Mombasa Revisited
Title: Mombasa Revisited
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; Dom, Yusuf
Word Count: 4,725
Rating: PG
Summary: “We don’t just need a thief;” Dom glances up briefly; “We need a forger.”
“Wait,” Arthur says. Dom turns, hand on the door knob. “I’ll go.”
Author notes: A scene rewrite. Instead of Dom going to Mombasa to find Eames, Arthur goes.
Ariadne jumps up from the lawn chair, grabbing her coat, and marches out the door. Arthur smirks slightly as he hears the door slam then stands and begins to reset the PASIV as Dom comes back toward him.
“She’ll be back.” Dom sounds tired and Arthur wonders for a moment just what Mal did in the dream this time. “I’ve never seen anyone pick it up that quickly before. Reality is not going to be enough for her now and when she comes back,” Dom looks up at Arthur, “if she comes back, you’re going to have her building mazes.”
Arthur cocks his head. “And where’re you going to be?”
“I’ve got to go visit, Eames.”
“Eames?” Arthur turns as Dom walks past him and shakes his head. “No, he’s in Mombasa. It's Cobol's backyard.”
Dom doesn’t look up as he buttons the cuff of his shirt. “It’s a necessary risk.”
Arthur shakes his head again. “There are plenty of good thieves.”
“We don’t just need a thief;” Dom glances up briefly; “We need a forger.”
Dom grabs his jacket and walks toward the loft door.
“Wait,” Arthur says. Dom turns, hand on the door knob. “I’ll go.”
“Arthur…” Dom’s voice has a warning tone. “I don’t think -”
“Dom, it would be safer for me to go. You’re the one with the bigger target on your back, after all. I’m more likely to go unnoticed by Cobol.”
Dom raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t Eames still mad at you?”
“...Maybe. …Probably not.”
Dom sighs. “We need him to say yes, not play games then leave you at an empty table.”
Arthur crosses his arms. “He’ll say yes.”
Dom’s eyes shift to the floor and he crosses his arms as well. He looks up at Arthur again, searchingly. Arthur puts his hands on his hips.
“You’re the one more likely to get shot if you go,” Arthur reasons, “and we need you alive for this to work, don’t we?”
“We need you alive too.”
“Thanks for your concern and all, Dom, but if we really need Eames then one of us has to go and you have to admit, despite the ups and downs, he’ll be more pleased to see me than you.”
Dom huffs once and smiles. Then he nods and gestures at the door.
“All right, you go.” Dom walks back toward Arthur. “I’ll meet with Saito to fine tune this; see what additional information he has, see what his true motivations are for this idea.”
Arthur nods. “Monopoly on the market, you think?”
Dom purses his lips and shakes his head. “No, I think it’s bound to be more complicated.”
“Always is.”
Arthur shrugs on his suit jacket then walks to the wall where his coat rests on a battered, old cabinet of printer drawers. Arthur threads his arms through, checks his pocket for his passport, then walks back to Dom. Dom stands staring down at the PASIV device on the table. Arthur can tell he is not really looking at the case. He sees something else, someone else.
“Tell me if she comes back.”
Dom’s head snaps up and for a moment he looks guilty.
“Ariadne,” Arthur clarifies, “let me know if she comes back.”
Dom smiles in a thin line. “When she does.”
Arthur shakes his head and picks up his bag from the table. “Bet you twenty she won't,” Arthur says over his shoulder as he walks to the door.
“Twenty-five,” Dom calls after him.
Arthur has never liked Mombasa. For one thing it’s way too fucking hot. The city comes off bland white, too boxy and too narrow for Arthur’s taste. It’s not the type of place a man in a nice suit and tie goes easily unnoticed, at least not in the back corners he needs to frequent. Eames brought Arthur here once, a year, perhaps a year and half ago, because, as Eames put it, Arthur ‘just needed to see it once.’ Once was plenty as far as Arthur is concerned. Mombasa makes him look like a tourist, an easy mark. Nothing in Mombasa brings him any enjoyment, not the muted color or the grit or the crowds he feels dozens of eyes following him through.
It’s so typical of Eames to hang around in hot, over crowded cities. The London boy likes to get away from the cold but not the hustle and bustle. Crowds make safe, comfortable homes for thieves. But Eames has never been just a thief, never that simple.
Eames bought him a leather jacket here, reddish brown like the clay of North Carolina and Georgia. Arthur won’t admit how often he wears it. Now the jacket blends him in perfectly with the back alley crowds. The irony that his cloak of anonymity was a gift from the man he’s here to see is not lost on Arthur.
Arthur finds Eames, surprise of no surprise at all, with two chips in his hand and wearing lime green.
“That all you’ve won?” Arthur asks to Eames’ back.
Eames tenses slightly in what Arthur surmises must be surprise. Arthur didn’t call beforehand and doubtless neither did Dom. Sometimes surprises are better.
“It’s all I’m betting at the moment,” Eames says and places the two chips in his hand down on thirteen.
“Get you a drink?” Arthur asks.
As the wheel stops spinning, the dealer reaches out and clears all the chips from the table, Eames’ included. Eames stands and turns around to face Arthur. He looks just the same, if not better, same lush lips, same slight stubble. Eames’ eyes flick up and down Arthur once then Eames smiles.
“You’re buying.”
Eames slides around Arthur through the crowd over to the cash-in booths. He places two stacks of chips down on the counter at the first open window. Arthur leans against the curling iron bars beside Eames and picks up one chip.
“Did you do this on purpose?” Arthur asks, holding up the chip with ‘Mombassa’ along the edge.
Eames smiles at him as the woman behind the bars pulls the stacks of chips in. “Never can remember those ‘S’s.”
“At least you didn’t write it yourself.”
“My handwriting is quite versatile, as I am sure you recall, Arthur.”
Arthur drops the chip down on the counter in front of Eames. “You couldn’t ever get my ‘G’s right.”
Eames picks up the chip before the woman can scoop it up. “How fortunate for myself there are none in your name.”
The woman pushes a small stack of money toward Eames which he quickly pockets.
“Thank you very much,” Eames says to the woman and turns away, Arthur following.
Arthur stops at the bar as Eames finds them a table by the window. Two beers in hand, Arthur makes his way to the table and sits down across from Eames. Eames takes the offered beer from Arthur and picks up a peanut from the small plate in front of him, waiting for Arthur to speak.
It’s been five months since they’ve seen each other, six since they’d worked a job together. The past job rings only as a distant memory now, a bank deposit and a dream layer with too many streets. Arthur’s knowledge of Eames, however, remains unfaded; the lines of Eames’ face, the way he sits, the way his coat makes him appear broader and how he tends to lean to the left, his eyes, the way he always looks right back at you. Eames’ hair is a bit shorter than Arthur remembers and his skin tanner, no doubt from the Kenyan sun; new watch around his wrist. Something twitches at the back of Arthur’s mind and he realizes he’s begun to forget how Eames feels beneath his finger tips.
Arthur swallows. “How’ve you been?”
Eames just stares at Arthur for a moment, a tense set to his mouth. Then he takes a sip of his beer and tips his head. “Splendid.”
“Splendid?”
“Quite a lovely jaunt over to Moscow you would have enjoyed.” He raises his eyebrows. “How unfortunate you were off busy dreaming with Dom.”
Arthur sets his beer down on the table with a clatter. Eames smiles quickly and puts his beer down as well. Arthur stares back at Eames but doesn’t say anything. Eames looks away.
“So, what is the job?” Eames’ eyes slide back onto Arthur and Arthur crinkles his brow in confusion. “Well, Arthur, you would not come to see me unless a job was involved.
Arthur sighs. “Eames…”
Eames waves a shushing hand at Arthur. “I am not playing the martyr, Arthur. I simply think if you are here to see me for work then we should get down to it, should we not?”
“Fine.” Arthur picks up his beer again and chugs some down. “The job is inception.”
Eames purses his lips and picks up his beer. “Now that is far beyond what I thought your limited imagination would deem possible.”
Arthur rolls his eyes but ignores the jab. “It’s not possible.”
“Yet you’re doing the job?”
“Dom thinks it is.”
Eames shakes his head. “It’s perfectly possible, Arthur, it’s just bloody difficult.”
Arthur picks up his beer and takes a big swig. “Have you ever done it before?”
Eames shrugs slightly and puts his arm up on the window ledge. “We tried it, we got the idea in place but it didn’t take.”
“You never told me about that,” Arthur snaps suddenly before he can stop himself.
Eames chuckles. “Well, I can’t tell you absolutely everything about my life. Where would the mystery be then?”
“I’m sure you’d find a way.”
Eames only laughs again.
Arthur leans forward and waves a hand. “So, you tried but it didn’t work?”
“Well, you have to plant the idea deep enough.” Eames pulls his arm down from the window and leans back in his chair. “But that’s not just it; you need the simplest version of the idea in order for it to grow naturally in your subject’s mind. It’s a very subtle art.”
“Oh? So, what was your problem?”
“We’re not talking about my past failings, Arthur.” He points at Arthur then taps the table. “I believe we’re focusing on what idea you need to create now.”
“We need the heir of a major corporation to dissolve his father’s empire.”
Eames scoffs. “You see, Arthur, wording it like that just shows your lack of imagination.” Eames takes a sip of his beer. “No wonder you think it’s impossible.
“I guess I have to work on my English eloquence,” Arthur replies darkly.
Eames smiles. “Oh, don’t be put out, dear.”
“What would you suggest?” Arthur says, pulling them back to the job.
“Well, you see, dissolving a large corporate empire brings with it various political motivations, anti-monopolistic sentiments and so forth but all of that stuff it’s really at the mercy of your subject’s prejudice. All you have to do is start at the absolute basic.”
Arthur cocks his head to the side. “How our mark feels about the company?”
Eames laughs once. “Oh no, no; the relationship with the father.”
The idea strikes Arthur as a complete surprise and completely obvious in the same moment. He can’t stop himself from grinning widely. “Wow, Eames, that psychology of yours does come in handy.”
Eames shrugs again and throws a peanut in his mouth. “Helps to know what you’re stepping on when you run through someone else’s subconscious.”
Arthur laughs and smiles. Eames just raises both his eyebrows once and the word ‘gorgeous’ swirls around through Arthur’s mind.
“I missed you,” Arthur says suddenly.
Eames’ hand stops with his bottle of beer at his lips. He lowers the bottle slowly back to the table and then he smiles. It’s not the smile which usually graces his face for the world to devour, full of charm and haughty confidence and just a bit of danger; it’s the way Eames smiles for real.
“And I you,” Eames replies quietly.
They stare at each other for a moment then both pick up their beers at the same time. Arthur downs the last of his, placing it on the table and leans forward in his chair.
“So, is this a yes?”
Eames tilts his head with his classic smirk and gestures with the hand holding his bottle. “Do you have a chemist?”
“Not yet.”
“Ah, right, well, there is a man here, Yusuf.” Eames puts down his bottle and sits up straighter in his chair. “He formulates his own versions of the compounds.”
“Good enough to gain your approval?”
Eames nods. “Shall I take you there, then?”
Arthur pauses and shakes his head slowly, glancing carefully out of the corner of his eye at the man sitting at the corner of the bar closest to them. “Not quite yet.”
“Thinking of your persistent tail at the bar, are you?”
Arthur nods. “Not very subtle, is he?”
“Certainly not in tan Armani.”
“Good thing I didn’t wear mine.”
“Hmm, pity.” Eames raises his eyebrows. “You do look so lovely in it.”
Arthur’s lip quirks up and he glares half-heartedly at Eames.
“So?” Eames asks.
“I’ll lose him; keep him occupied for a minute for me?”
“Asking me to flirt for you?”
Arthur smiles thinly. “Meet you back here.”
Eames narrows his eyes. “Last place they’d expect?”
“Yep.”
“All right.” Eames rises and walks toward the man at the bar, body perfectly aligned to block the man’s view of Arthur.
Arthur stands and vaults over the beam in front of the window into open air. He falls the two stories down onto a straw mat and rolls the minute he hits the ground so he’s back on his feet. His eyes assess his surrounds in one second - coffee shop and bar he was just inside to his left, another building to his right with open doors, stands with baskets and blankets, road in front full of people, man in a suit - so he sees his second tail before the man sees him. Arthur bolts to the right into the building beside him.
“Hey!” he hears shouted as he disappears through the doorway.
The building is a restaurant, about two dozen patrons, and Arthur zigzags through the square tables, narrowly avoiding chairs. He hears something crash and a woman screams behind him. Then a bullet hits the wall to his left. Arthur ducks instinctively and knocks into a man carrying a crate of bottles. The glass crashes and Arthur crouches quickly, picks up a bottle, and turns, heaving it through the air at his pursuers. He is rewarded by a grunt of pain.
Arthur grabs the nearest person with an apron on by the arm. “Back door?”
The man looks at him with wide, frightened eyes.
“Back door?” Arthur barks again.
The man just points over his shoulder quickly and Arthur runs.
“Stop him!” someone shouts and Arthur has no clue if the voice means him or the people chasing him.
Arthur weaves through brown hallways, barely misses slamming into a locked door, then he’s out on the street again. He looks around quickly, trying to regain his bearings. If he goes to the right he can lose them through the tight alleys then take another right back to the bar to meet Eames.
Suddenly someone grabs Arthur and slams him against the cement wall.
“Got ya!” The man shouts.
Arthur sees stars and chokes. Then Arthur pulls himself down, tipping the man holding him off balance, and jolts back up to slam his captor against the other wall.
“Fuck!” The man shouts and shoves Arthur away from him.
Arthur hits the wall again, only just catching himself against it with his hands. He whirls around to face the other man and strikes out with a punch. The man dodges and stumbles, falling down on one knee. Arthur kicks him down to the ground then runs away past the door he came from. It opens just as he passes and another Cobol thug comes out with a shout.
“You! Get back here, extractor!”
Arthur decides not to shout any quip about proper role designations and layman idiocy.
He runs down the alley, more bullets hitting white stucco over cement all around him. He keeps his head down and swings left into a wider street, knocking over a vendor’s stack of rugs. He hears the two men chasing him trip over the rugs, shouting, as they keep with him. People curse at Arthur as he flies by but he does not stop, leaping over a fallen cart. He takes a right down a smaller alley, red stone walls on both sides. He has to shake them, he’s so close.
Suddenly a door to his right opens exactly as Arthur runs by it and someone yanks him inside, slamming the door shut. Arthur spins around and lashes out with a fist which Eames catches in his hand an inch away from his face.
“I will do without the black eye, thank you.”
Arthur breathes out heavily. “Thanks, how did - ”
Eames cuts Arthur off with two fingers against Arthur’s lips. Eames’ eyes slide to the side, gazing at the door beside them. They hear muffled running feet, something bangs against the door, and a man shouts, ‘Go, there! Go!’ They stand frozen for a minute as the sounds die away. Arthur watches Eames until the man looks back and drops his hand.
“Better, I should think.”
“For now.”
Arthur looks up and around them to see exactly where he’s been pulled. They stand wedged almost chest to chest in a dark, narrow hallway. To their left the hall leads down into a bend and daylight. Peeling paint and a few faded posters advertizing coffee coat the walls.
Arthur breathes deeply to try and bring his adrenaline rush down. He notices when Eames breathes he can feel it too.
“Ready?” Eames asks.
Eames leads Arthur through winding streets deeper into the back regions of Mombasa where only the locals go. Eames turns them down a street, fewer people, and to their left framed pictures hang all over the cement wall, ceramic tiles after a generic European style. Then Eames stops at the foot of some stairs and slips a bill into a waiting boy’s hand. He flashes a small smile back at Arthur and they climb the stairs into the chemist’s shop.
Once inside, Arthur sits down in a chair with the man himself watching them from behind a desk. Eames leans against the wall. A cat lurks on the counter behind Yusuf, sniffing at some nondescript metal can. Arthur represses a grimace; he does not like cats.
"You are seeking a chemist?" Yusuf asks.
Arthur nods. “Yes.”
"To formulate compounds for a job?"
“And to come into the field.”
Yusuf shakes his head once. “Oh, I rarely go into the field.”
“Bore,” Eames mutters.
Arthur and Yusuf both glance at Eames. He pretends to not notice and they look back to each other.
“Our job has pretty specific needs.”
Yusuf gestures upward with both hands. “Which are?”
“Depth.”
Yusuf leans forward. “A dream within a dream, two levels?”
Arthur sighs because he knows what Yusuf is going to say and can’t help but feel somewhat the same way. “No, three.”
“Not possible.”
Eames laughs once derisively and stands up straight. “The two of you should spend more time together.”
“That many dreams within dreams is too unstable," Yusuf says to Eames then looks back to Arthur.
“You could add a sedative.”
Dom had mentioned it to Arthur, said it was the only way it would work if they could just find someone to make a good one. From the amount of jars and bottles and shades of yellow liquid in the room, Arthur thinks Yusuf just might be the man to do it.
“A powerful sedative.” Yusuf puts his hands on the desk and leans his forearms on it as he speaks. He threads his fingers together and Arthur sees he is intrigued. “How many team members?”
“Five… maybe six.”
“Maybe?” Eames crosses his arms. “Up in the air still, are you?”
Arthur glares at Eames and thinks about throwing the stapler off of Yusuf’s desk at the other man. Yusuf glances between them. A look like realization crosses his face then he laughs once and points between them.
“Is this ‘the’ Arthur you’ve mentioned before?”
Eames suddenly clears his throat loudly and Arthur catches him making cut throat gestures. “No idea what you mean!”
Arthur raises an eyebrow at Yusuf. He only smiles slightly and stands, picking up a small bottle sitting on his desk.
“Well, we could start with this. I use it every day.”
Arthur’s brow furrows. “For what?”
“Here, I’ll show you.” He picks up a set of old brass keys from the side of his desk then stops. “Perhaps you will not want to see?”
Arthur stands up as well. “I do.”
Yusuf leads the two of them down a flight of stairs in the back of his shop. It grows darker as they step down and once they reach the basement they see what Yusuf meant. A man sits in a chair beside a PASIV device hooked up to a circle of people sleeping on cots. Large lights hang from the ceiling, wires, bare piping and it feels almost like an opium den.
Eames’ cranes his head around, lips moving as he counts. "Ten, twelve, all connected, bloody hell."
"They come every day to share the dream."
The man in the chair stands and smacks one sleeping man in the face. He doesn’t stir at all. Arthur raises his eyebrows and glances at Yusuf. He smiles.
“You see, very stable.”
Arthur steps forward, walking through the people. They’re all different, nothing distinguishing, nothing disparaging in appearance, just people frozen asleep. In his mind he sees Dom here slowly pulled under to be with a wife gone and children lost, dream becoming reality. A chill crawls up his spine.
“Just how long do they come here every day to dream?” Eames asks.
Yusuf holds up a finger. “Three, four hours.”
Arthur points around the room. “How long in the dream?”
“With this compound? Forty hours each day."
Arthur breathes out once. With what they need to do, the levels they need to build, this is perfect. Standing in the room, looking at the dozen dreamers, Arthur starts to believe that maybe this job, maybe inception will work. Eames walks around one sleeping man into the center of the circle to stand beside Arthur. They look at each other and Eames’ eyes ask, ‘well?’
Arthur turns and looks at Yusuf. “How about a trial run?”
Yusuf nods then Arthur pulls off his jacket and rolls up his sleeve. Arthur sits down on an empty cot then glances at Eames who nods back reassuringly as he sits near the wall. Eames seems to trust Yusuf but Arthur would rather have Eames at the ready if anything goes wrong. Arthur lies down, Yusuf pushes the needle in then Arthur closes his eyes.
Bright lights, London street, deep dark blue of the bay and the London Eye. The metal glints, shines, circles slowly and the moon shines off the wheel and it’s ‘Starry Night.’
“What a tourist you are.”
Eames smiles, hair slicked to the side, coat off and he looks like…
Bullet in the arm, falling and falling back through the air and this time wasn’t a dream because when he hit he didn’t die and then…
“Arthur! Arthur! Darling, no, no… Arthur!”
Eames staring down at him, eyes like the sea, like the sky, like… deep, like falling all over again.
Spring and warmth and nothing to worry about and arms around him, his arms around Eames.
Kissing his hair and it smells like grass and coming rain and the sun makes him think he’s a good man because Eames is a good man even if he’s not. Because Eames is perfect in all the ways he’s not.
“I can hear you thinking…”
A shout, a shot, a slam, a door and gone and then…
“So go!”
And not what he wanted but what he had and then running and running through gray, sliver, pointed coal black, and not the night.
Eames so close, lips like honey and heaven and they slip on to his. Skin like velvet and satin, lined with ink and his hands never stop.
“One night…” Eames’ smile is teasing, just the right amount of true, “or more...”
Eames’ lips and his hands and everything, everything; some time younger, some day gone and it feels like -
Arthur jolts up on the cot as his eyes open and he gasps hard. He feels suddenly hot and cold together in the dim basement. It’s like a kick into a bathtub of water but without the water. Then his eyes focus again on Yusuf gazing down at him.
“Sharp, no?”
“Yes,” Arthur replies.
He sits up just breathing in and out a few times. He turns his head slowly behind him. Eames gives him a questioning look. Arthur shuts his eyes once and has to turn away. He can feel Eames staring hard at his back. Arthur stands slowly after Yusuf removes the needle and rolls his sleeve back down. He picks up his jacket and turns back to Yusuf.
Arthur clears his throat. “So, is this a yes?”
Yusuf cocks his head and smiles. “It seems I cannot refuse.”
Eames grins as he rises from his seat. “That’s the spirit, one happy family already.”
Yusuf glances at Eames and shakes his head. He turns back to Arthur and holds out his hand. Arthur takes it and they shake.
“I will see you at the airport tonight.”
Arthur nods. “I will get you a ticket.”
Arthur and Eames leave Yusuf’s shop, walking down the steps until they stand back out on the street. The hot air of the city folds around them in sharp contrast to the cool of the basement. It itches at Arthur’s neck already but in truth he’s glad to see the sun. He glances at Eames beside him. The man gazes steadily back then grins.
“Well, that was certainly successful.”
“It’s a start.”
Eames chuckles. “Lucky for you I knew Yusuf here.” He tsks. “I can’t imagine how this job would have folded without me.”
Arthur glares. “Yes, since you’re the most important component to the job’s success.”
“Ah, I see you’ve got it right.”
Arthur glowers further. “You know, I’m starting to remember that you are annoying.”
Eames barks a laugh and touches Arthur’s jacket. “But no one annoys you as well as I do, darling.”
Arthur frowns and crosses his arms. “You’re just going to get worse through this, aren’t you?”
Eames clucks his tongue and wags a finger. “Just too, too bad you need me, isn’t it?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Oh, Arthur, if I wasn’t there who would you let out all your frustrations on? The projections can only endure so much.”
Arthur suddenly finds himself laughing, annoyance melting away. He sighs heavily and shakes his head. Eames trails a hand down his arm, fingers brushing over Arthur’s then he pulls away.
“We should have dinner before we leave.”
Arthur looks up. “Dinner?”
“I am sure the flight you’ve chosen isn’t for a few hours at least.”
Arthur searches Eames face for a tell, for a twitch, but Eames only stares straight back. When he cons, he cons; when he shows, when he charms for the world, then he is a construction of smirks and swaggers and smiles. But when Eames is honest, he looks you in the face and he’s honest.
“Is it dinner or…” Arthur doesn’t look away. “Or dinner?”
Eames’ smile lessens but it’s not a bad sign, it’s thoughtful. Arthur realizes that Eames expected nothing at all from him.
“Well, Yusuf can attend as well if you’d rather.”
Arthur chuckles. “Two is fine.”
“Well.” Eames puts his hands in his pockets, voice soft, and he smiles in that rare shy way he used to do when ever Arthur would call him beautiful. “I know a spot.”
“Good.”
Eames turns, Arthur turns with him, and they walk down the slope of the street back into the thick of the city. As they walk their arms brush against each other and neither one moves to put space between.
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; Dom, Yusuf
Word Count: 4,725
Rating: PG
Summary: “We don’t just need a thief;” Dom glances up briefly; “We need a forger.”
“Wait,” Arthur says. Dom turns, hand on the door knob. “I’ll go.”
Author notes: A scene rewrite. Instead of Dom going to Mombasa to find Eames, Arthur goes.
Ariadne jumps up from the lawn chair, grabbing her coat, and marches out the door. Arthur smirks slightly as he hears the door slam then stands and begins to reset the PASIV as Dom comes back toward him.
“She’ll be back.” Dom sounds tired and Arthur wonders for a moment just what Mal did in the dream this time. “I’ve never seen anyone pick it up that quickly before. Reality is not going to be enough for her now and when she comes back,” Dom looks up at Arthur, “if she comes back, you’re going to have her building mazes.”
Arthur cocks his head. “And where’re you going to be?”
“I’ve got to go visit, Eames.”
“Eames?” Arthur turns as Dom walks past him and shakes his head. “No, he’s in Mombasa. It's Cobol's backyard.”
Dom doesn’t look up as he buttons the cuff of his shirt. “It’s a necessary risk.”
Arthur shakes his head again. “There are plenty of good thieves.”
“We don’t just need a thief;” Dom glances up briefly; “We need a forger.”
Dom grabs his jacket and walks toward the loft door.
“Wait,” Arthur says. Dom turns, hand on the door knob. “I’ll go.”
“Arthur…” Dom’s voice has a warning tone. “I don’t think -”
“Dom, it would be safer for me to go. You’re the one with the bigger target on your back, after all. I’m more likely to go unnoticed by Cobol.”
Dom raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t Eames still mad at you?”
“...Maybe. …Probably not.”
Dom sighs. “We need him to say yes, not play games then leave you at an empty table.”
Arthur crosses his arms. “He’ll say yes.”
Dom’s eyes shift to the floor and he crosses his arms as well. He looks up at Arthur again, searchingly. Arthur puts his hands on his hips.
“You’re the one more likely to get shot if you go,” Arthur reasons, “and we need you alive for this to work, don’t we?”
“We need you alive too.”
“Thanks for your concern and all, Dom, but if we really need Eames then one of us has to go and you have to admit, despite the ups and downs, he’ll be more pleased to see me than you.”
Dom huffs once and smiles. Then he nods and gestures at the door.
“All right, you go.” Dom walks back toward Arthur. “I’ll meet with Saito to fine tune this; see what additional information he has, see what his true motivations are for this idea.”
Arthur nods. “Monopoly on the market, you think?”
Dom purses his lips and shakes his head. “No, I think it’s bound to be more complicated.”
“Always is.”
Arthur shrugs on his suit jacket then walks to the wall where his coat rests on a battered, old cabinet of printer drawers. Arthur threads his arms through, checks his pocket for his passport, then walks back to Dom. Dom stands staring down at the PASIV device on the table. Arthur can tell he is not really looking at the case. He sees something else, someone else.
“Tell me if she comes back.”
Dom’s head snaps up and for a moment he looks guilty.
“Ariadne,” Arthur clarifies, “let me know if she comes back.”
Dom smiles in a thin line. “When she does.”
Arthur shakes his head and picks up his bag from the table. “Bet you twenty she won't,” Arthur says over his shoulder as he walks to the door.
“Twenty-five,” Dom calls after him.
Arthur has never liked Mombasa. For one thing it’s way too fucking hot. The city comes off bland white, too boxy and too narrow for Arthur’s taste. It’s not the type of place a man in a nice suit and tie goes easily unnoticed, at least not in the back corners he needs to frequent. Eames brought Arthur here once, a year, perhaps a year and half ago, because, as Eames put it, Arthur ‘just needed to see it once.’ Once was plenty as far as Arthur is concerned. Mombasa makes him look like a tourist, an easy mark. Nothing in Mombasa brings him any enjoyment, not the muted color or the grit or the crowds he feels dozens of eyes following him through.
It’s so typical of Eames to hang around in hot, over crowded cities. The London boy likes to get away from the cold but not the hustle and bustle. Crowds make safe, comfortable homes for thieves. But Eames has never been just a thief, never that simple.
Eames bought him a leather jacket here, reddish brown like the clay of North Carolina and Georgia. Arthur won’t admit how often he wears it. Now the jacket blends him in perfectly with the back alley crowds. The irony that his cloak of anonymity was a gift from the man he’s here to see is not lost on Arthur.
Arthur finds Eames, surprise of no surprise at all, with two chips in his hand and wearing lime green.
“That all you’ve won?” Arthur asks to Eames’ back.
Eames tenses slightly in what Arthur surmises must be surprise. Arthur didn’t call beforehand and doubtless neither did Dom. Sometimes surprises are better.
“It’s all I’m betting at the moment,” Eames says and places the two chips in his hand down on thirteen.
“Get you a drink?” Arthur asks.
As the wheel stops spinning, the dealer reaches out and clears all the chips from the table, Eames’ included. Eames stands and turns around to face Arthur. He looks just the same, if not better, same lush lips, same slight stubble. Eames’ eyes flick up and down Arthur once then Eames smiles.
“You’re buying.”
Eames slides around Arthur through the crowd over to the cash-in booths. He places two stacks of chips down on the counter at the first open window. Arthur leans against the curling iron bars beside Eames and picks up one chip.
“Did you do this on purpose?” Arthur asks, holding up the chip with ‘Mombassa’ along the edge.
Eames smiles at him as the woman behind the bars pulls the stacks of chips in. “Never can remember those ‘S’s.”
“At least you didn’t write it yourself.”
“My handwriting is quite versatile, as I am sure you recall, Arthur.”
Arthur drops the chip down on the counter in front of Eames. “You couldn’t ever get my ‘G’s right.”
Eames picks up the chip before the woman can scoop it up. “How fortunate for myself there are none in your name.”
The woman pushes a small stack of money toward Eames which he quickly pockets.
“Thank you very much,” Eames says to the woman and turns away, Arthur following.
Arthur stops at the bar as Eames finds them a table by the window. Two beers in hand, Arthur makes his way to the table and sits down across from Eames. Eames takes the offered beer from Arthur and picks up a peanut from the small plate in front of him, waiting for Arthur to speak.
It’s been five months since they’ve seen each other, six since they’d worked a job together. The past job rings only as a distant memory now, a bank deposit and a dream layer with too many streets. Arthur’s knowledge of Eames, however, remains unfaded; the lines of Eames’ face, the way he sits, the way his coat makes him appear broader and how he tends to lean to the left, his eyes, the way he always looks right back at you. Eames’ hair is a bit shorter than Arthur remembers and his skin tanner, no doubt from the Kenyan sun; new watch around his wrist. Something twitches at the back of Arthur’s mind and he realizes he’s begun to forget how Eames feels beneath his finger tips.
Arthur swallows. “How’ve you been?”
Eames just stares at Arthur for a moment, a tense set to his mouth. Then he takes a sip of his beer and tips his head. “Splendid.”
“Splendid?”
“Quite a lovely jaunt over to Moscow you would have enjoyed.” He raises his eyebrows. “How unfortunate you were off busy dreaming with Dom.”
Arthur sets his beer down on the table with a clatter. Eames smiles quickly and puts his beer down as well. Arthur stares back at Eames but doesn’t say anything. Eames looks away.
“So, what is the job?” Eames’ eyes slide back onto Arthur and Arthur crinkles his brow in confusion. “Well, Arthur, you would not come to see me unless a job was involved.
Arthur sighs. “Eames…”
Eames waves a shushing hand at Arthur. “I am not playing the martyr, Arthur. I simply think if you are here to see me for work then we should get down to it, should we not?”
“Fine.” Arthur picks up his beer again and chugs some down. “The job is inception.”
Eames purses his lips and picks up his beer. “Now that is far beyond what I thought your limited imagination would deem possible.”
Arthur rolls his eyes but ignores the jab. “It’s not possible.”
“Yet you’re doing the job?”
“Dom thinks it is.”
Eames shakes his head. “It’s perfectly possible, Arthur, it’s just bloody difficult.”
Arthur picks up his beer and takes a big swig. “Have you ever done it before?”
Eames shrugs slightly and puts his arm up on the window ledge. “We tried it, we got the idea in place but it didn’t take.”
“You never told me about that,” Arthur snaps suddenly before he can stop himself.
Eames chuckles. “Well, I can’t tell you absolutely everything about my life. Where would the mystery be then?”
“I’m sure you’d find a way.”
Eames only laughs again.
Arthur leans forward and waves a hand. “So, you tried but it didn’t work?”
“Well, you have to plant the idea deep enough.” Eames pulls his arm down from the window and leans back in his chair. “But that’s not just it; you need the simplest version of the idea in order for it to grow naturally in your subject’s mind. It’s a very subtle art.”
“Oh? So, what was your problem?”
“We’re not talking about my past failings, Arthur.” He points at Arthur then taps the table. “I believe we’re focusing on what idea you need to create now.”
“We need the heir of a major corporation to dissolve his father’s empire.”
Eames scoffs. “You see, Arthur, wording it like that just shows your lack of imagination.” Eames takes a sip of his beer. “No wonder you think it’s impossible.
“I guess I have to work on my English eloquence,” Arthur replies darkly.
Eames smiles. “Oh, don’t be put out, dear.”
“What would you suggest?” Arthur says, pulling them back to the job.
“Well, you see, dissolving a large corporate empire brings with it various political motivations, anti-monopolistic sentiments and so forth but all of that stuff it’s really at the mercy of your subject’s prejudice. All you have to do is start at the absolute basic.”
Arthur cocks his head to the side. “How our mark feels about the company?”
Eames laughs once. “Oh no, no; the relationship with the father.”
The idea strikes Arthur as a complete surprise and completely obvious in the same moment. He can’t stop himself from grinning widely. “Wow, Eames, that psychology of yours does come in handy.”
Eames shrugs again and throws a peanut in his mouth. “Helps to know what you’re stepping on when you run through someone else’s subconscious.”
Arthur laughs and smiles. Eames just raises both his eyebrows once and the word ‘gorgeous’ swirls around through Arthur’s mind.
“I missed you,” Arthur says suddenly.
Eames’ hand stops with his bottle of beer at his lips. He lowers the bottle slowly back to the table and then he smiles. It’s not the smile which usually graces his face for the world to devour, full of charm and haughty confidence and just a bit of danger; it’s the way Eames smiles for real.
“And I you,” Eames replies quietly.
They stare at each other for a moment then both pick up their beers at the same time. Arthur downs the last of his, placing it on the table and leans forward in his chair.
“So, is this a yes?”
Eames tilts his head with his classic smirk and gestures with the hand holding his bottle. “Do you have a chemist?”
“Not yet.”
“Ah, right, well, there is a man here, Yusuf.” Eames puts down his bottle and sits up straighter in his chair. “He formulates his own versions of the compounds.”
“Good enough to gain your approval?”
Eames nods. “Shall I take you there, then?”
Arthur pauses and shakes his head slowly, glancing carefully out of the corner of his eye at the man sitting at the corner of the bar closest to them. “Not quite yet.”
“Thinking of your persistent tail at the bar, are you?”
Arthur nods. “Not very subtle, is he?”
“Certainly not in tan Armani.”
“Good thing I didn’t wear mine.”
“Hmm, pity.” Eames raises his eyebrows. “You do look so lovely in it.”
Arthur’s lip quirks up and he glares half-heartedly at Eames.
“So?” Eames asks.
“I’ll lose him; keep him occupied for a minute for me?”
“Asking me to flirt for you?”
Arthur smiles thinly. “Meet you back here.”
Eames narrows his eyes. “Last place they’d expect?”
“Yep.”
“All right.” Eames rises and walks toward the man at the bar, body perfectly aligned to block the man’s view of Arthur.
Arthur stands and vaults over the beam in front of the window into open air. He falls the two stories down onto a straw mat and rolls the minute he hits the ground so he’s back on his feet. His eyes assess his surrounds in one second - coffee shop and bar he was just inside to his left, another building to his right with open doors, stands with baskets and blankets, road in front full of people, man in a suit - so he sees his second tail before the man sees him. Arthur bolts to the right into the building beside him.
“Hey!” he hears shouted as he disappears through the doorway.
The building is a restaurant, about two dozen patrons, and Arthur zigzags through the square tables, narrowly avoiding chairs. He hears something crash and a woman screams behind him. Then a bullet hits the wall to his left. Arthur ducks instinctively and knocks into a man carrying a crate of bottles. The glass crashes and Arthur crouches quickly, picks up a bottle, and turns, heaving it through the air at his pursuers. He is rewarded by a grunt of pain.
Arthur grabs the nearest person with an apron on by the arm. “Back door?”
The man looks at him with wide, frightened eyes.
“Back door?” Arthur barks again.
The man just points over his shoulder quickly and Arthur runs.
“Stop him!” someone shouts and Arthur has no clue if the voice means him or the people chasing him.
Arthur weaves through brown hallways, barely misses slamming into a locked door, then he’s out on the street again. He looks around quickly, trying to regain his bearings. If he goes to the right he can lose them through the tight alleys then take another right back to the bar to meet Eames.
Suddenly someone grabs Arthur and slams him against the cement wall.
“Got ya!” The man shouts.
Arthur sees stars and chokes. Then Arthur pulls himself down, tipping the man holding him off balance, and jolts back up to slam his captor against the other wall.
“Fuck!” The man shouts and shoves Arthur away from him.
Arthur hits the wall again, only just catching himself against it with his hands. He whirls around to face the other man and strikes out with a punch. The man dodges and stumbles, falling down on one knee. Arthur kicks him down to the ground then runs away past the door he came from. It opens just as he passes and another Cobol thug comes out with a shout.
“You! Get back here, extractor!”
Arthur decides not to shout any quip about proper role designations and layman idiocy.
He runs down the alley, more bullets hitting white stucco over cement all around him. He keeps his head down and swings left into a wider street, knocking over a vendor’s stack of rugs. He hears the two men chasing him trip over the rugs, shouting, as they keep with him. People curse at Arthur as he flies by but he does not stop, leaping over a fallen cart. He takes a right down a smaller alley, red stone walls on both sides. He has to shake them, he’s so close.
Suddenly a door to his right opens exactly as Arthur runs by it and someone yanks him inside, slamming the door shut. Arthur spins around and lashes out with a fist which Eames catches in his hand an inch away from his face.
“I will do without the black eye, thank you.”
Arthur breathes out heavily. “Thanks, how did - ”
Eames cuts Arthur off with two fingers against Arthur’s lips. Eames’ eyes slide to the side, gazing at the door beside them. They hear muffled running feet, something bangs against the door, and a man shouts, ‘Go, there! Go!’ They stand frozen for a minute as the sounds die away. Arthur watches Eames until the man looks back and drops his hand.
“Better, I should think.”
“For now.”
Arthur looks up and around them to see exactly where he’s been pulled. They stand wedged almost chest to chest in a dark, narrow hallway. To their left the hall leads down into a bend and daylight. Peeling paint and a few faded posters advertizing coffee coat the walls.
Arthur breathes deeply to try and bring his adrenaline rush down. He notices when Eames breathes he can feel it too.
“Ready?” Eames asks.
Eames leads Arthur through winding streets deeper into the back regions of Mombasa where only the locals go. Eames turns them down a street, fewer people, and to their left framed pictures hang all over the cement wall, ceramic tiles after a generic European style. Then Eames stops at the foot of some stairs and slips a bill into a waiting boy’s hand. He flashes a small smile back at Arthur and they climb the stairs into the chemist’s shop.
Once inside, Arthur sits down in a chair with the man himself watching them from behind a desk. Eames leans against the wall. A cat lurks on the counter behind Yusuf, sniffing at some nondescript metal can. Arthur represses a grimace; he does not like cats.
"You are seeking a chemist?" Yusuf asks.
Arthur nods. “Yes.”
"To formulate compounds for a job?"
“And to come into the field.”
Yusuf shakes his head once. “Oh, I rarely go into the field.”
“Bore,” Eames mutters.
Arthur and Yusuf both glance at Eames. He pretends to not notice and they look back to each other.
“Our job has pretty specific needs.”
Yusuf gestures upward with both hands. “Which are?”
“Depth.”
Yusuf leans forward. “A dream within a dream, two levels?”
Arthur sighs because he knows what Yusuf is going to say and can’t help but feel somewhat the same way. “No, three.”
“Not possible.”
Eames laughs once derisively and stands up straight. “The two of you should spend more time together.”
“That many dreams within dreams is too unstable," Yusuf says to Eames then looks back to Arthur.
“You could add a sedative.”
Dom had mentioned it to Arthur, said it was the only way it would work if they could just find someone to make a good one. From the amount of jars and bottles and shades of yellow liquid in the room, Arthur thinks Yusuf just might be the man to do it.
“A powerful sedative.” Yusuf puts his hands on the desk and leans his forearms on it as he speaks. He threads his fingers together and Arthur sees he is intrigued. “How many team members?”
“Five… maybe six.”
“Maybe?” Eames crosses his arms. “Up in the air still, are you?”
Arthur glares at Eames and thinks about throwing the stapler off of Yusuf’s desk at the other man. Yusuf glances between them. A look like realization crosses his face then he laughs once and points between them.
“Is this ‘the’ Arthur you’ve mentioned before?”
Eames suddenly clears his throat loudly and Arthur catches him making cut throat gestures. “No idea what you mean!”
Arthur raises an eyebrow at Yusuf. He only smiles slightly and stands, picking up a small bottle sitting on his desk.
“Well, we could start with this. I use it every day.”
Arthur’s brow furrows. “For what?”
“Here, I’ll show you.” He picks up a set of old brass keys from the side of his desk then stops. “Perhaps you will not want to see?”
Arthur stands up as well. “I do.”
Yusuf leads the two of them down a flight of stairs in the back of his shop. It grows darker as they step down and once they reach the basement they see what Yusuf meant. A man sits in a chair beside a PASIV device hooked up to a circle of people sleeping on cots. Large lights hang from the ceiling, wires, bare piping and it feels almost like an opium den.
Eames’ cranes his head around, lips moving as he counts. "Ten, twelve, all connected, bloody hell."
"They come every day to share the dream."
The man in the chair stands and smacks one sleeping man in the face. He doesn’t stir at all. Arthur raises his eyebrows and glances at Yusuf. He smiles.
“You see, very stable.”
Arthur steps forward, walking through the people. They’re all different, nothing distinguishing, nothing disparaging in appearance, just people frozen asleep. In his mind he sees Dom here slowly pulled under to be with a wife gone and children lost, dream becoming reality. A chill crawls up his spine.
“Just how long do they come here every day to dream?” Eames asks.
Yusuf holds up a finger. “Three, four hours.”
Arthur points around the room. “How long in the dream?”
“With this compound? Forty hours each day."
Arthur breathes out once. With what they need to do, the levels they need to build, this is perfect. Standing in the room, looking at the dozen dreamers, Arthur starts to believe that maybe this job, maybe inception will work. Eames walks around one sleeping man into the center of the circle to stand beside Arthur. They look at each other and Eames’ eyes ask, ‘well?’
Arthur turns and looks at Yusuf. “How about a trial run?”
Yusuf nods then Arthur pulls off his jacket and rolls up his sleeve. Arthur sits down on an empty cot then glances at Eames who nods back reassuringly as he sits near the wall. Eames seems to trust Yusuf but Arthur would rather have Eames at the ready if anything goes wrong. Arthur lies down, Yusuf pushes the needle in then Arthur closes his eyes.
Bright lights, London street, deep dark blue of the bay and the London Eye. The metal glints, shines, circles slowly and the moon shines off the wheel and it’s ‘Starry Night.’
“What a tourist you are.”
Eames smiles, hair slicked to the side, coat off and he looks like…
Bullet in the arm, falling and falling back through the air and this time wasn’t a dream because when he hit he didn’t die and then…
“Arthur! Arthur! Darling, no, no… Arthur!”
Eames staring down at him, eyes like the sea, like the sky, like… deep, like falling all over again.
Spring and warmth and nothing to worry about and arms around him, his arms around Eames.
Kissing his hair and it smells like grass and coming rain and the sun makes him think he’s a good man because Eames is a good man even if he’s not. Because Eames is perfect in all the ways he’s not.
“I can hear you thinking…”
A shout, a shot, a slam, a door and gone and then…
“So go!”
And not what he wanted but what he had and then running and running through gray, sliver, pointed coal black, and not the night.
Eames so close, lips like honey and heaven and they slip on to his. Skin like velvet and satin, lined with ink and his hands never stop.
“One night…” Eames’ smile is teasing, just the right amount of true, “or more...”
Eames’ lips and his hands and everything, everything; some time younger, some day gone and it feels like -
Arthur jolts up on the cot as his eyes open and he gasps hard. He feels suddenly hot and cold together in the dim basement. It’s like a kick into a bathtub of water but without the water. Then his eyes focus again on Yusuf gazing down at him.
“Sharp, no?”
“Yes,” Arthur replies.
He sits up just breathing in and out a few times. He turns his head slowly behind him. Eames gives him a questioning look. Arthur shuts his eyes once and has to turn away. He can feel Eames staring hard at his back. Arthur stands slowly after Yusuf removes the needle and rolls his sleeve back down. He picks up his jacket and turns back to Yusuf.
Arthur clears his throat. “So, is this a yes?”
Yusuf cocks his head and smiles. “It seems I cannot refuse.”
Eames grins as he rises from his seat. “That’s the spirit, one happy family already.”
Yusuf glances at Eames and shakes his head. He turns back to Arthur and holds out his hand. Arthur takes it and they shake.
“I will see you at the airport tonight.”
Arthur nods. “I will get you a ticket.”
Arthur and Eames leave Yusuf’s shop, walking down the steps until they stand back out on the street. The hot air of the city folds around them in sharp contrast to the cool of the basement. It itches at Arthur’s neck already but in truth he’s glad to see the sun. He glances at Eames beside him. The man gazes steadily back then grins.
“Well, that was certainly successful.”
“It’s a start.”
Eames chuckles. “Lucky for you I knew Yusuf here.” He tsks. “I can’t imagine how this job would have folded without me.”
Arthur glares. “Yes, since you’re the most important component to the job’s success.”
“Ah, I see you’ve got it right.”
Arthur glowers further. “You know, I’m starting to remember that you are annoying.”
Eames barks a laugh and touches Arthur’s jacket. “But no one annoys you as well as I do, darling.”
Arthur frowns and crosses his arms. “You’re just going to get worse through this, aren’t you?”
Eames clucks his tongue and wags a finger. “Just too, too bad you need me, isn’t it?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Oh, Arthur, if I wasn’t there who would you let out all your frustrations on? The projections can only endure so much.”
Arthur suddenly finds himself laughing, annoyance melting away. He sighs heavily and shakes his head. Eames trails a hand down his arm, fingers brushing over Arthur’s then he pulls away.
“We should have dinner before we leave.”
Arthur looks up. “Dinner?”
“I am sure the flight you’ve chosen isn’t for a few hours at least.”
Arthur searches Eames face for a tell, for a twitch, but Eames only stares straight back. When he cons, he cons; when he shows, when he charms for the world, then he is a construction of smirks and swaggers and smiles. But when Eames is honest, he looks you in the face and he’s honest.
“Is it dinner or…” Arthur doesn’t look away. “Or dinner?”
Eames’ smile lessens but it’s not a bad sign, it’s thoughtful. Arthur realizes that Eames expected nothing at all from him.
“Well, Yusuf can attend as well if you’d rather.”
Arthur chuckles. “Two is fine.”
“Well.” Eames puts his hands in his pockets, voice soft, and he smiles in that rare shy way he used to do when ever Arthur would call him beautiful. “I know a spot.”
“Good.”
Eames turns, Arthur turns with him, and they walk down the slope of the street back into the thick of the city. As they walk their arms brush against each other and neither one moves to put space between.