drive to the airport. Though he was late getting there, the delay for her flight meant that he was at the gate on time to pick her up. She was as radiant and luminous as he had dreamed of her through his days of miserable luck. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me," he said with heartfelt sincerity after kissing her breathless.
"I take it you missed me," Ariadne teased. She threaded her fingers through Eames' and grinned up at him. "I missed you, too."
"I thought about you every day." Mostly he had thanked whatever God might exist that she hadn't been around to see him at his most graceless.
She tugged on his hand as they approached his car. "You know what would have made my conference better?"
"Nope. What?"
"You. Next time? Forge yourself some credentials and come with me. It was dreadfully boring without you."
Eames couldn't help but laugh. He swept her up in his arms and kissed her breathless again. He was already planning out the evening with her in his arms, mostly involving a fancy dinner and at least four different positions in bed. Or the bed and floor and couch and table, with various positions to accommodate that. As a result, his grin was both relieved and downright filthy. "It's a deal."
The End