Life in a Dreaming Trio (1/2)
Title: Life in a Dreaming Trio
Fandom: Inception
Disclaimer: The movie Inception does not belong to me and I am making no money from this story, just a good-ole fanwork!
Pairing/Characters: Arthur, Eames, Ariadne; Arthur/Eames (Not the focus, however)
Word Count: 15,446
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ariadne, Eames, and Arthur; the architect, the forger and the point man; the brand new, or really not so new, top of the extraction ladder, stealing your secrets and delivering your dreams. Adventure after adventure!
Author notes: This story is a sequel to my Extraction by Three, so it would be better to read that one first but you can still read this one on it's own. [The Third part, now completed, can be found here: The Architect, The Forger, and The Point Man]
Ariadne, Eames, and Arthur; the architect, the forger and the point man; the brand new, or really not so new, top of the extraction ladder, stealing your secrets and delivering your dreams.
“No Dominic Cobb in our way for the ascent!” Eames says.
Somehow the three of them became the most highly sought after, most frequently shot at, and most skilled extraction team in the business. It certainly pays well as Eames is quick to remind them when they run through dream streets and fall off dream roofs and shoot dream people. Their list of accolades has grown and everyone in the dream business knows their names.
However, Ariadne could have done without the shoulder wound.
“I was shot in reality, damn it!”
Arthur just holds up his hands in defense while Eames pets her hair. “Darling, has to happen to everyone.”
“Shot!” she exclaims, throwing off Eames’ hand and pointing at the sling on her arm. “Fucking shot!”
“You’ve been shot before!” Arthur insists.
“In a dream!”
Eames points between the three of them. “We’ve all been shot.”
Ariadne kicks the PASIV and it almost falls off the chair.
“Are the pain drugs making her crazy?” Arthur hisses at Eames under his breath.
“It’s not a requirement of life to be shot.” Ariadne paces. “It’s not on my list of ‘life things to do.’ Get my degree, build the next Louvre, get shot - not necessary!”
Eames purses his lips. “If it was on your list you could cross it off now.”
Ariadne makes a loud, angry noise and kicks the chair all the way over, PASIV toppling to the floor. Arthur glares and kneels down to inspect the case. Ariadne points a finger at Eames then turns away.
“Where is my gun?” She stalks out of the room. “Misery loves company, Eames!”
Arthur stares up at Eames. “Are you an idiot?”
“Isn’t quite taking this well, is she?”
-------------
Ariadne stands with her back to the San Domenico, wide brimmed red hat tilted back on her head and the city roofs of Siena spread out below. Arthur crouches down by the pavement, back to a metal post, a few feet away with camera in hand. Ariadne smiles and slides to the right when Arthur waves her over.
“Obtenez-le tout!”
“Oui,” Arthur replies, clicking the button.
Ariadne smiles and speaks low through her teeth. “We’ll need the inside too.”
Arthur smiles back motioning her to the other side. “The entrance on your left is where she’d go in. Around the back and it leads to some class rooms.”
“She only takes one over here, right?”
“Oui,” Arthur replies louder as some people walk by behind him.
Ariadne skips back over to Arthur then turns around to face the church once she is at Arthur’s side. He stands up and pretends to show her the pictures.
“The main school is in the center over looking the Piazza.”
Ariadne kisses Arthur’s cheek then loops her arm through his. “Perfect. I would love to build the Piazza del Campo.” She makes a kissing noise. “Belissima.”
“Aren’t we supposed to be French?”
She just smiles.
The two cross the street then walk down the hill toward the city center. They turn to the right and take a short cut down steep steps until the street changes to gray cobblestone. These back streets have less people and the two extractors pick up the pace, less act to keep up. They pass a plain yellow building, closed shutters to their left and an old iron fence to their right. The road narrows slightly as they go on, curving steeply up and down, the buildings turning into more generic red brick and tan stone.
Suddenly Arthur’s phone beeps.
“Bonjour?”
“How is the school stalking going?” Eames asks. “Enjoying the French tourist bit?”
“Oui, c’est bein.”
“I’m not sure that was the correct sentence construction.”
Ariadne laughs next to Arthur, hearing Eames’ words. Arthur just rolls his eyes and switches to English.
“We took shots of the church, passing by the main school soon, and Ariadne is tearing my French to shreds.”
“Helps to be fluent I suppose.”
“Oui, oui,” Ariadne says, tipping the mouth piece of the phone toward herself, “école le ferai.”
Eames chuckles. “I’m sure.”
Arthur and Ariadne reach the top of the hill and turn to their left, the road widening some and people reappearing around them as they near the piazza. They walk by more classic European buildings with beautiful stone fronts as well as some more modern clothing stores. They slow down past a building with large black doors, giant metal hooks in the centers. Ariadne makes an excited noise.
“Prends ma photo!”
“What?” Eames answers.
“Une minute,” Arthur says into the phone then raises the camera as Ariadne poses in front of the doors.
Though the building doesn’t look it, it is in fact a school with a college program; the study abroad program which their possible mark attends.
Arthur glances up at the windows of the building. Most are closed with shutters, not too helpful for them. One of the main doors has a smaller door built into it which actually opens as opposed to the façade of the larger ones. He clicks the camera a few times, tilting the shutter upward surreptitiously to get shots higher up.
“Bien,” he says and smiles.
Ariadne slides back over to him, her eyes coasting across the surrounding buildings, architecture cataloging through her brain.
“Back,” Arthur says, putting the phone back to his ear. “How is our man’s daughter?”
“Still faux sunbathing in the piazza - starting to get some clouds though, oh dear - with her charming boyfriend.”
“The Albanian one?”
Eames makes a clicking noise with his tongue. “She’s told our boy about the Florentine, plans to break up with him. Whether or not she will for real, who knows? I doubt it. Better to have two boys than one, eh?”
“You’d better not think so.”
Eames laughs mischievously.
Ariadne snaps her fingers at Arthur. “Viens!”
“See you soon,” Arthur says and clicks the phone off.
Ariadne tugs Arthur on until they turn to their right down an arched pathway leading out into the Piazza del Campo, open sky above them and tourists everywhere snapping photos of the Torre del Mangia. They see their mark, one Danielle Roberts, sitting on the edge of the shell-shaped piazza where the stone on the ground turns tan. She laughs and kisses the man next to her, hands gesticulating in front of her.
Ariadne makes a condescending noise. “Art students, so fake.”
“Architecture students are the real art students?”
Ariadne raises an eyebrow at him. “Architecture students who spend their whole time in Paris as opposed to one semester abroad to show off are clearly the real art students.”
Arthur tuts at her. “Such hostility.”
Ariadne smacks his arm then slants her head slightly to the left. At the far edge of the piazza they can see Eames sitting in a chair outside of a café, newspaper in his hand. The two amble leisurely down the stone, passing by restaurants until they ‘happen’ to choose the café at the edge of the piazza. They weave through the tables and sit down at a table a bit behind Eames. Eames has an espresso and a pad of paper on the table beside him, both obscured to the piazza by his newspaper. Eames jots down something on the pad then pulls his cell phone from his pocket as it buzzes.
“Ciao.”
“Ready to forge the boyfriend?” Arthur asks.
They see Eames glance to the left and smile for them.
“Quite a challenge to get the accent right,” Eames says with evident sarcasm, “though I am sure our little Danielle can teach me a thing or two with her own talented tongue.”
Ariadne snorts and takes the phone from Arthur before he can retaliate. “Vous êtes fou.”
“Must you keep showing off with your French?”
“You are crazy,” she repeats. “And you know that Arthur can reach you from here.”
“Oh, I am well aware.”
A waiter comes up to the table and Ariadne orders the two of them cappuccinos.
Arthur takes the phone back once the waiter leaves. “So, we’ve got some pictures to start with. Ariadne has an idea for the dreamscape. How’s it looking on her? I know you’re excited about this boyfriend forge.”
Eames only laughs and lays his hand on the table beside him, drumming his fingers once at them.
Ariadne takes the phone again. “She looks perfect to me and Arthur’s research did say she was very close to her father. She’s sure to have the information and access we need.”
Eames closes his phone, picking up his espresso and drinking the rest.
“Done,” he says without turning around.
Suddenly a crack of thunder breaks through the calm atmosphere of the day. They all look up and see the once peaceful, if cloudy, sky of a few minutes ago turning dark and gray. Their cappuccinos arrive and in front of them Eames puts his notebook back into the leather bag by his feet. He closes his newspaper, stands up, and then the rain pours down. Eames jumps around tables and under the awning where Ariadne and Arthur are sitting, splashing them as well as a few others with water.
“Shit…” he mutters, looking down at himself.
They see people running out of the pizza into the covered side streets and restaurants. Danielle and her boyfriend scamper off to the right into the alleyway Ariadne and Arthur entered through. Eames looks side long at the two of them and flicks Ariadne with water. Suddenly she stands up and grabs Arthur’s hand.
“What? No!” He cries but she pulls him out into the rain.
Laughing and running with a hand on her hat, Ariadne drags Arthur out into the center of the down pour, twirling them around. Arthur glares for a moment but he’s already soaked and gives up. Arthur wraps his arm around Ariadne’s waist and spins them about in a clumsy waltz. Ariadne smiles and waves a beckoning hand at Eames. He crosses his arms and shakes his head from under the safety of the awning.
“Venez ici! Venez ici!” Ariadne shouts as they dance.
Eames shakes his head again. Ariadne breaks free of Arthur and runs back toward Eames. Most of the people in the piazza are scattered into buildings, inside restaurants, only a brave few still outside at all. She runs up and grasps Eames’ hand.
“No,” Eames says, trying to plant his feet. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re already a bit wet.”
“Exactly, a bit.”
She tugs and he stumbles and they’re both out in the rain again. Eames groans but lets her pull him along back to Arthur in the middle. Eames drops his bag as they reach the other man and Ariadne begins waltzing with Arthur again. Eames crosses his arms, pushing wet hair out of his eyes. Arthur laughs at him.
“I thought I was supposed to be the ‘stick in the mud,’ Eames,” Arthur chides. “Now who’s afraid of a little rain?”
Eames huffs and points down. “The bag is leather, you know.”
Ariadne slips out of Arthur’s arms and puts herself into Eames’, taking the lead and pulling him along. Eames trips in surprise but regroups, following her easily.
“The woman can lead a waltz,” he says with a smile.
“The woman can do a lot of things.”
Arthur claps. “Don’t we know it.”
Eames and Ariadne look at Arthur then at the same time they reach out and grab Arthur’s hand, pulling him between them. Eames wraps his arms around Arthur from the front and Ariadne snuggles up against his back, her hat falling off into a puddle.
Eames gives Arthur a discrete kiss, though their cover is certainly gone by now. Arthur smiles and takes Eames' hand and Ariadne puts a hand on Eames’ other arm around Arthur. Arthur turns and they follow, leading them through a strange sort of trio waltz. Together they sway and turn, twist and dance as the rain soaks them through with smiles on their faces.
-------------
Smoke fills the bar so everything seems to be moving slowly, tantalizing, slipping in and out of clouds. Indian music plays softly and a few people sway together in the spaces between the sparse tables. Arthur sits at the bar while Eames in a tight black dress talks to their mark. They are clearly having a fight, all according to plan.
“Ready to go?” Ariadne asks from behind Arthur though she isn’t facing him.
“Almost.” Arthur picks up his drink as he speaks, keeping the glass in front of his face. “Eames needs to storm away on his high heels.”
“Flipping some black hair?”
Arthur takes a drink. “He’s a little too good at that part.”
Something makes a crashing noise and then a short dark-skinned woman in a black dress stalks by them, not even a glance in their direction. Eames is all business tonight. They see him grab his red coat from the coat check then slam the door on his way out.
“He will be sorry to miss the show,” Ariadne says as she slowly curls around Arthur toward their mark sulking in the corner. “Remember, the safe is by the back exit.”
“Go inspire those security codes.”
Ariadne just sways her hips in response, blue silk hugging her body and showing her shoulders, then she sits down at the table next to their mark’s.
Arthur smiles and slides a hand down to the gun concealed at his hip, quick reassurance though it’s unnecessary thus far. It feels quite nice to have a mark without shooting projections for once. Everyone seems to be militarized and trained lately or perhaps they’ve just been working on a lot of big fish. A smoky bar is as close to relaxing as Arthur thinks they’ll find in dreams these days.
Suddenly, he hears the chair behind him at the bar scrape on the floor and someone sits down.
“Did I miss anything?”
Arthur leans back slightly so his arm brushes against Eames then he waves a hand at the bar tender.
“Not yet.”
The bar tender comes over and Arthur gets a beer for the both of them, cold in nondescript brown bottles. The labels weren’t really on Arthur’s list of dream necessities. They both grab their beers and drink at the same time.
“If he doesn’t dance with that minx,” Eames says, “I’ll go over there for him.”
Arthur snorts. “I’ll tell Ariadne you said so.”
Eames laughs and Arthur can hear his lighter click. “I told her that dress was the better choice, such cling.”
“I’m going to hit you.”
“You mean, ‘hit that.’”
Arthur punches Eames hard in the knee without turning around. Eames groans quietly and picks up his beer again.
“Spoil sport.”
At the table Ariadne slowly switches the cross of her legs and glances at their mark. They see their mark look away, clearly trying to be cool then he turns back to see if Ariadne is still looking.
“God, this game gets old.” Eames taps the back of Arthur’s chair with his beer bottle. “And he really had no conversation for his girlfriend; Ariadne is going to be disappointed. Didn’t even have to work hard to start a fight.”
Arthur rolls his eyes and pretends to watch a group of girls in the corner while really keeping his eye on Ariadne. He sees their mark stand up and go to Ariadne’s table. They speak for a moment then Ariadne stands up and trails a hand down the man’s arm. The two walk over to the open area in the middle of the tables which seems to be the dance floor. Behind Arthur, Eames sighs heavily.
“I’m leaving you for Ariadne.”
“No, you’re not.”
Eames leans closer so his breath tickles the back of Arthur’s neck. “Why not?”
“Because I’m getting her first.”
Eames chuckles.
“You think I’m kidding?”
Eames kisses Arthur’s neck then Arthur can feel him lean away again. “She’d shoot us both if we tried.”
As Ariadne curls her hand around the back of their mark’s neck, lips close to his ear and a wicked smile on her face, Arthur nods to Eames with absolute certainty.
“I suppose I’ll have to settle for you then.”
Eames laughs.
-------------
Ariadne bangs on the hotel room door then doesn’t bother waiting for a reply before using the key Arthur gave her and flinging open the door. Arthur is already sitting up in bed with his gun half way up as Ariadne slams the door behind her.
“What the -”
“Shut up,” She snaps and grabs Arthur’s carefully folded pile of clothing on the desk, throwing it at him, “we have to leave, now.”
Arthur catches most of the clothing, his vest falling onto Eames’ head instead. Eames rolls over and swats the vest off of him.
Arthur pulls a white shirt over his head. “What is it?”
“Just hurry up,” she barks.
Ariadne picks up what are clearly Eames’ clothes on the floor and drops them on top of the still recumbent man. She shakes him hard as she does so.
“Damn, insolent child,” Eames mutters and aims an elbow at her which misses. He then rolls over again to curl himself around Arthur’s waist beside him.
“Get up!” she snaps urgently at Eames then turns to Arthur. “It’s Praxle Crops’ men. They’re in the lobby.”
Eames jolts up and both men jump to their feet, throwing clothing on. Ariadne hauls the PASIV device off of a chair and tosses Arthur’s bag with all their surveillance, files, and extraction results inside over her shoulder across her chest.
“Tipped off?” Arthur asks, not bothering to button his vest, and stuffs his tie into his coat pocket as he pulls it on.
“The extraction was clean.” Eames bounces once as he shoves his foot into a shoe. “They can’t know.”
“Well, they’re downstairs.” Ariadne throws up her free hand, glaring daggers. “Do you want to wait around to see what they want?”
“We should have left last night,” Arthur grumbles, watching Eames step into his other shoe then he turns to Ariadne. “Did they see you?”
“No.” Ariadne heads toward the door. “I went down just to get us all a quick breakfast and saw the secretary.”
“You mean the one I -”
“Oh yeah,” Ariadne cuts off Eames, “almost fell down the stairs in surprise.”
Eames pulls his coat off the bed and threads his arms through. “Could have been the waitress at the restaurant or someone here? Martin couldn’t have found out from the dream and we did not slip up earlier.”
Eames picks up their two bags, holding one out for Arthur. He shakes his head. “Leave it.” Eames’ eyes widen. Arthur sighs and shoves a new magazine into his gun. “I have other suits and that red shirt of yours was horrible.”
Eames just raises his eyebrows once and hikes the other bag up onto his shoulder. Then Ariadne gasps and snaps her fingers.
“Could it have been a rival team?” Her eyes widen. “Our clients did say they’d asked someone else before us.”
Eames clicks his tongue. “There are many who want to topple our greatness.”
“Forget it! We’ll deal with it later.” Arthur puts the gun he’d pointed at Ariadne into the holster on his hip and takes a second gun out of the desk drawer. “How many?”
“Five,” Ariadne says as they cluster by the door.
Eames takes point at the edge and peers out into the hallway as Ariadne opens the door slowly. Arthur stays just behind, gun ready.
“Clear.”
The three slip soundlessly out into the hall and head to the left toward the stairs with Eames in the lead. Just as they reach the door they hear the ding of the elevator at their backs. Eames yanks open the door holding it for the other two as footsteps start in their direction. Slipping through, Eames closes the door carefully then all three run down the stairs with no further regard for noise.
“Make for the back?” Ariadne asks as she propels herself around a bend by the handrail, PASIV case clanging against a bar.
“Kitchen,” Arthur barks back, his gun still out.
They run and twist down five flights before they hear what sounds like a door opening far above them.
“Must they be so persistent?” Eames hisses.
“Come on!” Ariadne shouts as they pass the second floor and finally make it to the lobby.
Arthur stops them both at the door to make a quick visual check of the lobby. He stands against the far wall from Eames and Ariadne, glances out then he holds up two fingers. Eames nods and waves a hand at the other two to follow. He zigzags through bland colored hallways leading past mangers’ offices and a business center which has seen better days until they come to a door. Eames pushes it open and they see sinks to the left and right, tiled floor under foot.
“And to think I used to make fun of you for always mapping out the hotels we stay in,” Ariadne whispers.
“I’ll tell you the story of the second time I ended up in jail sometime.” Eames spares a moment to grin back at her. “Dead ends can be quite inconvenient in hotels.”
“He’s making that up,” Arthur replies, “really he’s just paranoid.”
Eames scoffs. “Believe as you will, Arthur.”
Ariadne nudges Arthur in the chest with her elbow. “And like you can really talk about being paranoid.”
“Hey!” A man in classic waiter garb stops suddenly in front of them as he walks by. “You can’t be back here.”
Ariadne pulls a black, two-flap ID out of her coat pocket and flashes it quickly at the man. “Inspection; we have access.”
The man swallows loudly then steps to the side. The three walk by, Arthur carefully keeping his gun concealed by his leg. Eames snorts quietly but does not stop guiding the way through the maze of the hotel kitchen. Then suddenly a door bangs behind them and people begin to shout.
“Here!” Eames pulls the other two into the nearest closet.
Luckily, the closet is large enough for the three of them, shelves with canned food and boxes and some pots on the floor. They hold their breath with hands ready to fight. After only a minute the door starts to open. Eames grabs the person’s arm, clamps a hand over their mouth, and quickly slips Arthur’s gun from his hand to hold it against the man’s chest. The man, clearly a cook, gapes in surprise at Eames.
“Wrong closet,” Eames says.
Arthur scowls as he takes his second gun out. “Now he’s a witness.”
Eames stares at the young cook, the two of them at eye level. “You don’t know who we are and I’m sure you don’t want to know.”
The man’s eyes widen with either fear or confirmation, probably both, then he shakes his head as much as Eames will allow. Eames smiles and nods once back.
“So, you’ll not speak and you will stay here when we leave.” Eames smiles again but this time with teeth. “And I know what you look like now, don’t I?”
The man visibly shakes.
Outside the door they hear running feet, something crashes to the floor and a woman shouts something like ‘fuck off!’ Arthur’s fingers flex on his gun but they stay silent and still. Eames does not look away from their guest’s eyes. Ariadne keeps checking her watch.
After five minutes of silence beyond their door Ariadne carefully turns the handle. Eames slides the man across the shelves to the back of the closet.
“Lovely to have met you,” he says as he finally lets go of the cook and backs up.
Arthur stands at the edge of the door as Eames and Ariadne step out. Eames keeps the gun pointed into the closet. As Ariadne closes the door Eames smiles and waves once at the man now half sitting shaking on a bag of potatoes.
“Enough,” Arthur says taking Eames’ hand and putting it back down at his side.
Eames just shrugs and smiles at Arthur until Ariadne smacks his shoulder.
“Come on, time to escape, right?”
“Out to ruin my fun?”
“I’ll ruin your fun.” Arthur shoves Eames forward slightly.
Eames mock gasps and pouts. “And this is the man I love?”
Arthur sighs heavily. Eames only chuckles at him then walks on again. Ariadne gives Arthur a look then pulls him after Eames toward the back of the kitchen away from suspicious cooks and dishwashers.
Finally, they reach a back door leading out onto a loading dock. Eames swings the door out, steps through and is suddenly punched in the head. Eames stumbles and instinctively pushes a hand back against the door to keep it closed.
“Fucking wank…” Eames starts to bring his gun up.
“Save it!” his attacker grunts and hits him again so Eames falls onto the concrete, the bag he was carrying bouncing away down the ramp and gun clattering out of his hand
Arthur bursts through the door, Glock trained on the man. “Back off!”
Just as quickly a gun clicks and presses into Arthur’s back. Arthur’s face twitches once but he does not lower his gun.
“Don’t think you have the upper hand here,” the man facing Arthur says. “Drop it.”
“Don’t think I wouldn’t still shoot you even if he shoots first,” Arthur replies, with a slight nod of his head to the person behind him. “You drop it.”
The man clenches his teeth then points his gun at Eames on the ground. Arthur tilts his head dangerously, fingers tightening on the weapon in his hands. Eames stares up at the man pointing the gun, hand against the side of his face. His eyes flick to Arthur then to his fallen gun too far out of reach.
“We don’t know who you are,” the man starts again, “but we know what you did. The chairman was informed. So, you’re going to tell us what it is you were looking for and if you found it and who sent you.”
“Quite a lot of questions,” Eames says, “maybe you should cut it down to one, such as, ‘where did she come from?’”
The man’s face scrunches up in confusion then the door swings open and slams him in the head, knocking him against the stone wall behind him. The man with the gun on Arthur flips around but Ariadne kicks him in the stomach, knocking him to the ground. Then before he can regroup and raise his gun up, she punches him squarely in the face with a satisfying yelp of pain. Arthur and Ariadne look left then right, both men out cold.
“Know how many people you’re chasing,” Ariadne says, brushing down her jacket and flexing her hand.
“Nice.” Arthur nods once at Ariadne then glares down at Eames. Eames raises his eyebrows and Arthur points at the unconscious men. “’Where did she come from?’ That’s what you went with?”
He shrugs. “Predictable?”
“Ridiculous.”
“I thought it fit.” Ariadne holds out her hand for Eames. “It’s nice to make an entrance.”
Eames takes her hand and stands up with a groan. “And an impactful one at that.”
Ariadne snickers at the same time Arthur scoffs derisively.
“Impactful?” he says.
“What can I say, love?” Eames picks up the gun he’d dropped. “We English do enjoy our puns.”
“I’ll enjoy the three of us on a train out of this city.”
“Well, then,” Ariadne opens the door behind her, grabbing the PASIV and bag just inside then starts down the ramp, clapping her hands at them; “we’d better get a move on before the rest of the gang come to check on their friends.”
“Always fleeing the scene,” Eames says as he trots down the ramp, picking up his bag.
Arthur follows and touches a hand to the small of Eames’ back. “That’s why it’s called crime.”
-------------
Eames stands with his back to one window staring at the two men unconscious on the bed, a fist pressed against his lips. The PASIV sits by his foot and he keeps repressing the urge to kick it into the wall.
“It’s only been five minutes,” Ariadne says quietly from behind him.
“An hour, you mean.”
Eames hears her crack her knuckles once, a nervous gesture for her. “Just a little more time.”
Of course they’d known it would be a dangerous job, mob connections and extracting infiltrators names were not exactly on the ‘easy street’ of dream work. What corporate entity would not want to know about the crime lords worming their way into their infrastructure, especially when the corporation involves exporting with limited checks in customs?
Yet they still took the job. Ego perhaps? The best is the best is the best.
Ariadne screamed and struggled when Eames, wearing the body of Alejandro Barisino, dragged her back into the dim warehouse. Arthur was on his knees in front of their mark Jeremy, another link in the mob chain but a fairly high link. There were three further projection mob guards in a semicircle around Jeremy.
(Just finding a way to get to him to actually perform the extraction had taken two weeks of Arthur’s investigation skills, another two of Eames clever use of references, and some twisting architecture work from Ariadne.)
“Leave her alone!” Arthur shouted.
Jeremy kicked Arthur in the side sending him sprawling to the cement. Eames threw Ariadne down by his feet and pulled out his gun.
“Don’t hurt her,” Arthur gasped, putting up a hand, “please.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of what would happen before you ratted,” Eames said.
“It wasn’t me!” Arthur turned to Jeremy. “I swear! It was one of the others!”
Jeremy smirked. “Oh, really? How do you know there are others? You’re all supposed to be working alone.”
Arthur swallowed audibly and Eames loaded a new magazine into his gun, cocking the hammer and pressing it against Ariadne’s head. She whimpered very convincingly.
“So,” Jeremy leaned over Arthur slightly, “what exactly did you tell them?”
“I didn’t… I didn’t… it wasn’t me.” Arthur gripped Jeremy’s shoes. “You have to believe me!”
Eames knew better than to laugh but he really would have to give Arthur some sort of award later for his performance. Clearing his throat, Eames drew the attention of the others. Jeremy glanced at Eames, sniffed then shook his foot out of Arthur’s grasp.
“Well then, Mr. Thompson.” Eames pressed the gun against Ariadne’s temple again. “Looks like you’ll need some convincing.”
Then he abruptly pulled the trigger with an echoing bang. Ariadne jerked once then crumpled forward onto the floor.
“No! No!” Arthur screamed. “Bastards!”
“Alejandro!” Jeremy barked.
Eames sighed and looked at him. “What?”
“What are you thinking? You go straight to the head shot?”
“He wasn’t talking!” Eames insisted then pointed at Ariadne’s still form. “Not like she was helping any.”
“Oh? That’s your brilliant plan? Just knock her off like we couldn’t have used her for something?”
Arthur made a low moaning noise.
Eames shrugged again. “He wasn’t talking.”
Jeremy glared at Eames then tilted his head back to look up at the high ceiling, some rusted chains and empty lights to add décor to the view. Then he slowly looked down again and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.
“You know.” He stepped to the right once then back to the left. “This has me a bit confused here, Al. Normally I would say you’re all for the torture technique.”
Eames did not twitch, only crossed his arms and stared back like he was bored. It could be true, this had been one thing Eames could not research and learn about his forge. It was impossible to go on a torture and kill run with the target unless you wanted to be the one in the ditch. (And this was why one did not take jobs involving the mob, idiots).
“I wasn’t going to waste the time on this guy.” Eames waved his gun hand vaguely at Arthur. “It’s not like he doesn’t have limbs of his own.”
“I don’t know, Al. Still seems like I’m missing something; like maybe you wanted to speed this along?”
“What?”
“Like maybe you have something you don’t want me to know,” Jeremy continued, hand dropping to his side, “like you were personally invested in this.”
“What are you talking about?” Eames snapped again, hands on hips.
“I’m talking about this.”
Eames saw it happening, saw Jeremy pull his gun out of his jacket, saw it rise up but he couldn’t react, couldn’t move in time. All he could think was ‘fucking shit, this isn’t the plan!’ Then Jeremy shot him in the chest. He heard Arthur gasp, felt wet blood start to leak down his shirt then he fell backwards. He died before the pain hit him. Eames surprised Ariadne so much she knocked the phone off the desk when he woke up.
Now Eames stares at Jeremy and Arthur on the bed. Maybe if he keeps his eyes focused enough some magic will occur and Arthur will wake up on command. He hates waiting like this, wants to do something, but he stands immobile.
The plan should have been to kill Arthur at that point. Arthur wouldn’t talk after some more intimidation, possibly some abuse; they’d get frustrated - bang - the boy is dead. Eames brings up the thought maybe it was one of the others? Then Jeremy, hopefully, spills the list of the people in the operation. There would have been so many ways Eames could have learned everything they needed as one of the guys on the inside.
Obviously, things had not followed that plan.
“I should go back in.” Eames looks at Ariadne and she shakes her head.
Eames grunts and turns back. The men lie still and breathe even. The clock on the PASIV device still has twenty minutes, hours and hours in the dream, too many hours for Eames’ liking.
“They could be doing anything to him!” Eames insists.
“He shot you!” Ariadne points at Jeremy. “Obviously he thought you were the rat.”
“Or just one of them.” Eames waves a hand in the air. “I could have been working with Arthur or Arthur could have come to me. Who knows what this bastard thinks?”
Ariadne strides over and pulls Eames by the arm away from the bed. “Arthur hasn’t woken up so obviously they haven’t killed him. There is still a chance he could get the information.”
“But -”
“Arthur is very smart,” Ariadne insists, “you know he could.”
“They could be torturing him!” Eames growls but makes no move toward the bed again, only stares at Ariadne.
She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Just give it a little more time.”
Eames says nothing and looks at his watch, seven minutes. Ariadne steps away from him and paces slowly back and forth across the ugly orange carpet, a large coffee stain near the closet door.
Eames crosses his arms again, bites his finger nail and stares at Arthur’s face. He lies very still, solid in place, perfect hair and prefect features frozen in this induced sleep. It is obviously unnatural, nothing how Arthur looks when he really sleeps.
When Arthur sleeps for real you can see him breathe, his lips parted with no creases in his forehead. He looks relaxed more than is ever possible when he is awake. Eames likes to watch the slow easing of his features as that ever slight stiffness softens into a more youthful calm than seems possible. It’s a casual dip down, a wave which doesn’t crash but fades over his face. Arthur also tends to shift when he sleeps; arm over Eames then rolling away then always back again, never still once his mind has a chance to break out of the mold of work and what is next and who are they researching. Arthur asleep is Arthur unguarded.
When Arthur sleeps in an extraction he is a statue, a mannequin, face like stone, you can barely see him breathe and you know it’s not real.
Eames looks at his watch again, eight minutes. He taps his foot.
“I should go back in.” He can feel panic at the edge of his senses. “If it’s been this long something has happened. Arthur would have finished it sooner, wouldn’t he? Something is wrong.”
“Calm down, Eames.”
Eames whips around and points violently at her, his normal casual and coy veneer cracked open. “Don’t fucking tell me to calm down!”
“Eames, you’re dead in there!” Ariadne shouts right back. “The mark will know and the dream will collapse. If you go back in you’ll ruin any progress Arthur might have made!”
“Or I’ll save him more hours of torture, how about that then?”
“Eames,” Ariadne puts up her hands placating, “I understand. You know I wouldn’t want Arthur hurt but you can’t just jump back in.”
“And why not?” Eames turns and walks back over to the bed. “I have the equipment right here.”
“You’re being irrational!”
Eames shrugs and starts to kneel. “Maybe.”
“Eames, stop!” Ariadne grabs Eames’ arm and pulls.
He staggers away and almost falls with the force of Ariadne’s tug. Then he regroups and pushes her back away from him. Eames is much bigger than Ariadne but they both know he wouldn’t really hurt her. However, they also know if Eames wants to do something Ariadne would have to hurt him to stop him.
“I am not leaving him in there just to finish a job.” Eames points back at the two people on the bed again. “I’d rather bollocks this one up then let him stay in there with that man.”
“Very romantic,” Ariadne says with sudden bitter tones, “I’m sure we’ll all be very happy having to run from the repercussions.”
Eames stares at her for a moment, an ugly frown on his face. “Oh, there will be repercussions either way, darling.”
“Eames, just give him two more minutes. Give him a chance to finish it!”
“Make me, dear.”
“I don’t want to….”
Eames pushes her sharply again so she stumbles this time and hits the desk with a hiss. “Then don’t.”
Eames strides back toward the bed before she can say anything else. He kneels quickly by the machine and pulls out a tube. Then Arthur jolts upright on the bed with a half shouted gasp making Ariadne and Eames both jump.
“Arthur!” Ariadne says.
They see his eyes whip around the room in one second with that calculating, cataloging, aggressive gaze which has won and killed so many times.
- Door to the left, two windows to the right - red curtains closed, too visible to the outside and too thin to hide a person - generic black desk at the wall, one bed - thin bedspread, sheets over used, hotel - three chairs, one man unconscious, two others conscious, one PASIV, Browning on the bed -
It all goes by in one blink of Arthur’s eyes and he grabs the gun right by his hand where it stays every time they go under. Eames stands but before he can speak, say ‘wait, Arthur,’ the man is on him.
“No, don’t!” Ariadne shouts and rushes forward.
Arthur knocks Eames down, easily kicking out his knees and pouncing on him, arm against his chest and gun digging into Eames’ neck. Ariadne freezes two feet away. Eames chokes and can’t speak for a moment from the pressure of Arthur’s gun against his trachea. Arthur’s finger is tight on the trigger.
“Arthur,” Eames whispers and Arthur digs the gun in further.
Eames groans and blinks back reaction tears. He can see Ariadne coiled tight in his peripheral vision, wanting to lash out at Arthur but she stays still. They both know which one of them is faster.
“Arthur,” Eames says again as softly as possible while still being audible. He keeps his hands open and out to the side as non-threatening as possible. “Arthur, it’s all right. You’re awake. It’s us.”
Arthur does not move and neither do Eames or Ariadne. Then Arthur blinks once and Eames can see the hard point man gaze flick away. Arthur blinks again then takes a sudden sharp breath in. He exhales, a shudder sliding through his body, and the gun slips out of his fingers to land on the floor beside Eames’ head. Ariadne is there in a flash grabbing the gun and backing away again.
“Arthur, it’s all right,” Eames says soothingly as he can.
Arthur quickly moves his arm off of Eames’ chest and plants both palms on the floor on either side of Eames’ head. He breathes in and out slowly like he’s trying to calm his heart. He stays very still and quiet just looking at Eames’ face, into his eyes; Eames the center of all gravity, all reality.
Behind them, Eames can hear Ariadne moving, packing everything up, checking on the mark, finishing the job. She does not ask if Arthur learned the information.
“Hi,” Eames says softly, keeping his eyes on the man above him.
Arthur opens his mouth slightly but doesn’t say anything, just breathes quietly. Eames moves his arms, curving his wrists back awkwardly to try and touch Arthur’s hands. Arthur gets there first and takes Eames left hand in his right so they’re palm to palm, fingers curled together.
The PASIV case suddenly snaps closed behind them and Arthur’s eyes shift to the side once.
“I got it,” he says, business voice as if nothing out of the ordinary has happen. “Names and extent of the infiltration, everything we needed to know.”
Eames sees Ariadne pick up the PASIV device. “Okay.” She walks past them both and out the door, leaving Jeremy still unconscious on the bed.
Eames knows without asking that Ariadne pumped him full of more drugs to give Arthur time. The past argument is over now. Eames also knows Ariadne will be standing right outside the door, eyes like a lioness, a fox, a woman who would break your legs if you even asked about the time.
Arthur’s eyes slide slowly back onto Eames like there are drugs in his system and he needs Eames’ face to flush them out. His fingers grip too tightly onto Eames’ hand and Eames knows there will be nail marks. Slowly, Eames lifts his free hand and touches Arthur’s face.
“It’s okay.”
The corners of Arthur’s mouth quirk slightly and the arm holding him above Eames shifts. He slides down slowly so their chests are flush and his forehead rests on Eames’. They share the same space, the same air, eyes closed, skin touching. Eames gently pets Arthur’s hair and speaks in soothing, simple tones, speaks with love.
“It’s okay, Arthur, it’s okay, you’re safe, it’s okay, it’s okay.”
-------------
The light in the pub is dim, almost matching the evening light outside. People fill the place leaving nearly no room for travel between the front and back of the establishment. Everything is made of dark wood from the tables to the floor to the ornate floral molding around the ceiling and behind the bar. Arthur, Eames, and Ariadne sit on three stools in front of the bar. Eames and Ariadne watch the football match on the small television screen above the bartender’s head.
“He really is a shitty kicker,” Ariadne mutters as she downs the last of her beer.
Eames scoffs. “Look at him run though, talent.”
“You’re looking at something else.”
“It all comes back to sex with you.”
She laughs and smacks his arm with the back of her hand. “I would love to -”
Eames makes a slicing motion with his hand and cuts her off. “I am not sure I am ready for such details of your depraved brain, my dear.”
“Your influence,” Arthur grunts.
Ariadne laughs at Eames. “I can’t believe it; did I just find your line in the sand?”
Eames takes a sip of his gin and tonic. “No.”
“Are you two really going to watch soccer all night?” Arthur grumbles.
Eames just leans over and kisses his temple. “Don’t complain.”
“I’ll complain all I want. It’s bad enough we are in a bar where anyone could reco-”
Ariadne cuts him off, “No one knows what we look like, stop worrying.”
“Well, I’ll blame you when we end up in jail.”
“It’s Bristol,” Eames says with a shrug.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
Ariadne raises a finger. “I think that implies he’s been in jail in Bristol and it wasn’t so bad.”
Eames snorts and sips his drink but does not confirm or deny. Ariadne stands up and reaches into Eames’ top coat pocket. She comes out with a pack of cigarettes and matches. Eames raises an eyebrow at her.
“Shut up.” She points at the empty beer bottle. “I’ve had two and I am half American. We smoke when we drink.”
“This from the Paris school girl,” Eames remarks.
She glares then turns and walks toward the door, pushing through the throngs of people.
“Fuck it,” Arthur says suddenly.
Arthur finishes his drink, picks up Eames’, finishes that one too then gives Eames a pointed look. Eames glances at each empty glass then up at Arthur, eyebrows flying up.
“Angry with me?”
“You’re both right.” Eames whistles in surprise and Arthur claps a hand over Eames’ mouth. “I’m going to enjoy myself, don’t gloat, and by the way you’re done with soccer for tonight.”
Eames pulls Arthur’s hand down. “It’s football, love.”
“Get me another drink.”
Eames bites his lip. “You know when you use that tone it’s just sinful how much I want you to throw me over this bar.”
“Later.” Arthur taps the bar top. “Drink.”
Eames nods and stands up, walking down the bar to pursue the bar tender staring at the far television screen. As soon as Arthur swivels his stool around to face the bar again a blond man slides into Eames vacant seat and puts a hand on Arthur’s arm.
“Finally.” Arthur turns and resists the instinct to break the man’s arm. “I thought you’d never be alone.”
“…Really.”
The man waves a hand around. “Not many of my type in here but you’re just perfect.”
Arthur sighs. “Uh huh.”
The man leans closer and slides his hand down Arthur’s arm so his fingers brush Arthur’s knuckles. “Buy you a drink? Or we could just skip that step.”
Arthur picks up the man’s hand off of his and puts it back on the bar. “I don’t think so.”
Apparently the removal of his hand does not discourage the blond because he scoots his stool closer to Arthur, knees brushing against Arthur’s thigh, and puts a hand on Arthur’s lower back. Arthur thinks of about ten ways he could kill the man right now, his favorite involving the broken glass of a Jameson bottle.
“Fine.” The blond leans in a bit. “No drink necessary. I’ve got a car just around the corner not to mention a nice flat.” He points behind Arthur. “No need to stay with my mates. They’re busy anyway and I’m sure you’d be a much better way to pass the time.”
Arthur glances back at the knot of men staring at the soccer match then turns back around just in time to see Eames appear behind the blond. He sees Eames look at the man’s hands, check the door, then he puts the drinks down on the bar.
“No, don-” Arthur starts.
Then Eames punches the man hard in the jaw, knocking him off the stool to smash into the floor chin first. Eames clears his throat and sits down again holding up one glass.
“Your drink.”
Outside the bar, Ariadne stares up at the sky watching the smoke from her one cigarette waft upward. She really needs to quit this trashy habit, smoking when drinking. It’s like she’s in under grad again and that’s just silly. Plus no one likes to smell like cigarette smoke. Taking a last drag, she throws the cigarette down on the street and crushes it under her heel.
“New plan,” she says to herself, “never again.”
Just as she puts the pack and matches into her pocket the door to the pub flies open.
“Time to go!” Eames shouts as the two of them suddenly rush out of the bar.
“What’s going on now? Did you - oof!”
Eames scoops up Ariadne mid sentence, heaving her onto his shoulder and then runs after Arthur down the alleyway.
“What are you - put me down, Eames!”
“No time, must run and - my god, have you gotten heavy?”
“I’m not a twelve year old!” Ariadne gasps suddenly when she looks up. “Why is the whole bar chasing us?”
Eames stops for one moment, drops Ariadne on her feet then they are both off again.
“I may have started a fight.”
“He punched a guy in the head,” Arthur shouts over his shoulder.
Ariadne barks a half laugh, half gasp. “What? Why?”
Eames glances back once at the six or so people chasing them then grabs Arthur’s arm as he catches up to the other man. Arthur shoots him a glare. Eames just smiles at Ariadne and points quickly at Arthur.
“Arthur’s fault?”
“Oh, of course, all me.” Then Arthur snorts. “Though the one was getting fresh.”
Eames laughs and aims a sloppy kiss at Arthur cheek, mostly missing. “He’s just too pretty.”
Arthur elbows Eames off as they run. “He may have also -” Arthur gasps, “- had some choice words to say about - I fucking hate you, Eames, Christ - about the other’s girlfriends, boyfriends, and extended family.”
“You said they had small dicks, didn’t you?”
Eames nods with a grin and a heaving breath. “I did.”
“Wow.” Ariadne sprints ahead. “We’re running from something not extraction related!”
Eames begins to laugh and nearly falls. Ariadne chances a look back then makes a disgusted noise.
“Oh come on, let’s stop. We could take them.”
“No,” Arthur says, “we’re not killing them.”
“Did I say kill?”
Eames pants. “I believe Arthur wishes to not make a scene.”
“You call this ‘not a scene?’”
“Car!” Arthur shouts, pointing to his silver Audi parked by the curb.
Arthur whips out his keys, clicks the unlock button as the three of them hit the doors at the same time. Ariadne whips around the car and reaches the driver’s side first. Arthur throws her the keys. They all slam themselves inside just as the drunken angry men chasing them reach the sidewalk. From the back seat Eames smiles and blows them a kiss as Ariadne spins the car away.
“You can’t punch everyone that makes a pass at me,” Arthur chides
Eames just shakes his head. “Uni all over again.”
“Even when we’re not working,” Ariadne says, “we end up in trouble.”
Arthur huffs but smiles in the review mirror at Eames grinning smugly in the back seat.
Part 2
Fandom: Inception
Disclaimer: The movie Inception does not belong to me and I am making no money from this story, just a good-ole fanwork!
Pairing/Characters: Arthur, Eames, Ariadne; Arthur/Eames (Not the focus, however)
Word Count: 15,446
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ariadne, Eames, and Arthur; the architect, the forger and the point man; the brand new, or really not so new, top of the extraction ladder, stealing your secrets and delivering your dreams. Adventure after adventure!
Author notes: This story is a sequel to my Extraction by Three, so it would be better to read that one first but you can still read this one on it's own. [The Third part, now completed, can be found here: The Architect, The Forger, and The Point Man]
Ariadne, Eames, and Arthur; the architect, the forger and the point man; the brand new, or really not so new, top of the extraction ladder, stealing your secrets and delivering your dreams.
“No Dominic Cobb in our way for the ascent!” Eames says.
Somehow the three of them became the most highly sought after, most frequently shot at, and most skilled extraction team in the business. It certainly pays well as Eames is quick to remind them when they run through dream streets and fall off dream roofs and shoot dream people. Their list of accolades has grown and everyone in the dream business knows their names.
However, Ariadne could have done without the shoulder wound.
“I was shot in reality, damn it!”
Arthur just holds up his hands in defense while Eames pets her hair. “Darling, has to happen to everyone.”
“Shot!” she exclaims, throwing off Eames’ hand and pointing at the sling on her arm. “Fucking shot!”
“You’ve been shot before!” Arthur insists.
“In a dream!”
Eames points between the three of them. “We’ve all been shot.”
Ariadne kicks the PASIV and it almost falls off the chair.
“Are the pain drugs making her crazy?” Arthur hisses at Eames under his breath.
“It’s not a requirement of life to be shot.” Ariadne paces. “It’s not on my list of ‘life things to do.’ Get my degree, build the next Louvre, get shot - not necessary!”
Eames purses his lips. “If it was on your list you could cross it off now.”
Ariadne makes a loud, angry noise and kicks the chair all the way over, PASIV toppling to the floor. Arthur glares and kneels down to inspect the case. Ariadne points a finger at Eames then turns away.
“Where is my gun?” She stalks out of the room. “Misery loves company, Eames!”
Arthur stares up at Eames. “Are you an idiot?”
“Isn’t quite taking this well, is she?”
-------------
Ariadne stands with her back to the San Domenico, wide brimmed red hat tilted back on her head and the city roofs of Siena spread out below. Arthur crouches down by the pavement, back to a metal post, a few feet away with camera in hand. Ariadne smiles and slides to the right when Arthur waves her over.
“Obtenez-le tout!”
“Oui,” Arthur replies, clicking the button.
Ariadne smiles and speaks low through her teeth. “We’ll need the inside too.”
Arthur smiles back motioning her to the other side. “The entrance on your left is where she’d go in. Around the back and it leads to some class rooms.”
“She only takes one over here, right?”
“Oui,” Arthur replies louder as some people walk by behind him.
Ariadne skips back over to Arthur then turns around to face the church once she is at Arthur’s side. He stands up and pretends to show her the pictures.
“The main school is in the center over looking the Piazza.”
Ariadne kisses Arthur’s cheek then loops her arm through his. “Perfect. I would love to build the Piazza del Campo.” She makes a kissing noise. “Belissima.”
“Aren’t we supposed to be French?”
She just smiles.
The two cross the street then walk down the hill toward the city center. They turn to the right and take a short cut down steep steps until the street changes to gray cobblestone. These back streets have less people and the two extractors pick up the pace, less act to keep up. They pass a plain yellow building, closed shutters to their left and an old iron fence to their right. The road narrows slightly as they go on, curving steeply up and down, the buildings turning into more generic red brick and tan stone.
Suddenly Arthur’s phone beeps.
“Bonjour?”
“How is the school stalking going?” Eames asks. “Enjoying the French tourist bit?”
“Oui, c’est bein.”
“I’m not sure that was the correct sentence construction.”
Ariadne laughs next to Arthur, hearing Eames’ words. Arthur just rolls his eyes and switches to English.
“We took shots of the church, passing by the main school soon, and Ariadne is tearing my French to shreds.”
“Helps to be fluent I suppose.”
“Oui, oui,” Ariadne says, tipping the mouth piece of the phone toward herself, “école le ferai.”
Eames chuckles. “I’m sure.”
Arthur and Ariadne reach the top of the hill and turn to their left, the road widening some and people reappearing around them as they near the piazza. They walk by more classic European buildings with beautiful stone fronts as well as some more modern clothing stores. They slow down past a building with large black doors, giant metal hooks in the centers. Ariadne makes an excited noise.
“Prends ma photo!”
“What?” Eames answers.
“Une minute,” Arthur says into the phone then raises the camera as Ariadne poses in front of the doors.
Though the building doesn’t look it, it is in fact a school with a college program; the study abroad program which their possible mark attends.
Arthur glances up at the windows of the building. Most are closed with shutters, not too helpful for them. One of the main doors has a smaller door built into it which actually opens as opposed to the façade of the larger ones. He clicks the camera a few times, tilting the shutter upward surreptitiously to get shots higher up.
“Bien,” he says and smiles.
Ariadne slides back over to him, her eyes coasting across the surrounding buildings, architecture cataloging through her brain.
“Back,” Arthur says, putting the phone back to his ear. “How is our man’s daughter?”
“Still faux sunbathing in the piazza - starting to get some clouds though, oh dear - with her charming boyfriend.”
“The Albanian one?”
Eames makes a clicking noise with his tongue. “She’s told our boy about the Florentine, plans to break up with him. Whether or not she will for real, who knows? I doubt it. Better to have two boys than one, eh?”
“You’d better not think so.”
Eames laughs mischievously.
Ariadne snaps her fingers at Arthur. “Viens!”
“See you soon,” Arthur says and clicks the phone off.
Ariadne tugs Arthur on until they turn to their right down an arched pathway leading out into the Piazza del Campo, open sky above them and tourists everywhere snapping photos of the Torre del Mangia. They see their mark, one Danielle Roberts, sitting on the edge of the shell-shaped piazza where the stone on the ground turns tan. She laughs and kisses the man next to her, hands gesticulating in front of her.
Ariadne makes a condescending noise. “Art students, so fake.”
“Architecture students are the real art students?”
Ariadne raises an eyebrow at him. “Architecture students who spend their whole time in Paris as opposed to one semester abroad to show off are clearly the real art students.”
Arthur tuts at her. “Such hostility.”
Ariadne smacks his arm then slants her head slightly to the left. At the far edge of the piazza they can see Eames sitting in a chair outside of a café, newspaper in his hand. The two amble leisurely down the stone, passing by restaurants until they ‘happen’ to choose the café at the edge of the piazza. They weave through the tables and sit down at a table a bit behind Eames. Eames has an espresso and a pad of paper on the table beside him, both obscured to the piazza by his newspaper. Eames jots down something on the pad then pulls his cell phone from his pocket as it buzzes.
“Ciao.”
“Ready to forge the boyfriend?” Arthur asks.
They see Eames glance to the left and smile for them.
“Quite a challenge to get the accent right,” Eames says with evident sarcasm, “though I am sure our little Danielle can teach me a thing or two with her own talented tongue.”
Ariadne snorts and takes the phone from Arthur before he can retaliate. “Vous êtes fou.”
“Must you keep showing off with your French?”
“You are crazy,” she repeats. “And you know that Arthur can reach you from here.”
“Oh, I am well aware.”
A waiter comes up to the table and Ariadne orders the two of them cappuccinos.
Arthur takes the phone back once the waiter leaves. “So, we’ve got some pictures to start with. Ariadne has an idea for the dreamscape. How’s it looking on her? I know you’re excited about this boyfriend forge.”
Eames only laughs and lays his hand on the table beside him, drumming his fingers once at them.
Ariadne takes the phone again. “She looks perfect to me and Arthur’s research did say she was very close to her father. She’s sure to have the information and access we need.”
Eames closes his phone, picking up his espresso and drinking the rest.
“Done,” he says without turning around.
Suddenly a crack of thunder breaks through the calm atmosphere of the day. They all look up and see the once peaceful, if cloudy, sky of a few minutes ago turning dark and gray. Their cappuccinos arrive and in front of them Eames puts his notebook back into the leather bag by his feet. He closes his newspaper, stands up, and then the rain pours down. Eames jumps around tables and under the awning where Ariadne and Arthur are sitting, splashing them as well as a few others with water.
“Shit…” he mutters, looking down at himself.
They see people running out of the pizza into the covered side streets and restaurants. Danielle and her boyfriend scamper off to the right into the alleyway Ariadne and Arthur entered through. Eames looks side long at the two of them and flicks Ariadne with water. Suddenly she stands up and grabs Arthur’s hand.
“What? No!” He cries but she pulls him out into the rain.
Laughing and running with a hand on her hat, Ariadne drags Arthur out into the center of the down pour, twirling them around. Arthur glares for a moment but he’s already soaked and gives up. Arthur wraps his arm around Ariadne’s waist and spins them about in a clumsy waltz. Ariadne smiles and waves a beckoning hand at Eames. He crosses his arms and shakes his head from under the safety of the awning.
“Venez ici! Venez ici!” Ariadne shouts as they dance.
Eames shakes his head again. Ariadne breaks free of Arthur and runs back toward Eames. Most of the people in the piazza are scattered into buildings, inside restaurants, only a brave few still outside at all. She runs up and grasps Eames’ hand.
“No,” Eames says, trying to plant his feet. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re already a bit wet.”
“Exactly, a bit.”
She tugs and he stumbles and they’re both out in the rain again. Eames groans but lets her pull him along back to Arthur in the middle. Eames drops his bag as they reach the other man and Ariadne begins waltzing with Arthur again. Eames crosses his arms, pushing wet hair out of his eyes. Arthur laughs at him.
“I thought I was supposed to be the ‘stick in the mud,’ Eames,” Arthur chides. “Now who’s afraid of a little rain?”
Eames huffs and points down. “The bag is leather, you know.”
Ariadne slips out of Arthur’s arms and puts herself into Eames’, taking the lead and pulling him along. Eames trips in surprise but regroups, following her easily.
“The woman can lead a waltz,” he says with a smile.
“The woman can do a lot of things.”
Arthur claps. “Don’t we know it.”
Eames and Ariadne look at Arthur then at the same time they reach out and grab Arthur’s hand, pulling him between them. Eames wraps his arms around Arthur from the front and Ariadne snuggles up against his back, her hat falling off into a puddle.
Eames gives Arthur a discrete kiss, though their cover is certainly gone by now. Arthur smiles and takes Eames' hand and Ariadne puts a hand on Eames’ other arm around Arthur. Arthur turns and they follow, leading them through a strange sort of trio waltz. Together they sway and turn, twist and dance as the rain soaks them through with smiles on their faces.
-------------
Smoke fills the bar so everything seems to be moving slowly, tantalizing, slipping in and out of clouds. Indian music plays softly and a few people sway together in the spaces between the sparse tables. Arthur sits at the bar while Eames in a tight black dress talks to their mark. They are clearly having a fight, all according to plan.
“Ready to go?” Ariadne asks from behind Arthur though she isn’t facing him.
“Almost.” Arthur picks up his drink as he speaks, keeping the glass in front of his face. “Eames needs to storm away on his high heels.”
“Flipping some black hair?”
Arthur takes a drink. “He’s a little too good at that part.”
Something makes a crashing noise and then a short dark-skinned woman in a black dress stalks by them, not even a glance in their direction. Eames is all business tonight. They see him grab his red coat from the coat check then slam the door on his way out.
“He will be sorry to miss the show,” Ariadne says as she slowly curls around Arthur toward their mark sulking in the corner. “Remember, the safe is by the back exit.”
“Go inspire those security codes.”
Ariadne just sways her hips in response, blue silk hugging her body and showing her shoulders, then she sits down at the table next to their mark’s.
Arthur smiles and slides a hand down to the gun concealed at his hip, quick reassurance though it’s unnecessary thus far. It feels quite nice to have a mark without shooting projections for once. Everyone seems to be militarized and trained lately or perhaps they’ve just been working on a lot of big fish. A smoky bar is as close to relaxing as Arthur thinks they’ll find in dreams these days.
Suddenly, he hears the chair behind him at the bar scrape on the floor and someone sits down.
“Did I miss anything?”
Arthur leans back slightly so his arm brushes against Eames then he waves a hand at the bar tender.
“Not yet.”
The bar tender comes over and Arthur gets a beer for the both of them, cold in nondescript brown bottles. The labels weren’t really on Arthur’s list of dream necessities. They both grab their beers and drink at the same time.
“If he doesn’t dance with that minx,” Eames says, “I’ll go over there for him.”
Arthur snorts. “I’ll tell Ariadne you said so.”
Eames laughs and Arthur can hear his lighter click. “I told her that dress was the better choice, such cling.”
“I’m going to hit you.”
“You mean, ‘hit that.’”
Arthur punches Eames hard in the knee without turning around. Eames groans quietly and picks up his beer again.
“Spoil sport.”
At the table Ariadne slowly switches the cross of her legs and glances at their mark. They see their mark look away, clearly trying to be cool then he turns back to see if Ariadne is still looking.
“God, this game gets old.” Eames taps the back of Arthur’s chair with his beer bottle. “And he really had no conversation for his girlfriend; Ariadne is going to be disappointed. Didn’t even have to work hard to start a fight.”
Arthur rolls his eyes and pretends to watch a group of girls in the corner while really keeping his eye on Ariadne. He sees their mark stand up and go to Ariadne’s table. They speak for a moment then Ariadne stands up and trails a hand down the man’s arm. The two walk over to the open area in the middle of the tables which seems to be the dance floor. Behind Arthur, Eames sighs heavily.
“I’m leaving you for Ariadne.”
“No, you’re not.”
Eames leans closer so his breath tickles the back of Arthur’s neck. “Why not?”
“Because I’m getting her first.”
Eames chuckles.
“You think I’m kidding?”
Eames kisses Arthur’s neck then Arthur can feel him lean away again. “She’d shoot us both if we tried.”
As Ariadne curls her hand around the back of their mark’s neck, lips close to his ear and a wicked smile on her face, Arthur nods to Eames with absolute certainty.
“I suppose I’ll have to settle for you then.”
Eames laughs.
-------------
Ariadne bangs on the hotel room door then doesn’t bother waiting for a reply before using the key Arthur gave her and flinging open the door. Arthur is already sitting up in bed with his gun half way up as Ariadne slams the door behind her.
“What the -”
“Shut up,” She snaps and grabs Arthur’s carefully folded pile of clothing on the desk, throwing it at him, “we have to leave, now.”
Arthur catches most of the clothing, his vest falling onto Eames’ head instead. Eames rolls over and swats the vest off of him.
Arthur pulls a white shirt over his head. “What is it?”
“Just hurry up,” she barks.
Ariadne picks up what are clearly Eames’ clothes on the floor and drops them on top of the still recumbent man. She shakes him hard as she does so.
“Damn, insolent child,” Eames mutters and aims an elbow at her which misses. He then rolls over again to curl himself around Arthur’s waist beside him.
“Get up!” she snaps urgently at Eames then turns to Arthur. “It’s Praxle Crops’ men. They’re in the lobby.”
Eames jolts up and both men jump to their feet, throwing clothing on. Ariadne hauls the PASIV device off of a chair and tosses Arthur’s bag with all their surveillance, files, and extraction results inside over her shoulder across her chest.
“Tipped off?” Arthur asks, not bothering to button his vest, and stuffs his tie into his coat pocket as he pulls it on.
“The extraction was clean.” Eames bounces once as he shoves his foot into a shoe. “They can’t know.”
“Well, they’re downstairs.” Ariadne throws up her free hand, glaring daggers. “Do you want to wait around to see what they want?”
“We should have left last night,” Arthur grumbles, watching Eames step into his other shoe then he turns to Ariadne. “Did they see you?”
“No.” Ariadne heads toward the door. “I went down just to get us all a quick breakfast and saw the secretary.”
“You mean the one I -”
“Oh yeah,” Ariadne cuts off Eames, “almost fell down the stairs in surprise.”
Eames pulls his coat off the bed and threads his arms through. “Could have been the waitress at the restaurant or someone here? Martin couldn’t have found out from the dream and we did not slip up earlier.”
Eames picks up their two bags, holding one out for Arthur. He shakes his head. “Leave it.” Eames’ eyes widen. Arthur sighs and shoves a new magazine into his gun. “I have other suits and that red shirt of yours was horrible.”
Eames just raises his eyebrows once and hikes the other bag up onto his shoulder. Then Ariadne gasps and snaps her fingers.
“Could it have been a rival team?” Her eyes widen. “Our clients did say they’d asked someone else before us.”
Eames clicks his tongue. “There are many who want to topple our greatness.”
“Forget it! We’ll deal with it later.” Arthur puts the gun he’d pointed at Ariadne into the holster on his hip and takes a second gun out of the desk drawer. “How many?”
“Five,” Ariadne says as they cluster by the door.
Eames takes point at the edge and peers out into the hallway as Ariadne opens the door slowly. Arthur stays just behind, gun ready.
“Clear.”
The three slip soundlessly out into the hall and head to the left toward the stairs with Eames in the lead. Just as they reach the door they hear the ding of the elevator at their backs. Eames yanks open the door holding it for the other two as footsteps start in their direction. Slipping through, Eames closes the door carefully then all three run down the stairs with no further regard for noise.
“Make for the back?” Ariadne asks as she propels herself around a bend by the handrail, PASIV case clanging against a bar.
“Kitchen,” Arthur barks back, his gun still out.
They run and twist down five flights before they hear what sounds like a door opening far above them.
“Must they be so persistent?” Eames hisses.
“Come on!” Ariadne shouts as they pass the second floor and finally make it to the lobby.
Arthur stops them both at the door to make a quick visual check of the lobby. He stands against the far wall from Eames and Ariadne, glances out then he holds up two fingers. Eames nods and waves a hand at the other two to follow. He zigzags through bland colored hallways leading past mangers’ offices and a business center which has seen better days until they come to a door. Eames pushes it open and they see sinks to the left and right, tiled floor under foot.
“And to think I used to make fun of you for always mapping out the hotels we stay in,” Ariadne whispers.
“I’ll tell you the story of the second time I ended up in jail sometime.” Eames spares a moment to grin back at her. “Dead ends can be quite inconvenient in hotels.”
“He’s making that up,” Arthur replies, “really he’s just paranoid.”
Eames scoffs. “Believe as you will, Arthur.”
Ariadne nudges Arthur in the chest with her elbow. “And like you can really talk about being paranoid.”
“Hey!” A man in classic waiter garb stops suddenly in front of them as he walks by. “You can’t be back here.”
Ariadne pulls a black, two-flap ID out of her coat pocket and flashes it quickly at the man. “Inspection; we have access.”
The man swallows loudly then steps to the side. The three walk by, Arthur carefully keeping his gun concealed by his leg. Eames snorts quietly but does not stop guiding the way through the maze of the hotel kitchen. Then suddenly a door bangs behind them and people begin to shout.
“Here!” Eames pulls the other two into the nearest closet.
Luckily, the closet is large enough for the three of them, shelves with canned food and boxes and some pots on the floor. They hold their breath with hands ready to fight. After only a minute the door starts to open. Eames grabs the person’s arm, clamps a hand over their mouth, and quickly slips Arthur’s gun from his hand to hold it against the man’s chest. The man, clearly a cook, gapes in surprise at Eames.
“Wrong closet,” Eames says.
Arthur scowls as he takes his second gun out. “Now he’s a witness.”
Eames stares at the young cook, the two of them at eye level. “You don’t know who we are and I’m sure you don’t want to know.”
The man’s eyes widen with either fear or confirmation, probably both, then he shakes his head as much as Eames will allow. Eames smiles and nods once back.
“So, you’ll not speak and you will stay here when we leave.” Eames smiles again but this time with teeth. “And I know what you look like now, don’t I?”
The man visibly shakes.
Outside the door they hear running feet, something crashes to the floor and a woman shouts something like ‘fuck off!’ Arthur’s fingers flex on his gun but they stay silent and still. Eames does not look away from their guest’s eyes. Ariadne keeps checking her watch.
After five minutes of silence beyond their door Ariadne carefully turns the handle. Eames slides the man across the shelves to the back of the closet.
“Lovely to have met you,” he says as he finally lets go of the cook and backs up.
Arthur stands at the edge of the door as Eames and Ariadne step out. Eames keeps the gun pointed into the closet. As Ariadne closes the door Eames smiles and waves once at the man now half sitting shaking on a bag of potatoes.
“Enough,” Arthur says taking Eames’ hand and putting it back down at his side.
Eames just shrugs and smiles at Arthur until Ariadne smacks his shoulder.
“Come on, time to escape, right?”
“Out to ruin my fun?”
“I’ll ruin your fun.” Arthur shoves Eames forward slightly.
Eames mock gasps and pouts. “And this is the man I love?”
Arthur sighs heavily. Eames only chuckles at him then walks on again. Ariadne gives Arthur a look then pulls him after Eames toward the back of the kitchen away from suspicious cooks and dishwashers.
Finally, they reach a back door leading out onto a loading dock. Eames swings the door out, steps through and is suddenly punched in the head. Eames stumbles and instinctively pushes a hand back against the door to keep it closed.
“Fucking wank…” Eames starts to bring his gun up.
“Save it!” his attacker grunts and hits him again so Eames falls onto the concrete, the bag he was carrying bouncing away down the ramp and gun clattering out of his hand
Arthur bursts through the door, Glock trained on the man. “Back off!”
Just as quickly a gun clicks and presses into Arthur’s back. Arthur’s face twitches once but he does not lower his gun.
“Don’t think you have the upper hand here,” the man facing Arthur says. “Drop it.”
“Don’t think I wouldn’t still shoot you even if he shoots first,” Arthur replies, with a slight nod of his head to the person behind him. “You drop it.”
The man clenches his teeth then points his gun at Eames on the ground. Arthur tilts his head dangerously, fingers tightening on the weapon in his hands. Eames stares up at the man pointing the gun, hand against the side of his face. His eyes flick to Arthur then to his fallen gun too far out of reach.
“We don’t know who you are,” the man starts again, “but we know what you did. The chairman was informed. So, you’re going to tell us what it is you were looking for and if you found it and who sent you.”
“Quite a lot of questions,” Eames says, “maybe you should cut it down to one, such as, ‘where did she come from?’”
The man’s face scrunches up in confusion then the door swings open and slams him in the head, knocking him against the stone wall behind him. The man with the gun on Arthur flips around but Ariadne kicks him in the stomach, knocking him to the ground. Then before he can regroup and raise his gun up, she punches him squarely in the face with a satisfying yelp of pain. Arthur and Ariadne look left then right, both men out cold.
“Know how many people you’re chasing,” Ariadne says, brushing down her jacket and flexing her hand.
“Nice.” Arthur nods once at Ariadne then glares down at Eames. Eames raises his eyebrows and Arthur points at the unconscious men. “’Where did she come from?’ That’s what you went with?”
He shrugs. “Predictable?”
“Ridiculous.”
“I thought it fit.” Ariadne holds out her hand for Eames. “It’s nice to make an entrance.”
Eames takes her hand and stands up with a groan. “And an impactful one at that.”
Ariadne snickers at the same time Arthur scoffs derisively.
“Impactful?” he says.
“What can I say, love?” Eames picks up the gun he’d dropped. “We English do enjoy our puns.”
“I’ll enjoy the three of us on a train out of this city.”
“Well, then,” Ariadne opens the door behind her, grabbing the PASIV and bag just inside then starts down the ramp, clapping her hands at them; “we’d better get a move on before the rest of the gang come to check on their friends.”
“Always fleeing the scene,” Eames says as he trots down the ramp, picking up his bag.
Arthur follows and touches a hand to the small of Eames’ back. “That’s why it’s called crime.”
-------------
Eames stands with his back to one window staring at the two men unconscious on the bed, a fist pressed against his lips. The PASIV sits by his foot and he keeps repressing the urge to kick it into the wall.
“It’s only been five minutes,” Ariadne says quietly from behind him.
“An hour, you mean.”
Eames hears her crack her knuckles once, a nervous gesture for her. “Just a little more time.”
Of course they’d known it would be a dangerous job, mob connections and extracting infiltrators names were not exactly on the ‘easy street’ of dream work. What corporate entity would not want to know about the crime lords worming their way into their infrastructure, especially when the corporation involves exporting with limited checks in customs?
Yet they still took the job. Ego perhaps? The best is the best is the best.
Ariadne screamed and struggled when Eames, wearing the body of Alejandro Barisino, dragged her back into the dim warehouse. Arthur was on his knees in front of their mark Jeremy, another link in the mob chain but a fairly high link. There were three further projection mob guards in a semicircle around Jeremy.
(Just finding a way to get to him to actually perform the extraction had taken two weeks of Arthur’s investigation skills, another two of Eames clever use of references, and some twisting architecture work from Ariadne.)
“Leave her alone!” Arthur shouted.
Jeremy kicked Arthur in the side sending him sprawling to the cement. Eames threw Ariadne down by his feet and pulled out his gun.
“Don’t hurt her,” Arthur gasped, putting up a hand, “please.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of what would happen before you ratted,” Eames said.
“It wasn’t me!” Arthur turned to Jeremy. “I swear! It was one of the others!”
Jeremy smirked. “Oh, really? How do you know there are others? You’re all supposed to be working alone.”
Arthur swallowed audibly and Eames loaded a new magazine into his gun, cocking the hammer and pressing it against Ariadne’s head. She whimpered very convincingly.
“So,” Jeremy leaned over Arthur slightly, “what exactly did you tell them?”
“I didn’t… I didn’t… it wasn’t me.” Arthur gripped Jeremy’s shoes. “You have to believe me!”
Eames knew better than to laugh but he really would have to give Arthur some sort of award later for his performance. Clearing his throat, Eames drew the attention of the others. Jeremy glanced at Eames, sniffed then shook his foot out of Arthur’s grasp.
“Well then, Mr. Thompson.” Eames pressed the gun against Ariadne’s temple again. “Looks like you’ll need some convincing.”
Then he abruptly pulled the trigger with an echoing bang. Ariadne jerked once then crumpled forward onto the floor.
“No! No!” Arthur screamed. “Bastards!”
“Alejandro!” Jeremy barked.
Eames sighed and looked at him. “What?”
“What are you thinking? You go straight to the head shot?”
“He wasn’t talking!” Eames insisted then pointed at Ariadne’s still form. “Not like she was helping any.”
“Oh? That’s your brilliant plan? Just knock her off like we couldn’t have used her for something?”
Arthur made a low moaning noise.
Eames shrugged again. “He wasn’t talking.”
Jeremy glared at Eames then tilted his head back to look up at the high ceiling, some rusted chains and empty lights to add décor to the view. Then he slowly looked down again and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.
“You know.” He stepped to the right once then back to the left. “This has me a bit confused here, Al. Normally I would say you’re all for the torture technique.”
Eames did not twitch, only crossed his arms and stared back like he was bored. It could be true, this had been one thing Eames could not research and learn about his forge. It was impossible to go on a torture and kill run with the target unless you wanted to be the one in the ditch. (And this was why one did not take jobs involving the mob, idiots).
“I wasn’t going to waste the time on this guy.” Eames waved his gun hand vaguely at Arthur. “It’s not like he doesn’t have limbs of his own.”
“I don’t know, Al. Still seems like I’m missing something; like maybe you wanted to speed this along?”
“What?”
“Like maybe you have something you don’t want me to know,” Jeremy continued, hand dropping to his side, “like you were personally invested in this.”
“What are you talking about?” Eames snapped again, hands on hips.
“I’m talking about this.”
Eames saw it happening, saw Jeremy pull his gun out of his jacket, saw it rise up but he couldn’t react, couldn’t move in time. All he could think was ‘fucking shit, this isn’t the plan!’ Then Jeremy shot him in the chest. He heard Arthur gasp, felt wet blood start to leak down his shirt then he fell backwards. He died before the pain hit him. Eames surprised Ariadne so much she knocked the phone off the desk when he woke up.
Now Eames stares at Jeremy and Arthur on the bed. Maybe if he keeps his eyes focused enough some magic will occur and Arthur will wake up on command. He hates waiting like this, wants to do something, but he stands immobile.
The plan should have been to kill Arthur at that point. Arthur wouldn’t talk after some more intimidation, possibly some abuse; they’d get frustrated - bang - the boy is dead. Eames brings up the thought maybe it was one of the others? Then Jeremy, hopefully, spills the list of the people in the operation. There would have been so many ways Eames could have learned everything they needed as one of the guys on the inside.
Obviously, things had not followed that plan.
“I should go back in.” Eames looks at Ariadne and she shakes her head.
Eames grunts and turns back. The men lie still and breathe even. The clock on the PASIV device still has twenty minutes, hours and hours in the dream, too many hours for Eames’ liking.
“They could be doing anything to him!” Eames insists.
“He shot you!” Ariadne points at Jeremy. “Obviously he thought you were the rat.”
“Or just one of them.” Eames waves a hand in the air. “I could have been working with Arthur or Arthur could have come to me. Who knows what this bastard thinks?”
Ariadne strides over and pulls Eames by the arm away from the bed. “Arthur hasn’t woken up so obviously they haven’t killed him. There is still a chance he could get the information.”
“But -”
“Arthur is very smart,” Ariadne insists, “you know he could.”
“They could be torturing him!” Eames growls but makes no move toward the bed again, only stares at Ariadne.
She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Just give it a little more time.”
Eames says nothing and looks at his watch, seven minutes. Ariadne steps away from him and paces slowly back and forth across the ugly orange carpet, a large coffee stain near the closet door.
Eames crosses his arms again, bites his finger nail and stares at Arthur’s face. He lies very still, solid in place, perfect hair and prefect features frozen in this induced sleep. It is obviously unnatural, nothing how Arthur looks when he really sleeps.
When Arthur sleeps for real you can see him breathe, his lips parted with no creases in his forehead. He looks relaxed more than is ever possible when he is awake. Eames likes to watch the slow easing of his features as that ever slight stiffness softens into a more youthful calm than seems possible. It’s a casual dip down, a wave which doesn’t crash but fades over his face. Arthur also tends to shift when he sleeps; arm over Eames then rolling away then always back again, never still once his mind has a chance to break out of the mold of work and what is next and who are they researching. Arthur asleep is Arthur unguarded.
When Arthur sleeps in an extraction he is a statue, a mannequin, face like stone, you can barely see him breathe and you know it’s not real.
Eames looks at his watch again, eight minutes. He taps his foot.
“I should go back in.” He can feel panic at the edge of his senses. “If it’s been this long something has happened. Arthur would have finished it sooner, wouldn’t he? Something is wrong.”
“Calm down, Eames.”
Eames whips around and points violently at her, his normal casual and coy veneer cracked open. “Don’t fucking tell me to calm down!”
“Eames, you’re dead in there!” Ariadne shouts right back. “The mark will know and the dream will collapse. If you go back in you’ll ruin any progress Arthur might have made!”
“Or I’ll save him more hours of torture, how about that then?”
“Eames,” Ariadne puts up her hands placating, “I understand. You know I wouldn’t want Arthur hurt but you can’t just jump back in.”
“And why not?” Eames turns and walks back over to the bed. “I have the equipment right here.”
“You’re being irrational!”
Eames shrugs and starts to kneel. “Maybe.”
“Eames, stop!” Ariadne grabs Eames’ arm and pulls.
He staggers away and almost falls with the force of Ariadne’s tug. Then he regroups and pushes her back away from him. Eames is much bigger than Ariadne but they both know he wouldn’t really hurt her. However, they also know if Eames wants to do something Ariadne would have to hurt him to stop him.
“I am not leaving him in there just to finish a job.” Eames points back at the two people on the bed again. “I’d rather bollocks this one up then let him stay in there with that man.”
“Very romantic,” Ariadne says with sudden bitter tones, “I’m sure we’ll all be very happy having to run from the repercussions.”
Eames stares at her for a moment, an ugly frown on his face. “Oh, there will be repercussions either way, darling.”
“Eames, just give him two more minutes. Give him a chance to finish it!”
“Make me, dear.”
“I don’t want to….”
Eames pushes her sharply again so she stumbles this time and hits the desk with a hiss. “Then don’t.”
Eames strides back toward the bed before she can say anything else. He kneels quickly by the machine and pulls out a tube. Then Arthur jolts upright on the bed with a half shouted gasp making Ariadne and Eames both jump.
“Arthur!” Ariadne says.
They see his eyes whip around the room in one second with that calculating, cataloging, aggressive gaze which has won and killed so many times.
- Door to the left, two windows to the right - red curtains closed, too visible to the outside and too thin to hide a person - generic black desk at the wall, one bed - thin bedspread, sheets over used, hotel - three chairs, one man unconscious, two others conscious, one PASIV, Browning on the bed -
It all goes by in one blink of Arthur’s eyes and he grabs the gun right by his hand where it stays every time they go under. Eames stands but before he can speak, say ‘wait, Arthur,’ the man is on him.
“No, don’t!” Ariadne shouts and rushes forward.
Arthur knocks Eames down, easily kicking out his knees and pouncing on him, arm against his chest and gun digging into Eames’ neck. Ariadne freezes two feet away. Eames chokes and can’t speak for a moment from the pressure of Arthur’s gun against his trachea. Arthur’s finger is tight on the trigger.
“Arthur,” Eames whispers and Arthur digs the gun in further.
Eames groans and blinks back reaction tears. He can see Ariadne coiled tight in his peripheral vision, wanting to lash out at Arthur but she stays still. They both know which one of them is faster.
“Arthur,” Eames says again as softly as possible while still being audible. He keeps his hands open and out to the side as non-threatening as possible. “Arthur, it’s all right. You’re awake. It’s us.”
Arthur does not move and neither do Eames or Ariadne. Then Arthur blinks once and Eames can see the hard point man gaze flick away. Arthur blinks again then takes a sudden sharp breath in. He exhales, a shudder sliding through his body, and the gun slips out of his fingers to land on the floor beside Eames’ head. Ariadne is there in a flash grabbing the gun and backing away again.
“Arthur, it’s all right,” Eames says soothingly as he can.
Arthur quickly moves his arm off of Eames’ chest and plants both palms on the floor on either side of Eames’ head. He breathes in and out slowly like he’s trying to calm his heart. He stays very still and quiet just looking at Eames’ face, into his eyes; Eames the center of all gravity, all reality.
Behind them, Eames can hear Ariadne moving, packing everything up, checking on the mark, finishing the job. She does not ask if Arthur learned the information.
“Hi,” Eames says softly, keeping his eyes on the man above him.
Arthur opens his mouth slightly but doesn’t say anything, just breathes quietly. Eames moves his arms, curving his wrists back awkwardly to try and touch Arthur’s hands. Arthur gets there first and takes Eames left hand in his right so they’re palm to palm, fingers curled together.
The PASIV case suddenly snaps closed behind them and Arthur’s eyes shift to the side once.
“I got it,” he says, business voice as if nothing out of the ordinary has happen. “Names and extent of the infiltration, everything we needed to know.”
Eames sees Ariadne pick up the PASIV device. “Okay.” She walks past them both and out the door, leaving Jeremy still unconscious on the bed.
Eames knows without asking that Ariadne pumped him full of more drugs to give Arthur time. The past argument is over now. Eames also knows Ariadne will be standing right outside the door, eyes like a lioness, a fox, a woman who would break your legs if you even asked about the time.
Arthur’s eyes slide slowly back onto Eames like there are drugs in his system and he needs Eames’ face to flush them out. His fingers grip too tightly onto Eames’ hand and Eames knows there will be nail marks. Slowly, Eames lifts his free hand and touches Arthur’s face.
“It’s okay.”
The corners of Arthur’s mouth quirk slightly and the arm holding him above Eames shifts. He slides down slowly so their chests are flush and his forehead rests on Eames’. They share the same space, the same air, eyes closed, skin touching. Eames gently pets Arthur’s hair and speaks in soothing, simple tones, speaks with love.
“It’s okay, Arthur, it’s okay, you’re safe, it’s okay, it’s okay.”
-------------
The light in the pub is dim, almost matching the evening light outside. People fill the place leaving nearly no room for travel between the front and back of the establishment. Everything is made of dark wood from the tables to the floor to the ornate floral molding around the ceiling and behind the bar. Arthur, Eames, and Ariadne sit on three stools in front of the bar. Eames and Ariadne watch the football match on the small television screen above the bartender’s head.
“He really is a shitty kicker,” Ariadne mutters as she downs the last of her beer.
Eames scoffs. “Look at him run though, talent.”
“You’re looking at something else.”
“It all comes back to sex with you.”
She laughs and smacks his arm with the back of her hand. “I would love to -”
Eames makes a slicing motion with his hand and cuts her off. “I am not sure I am ready for such details of your depraved brain, my dear.”
“Your influence,” Arthur grunts.
Ariadne laughs at Eames. “I can’t believe it; did I just find your line in the sand?”
Eames takes a sip of his gin and tonic. “No.”
“Are you two really going to watch soccer all night?” Arthur grumbles.
Eames just leans over and kisses his temple. “Don’t complain.”
“I’ll complain all I want. It’s bad enough we are in a bar where anyone could reco-”
Ariadne cuts him off, “No one knows what we look like, stop worrying.”
“Well, I’ll blame you when we end up in jail.”
“It’s Bristol,” Eames says with a shrug.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
Ariadne raises a finger. “I think that implies he’s been in jail in Bristol and it wasn’t so bad.”
Eames snorts and sips his drink but does not confirm or deny. Ariadne stands up and reaches into Eames’ top coat pocket. She comes out with a pack of cigarettes and matches. Eames raises an eyebrow at her.
“Shut up.” She points at the empty beer bottle. “I’ve had two and I am half American. We smoke when we drink.”
“This from the Paris school girl,” Eames remarks.
She glares then turns and walks toward the door, pushing through the throngs of people.
“Fuck it,” Arthur says suddenly.
Arthur finishes his drink, picks up Eames’, finishes that one too then gives Eames a pointed look. Eames glances at each empty glass then up at Arthur, eyebrows flying up.
“Angry with me?”
“You’re both right.” Eames whistles in surprise and Arthur claps a hand over Eames’ mouth. “I’m going to enjoy myself, don’t gloat, and by the way you’re done with soccer for tonight.”
Eames pulls Arthur’s hand down. “It’s football, love.”
“Get me another drink.”
Eames bites his lip. “You know when you use that tone it’s just sinful how much I want you to throw me over this bar.”
“Later.” Arthur taps the bar top. “Drink.”
Eames nods and stands up, walking down the bar to pursue the bar tender staring at the far television screen. As soon as Arthur swivels his stool around to face the bar again a blond man slides into Eames vacant seat and puts a hand on Arthur’s arm.
“Finally.” Arthur turns and resists the instinct to break the man’s arm. “I thought you’d never be alone.”
“…Really.”
The man waves a hand around. “Not many of my type in here but you’re just perfect.”
Arthur sighs. “Uh huh.”
The man leans closer and slides his hand down Arthur’s arm so his fingers brush Arthur’s knuckles. “Buy you a drink? Or we could just skip that step.”
Arthur picks up the man’s hand off of his and puts it back on the bar. “I don’t think so.”
Apparently the removal of his hand does not discourage the blond because he scoots his stool closer to Arthur, knees brushing against Arthur’s thigh, and puts a hand on Arthur’s lower back. Arthur thinks of about ten ways he could kill the man right now, his favorite involving the broken glass of a Jameson bottle.
“Fine.” The blond leans in a bit. “No drink necessary. I’ve got a car just around the corner not to mention a nice flat.” He points behind Arthur. “No need to stay with my mates. They’re busy anyway and I’m sure you’d be a much better way to pass the time.”
Arthur glances back at the knot of men staring at the soccer match then turns back around just in time to see Eames appear behind the blond. He sees Eames look at the man’s hands, check the door, then he puts the drinks down on the bar.
“No, don-” Arthur starts.
Then Eames punches the man hard in the jaw, knocking him off the stool to smash into the floor chin first. Eames clears his throat and sits down again holding up one glass.
“Your drink.”
Outside the bar, Ariadne stares up at the sky watching the smoke from her one cigarette waft upward. She really needs to quit this trashy habit, smoking when drinking. It’s like she’s in under grad again and that’s just silly. Plus no one likes to smell like cigarette smoke. Taking a last drag, she throws the cigarette down on the street and crushes it under her heel.
“New plan,” she says to herself, “never again.”
Just as she puts the pack and matches into her pocket the door to the pub flies open.
“Time to go!” Eames shouts as the two of them suddenly rush out of the bar.
“What’s going on now? Did you - oof!”
Eames scoops up Ariadne mid sentence, heaving her onto his shoulder and then runs after Arthur down the alleyway.
“What are you - put me down, Eames!”
“No time, must run and - my god, have you gotten heavy?”
“I’m not a twelve year old!” Ariadne gasps suddenly when she looks up. “Why is the whole bar chasing us?”
Eames stops for one moment, drops Ariadne on her feet then they are both off again.
“I may have started a fight.”
“He punched a guy in the head,” Arthur shouts over his shoulder.
Ariadne barks a half laugh, half gasp. “What? Why?”
Eames glances back once at the six or so people chasing them then grabs Arthur’s arm as he catches up to the other man. Arthur shoots him a glare. Eames just smiles at Ariadne and points quickly at Arthur.
“Arthur’s fault?”
“Oh, of course, all me.” Then Arthur snorts. “Though the one was getting fresh.”
Eames laughs and aims a sloppy kiss at Arthur cheek, mostly missing. “He’s just too pretty.”
Arthur elbows Eames off as they run. “He may have also -” Arthur gasps, “- had some choice words to say about - I fucking hate you, Eames, Christ - about the other’s girlfriends, boyfriends, and extended family.”
“You said they had small dicks, didn’t you?”
Eames nods with a grin and a heaving breath. “I did.”
“Wow.” Ariadne sprints ahead. “We’re running from something not extraction related!”
Eames begins to laugh and nearly falls. Ariadne chances a look back then makes a disgusted noise.
“Oh come on, let’s stop. We could take them.”
“No,” Arthur says, “we’re not killing them.”
“Did I say kill?”
Eames pants. “I believe Arthur wishes to not make a scene.”
“You call this ‘not a scene?’”
“Car!” Arthur shouts, pointing to his silver Audi parked by the curb.
Arthur whips out his keys, clicks the unlock button as the three of them hit the doors at the same time. Ariadne whips around the car and reaches the driver’s side first. Arthur throws her the keys. They all slam themselves inside just as the drunken angry men chasing them reach the sidewalk. From the back seat Eames smiles and blows them a kiss as Ariadne spins the car away.
“You can’t punch everyone that makes a pass at me,” Arthur chides
Eames just shakes his head. “Uni all over again.”
“Even when we’re not working,” Ariadne says, “we end up in trouble.”
Arthur huffs but smiles in the review mirror at Eames grinning smugly in the back seat.
Part 2