Inception/Mysterious Skin - Every Me and Every You (20/30)
Title: Every Me and Every You (20/30)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Inception/Mysterious Skin fusion
Word count: 3,008
Pairing: Neil/Eames
Rating: (very light) R
Warnings: language, allusions to rape,child molestation, and prostitution
Summary: Neil McCormick is fraying at the seams. Then he meets Eames, professional dreamer.
Neil's information gathering and filing apparently made everyone else's jobs much easier. They weren't only on schedule, but ahead of it at this point, and everyone was feeling the buzz of a job going better than expected.
Honestly, Neil figured someone should have expected something to go horribly wrong.
The day before the job was to take place, Mal had a terrible reaction to one of Sasha's somnacin mixtures, leaving her with a fever and weakness in her limbs. Sasha apologized and apologized though Mal told her that it just happened sometimes (somnacin was a very tricky drug to put together), but none of Sasha's antidote mixtures seemed to have any effect, and Mal couldn't build in the fuzzy state of mind that she was in.
They would either have to wait and conduct the extraction at a later date when she had recovered, or they would have to do it without her… and it didn't look like they would have any other opportunities.
"What are we going to do?" Sasha asked Eames. They were all standing in Mal's apartment, said woman laid out in bed, resting. She'd felt too tired to walk home on her own, so they'd all ended up here. "Could we find another architect that can learn the layouts and the details in a few hours? Eames, you're already extracting, and you've got enough on your mind, and I'm shit for building."
Neil noticed the air in the room grew awkward, and he realized that Eames and Mal just might have told Sasha about his subconscious issues. Still, he piped up, "I'll do it."
They turned their eyes on him, and he knew that everyone knew about his problem. He straightened his back and exhaled and said, "I can do it, all right? We'll have to work faster, maybe, but I can build the mazes. Mal's already shown me the maze, and I can edit it a little if I have to. Besides, it'll be his projections walking around in there, not mine, right?"
The expressions in the room turned apprehensive.
"Look, it's either me or nobody. No one's going to be able to construct the maze in that amount of detail in a few hours, and that's provided if we can even find someone to do it that lives in the city. There isn't anyone else. Either I do it, or we have to pack up and cut our losses and hope that the guys who hired us don't hunt us down with guns."
Eames sighed and looked at the women. "He's right."
"I know he is," Sasha said. "Mal?"
Mal bit down on her bottom lip for a moment before soberly saying, "Do it. You'll have to work fast, but I think it can be done. You'd best go in there prepared to fight. Even if Arthur's subconscious doesn't break through, Bell's is bound to be less than friendly. I can take Arthur's place and keep watch and administer the kick."
From that point, there was nothing to be done but go back to the hotel and wait for tomorrow morning. Neil couldn't help but notice that on the entire cab drive back, Eames was silent.
Neil didn't sleep much that night, instead sitting up in bed with Wendy and looking over Mal's original plans. "I don't understand why it's such a big deal that you're doing it now," Wendy said, snuggling close to him. "You seem so gloomy about it."
"Yeah, well the team doesn't have that much faith in me for this part, honestly," Neil admitted, not looking up from the blueprints.
"Why? I thought you were a natural."
"Turns out my subconscious is not the most fun place to be," Neil said.
Wendy was momentarily silent. Then, she said, "What happens down there?"
"Some unwelcome guests occasionally come and ruin the party, I guess," Neil mumbled.
"Like who?"
"You know who, Wendy," Neil said softly. He knew she didn't know everyone, but he was sure she'd get the gist. "It's just hard for me to keep it contained… It's such a huge part of me… you know?"
"I know," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Maybe it's time to face down that part of you, let it go. You've got this whole new start. There's no need to keep dwelling on the past."
"It's not that simple though… I just… I guess I don't really know how to face it because I don't really know how I feel about it anymore… how I'm supposed to feel about it even… I feel like I've got all of my wires crossed and tangled and shit, can't get everything together."
"I didn't know you were so conflicted about it. What changed?"
Neil set down the plans and looked at her, her eyes large and honest. Wendy. His Wendy whom he could trust with anything.
"A few months ago, or whatever, a little after I moved to New York, Eric sent me a postcard, talking about this kid named Brian who had been looking for me. Brian was convinced that he and I had been abducted by aliens."
Wendy raised an eyebrow.
"We used to play on the same baseball team, and that summer he lost hours of his memory," Neil said softly, "but he was getting bits and pieces in dreams, you know?... and he remembered me. He wanted me to help him figure up what happened in that missing time."
Wendy's expression turned grave as she realized what had taken place. "Oh, my God," she whispered.
Neil nodded, looking away. "When I went home for Christmas, I told him the truth. I think he'd pretty much figured it out already, but we went to Coach's house, and I told him everything that happened… and he just… started crying… He screamed a little, but mostly he just laid there in my lap and cried… and I didn't know what to do. I'd thought that summer was… well, I mean, you know what I thought, but when he started to sob like that, I started to think that I was messed up somehow, that I'd made a mistake… I recognized this fucking crushing sadness on his face and in his shoulders. I haven't been able to place where I'd seen it, but I wanted to make him feel better, to tell him that it was over now and that everything was all right… but I couldn't because I knew it was a lie."
Wendy wrapped her arms around him, and Neil buried his face into her hair. "Something about Brian, Wendy… I can't let it go because of him. I went and saw him when I went back to Hutchinson, but well… it ended badly…"
"Neil… what happened isn't your fault. You were just a kid."
"I played my part in it, Wendy," he murmured. "I played my part."
He didn't talk about it anymore after that, and Wendy thankfully didn't ask any questions. He got up and went into the bathroom to splash some water on his face, and he wondered if he should have told her about what had happened to him the night before he'd left to meet Brian for the first time. Staring at his reflection, he recalled the subway ride home, shivering from the cold since his coat had been left hanging on that man's coat rack, blood caked to his face and staining his shirt. It had been really late, so the train was pretty much empty, but he remembered there was a man at the end of the car that didn't even think to ask Neil if he was all right. No one cared.
He had trudged up the stairs, aching and sore, and opened the door as quietly as possible because Wendy was asleep. She had looked so innocent and peaceful in her bed, curled up and warm and safe. For a moment he had wanted to climb into bed with her and hide away from that night, but instead he just went into the bathroom and took off all of his ruined clothes. That night he could feel dried come in his underwear that wasn't his, could already see dark and ugly bruises forming all over his skin. He had crouched down in the corner and taken a moment to breathe, feeling like hours had passed by in minutes or that perhaps time had stopped altogether.
On the top of the hamper was the shirt he'd worn the day he'd left for New York. He had taken it into his hands and buried his nose into it, trying to smell Hutchinson and who he used to be. He knew though… after what had happened, everything had changed… He couldn't go back to who he was before. All he could do was cling to that smell.
And he cried.
He had cleaned the blood off of himself, changed, and thrown he bloody clothes in a dumpster within the next hour or so, and he left for the airport before Wendy woke up so he wouldn't have to explain himself. He'd sat for probably over an hour, just waiting for his flight, gazing off into some unknown distance, with the man's words still echoing in his ears. He couldn't even really remember the man's face and had been disturbed by the way the features he'd forgotten had been mentally replaced with familiar ones. With Coach's.
The summer with Coach, and that night in Brighton Beach were forever connected in his mind, and it wasn't like he was stupid enough to not know why… but to admit to one would be to admit to the other, and he didn't want to think about either of them.
He didn't go back to Wendy and his room when he was finished in the bathroom. Instead he wandered into Eames's room, finding the man snoozing in bed still dressed and with the light still on. Neil felt tears well in his eyes for a moment, but he rapidly blinked to shoo them away because they had no purpose.
He leaned over and shook Eames gently. The man snorted and blinked a few times as he was roused out of his sleep. "You should change," Neil said softly. "You'll be more comfortable."
The tears nearly came again when Eames offered him a sleepy smile, like he was so happy to see him first thing. "Right, yeah… sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep like that."
While Eames changed into his pajamas, Neil crawled under the covers on the previously unoccupied side of the bed. He watched the man slide out of his suit and into his evening wear, the way his bulk moved through the fabric. He thought about how rough the skin of Eames's hands were, and yet how gentle they touched him, and he thought about the press of lips to his forehead or shell of his ear or cheek that came randomly, just because. He thought of the confession at the Eiffel Tower, and how it had seemed so unreal that Neil had momentarily thought they were dreaming, but then no one from his troubled past had shown up with an aluminum bat to bash in their skulls and ruin it.
Eames had told him that he loved him and hadn't expected anything in return. Eames was the same man that had told Neil he was capable of being loved without being possessed, and now Neil understood what that meant.
His entire life, all of his love had been about belonging to someone. His mother had told him, "I love you and you are mine and don't you ever forget it." Coach had given the impression that he'd loved Neil but after that summer, when they couldn't whittle away their afternoons playing different sorts of sex games, he'd disappeared without saying goodbye. The men Neil had slept with since paid him for time, and when that time was up it was over with. Eric had crushed on him because he was beautiful and he wanted to own something so lovely-Neil's personality certainly wasn't the thing Eric liked about him.
Eames though… Eames had refused his first advance, had always reminded him that if he wanted Eames to stop then all he had to do was say so, and when he'd told him that he was falling in love with him, he didn't ask to hear it in return, didn't even imply that he'd be disappointed if he didn't hear it.
Eames slid into bed next to Neil and turned off the light. "Try and get some shut eye," he said, kissing Neil's forehead (again, just because he could). "We've only got a few hours before we have to move."
Neil moved closer to Eames once the man had settled in, pressing his ear near the man's heart just so that he could hear it beating. "Eames…" he said softly, his voice barely a whisper in the dark room. He heard the heat click on.
"Hmm?"
"…I um…"
"What is it, darling? Are you worried about the job? Everything will go all right."
"No, I'm… well, yeah, I'm a little strung up about that, but…" he fell silent for a moment, pulling himself closer to Eames.
"Talk to me," Eames said gently.
Neil sighed against Eames's skin. "I don't know if I can feel love…" he said awkwardly, not sure how to word it, "but if I could, I think I would feel it for you."
There was a beat, and then Eames's hand was sliding through his hair. "Oh, darling," he said, as if Neil had just told him the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. Neil himself didn't think it amounted to much, but it was probably the most articulate he'd been about his feelings for Eames thus far.
"I just thought I would tell you," Neil said. "You know… in case something goes wrong."
"Everything's going to go just fine," Eames said, though Neil wasn't sure if the man believed that entirely. For now though, he was just happy to have the man close, his skin warm to Neil's touch, his hands sliding down his back and back up again. "Get some rest. We've got a big day tomorrow."
"Yeah," Neil said and finally managed to fall asleep.
Morning arrived and with it came a very quiet breakfast. Neil gave the plans one last look while he ate, and Eames studied through his own notes. Wendy seemed content to use her cassette player for company, the tinny punk music just barely lilting out through the headphones over her ears. Neil could tell by the subtle tenseness in Eames's shoulders that he was worried about the outcome of this job, and Neil figured he had every right to be concerned. Even if Neil's subconscious wasn't a disaster area, going against the plan at the last minute never really looked that good (even though Eames seemed like a man who could improvise on cue).
Neil just hoped that confessing his issues about Brian to Wendy the night before would help keep things calm enough. When she hugged him a little tighter than usual as they said goodbye, he could hear her silently wishing him luck.
As they took the elevator down to the ground floor, Eames looked towards Neil and offered a small smile. He could tell Eames was trying to think of something to talk about besides the job.
"So… what brought on all of that talk last night?" Eames asked, and maybe the job wasn't the only thing Eames was nervous about. Maybe he thought that in the daylight, Neil would retract his statement as stupid pillow talk.
"It was… just the first time I was really able to put it into words," Neil said. "I haven't really been able to describe it until now… and I thought that you should know."
"Well, ah, I appreciate that," Eames said, more than a little relief on his face that Neil didn't deny that the conversation had taken place.
Neil looked at his feet and then up at the descending numbers above the door. "Also… I know you guys are really worried about my subconscious fucking this up. I heard you and Mal talking. I just pretended to be asleep." He felt rather than saw Eames's guilt. "I know you guys… I know you have good reason to think I'm going to screw this up, but… I'm really going to try not to, so… that's all I can really say."
Eames reached over and squeezed Neil's shoulder lightly. "I'm not giving up on you. You know that, right?"
"I know," Neil replied. "I just… I know."
I don't know if you can help me.
They stepped off the elevator and out of the hotel into the crisp morning. They were meeting with Sasha and Mal in an hour, and within four hours they would be hooked up in the back room of Seymour Bell's favorite coffee shop. They had paid off the clerk behind the counter with a rather generous sum of money to slip a sedative into his coffee, and they had chosen a time of day where the place would be empty (save for each of them posing as patrons).
Neil mentally crossed his fingers, his toes, whatever he could cross, and hoped that he didn't fuck this up. After all, it wasn't just a paycheck on the line here. All of their lives were at stake, and he'd come to care about all of them.
It wasn't just him and Wendy against the world now, but if he screwed up, it might be, and the world would probably get a whole lot harsher while they were at it.
Neil closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and he thought of the prison drawing he'd made in the sub shop what seemed like eons ago. He would hold in his own subconscious as best as he could manage, and he would get this job done… for all of their sakes.
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Inception/Mysterious Skin fusion
Word count: 3,008
Pairing: Neil/Eames
Rating: (very light) R
Warnings: language, allusions to rape,child molestation, and prostitution
Summary: Neil McCormick is fraying at the seams. Then he meets Eames, professional dreamer.
Neil's information gathering and filing apparently made everyone else's jobs much easier. They weren't only on schedule, but ahead of it at this point, and everyone was feeling the buzz of a job going better than expected.
Honestly, Neil figured someone should have expected something to go horribly wrong.
The day before the job was to take place, Mal had a terrible reaction to one of Sasha's somnacin mixtures, leaving her with a fever and weakness in her limbs. Sasha apologized and apologized though Mal told her that it just happened sometimes (somnacin was a very tricky drug to put together), but none of Sasha's antidote mixtures seemed to have any effect, and Mal couldn't build in the fuzzy state of mind that she was in.
They would either have to wait and conduct the extraction at a later date when she had recovered, or they would have to do it without her… and it didn't look like they would have any other opportunities.
"What are we going to do?" Sasha asked Eames. They were all standing in Mal's apartment, said woman laid out in bed, resting. She'd felt too tired to walk home on her own, so they'd all ended up here. "Could we find another architect that can learn the layouts and the details in a few hours? Eames, you're already extracting, and you've got enough on your mind, and I'm shit for building."
Neil noticed the air in the room grew awkward, and he realized that Eames and Mal just might have told Sasha about his subconscious issues. Still, he piped up, "I'll do it."
They turned their eyes on him, and he knew that everyone knew about his problem. He straightened his back and exhaled and said, "I can do it, all right? We'll have to work faster, maybe, but I can build the mazes. Mal's already shown me the maze, and I can edit it a little if I have to. Besides, it'll be his projections walking around in there, not mine, right?"
The expressions in the room turned apprehensive.
"Look, it's either me or nobody. No one's going to be able to construct the maze in that amount of detail in a few hours, and that's provided if we can even find someone to do it that lives in the city. There isn't anyone else. Either I do it, or we have to pack up and cut our losses and hope that the guys who hired us don't hunt us down with guns."
Eames sighed and looked at the women. "He's right."
"I know he is," Sasha said. "Mal?"
Mal bit down on her bottom lip for a moment before soberly saying, "Do it. You'll have to work fast, but I think it can be done. You'd best go in there prepared to fight. Even if Arthur's subconscious doesn't break through, Bell's is bound to be less than friendly. I can take Arthur's place and keep watch and administer the kick."
From that point, there was nothing to be done but go back to the hotel and wait for tomorrow morning. Neil couldn't help but notice that on the entire cab drive back, Eames was silent.
Neil didn't sleep much that night, instead sitting up in bed with Wendy and looking over Mal's original plans. "I don't understand why it's such a big deal that you're doing it now," Wendy said, snuggling close to him. "You seem so gloomy about it."
"Yeah, well the team doesn't have that much faith in me for this part, honestly," Neil admitted, not looking up from the blueprints.
"Why? I thought you were a natural."
"Turns out my subconscious is not the most fun place to be," Neil said.
Wendy was momentarily silent. Then, she said, "What happens down there?"
"Some unwelcome guests occasionally come and ruin the party, I guess," Neil mumbled.
"Like who?"
"You know who, Wendy," Neil said softly. He knew she didn't know everyone, but he was sure she'd get the gist. "It's just hard for me to keep it contained… It's such a huge part of me… you know?"
"I know," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Maybe it's time to face down that part of you, let it go. You've got this whole new start. There's no need to keep dwelling on the past."
"It's not that simple though… I just… I guess I don't really know how to face it because I don't really know how I feel about it anymore… how I'm supposed to feel about it even… I feel like I've got all of my wires crossed and tangled and shit, can't get everything together."
"I didn't know you were so conflicted about it. What changed?"
Neil set down the plans and looked at her, her eyes large and honest. Wendy. His Wendy whom he could trust with anything.
"A few months ago, or whatever, a little after I moved to New York, Eric sent me a postcard, talking about this kid named Brian who had been looking for me. Brian was convinced that he and I had been abducted by aliens."
Wendy raised an eyebrow.
"We used to play on the same baseball team, and that summer he lost hours of his memory," Neil said softly, "but he was getting bits and pieces in dreams, you know?... and he remembered me. He wanted me to help him figure up what happened in that missing time."
Wendy's expression turned grave as she realized what had taken place. "Oh, my God," she whispered.
Neil nodded, looking away. "When I went home for Christmas, I told him the truth. I think he'd pretty much figured it out already, but we went to Coach's house, and I told him everything that happened… and he just… started crying… He screamed a little, but mostly he just laid there in my lap and cried… and I didn't know what to do. I'd thought that summer was… well, I mean, you know what I thought, but when he started to sob like that, I started to think that I was messed up somehow, that I'd made a mistake… I recognized this fucking crushing sadness on his face and in his shoulders. I haven't been able to place where I'd seen it, but I wanted to make him feel better, to tell him that it was over now and that everything was all right… but I couldn't because I knew it was a lie."
Wendy wrapped her arms around him, and Neil buried his face into her hair. "Something about Brian, Wendy… I can't let it go because of him. I went and saw him when I went back to Hutchinson, but well… it ended badly…"
"Neil… what happened isn't your fault. You were just a kid."
"I played my part in it, Wendy," he murmured. "I played my part."
He didn't talk about it anymore after that, and Wendy thankfully didn't ask any questions. He got up and went into the bathroom to splash some water on his face, and he wondered if he should have told her about what had happened to him the night before he'd left to meet Brian for the first time. Staring at his reflection, he recalled the subway ride home, shivering from the cold since his coat had been left hanging on that man's coat rack, blood caked to his face and staining his shirt. It had been really late, so the train was pretty much empty, but he remembered there was a man at the end of the car that didn't even think to ask Neil if he was all right. No one cared.
He had trudged up the stairs, aching and sore, and opened the door as quietly as possible because Wendy was asleep. She had looked so innocent and peaceful in her bed, curled up and warm and safe. For a moment he had wanted to climb into bed with her and hide away from that night, but instead he just went into the bathroom and took off all of his ruined clothes. That night he could feel dried come in his underwear that wasn't his, could already see dark and ugly bruises forming all over his skin. He had crouched down in the corner and taken a moment to breathe, feeling like hours had passed by in minutes or that perhaps time had stopped altogether.
On the top of the hamper was the shirt he'd worn the day he'd left for New York. He had taken it into his hands and buried his nose into it, trying to smell Hutchinson and who he used to be. He knew though… after what had happened, everything had changed… He couldn't go back to who he was before. All he could do was cling to that smell.
And he cried.
He had cleaned the blood off of himself, changed, and thrown he bloody clothes in a dumpster within the next hour or so, and he left for the airport before Wendy woke up so he wouldn't have to explain himself. He'd sat for probably over an hour, just waiting for his flight, gazing off into some unknown distance, with the man's words still echoing in his ears. He couldn't even really remember the man's face and had been disturbed by the way the features he'd forgotten had been mentally replaced with familiar ones. With Coach's.
The summer with Coach, and that night in Brighton Beach were forever connected in his mind, and it wasn't like he was stupid enough to not know why… but to admit to one would be to admit to the other, and he didn't want to think about either of them.
He didn't go back to Wendy and his room when he was finished in the bathroom. Instead he wandered into Eames's room, finding the man snoozing in bed still dressed and with the light still on. Neil felt tears well in his eyes for a moment, but he rapidly blinked to shoo them away because they had no purpose.
He leaned over and shook Eames gently. The man snorted and blinked a few times as he was roused out of his sleep. "You should change," Neil said softly. "You'll be more comfortable."
The tears nearly came again when Eames offered him a sleepy smile, like he was so happy to see him first thing. "Right, yeah… sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep like that."
While Eames changed into his pajamas, Neil crawled under the covers on the previously unoccupied side of the bed. He watched the man slide out of his suit and into his evening wear, the way his bulk moved through the fabric. He thought about how rough the skin of Eames's hands were, and yet how gentle they touched him, and he thought about the press of lips to his forehead or shell of his ear or cheek that came randomly, just because. He thought of the confession at the Eiffel Tower, and how it had seemed so unreal that Neil had momentarily thought they were dreaming, but then no one from his troubled past had shown up with an aluminum bat to bash in their skulls and ruin it.
Eames had told him that he loved him and hadn't expected anything in return. Eames was the same man that had told Neil he was capable of being loved without being possessed, and now Neil understood what that meant.
His entire life, all of his love had been about belonging to someone. His mother had told him, "I love you and you are mine and don't you ever forget it." Coach had given the impression that he'd loved Neil but after that summer, when they couldn't whittle away their afternoons playing different sorts of sex games, he'd disappeared without saying goodbye. The men Neil had slept with since paid him for time, and when that time was up it was over with. Eric had crushed on him because he was beautiful and he wanted to own something so lovely-Neil's personality certainly wasn't the thing Eric liked about him.
Eames though… Eames had refused his first advance, had always reminded him that if he wanted Eames to stop then all he had to do was say so, and when he'd told him that he was falling in love with him, he didn't ask to hear it in return, didn't even imply that he'd be disappointed if he didn't hear it.
Eames slid into bed next to Neil and turned off the light. "Try and get some shut eye," he said, kissing Neil's forehead (again, just because he could). "We've only got a few hours before we have to move."
Neil moved closer to Eames once the man had settled in, pressing his ear near the man's heart just so that he could hear it beating. "Eames…" he said softly, his voice barely a whisper in the dark room. He heard the heat click on.
"Hmm?"
"…I um…"
"What is it, darling? Are you worried about the job? Everything will go all right."
"No, I'm… well, yeah, I'm a little strung up about that, but…" he fell silent for a moment, pulling himself closer to Eames.
"Talk to me," Eames said gently.
Neil sighed against Eames's skin. "I don't know if I can feel love…" he said awkwardly, not sure how to word it, "but if I could, I think I would feel it for you."
There was a beat, and then Eames's hand was sliding through his hair. "Oh, darling," he said, as if Neil had just told him the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. Neil himself didn't think it amounted to much, but it was probably the most articulate he'd been about his feelings for Eames thus far.
"I just thought I would tell you," Neil said. "You know… in case something goes wrong."
"Everything's going to go just fine," Eames said, though Neil wasn't sure if the man believed that entirely. For now though, he was just happy to have the man close, his skin warm to Neil's touch, his hands sliding down his back and back up again. "Get some rest. We've got a big day tomorrow."
"Yeah," Neil said and finally managed to fall asleep.
Morning arrived and with it came a very quiet breakfast. Neil gave the plans one last look while he ate, and Eames studied through his own notes. Wendy seemed content to use her cassette player for company, the tinny punk music just barely lilting out through the headphones over her ears. Neil could tell by the subtle tenseness in Eames's shoulders that he was worried about the outcome of this job, and Neil figured he had every right to be concerned. Even if Neil's subconscious wasn't a disaster area, going against the plan at the last minute never really looked that good (even though Eames seemed like a man who could improvise on cue).
Neil just hoped that confessing his issues about Brian to Wendy the night before would help keep things calm enough. When she hugged him a little tighter than usual as they said goodbye, he could hear her silently wishing him luck.
As they took the elevator down to the ground floor, Eames looked towards Neil and offered a small smile. He could tell Eames was trying to think of something to talk about besides the job.
"So… what brought on all of that talk last night?" Eames asked, and maybe the job wasn't the only thing Eames was nervous about. Maybe he thought that in the daylight, Neil would retract his statement as stupid pillow talk.
"It was… just the first time I was really able to put it into words," Neil said. "I haven't really been able to describe it until now… and I thought that you should know."
"Well, ah, I appreciate that," Eames said, more than a little relief on his face that Neil didn't deny that the conversation had taken place.
Neil looked at his feet and then up at the descending numbers above the door. "Also… I know you guys are really worried about my subconscious fucking this up. I heard you and Mal talking. I just pretended to be asleep." He felt rather than saw Eames's guilt. "I know you guys… I know you have good reason to think I'm going to screw this up, but… I'm really going to try not to, so… that's all I can really say."
Eames reached over and squeezed Neil's shoulder lightly. "I'm not giving up on you. You know that, right?"
"I know," Neil replied. "I just… I know."
I don't know if you can help me.
They stepped off the elevator and out of the hotel into the crisp morning. They were meeting with Sasha and Mal in an hour, and within four hours they would be hooked up in the back room of Seymour Bell's favorite coffee shop. They had paid off the clerk behind the counter with a rather generous sum of money to slip a sedative into his coffee, and they had chosen a time of day where the place would be empty (save for each of them posing as patrons).
Neil mentally crossed his fingers, his toes, whatever he could cross, and hoped that he didn't fuck this up. After all, it wasn't just a paycheck on the line here. All of their lives were at stake, and he'd come to care about all of them.
It wasn't just him and Wendy against the world now, but if he screwed up, it might be, and the world would probably get a whole lot harsher while they were at it.
Neil closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and he thought of the prison drawing he'd made in the sub shop what seemed like eons ago. He would hold in his own subconscious as best as he could manage, and he would get this job done… for all of their sakes.