Secondhand Shadow, 1/5. NC-17. Ariadne/Eames.
Title: Secondhand Shadow
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ariadne/Eames.
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan or the DC Universe. I'll put their toys back where I found them when I'm done messing with them :)
Spoilers/Warnings: Crossover of Inception and The Dark Knight Rises. inception_kink meme prompt in round 19: "...And I mean that. It's not just a line."
Summary: Forging involves breaking down the original personality and grafting a new one over it. Eames is one of the best in the business because his forges are flawless. So far, he had managed to avoid any complications or aftereffects from his forges. But forging Bane is a whole new experience, and pushes his skills to the next level. Including Bane bleeding through after the job is done.
I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
-T.S. Eliot, "The Waste Land"
One - A Job Like No Other
"You owe me," Berenger said, eyes narrowing as he slammed his palm down on the table in front of Eames. He was nearly as tall as Eames, with plain brown hair and eyes set in a hard-edged face and a mouth that was edged with very thin lips. Berenger was the sort of man that faded into the background and easily passed as a construction worker or some sort of physical laborer. They were sitting at Eames' favorite outdoor café in Old Town of Mombasa, and Eames was rapidly losing his patience with Berenger. He had hoped to simply have a bite to eat, people watch, maybe catch up with a few of his friends now that the whispers of inception have died down. He had spent a month after the Fischer job in Brazil, building up a bit of a tan. His blonde hair and blue eyes were the same, as were his broad shoulders. There was no real way to disguise his physical form in real space the same way he did in dream space.
Eames masked his sigh with a sip of his coffee. As much as he would have liked to tell Berenger to get the hell out of Mombasa, the man had a point. Years ago, during a job that went south, Eames would have been shot when Berenger arrived just in time to kill the man and lead Eames to safety. He hadn't taken payment at the time, saying he would rather have a favor to cash in one day in the future.
That day apparently was today.
"What's the favor, then?" Eames asked in an easy drawl, as if it didn't matter one bit what it would be. Knowing Berenger, it was very likely to be dangerous or stupid.
"I need the location of a weapons cache belonging to the League of Shadows," Berenger said, flashing Eames a confident smile. "They were largely dispersed after that debacle in Gotham last year, and I know there are caches hidden. I'm sure I can sell one back to Bane."
Apparently, Berenger had gotten reckless over the past few years, and liked jobs that were both incredibly dangerous and phenomenally stupid.
"You can't push around the League of bloody Shadows," Eames hissed in alarm.
Berenger snorted and tossed back his latte with a disinterested air. "You owe me," he repeated, eyes narrowing again. "You get me a cache location and we're square." He leaned back in his seat, as if sensing that Eames wasn't going to argue. "I can give you two months to get me the information. After that, I'll have to assume you're trying to cheat me out of a fair bargain."
There was no room to bargain; it had been an open favor to pay for his life. Now it was time to collect. With interest.
"Well then," Eames began with false congeniality, "I'd best get to work."
***
"I may need some of your compounds," Eames told Yusuf with a sigh, sitting in the chemist's office. He idly stroked the back of one cat as it brushed past his leg. He had spent the past week obtaining all archived footage of Bane's appearances in Gotham City, but Eames knew full well that a public face wasn't always the same as a private one. Yusuf had always been a good listener, so Eames had come to him.
Yusuf heaved a sigh as he leaned back in his desk chair. "My friend, you are not so deluded as to try to extract from the masked devil himself?"
"Good God, no," Eames replied, aghast. "I rather value my life."
"I thought so."
"But news casts and terrorist demands won't be enough to get what I need."
"Then you're going to extract the devil's personality to extract the cache data for Berenger? That's absolutely mad."
"I don't exactly have a choice."
Yusuf sighed, then poured Eames more tea. "You're skilled, Eames, but even that is too much of a challenge."
"There's Barsad."
"His second?" Yusuf asked, amazed. "You couldn't..."
"The League didn't bother to get him because he failed his mission. He's been in isolation twenty-three hours of every day for the past year. They claim suicide watch, but it's to keep other prisoners or the League from killing him." Eames' eyes gleamed. "I could possibly get cache data from him."
"Goodness, Eames, that's bold, even for you."
Eames grinned. "I could do it, couldn't I?"
"But Arkham hasn't been breached in twelve years, at least."
"Thirteen," Eames corrected, still grinning. "Now, why do you know that? I've looked it up, just this morning, trying to hatch this mad plan. What's your excuse?"
Yusuf chuckled. "There may have been interest regarding the concoction surrounding that particular jail break."
"Ah... I should have guessed." Eames tapped his jaw. "You could come with me, extract the formula from his mind."
"Oh, no. One jaunt with you was quite enough."
"That was hardly my fault," Eames protested.
"You brought that madman to my door."
"I wasn't about to trust anyone else's skill in a job like that. I'm not that reckless!"
Smiling like one of his cats, Yusuf sipped his tea. "Well."
"Just so, Yusuf. You're bloody brilliant."
"You'll need other brilliant minds on this, you know," Yusuf warned, accepting the praise as his due. "Having my compounds is just one piece in the larger puzzle."
Eames frowned. "I'm doing the extraction and forging. I've covered quite a bit already, so I may not need point."
"Get one," Yusuf advised. "It's the bloody League of Shadows. You can't be too cautious where they're concerned."
Making a mental note of that, Eames nodded. "All right. If I must. I believe Andersen is out of commission, broken leg. I suppose I could use Wyeth or Arthur. Neither are attached to any extractors right now."
"Wyeth is... shall we say, forcibly retired," Yusuf told him delicately. "The bloke didn't pay enough protection money."
"Damn. The man was good. Arthur, then? He's thorough and scarily efficient, if a bit staid. It's the army in him, I believe."
"You just like the competition," Yusuf accused, an air of teasing in his voice. "He's good, from what I saw. Yvette is free."
"Is she?" Eames asked, eyebrow arched. "I thought she would never work with me again."
"That was years ago. Nicole and Marta mellowed her out quite a bit."
Eames chuckled. "You're quite the gossip."
"Oh, don't pretend you don't thrive on that, too."
The chuckles turned to outright laughter. "Perhaps."
"I'll ask, see who bites first. The only other point that I can imagine might even be League caliber is Tolwyn."
Yusuf shook his head. "No."
"No?"
"No." Yusuf didn't elaborate.
"Arthur or Yvette. Slim pickings, then."
"League," Yusuf reminded Eames.
"Yes, well. Architect is next. I don't know many. Pearce is middling to average. Bhatt is so painfully self-aware and full of himself." Eames ignored Yusuf's amused snort of suppressed laughter. "I suppose if Nash is still alive or Carstairs crawls out of the bottle..."
"We both know a brilliant one..."
"She's innocent," Eames hissed. "I won't do that to her."
"Ariadne would build Gotham City for you," Yusuf murmured. "She would make it beautiful in all its damaged, ravaged glory, and you could trick Barsad. She doesn't have to be there, you know. She wasn't supposed to be part of the Fischer job."
But it worked because of her, because she was flexible and determined and new enough to believe anything was possible inside of a dream. There were no preconceived notions or bad habits to break. Her imagination and curiosity were limitless.
And more importantly, Eames liked her.
Eames looked at Yusuf. "Are you playing matchmaker, old man? Because I won't draw her into this any further than a simple design."
"You aren't this protective of many people," Yusuf observed.
"How many deserve it?" Eames challenged.
"Very few," Yusuf allowed.
"Well, then," Eames replied, settling the matter. "As long as she's not in the field. Arthur or Yvette can watch over our bodies topside."
"Somehow, you make that sound filthy."
"It's a gift," Eames replied with a laugh.
Yusuf laughed along with him, then finished his tea. "All right. I will make the compounds you need. Go build your team."
***
Yvette cursed Eames soundly once she heard that the League of Shadows might be involved. "I like breathing," she said finally. "No. Not just no, but hell no. Find some other fool."
Arthur saw it as the challenge it was and happily didn't call him any names. "What's the deadline?" he asked, voice crisp and cool as Eames remembered it.
"I need to get information to Berenger in seven weeks. It all depends on whether I get it all out of Barsad or need another middle man."
"Hm... We'll have to budget extra time, then, in case you need to do the second extraction," Arthur began, thinking aloud. "Barsad is in lockdown at Arkham. Even the League hasn't gotten him out of there."
"I'm sure they don't require his services," Eames told Arthur. "I'm sure if they did, Arkham wouldn't be standing right now."
"It means we have an hour's duration to get to him, unless we can coordinate it with a checkup of some kind."
"Ooh. Medical check? That would take a number of very large bribes."
"Fresh from the Fischer job, you should be good for it. Unless you've managed to gamble it all away already."
Eames snorted. "I may take chances, but I know how to protect myself when it counts."
"Good to hear," Arthur replied, meaning it. There were too few forgers in the field, let alone good ones. "Who's doing the build?"
"I've left a message for Ariadne."
Arthur was so very silent in response to that, Eames nearly thought the line went dead. "Please repeat that."
"I'm serious, Arthur. I've left message for Ariadne. I don't plan to let her get anywhere near Gotham City."
"Why Ariadne?" Arthur asked, voice quiet. For someone who regularly tried to get information on everyone and everything, it seemed to be out of character for Arthur to not expect that move.
"Blank slate. And most of the others I know skilled enough to fool a League member wouldn't go near this."
Arthur seemed to accept that excuse, and soon hung up in order to begin looking into the arrangements for Arkham. Eames wondered at his reaction to choosing Ariadne. Personal interest or guilt, perhaps? Cobb certainly wouldn't have any reservation about getting a talented graduate student to indoctrinate, but that wasn't Arthur's style in the least. An ex-military man, Arthur would want to minimize any casualties and protect whatever innocents he could. Eames understood the urge full well, having his own military history, but he had lost most of his compunctions long ago. Freelance work in dream share or other illicit activities sometimes involved tainting innocents. He hoped that Ariadne would survive their influence, adapt somehow and thrive. Eames didn't wish her harm at all.
Ariadne of course was delighted to work with him again. "I'm just about done with my thesis project, so I can definitely work on a single level plan for you," she said with enthusiasm.
"It would have to look like Gotham City," Eames told her.
She giggled. "There's a whole section on Gotham City in one of my old textbooks, along with parts of Chicago and New York for the Art Deco style. I can definitely do that. It'll be a nice break from my thesis, then."
"You're a life saver," Eames told her, enjoying the sound of her giggles. It was completely artless, out of pure joy of building. She could be utterly determined to succeed, but she wasn't the type to recklessly use others the way Cobb had. In this field, it was refreshing.
"Should I come out to meet you?"
"Well, with your thesis, should you really do that?"
"I've always loved traveling..."
"So any excuse will do?"
"Something like that," Ariadne replied with a laugh. "As long as I'm back in time to present my final thesis, I'm set."
"So when do you present?"
"In just over two months."
"Long after I need this."
"Which is?"
"As soon as possible. And I don't mean to play around too much on this job."
"Why? Is it dangerous?"
Incredibly so, he nearly said. Instead, Eames merely chuckled. "Not for you, my dear. I'll need the build to memorize, then it's all over for your involvement."
"If you're sure..."
"Absolutely. Just make me a realistically gritty, dirty Gotham and I'll be all set."
"Oh, I can do that for you easily."
"I'll even buy you your plane tickets as an advance graduation gift," Eames told her impulsively.
"That's so thoughtful, thank you," Ariadne said warmly. He could even picture the slight rosy flush to her cheeks, the way her entire face could light up when she smiled.
"You're my favorite architect."
Now came her hearty laughter, full of genuine amusement at his words. Eames loved the sound of it. "Oh, you. Such a flatterer."
"Only truth for you, darling," Eames told her, pouring on the charm. He liked her and the sound of her laughter, which was a sound not heard too often in the field. "You're far more pleasant and pleasing to the eye than most I've worked with before."
"Okay, I can probably accept that," Ariadne said with a laugh. "You still have my contact information, then?"
"Memorized for safety, my dear," Eames replied. "I'll send you details."
"Great," Ariadne said with enthusiasm before beginning her goodbyes.
He tried telling himself that his interest was only professional. It had nothing to do with personal interest. Not at all.
***
Yusuf didn't make any comments when Eames had Ariadne stay in the guest room of his flat in Mombasa. His eyes were expressive enough, however, and the chemist's mirth was as clear as day for Eames to see. He ignored it and simply showed Ariadne the materials she needed to make her models and sketches. She was pleased with the attention to detail and set to work immediately. Yusuf knew it was out of the ordinary for any job and certainly for Eames. He stayed silent, which made Eames absurdly grateful, and was his usual affable self as he met with Ariadne or took her around Mombasa during her breaks. It was reciprocation for the tours of Paris she had given him while they all worked together on the Fischer job.
Eames stayed in contact with Arthur regarding his infiltration of Arkham Asylum to get Barsad. Getting something into his food to induce vomiting wouldn't be difficult at all. He would be seen on video monitors, then medical staff would evaluate him. Once in the infirmary, Barsad could be sedated and then hooked to a PASIV for Eames to extract information or gain enough first hand memories to forge Bane. Or both.
Ariadne built a Gotham City that was dark, smoky and gritty. It was all that Eames had asked for, perfect for a league member to move through. "It's brilliant," he told her, looking around the dream city in awe. He laid his appreciative gaze on her, much as he had when he had seen her snow fortress. Eames brushed her hair from her cheek as he said "You're brilliant."
Her eyes widened. "Eames," she began, voice almost uncertain.
"I mean that. It's not just a line."
"I believe you," she murmured. She pressed his hand to her cheek and smiled gently. "I know you lie as well as you breathe, but on this I do believe you."
"Because for once, it's absolute truth."
"Where would it go?"
"Haven't a clue," he replied, shrugging. He let his hand fall from her face and gave her a rueful smile. "Perhaps, if you're willing to wait here at my flat until I get back from Gotham, we can find out together."
Ariadne weighed his words and nodded, that same gentle smile on her face. "I'll stay."
Eames left for Gotham soon after, feeling almost silly. The two had never even kissed. He was definitely protective of her, but whether it could really turn romantic remained to be seen. He supposed that Ariadne would remain in Mombasa to see what he wanted, but would primarily be interested in maintaining a work relationship. She wanted to work in dream share, but didn't know many in the field. Ariadne wouldn't want to lose the contacts she did have. Eames understood that and couldn't expect there to be too much more on her part, but it was nice to pretend that there could be.
Arthur's planning went off without a hitch. Barsad became violently ill about two hours after lunch. In the medical wing, one of the paid off techs added one of Yusuf's sedatives to his water. As soon as he fell asleep, Arthur came out of hiding with his PASIV. Eames followed, rolling up his sleeve. The needles went in smoothly, and Yusuf's altered somnacin flowed cleanly as soon as Arthur hit the button.
Eames opened his eyes and he was standing in an alley just outside of Gotham's worst neighborhood. He couldn't be that far away from Barsad, but he didn't know where Bane's second actually was. Eames picked a direction and began to walk, admiring Ariadne's work. As he walked down the street, he caught sight of Bane and Barsad. Bane was tall, heavily muscled and wore the face mask. It obscured all the distinguishing features of his face and altered the sound of his voice, making it more difficult to distinguish his accent. Eames moved forward, blending in with the followers. They were discussing plans to take apart municipal utilities, which hadn't fallen yet. Considering the timeline, it had to be right after Gotham's police force was locked away in the sewers trying to find Bane's hideout.
Even in private, Bane looked and sounded just like the video footage that was archived. He and Barsad planned out and assault on the holdouts in the utilities, and seamlessly parted to let a woman approach them.
Eames stopped cold at the sight of Mallorie Cobb.
No, it wasn't the destructive shade whose corpse he had seen in the fortress level of the Fischer job. This woman was steely and determined, whose eyes took in everything and assessed usefulness. She and Bane stood closely together and he appeared to listen to her point of view even more closely than Barsad's. His gaze on her was one of adoration, love and respect, as was her gaze on him. Whoever she was, she was more important to Bane than life itself, and Barsad's importance to Bane paled in comparison. Eames edged closer, taking in the graceful lines of her form and how Bane's massive body seemed to dwarf hers. She didn't fear him; if Bane was a sledgehammer, she was a blade. Each were deadly in their own ways, complimenting each other.
"They still trust in me," she was saying, accented voice cool and without emotional inflection. "I have what we need in place, but it's not yet time."
"They still cling to their illusions, my friend," Bane agreed. His touch on her wrist was at once possessive and supportive. "They have their creature comforts, still believe that they are civilized, still hope for their saviors. But the bat remains in the Pit and the huddled masses won't rise to defend themselves."
"They lack conviction," Barsad said with a deferent nod to the two of them.
"Precisely. And we mean to ensure that they will not regain it," she said. Her hand closed over Bane's, her touch deferent and tender, almost but not quite a lover's touch.
Bane looked to Barsad. "Are the bombs ready to be placed, then?"
"Of course," Barsad replied. He gestured to a map of Gotham on the table. Eames could clearly see the bomb locations as he pointed. "They are in the concrete already. Other triggers are here," he said, pointing at other locations in Gotham.
After Barsad left, Eames remained behind to observe Bane. He remained tender toward the woman, though it was only in the occasional touch and glance. The other men seemed almost indifferent to her presence, as if they couldn't even see her or they thought she didn't matter. He crept closer, listening to the cadence of his speech and taking in how he moved. After some time, Eames moved forward to address Bane after the woman left. He knew that this was no more than a projection, and it wasn't the real thing. Ariadne's work was too real here, which had been the point, but it was enough to draw out Eames' anxiety. Presenting himself as a new recruit, Eames asked after weapons caches that he would be able to get provisions from.
Bane's blue eyes narrowed as he took in Eames. It was like being under a laser, and Eames regretted drawing the attention of the projection. "You're not one of mine," he said finally, reaching out to grasp Eames' shoulder. His grip was painfully tight, grinding bone, muscle and tendon together. The muscles weren't all show; Eames could feel the power in Bane's grasp and knew that if he truly wanted to, Bane could shatter his shoulder right there. The eyes crinkled slightly, as if Bane was smiling beneath the mask. "You might be a brave one, to try to beard the lion in its den. But you will not save the masses this way, and you cannot save yourself."
"I'm new," Eames protested, clinging to the persona he had taken on for this dream.
"No. There are no new men here. You're not one of mine."
Eames' teeth rattled in his jaws as Bane shook him roughly. He may have grunted and tried to push Bane away, which was downright silly. The man was massively built to start with, rather like Eames' own large frame, but Bane had layers of thick muscle and deadly training. Eames couldn't hope to best this man in one to one combat. Stories from a year ago had said that the Batman had tried and failed, dying in the attempt. Eames could believe it.
"No," Bane said, amusement in his muffled tone. "You're not one of mine. But you will be."
***
Arthur didn't think anything of Eames' terse statements when he first woke up. They were too busy gathering up their things and vacating Arkham's medical wing before the sedative wore off and Barsad saw them. The plan was to part ways afterward, as Eames had already wired Arthur his payment for playing point. He had no idea where Arthur was headed once they split up, and he didn't care to find out. His own ticket back to Mombasa was waiting for him at his hotel room, and he clutched at it desperately as soon as he returned there. Something was nagging at him, something he had to remember. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it was something that was very important.
There was an itching feeling in his mind, something crawling around beneath his skin. His body felt too small, too weak. His voice wasn't gravelly enough, his stare not piercing enough. He carried knowledge of many things, and he felt as if he was wrung out, twisted inside and pasted back together wrong.
Something was wrong, very wrong. Arthur didn't see it because they had parted too soon, had barely even spoken. But Eames could feel wrongness deep inside of him, a worm within his core that was poisoning him from the inside out.
He slept on the plane back to Mombasa. That was a rarity; usually he stayed wide awake to be sure that he wasn't followed, that no one caught on to the fact that he had just done an illegal job and that he carried secrets deep inside of his mind. Berenger wouldn't care how he did his job as long as it was done, as long as a weapons cache found its way into his hands. Rage bubbled up inside of Eames at being forced into this position, doing this goddamn job and having it driven home how much he had been beholden to that asshole.
But he will burn, Eames thought as he fell asleep. You cannot steal from the League and hope to survive. They will know, and they will find him, and they will not forgive. He will die and the suffering will be proportional to the crime.
He didn't think he would suffer any less if his own complicity was discovered. If anything, he might be punished more severely.
His stance felt wrong as he walked through the airport to head to his flat. He called Berenger and gave him the information he sought. The gleeful satisfaction in Berenger's voice was grating and exacerbated that sense of wrongness in Eames' gut. He got off the phone as soon as he could, then went to his flat. There was someone in his bedroom, lying sprawled across his bed fast asleep. The figure was tiny in the massive bed, and the wrongness blossomed into outright fury that someone would invade his space this way. Someone breached his defenses, took over and sought to undermine everything that he was.
Without even thinking about it, his bag hit the floor and he moved rapidly to seize the sleeping figure on the bed. The thud of his bag startled the figure enough to start stirring but didn't fully bring her to wakefulness.
Her.
Eames had her lifted up off of the bed by her throat, another hand at her soft underbelly as if he could thrust his palm straight through her. She made a slight choking sound as she woke, terror throwing her golden brown eyes wide. Her dark hair was a riotous tumble of loose curls and snarls, and she was in nothing but a simple nightshirt. She didn't look dangerous, but he knew that appearances were deceiving. "What are you doing here?" he snarled, his voice not quite low or menacing enough without a mask to deepening the tones.
She choked out something that sounded like "You invited me," but he couldn't be certain. He shifted his grip on her, so that he wound up with both of her delicate wrists held above her head in one hand, the other pinning her hip to the wall. "Eames," she gasped, terror still blowing her pupils wide. "Eames, it's me. You invited me. You asked me to stay here while you were gone, and I've been waiting for you."
Something shifted in his mind, like puzzle pieces being shaken in a box. It didn't quite settle into place, and there was still that odd sense of wrong.
"I don't remember you," he growled, voice low. But then she made a soft, almost despairing noise, and the puzzle pieces shifted in his mind again. "Not exactly," he amended.
"The job you did. In Gotham City. Was it a success?" she ventured, tremors in her tone as she tried to appear brave.
Gotham City. Of course.
Eames gave her a wicked, sinister smile that obviously didn't calm her nerves one bit. "Oh, yes, my dear. Yes. I got everything I needed and more."
***
***
To Chapter Two - Exploration
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ariadne/Eames.
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan or the DC Universe. I'll put their toys back where I found them when I'm done messing with them :)
Spoilers/Warnings: Crossover of Inception and The Dark Knight Rises. inception_kink meme prompt in round 19: "...And I mean that. It's not just a line."
Summary: Forging involves breaking down the original personality and grafting a new one over it. Eames is one of the best in the business because his forges are flawless. So far, he had managed to avoid any complications or aftereffects from his forges. But forging Bane is a whole new experience, and pushes his skills to the next level. Including Bane bleeding through after the job is done.
I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
-T.S. Eliot, "The Waste Land"
One - A Job Like No Other
"You owe me," Berenger said, eyes narrowing as he slammed his palm down on the table in front of Eames. He was nearly as tall as Eames, with plain brown hair and eyes set in a hard-edged face and a mouth that was edged with very thin lips. Berenger was the sort of man that faded into the background and easily passed as a construction worker or some sort of physical laborer. They were sitting at Eames' favorite outdoor café in Old Town of Mombasa, and Eames was rapidly losing his patience with Berenger. He had hoped to simply have a bite to eat, people watch, maybe catch up with a few of his friends now that the whispers of inception have died down. He had spent a month after the Fischer job in Brazil, building up a bit of a tan. His blonde hair and blue eyes were the same, as were his broad shoulders. There was no real way to disguise his physical form in real space the same way he did in dream space.
Eames masked his sigh with a sip of his coffee. As much as he would have liked to tell Berenger to get the hell out of Mombasa, the man had a point. Years ago, during a job that went south, Eames would have been shot when Berenger arrived just in time to kill the man and lead Eames to safety. He hadn't taken payment at the time, saying he would rather have a favor to cash in one day in the future.
That day apparently was today.
"What's the favor, then?" Eames asked in an easy drawl, as if it didn't matter one bit what it would be. Knowing Berenger, it was very likely to be dangerous or stupid.
"I need the location of a weapons cache belonging to the League of Shadows," Berenger said, flashing Eames a confident smile. "They were largely dispersed after that debacle in Gotham last year, and I know there are caches hidden. I'm sure I can sell one back to Bane."
Apparently, Berenger had gotten reckless over the past few years, and liked jobs that were both incredibly dangerous and phenomenally stupid.
"You can't push around the League of bloody Shadows," Eames hissed in alarm.
Berenger snorted and tossed back his latte with a disinterested air. "You owe me," he repeated, eyes narrowing again. "You get me a cache location and we're square." He leaned back in his seat, as if sensing that Eames wasn't going to argue. "I can give you two months to get me the information. After that, I'll have to assume you're trying to cheat me out of a fair bargain."
There was no room to bargain; it had been an open favor to pay for his life. Now it was time to collect. With interest.
"Well then," Eames began with false congeniality, "I'd best get to work."
***
"I may need some of your compounds," Eames told Yusuf with a sigh, sitting in the chemist's office. He idly stroked the back of one cat as it brushed past his leg. He had spent the past week obtaining all archived footage of Bane's appearances in Gotham City, but Eames knew full well that a public face wasn't always the same as a private one. Yusuf had always been a good listener, so Eames had come to him.
Yusuf heaved a sigh as he leaned back in his desk chair. "My friend, you are not so deluded as to try to extract from the masked devil himself?"
"Good God, no," Eames replied, aghast. "I rather value my life."
"I thought so."
"But news casts and terrorist demands won't be enough to get what I need."
"Then you're going to extract the devil's personality to extract the cache data for Berenger? That's absolutely mad."
"I don't exactly have a choice."
Yusuf sighed, then poured Eames more tea. "You're skilled, Eames, but even that is too much of a challenge."
"There's Barsad."
"His second?" Yusuf asked, amazed. "You couldn't..."
"The League didn't bother to get him because he failed his mission. He's been in isolation twenty-three hours of every day for the past year. They claim suicide watch, but it's to keep other prisoners or the League from killing him." Eames' eyes gleamed. "I could possibly get cache data from him."
"Goodness, Eames, that's bold, even for you."
Eames grinned. "I could do it, couldn't I?"
"But Arkham hasn't been breached in twelve years, at least."
"Thirteen," Eames corrected, still grinning. "Now, why do you know that? I've looked it up, just this morning, trying to hatch this mad plan. What's your excuse?"
Yusuf chuckled. "There may have been interest regarding the concoction surrounding that particular jail break."
"Ah... I should have guessed." Eames tapped his jaw. "You could come with me, extract the formula from his mind."
"Oh, no. One jaunt with you was quite enough."
"That was hardly my fault," Eames protested.
"You brought that madman to my door."
"I wasn't about to trust anyone else's skill in a job like that. I'm not that reckless!"
Smiling like one of his cats, Yusuf sipped his tea. "Well."
"Just so, Yusuf. You're bloody brilliant."
"You'll need other brilliant minds on this, you know," Yusuf warned, accepting the praise as his due. "Having my compounds is just one piece in the larger puzzle."
Eames frowned. "I'm doing the extraction and forging. I've covered quite a bit already, so I may not need point."
"Get one," Yusuf advised. "It's the bloody League of Shadows. You can't be too cautious where they're concerned."
Making a mental note of that, Eames nodded. "All right. If I must. I believe Andersen is out of commission, broken leg. I suppose I could use Wyeth or Arthur. Neither are attached to any extractors right now."
"Wyeth is... shall we say, forcibly retired," Yusuf told him delicately. "The bloke didn't pay enough protection money."
"Damn. The man was good. Arthur, then? He's thorough and scarily efficient, if a bit staid. It's the army in him, I believe."
"You just like the competition," Yusuf accused, an air of teasing in his voice. "He's good, from what I saw. Yvette is free."
"Is she?" Eames asked, eyebrow arched. "I thought she would never work with me again."
"That was years ago. Nicole and Marta mellowed her out quite a bit."
Eames chuckled. "You're quite the gossip."
"Oh, don't pretend you don't thrive on that, too."
The chuckles turned to outright laughter. "Perhaps."
"I'll ask, see who bites first. The only other point that I can imagine might even be League caliber is Tolwyn."
Yusuf shook his head. "No."
"No?"
"No." Yusuf didn't elaborate.
"Arthur or Yvette. Slim pickings, then."
"League," Yusuf reminded Eames.
"Yes, well. Architect is next. I don't know many. Pearce is middling to average. Bhatt is so painfully self-aware and full of himself." Eames ignored Yusuf's amused snort of suppressed laughter. "I suppose if Nash is still alive or Carstairs crawls out of the bottle..."
"We both know a brilliant one..."
"She's innocent," Eames hissed. "I won't do that to her."
"Ariadne would build Gotham City for you," Yusuf murmured. "She would make it beautiful in all its damaged, ravaged glory, and you could trick Barsad. She doesn't have to be there, you know. She wasn't supposed to be part of the Fischer job."
But it worked because of her, because she was flexible and determined and new enough to believe anything was possible inside of a dream. There were no preconceived notions or bad habits to break. Her imagination and curiosity were limitless.
And more importantly, Eames liked her.
Eames looked at Yusuf. "Are you playing matchmaker, old man? Because I won't draw her into this any further than a simple design."
"You aren't this protective of many people," Yusuf observed.
"How many deserve it?" Eames challenged.
"Very few," Yusuf allowed.
"Well, then," Eames replied, settling the matter. "As long as she's not in the field. Arthur or Yvette can watch over our bodies topside."
"Somehow, you make that sound filthy."
"It's a gift," Eames replied with a laugh.
Yusuf laughed along with him, then finished his tea. "All right. I will make the compounds you need. Go build your team."
***
Yvette cursed Eames soundly once she heard that the League of Shadows might be involved. "I like breathing," she said finally. "No. Not just no, but hell no. Find some other fool."
Arthur saw it as the challenge it was and happily didn't call him any names. "What's the deadline?" he asked, voice crisp and cool as Eames remembered it.
"I need to get information to Berenger in seven weeks. It all depends on whether I get it all out of Barsad or need another middle man."
"Hm... We'll have to budget extra time, then, in case you need to do the second extraction," Arthur began, thinking aloud. "Barsad is in lockdown at Arkham. Even the League hasn't gotten him out of there."
"I'm sure they don't require his services," Eames told Arthur. "I'm sure if they did, Arkham wouldn't be standing right now."
"It means we have an hour's duration to get to him, unless we can coordinate it with a checkup of some kind."
"Ooh. Medical check? That would take a number of very large bribes."
"Fresh from the Fischer job, you should be good for it. Unless you've managed to gamble it all away already."
Eames snorted. "I may take chances, but I know how to protect myself when it counts."
"Good to hear," Arthur replied, meaning it. There were too few forgers in the field, let alone good ones. "Who's doing the build?"
"I've left a message for Ariadne."
Arthur was so very silent in response to that, Eames nearly thought the line went dead. "Please repeat that."
"I'm serious, Arthur. I've left message for Ariadne. I don't plan to let her get anywhere near Gotham City."
"Why Ariadne?" Arthur asked, voice quiet. For someone who regularly tried to get information on everyone and everything, it seemed to be out of character for Arthur to not expect that move.
"Blank slate. And most of the others I know skilled enough to fool a League member wouldn't go near this."
Arthur seemed to accept that excuse, and soon hung up in order to begin looking into the arrangements for Arkham. Eames wondered at his reaction to choosing Ariadne. Personal interest or guilt, perhaps? Cobb certainly wouldn't have any reservation about getting a talented graduate student to indoctrinate, but that wasn't Arthur's style in the least. An ex-military man, Arthur would want to minimize any casualties and protect whatever innocents he could. Eames understood the urge full well, having his own military history, but he had lost most of his compunctions long ago. Freelance work in dream share or other illicit activities sometimes involved tainting innocents. He hoped that Ariadne would survive their influence, adapt somehow and thrive. Eames didn't wish her harm at all.
Ariadne of course was delighted to work with him again. "I'm just about done with my thesis project, so I can definitely work on a single level plan for you," she said with enthusiasm.
"It would have to look like Gotham City," Eames told her.
She giggled. "There's a whole section on Gotham City in one of my old textbooks, along with parts of Chicago and New York for the Art Deco style. I can definitely do that. It'll be a nice break from my thesis, then."
"You're a life saver," Eames told her, enjoying the sound of her giggles. It was completely artless, out of pure joy of building. She could be utterly determined to succeed, but she wasn't the type to recklessly use others the way Cobb had. In this field, it was refreshing.
"Should I come out to meet you?"
"Well, with your thesis, should you really do that?"
"I've always loved traveling..."
"So any excuse will do?"
"Something like that," Ariadne replied with a laugh. "As long as I'm back in time to present my final thesis, I'm set."
"So when do you present?"
"In just over two months."
"Long after I need this."
"Which is?"
"As soon as possible. And I don't mean to play around too much on this job."
"Why? Is it dangerous?"
Incredibly so, he nearly said. Instead, Eames merely chuckled. "Not for you, my dear. I'll need the build to memorize, then it's all over for your involvement."
"If you're sure..."
"Absolutely. Just make me a realistically gritty, dirty Gotham and I'll be all set."
"Oh, I can do that for you easily."
"I'll even buy you your plane tickets as an advance graduation gift," Eames told her impulsively.
"That's so thoughtful, thank you," Ariadne said warmly. He could even picture the slight rosy flush to her cheeks, the way her entire face could light up when she smiled.
"You're my favorite architect."
Now came her hearty laughter, full of genuine amusement at his words. Eames loved the sound of it. "Oh, you. Such a flatterer."
"Only truth for you, darling," Eames told her, pouring on the charm. He liked her and the sound of her laughter, which was a sound not heard too often in the field. "You're far more pleasant and pleasing to the eye than most I've worked with before."
"Okay, I can probably accept that," Ariadne said with a laugh. "You still have my contact information, then?"
"Memorized for safety, my dear," Eames replied. "I'll send you details."
"Great," Ariadne said with enthusiasm before beginning her goodbyes.
He tried telling himself that his interest was only professional. It had nothing to do with personal interest. Not at all.
***
Yusuf didn't make any comments when Eames had Ariadne stay in the guest room of his flat in Mombasa. His eyes were expressive enough, however, and the chemist's mirth was as clear as day for Eames to see. He ignored it and simply showed Ariadne the materials she needed to make her models and sketches. She was pleased with the attention to detail and set to work immediately. Yusuf knew it was out of the ordinary for any job and certainly for Eames. He stayed silent, which made Eames absurdly grateful, and was his usual affable self as he met with Ariadne or took her around Mombasa during her breaks. It was reciprocation for the tours of Paris she had given him while they all worked together on the Fischer job.
Eames stayed in contact with Arthur regarding his infiltration of Arkham Asylum to get Barsad. Getting something into his food to induce vomiting wouldn't be difficult at all. He would be seen on video monitors, then medical staff would evaluate him. Once in the infirmary, Barsad could be sedated and then hooked to a PASIV for Eames to extract information or gain enough first hand memories to forge Bane. Or both.
Ariadne built a Gotham City that was dark, smoky and gritty. It was all that Eames had asked for, perfect for a league member to move through. "It's brilliant," he told her, looking around the dream city in awe. He laid his appreciative gaze on her, much as he had when he had seen her snow fortress. Eames brushed her hair from her cheek as he said "You're brilliant."
Her eyes widened. "Eames," she began, voice almost uncertain.
"I mean that. It's not just a line."
"I believe you," she murmured. She pressed his hand to her cheek and smiled gently. "I know you lie as well as you breathe, but on this I do believe you."
"Because for once, it's absolute truth."
"Where would it go?"
"Haven't a clue," he replied, shrugging. He let his hand fall from her face and gave her a rueful smile. "Perhaps, if you're willing to wait here at my flat until I get back from Gotham, we can find out together."
Ariadne weighed his words and nodded, that same gentle smile on her face. "I'll stay."
Eames left for Gotham soon after, feeling almost silly. The two had never even kissed. He was definitely protective of her, but whether it could really turn romantic remained to be seen. He supposed that Ariadne would remain in Mombasa to see what he wanted, but would primarily be interested in maintaining a work relationship. She wanted to work in dream share, but didn't know many in the field. Ariadne wouldn't want to lose the contacts she did have. Eames understood that and couldn't expect there to be too much more on her part, but it was nice to pretend that there could be.
Arthur's planning went off without a hitch. Barsad became violently ill about two hours after lunch. In the medical wing, one of the paid off techs added one of Yusuf's sedatives to his water. As soon as he fell asleep, Arthur came out of hiding with his PASIV. Eames followed, rolling up his sleeve. The needles went in smoothly, and Yusuf's altered somnacin flowed cleanly as soon as Arthur hit the button.
Eames opened his eyes and he was standing in an alley just outside of Gotham's worst neighborhood. He couldn't be that far away from Barsad, but he didn't know where Bane's second actually was. Eames picked a direction and began to walk, admiring Ariadne's work. As he walked down the street, he caught sight of Bane and Barsad. Bane was tall, heavily muscled and wore the face mask. It obscured all the distinguishing features of his face and altered the sound of his voice, making it more difficult to distinguish his accent. Eames moved forward, blending in with the followers. They were discussing plans to take apart municipal utilities, which hadn't fallen yet. Considering the timeline, it had to be right after Gotham's police force was locked away in the sewers trying to find Bane's hideout.
Even in private, Bane looked and sounded just like the video footage that was archived. He and Barsad planned out and assault on the holdouts in the utilities, and seamlessly parted to let a woman approach them.
Eames stopped cold at the sight of Mallorie Cobb.
No, it wasn't the destructive shade whose corpse he had seen in the fortress level of the Fischer job. This woman was steely and determined, whose eyes took in everything and assessed usefulness. She and Bane stood closely together and he appeared to listen to her point of view even more closely than Barsad's. His gaze on her was one of adoration, love and respect, as was her gaze on him. Whoever she was, she was more important to Bane than life itself, and Barsad's importance to Bane paled in comparison. Eames edged closer, taking in the graceful lines of her form and how Bane's massive body seemed to dwarf hers. She didn't fear him; if Bane was a sledgehammer, she was a blade. Each were deadly in their own ways, complimenting each other.
"They still trust in me," she was saying, accented voice cool and without emotional inflection. "I have what we need in place, but it's not yet time."
"They still cling to their illusions, my friend," Bane agreed. His touch on her wrist was at once possessive and supportive. "They have their creature comforts, still believe that they are civilized, still hope for their saviors. But the bat remains in the Pit and the huddled masses won't rise to defend themselves."
"They lack conviction," Barsad said with a deferent nod to the two of them.
"Precisely. And we mean to ensure that they will not regain it," she said. Her hand closed over Bane's, her touch deferent and tender, almost but not quite a lover's touch.
Bane looked to Barsad. "Are the bombs ready to be placed, then?"
"Of course," Barsad replied. He gestured to a map of Gotham on the table. Eames could clearly see the bomb locations as he pointed. "They are in the concrete already. Other triggers are here," he said, pointing at other locations in Gotham.
After Barsad left, Eames remained behind to observe Bane. He remained tender toward the woman, though it was only in the occasional touch and glance. The other men seemed almost indifferent to her presence, as if they couldn't even see her or they thought she didn't matter. He crept closer, listening to the cadence of his speech and taking in how he moved. After some time, Eames moved forward to address Bane after the woman left. He knew that this was no more than a projection, and it wasn't the real thing. Ariadne's work was too real here, which had been the point, but it was enough to draw out Eames' anxiety. Presenting himself as a new recruit, Eames asked after weapons caches that he would be able to get provisions from.
Bane's blue eyes narrowed as he took in Eames. It was like being under a laser, and Eames regretted drawing the attention of the projection. "You're not one of mine," he said finally, reaching out to grasp Eames' shoulder. His grip was painfully tight, grinding bone, muscle and tendon together. The muscles weren't all show; Eames could feel the power in Bane's grasp and knew that if he truly wanted to, Bane could shatter his shoulder right there. The eyes crinkled slightly, as if Bane was smiling beneath the mask. "You might be a brave one, to try to beard the lion in its den. But you will not save the masses this way, and you cannot save yourself."
"I'm new," Eames protested, clinging to the persona he had taken on for this dream.
"No. There are no new men here. You're not one of mine."
Eames' teeth rattled in his jaws as Bane shook him roughly. He may have grunted and tried to push Bane away, which was downright silly. The man was massively built to start with, rather like Eames' own large frame, but Bane had layers of thick muscle and deadly training. Eames couldn't hope to best this man in one to one combat. Stories from a year ago had said that the Batman had tried and failed, dying in the attempt. Eames could believe it.
"No," Bane said, amusement in his muffled tone. "You're not one of mine. But you will be."
***
Arthur didn't think anything of Eames' terse statements when he first woke up. They were too busy gathering up their things and vacating Arkham's medical wing before the sedative wore off and Barsad saw them. The plan was to part ways afterward, as Eames had already wired Arthur his payment for playing point. He had no idea where Arthur was headed once they split up, and he didn't care to find out. His own ticket back to Mombasa was waiting for him at his hotel room, and he clutched at it desperately as soon as he returned there. Something was nagging at him, something he had to remember. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it was something that was very important.
There was an itching feeling in his mind, something crawling around beneath his skin. His body felt too small, too weak. His voice wasn't gravelly enough, his stare not piercing enough. He carried knowledge of many things, and he felt as if he was wrung out, twisted inside and pasted back together wrong.
Something was wrong, very wrong. Arthur didn't see it because they had parted too soon, had barely even spoken. But Eames could feel wrongness deep inside of him, a worm within his core that was poisoning him from the inside out.
He slept on the plane back to Mombasa. That was a rarity; usually he stayed wide awake to be sure that he wasn't followed, that no one caught on to the fact that he had just done an illegal job and that he carried secrets deep inside of his mind. Berenger wouldn't care how he did his job as long as it was done, as long as a weapons cache found its way into his hands. Rage bubbled up inside of Eames at being forced into this position, doing this goddamn job and having it driven home how much he had been beholden to that asshole.
But he will burn, Eames thought as he fell asleep. You cannot steal from the League and hope to survive. They will know, and they will find him, and they will not forgive. He will die and the suffering will be proportional to the crime.
He didn't think he would suffer any less if his own complicity was discovered. If anything, he might be punished more severely.
His stance felt wrong as he walked through the airport to head to his flat. He called Berenger and gave him the information he sought. The gleeful satisfaction in Berenger's voice was grating and exacerbated that sense of wrongness in Eames' gut. He got off the phone as soon as he could, then went to his flat. There was someone in his bedroom, lying sprawled across his bed fast asleep. The figure was tiny in the massive bed, and the wrongness blossomed into outright fury that someone would invade his space this way. Someone breached his defenses, took over and sought to undermine everything that he was.
Without even thinking about it, his bag hit the floor and he moved rapidly to seize the sleeping figure on the bed. The thud of his bag startled the figure enough to start stirring but didn't fully bring her to wakefulness.
Her.
Eames had her lifted up off of the bed by her throat, another hand at her soft underbelly as if he could thrust his palm straight through her. She made a slight choking sound as she woke, terror throwing her golden brown eyes wide. Her dark hair was a riotous tumble of loose curls and snarls, and she was in nothing but a simple nightshirt. She didn't look dangerous, but he knew that appearances were deceiving. "What are you doing here?" he snarled, his voice not quite low or menacing enough without a mask to deepening the tones.
She choked out something that sounded like "You invited me," but he couldn't be certain. He shifted his grip on her, so that he wound up with both of her delicate wrists held above her head in one hand, the other pinning her hip to the wall. "Eames," she gasped, terror still blowing her pupils wide. "Eames, it's me. You invited me. You asked me to stay here while you were gone, and I've been waiting for you."
Something shifted in his mind, like puzzle pieces being shaken in a box. It didn't quite settle into place, and there was still that odd sense of wrong.
"I don't remember you," he growled, voice low. But then she made a soft, almost despairing noise, and the puzzle pieces shifted in his mind again. "Not exactly," he amended.
"The job you did. In Gotham City. Was it a success?" she ventured, tremors in her tone as she tried to appear brave.
Gotham City. Of course.
Eames gave her a wicked, sinister smile that obviously didn't calm her nerves one bit. "Oh, yes, my dear. Yes. I got everything I needed and more."
***
***
To Chapter Two - Exploration