Brick/Inception: Après Moi, le Deluge
Title: Après Moi, le Deluge (8/24)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Brick/Inception fusion
Word count: 3,672
Pairing: later Brendan(Arthur)xEames, mentions of BrendanxEmily and BrendanxLaura
Rating: R
Warnings: currently violence, language, mentions of character death
Summary: Brendan should have known better than to tug on loose threads. He should have known that one loose thread was all it took to make everything unravel, but he’d been tired and just wanted things to be done. He should have known well enough that things were never done.
Special thanks to wadebramwilson for betaing! <3
EIGHT
Brendan jolted into wakefulness, diving forward from his chair as his hands flew to the back of his head in a panicked attempt to keep his skull together. Even when it registered that the gunshot hadn't happened in reality, his ears were still ringing with it and with the ringing came the most agonizing pain, as if the bullet was still ripping through his brain matter and splintering his skull into fragments. He felt like he was going to vomit, vision swimming as a hand fell on top of his wrist.
"Hey, hey," a gentle, feminine voice said. "Hey, you're all right. You're okay. Listen to my voice."
Brendan turned to look at Mal, focusing on her eyes as the pain started to recede, agonizingly slow. His breath was shaky, as if he'd been running for miles.
"It's all right," she said, voice soft and soothing. "You're all right. It was only a dream."
When he finally calmed down, she ran a hand through his hair, pushing it off of his sweat-dotted forehead.
Eames and Cobb had awoken moments after Brendan, albeit much more quietly than Brendan had since they were used to these sorts of things. Brendan could feel their eyes on him, and he felt the urge to hunker down and try to disappear.
Mal kept carding her fingers through his hair, bringing to mind a memory of Laura doing the same when the dam broke on his tears.
"I'm sorry, Brendan. I'm so sorry."
He couldn't help but wonder how she could dare to say something like that when she'd been the cause. How could she say she was sorry when she had put Emily in front of the gun? How could she have held him and let him kiss every breath off of her lips?
He squeezed his eyes shut against the ache in his head and the similar one in his chest.
"Hey, mate, what the hell was that all about?" Eames asked. "Why did your projection kill you? That's not how it's supposed to work."
"My subconscious isn't a friendly place," Brendan mumbled, slumping over the arm of the chair, letting Mal continue her gentle scalp massage.
"Yeah, but it's supposed to attack the intruders, not you," Cobb mentioned, rubbing the spot where he'd been shot in the dream, only a distant phantom pain.
"Well, at least it attacked you first," Eames said lightly.
"It?" Brain questioned.
"One of his projections. It came after us with a bloody pistol. It shot Cobb and then blew your little mate's brains out-"
"Stop calling her 'it'," Brendan growled before he could stop himself.
All eyes were on Brendan then, but he refused to look up at them. He refused to acknowledge what he'd just said.
It was too bad that Eames was going to acknowledge it anyway. "You… You are aware that projections aren't real people, right? They're just parts of your subconscious. They don't have real genders or… They're fantasy."
Brendan continued to stare at the floor, fists clenched.
"Well," Mal interjected when the silence had gotten too heavy, "it is difficult to come to terms with that at first. If your subconscious is detailed enough, it's nearly impossible to tell the difference. It takes some getting used to. Don't fret over it, okay?"
Brendan didn't lift his head, but he did look up at her over the rim of his glasses, feeling so very small. He kept telling himself not to let her in, that she would be Laura all over again, but it was getting harder and harder to listen to himself.
"Fine, fine, that's all well and good," Eames said, "but it still doesn't explain why it-she sent a bullet whizzing through his bloody skull. What kind of subconscious sabotages itself like that?"
"Maybe one that really doesn't want people to find anything," Cobb said, getting out of his chair and rolling his shoulders. "You have to admit, it's kind of a fail-safe method."
"It's not all that useful if we're getting shot out of the dreams where we're supposed to be finding things in though."
Brendan finally turned to look at them, eyes narrow and suspicious. "That's not what we're here for. I thought you said you didn't have any interest in stealing ideas."
"We don't know what we might be forced to do," Eames replied, and all glee had left his face. His smile was tight, sarcastic, his eyes absolutely challenging Brendan to cross him. "We're treading quite lightly because they're coming after us. Your subconscious going out of its way to kill not just us but you as well isn't ideal conditions, especially if your defense mechanisms are strong enough to burst through someone else's walls."
"Well, I'm not a part of your team," Brendan spat, jumping to his feet. "What difference does it make? As far as I'm concerned it doesn't matter if my subconscious rubs you out. Seems to me like it's good news. They won't be able to get anything out of me, no matter what they try."
"You think because a little blonde girl shows up with a shotgun at random and blows you away they won't be able to find anything?" Eames argued standing as well. His voice was calm, frank, and biting in a subtly devastating way. "These people are professionals. They'll manage it. You're not properly militarized, especially if your own subconscious comes after you. I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, but you need to get your shite together if you expect to walk away from this battle alive, no matter whose side you're on or if you're even on a side."
Brendan worked his jaw, staring down Eames with the same amount of intensity he was getting back. Cobb looked uncomfortably between the two of them and then turned to Mal for help.
Miles stepped in instead. "Boys," he said, "There's no purpose in butting heads over this."
"You weren't even the one who got shot," Cobb mumbled.
"We'll work on properly militarizing Arthur's subconscious and do what we can to fix the other issues if possible. Eames, simmer down. Arthur, try to be a little more open to our help. It will make things easier."
"Fine," Eames mumbled, scrubbing a hand over his mouth, fidgeting as he moved away from the group and the conversation. "I knew he was barking mad. I knew he was."
Brendan stayed silent but nodded. He could feel Brain's eyes boring into him. Through his peripheral vision he could see the set of his jaw and the nervous twitching of his fingers. Brain knew. It was why Brendan couldn't look at him directly.
"Well," Mal exhaled, "let's take fifteen minutes and reconvene, shall we? Get our wits about us and let the air clear."
Brendan took that as his cue to slip upstairs and back into his room. He needed to be alone for a few minutes.
Of course, Brain wasn't going to let him. Within three minutes, he was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. "Little blonde girl?" he said, cocking an eyebrow.
Brendan, who had taken a seat on the bed, rubbed his hands over his face. "Come inside. Close the door. If we're going to jaw about this, then I don't want anyone getting the wire right now."
Brain did shut the door, but as he approached he mentioned, "Maybe they should know. I mean, come on, Brendan… Clearly something is going on here."
"I'll rein it in," Brendan sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Will you? You don't even know how this stuff works. Every single time you've gone under on that device, this projection of Emily has offed you. You didn't think I'd figure that out? You didn't think they would?"
"It'll be fine, all right?" Brendan interrupted him before he could say more. "It's not like she's going to actually kill me."
Brain sighed, fingers twitching, aching to handle something that he could work his brain around like a Rubik's cube. "I'm not concerned about the what, Brendan. I'm concerned about the why. Why is this projection coming after you? I thought this was settled."
"It is. I don't know why."
"Yes, you do. Come on, Brendan, I'm not stupid. You might be able to pull that kind of cryptic shit on someone else, but I know you. Spill it."
After a minute of silence from Brendan, Brain exhaled through his nose. "Okay, fine. You don't have to tell me. I know how you are about your personal life, but don't forget that you promised me just last night that you wouldn't let yourself get lost. You promised me that you'd be okay, and if you go back on that promise, I don't know if I'll be able to co-op with you again, you understand?"
"I understand," Brendan said softly. "I'll be all right."
"Good," Brain sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, rocking back on his heels. He hesitated for several seconds, and Brendan could feel him debating whether or not to ask the question on his mind. After much debate, he seemed to finally choose to attempt it.
"Is this about what Laura whispered to you?"
Brendan's eyes fell closed for just a moment as the memory replayed in his mind.
"Motherfucker."
"No," he said firmly.
Brain shrugged and opened the door again. "They'll want you back down there in less than ten."
"I'll be there."
Progress was painfully slow.
There were a few times they managed to go under without being viciously murdered by Emily, but a good majority of them resulted in them being found and bludgeoned, shot, or drowned. The only way to keep her at bay was the increasingly complicated mazes Cobb built to confuse the projections. It lead to a lot of standing around while Cobb drew out his designs and introduced them to Eames, and then Mal when Eames apparently grew too bored of being killed, and then Miles when he decided to join them in their quest to properly militarize Brendan's chaotic subconscious.
Mal was making a valiant effort to be reassuring but when she started asking questions about his personal life in the attempt to understand just who this blonde girl was, he instantly shut her down, escaping into the chilly afternoon air in the front garden.
Eames was out there, smoking a cigarette. Mal had shooed him outside so as not to get the scent of the smoke on her furniture. He seemed to have gotten over his distaste towards Brendan's behavior, at least as far as Brendan could tell, but it was also entirely possible that he'd just set it aside for later. Eames was a hard man to read.
"Running so soon?" Eames queried as Brendan hunkered into his jacket. Rain had moved in during the night and washed away most of the snow.
"Not going anywhere," Brendan said. "Just needed some air."
Eames gave a curt nod and looked back out towards the street, smoke drifting from between his plush lips. He had a dusting of stubble already growing on his face which somehow made him look instantly older. Brendan didn't like how he felt so young and inexperienced standing next to him. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that Eames had been in actual combat or if it was because he'd experienced much more life through the extension of dreamtime, but his eyes were so much older than the rest of him. The worst part was just how aware of it Eames was, having called him a child to his face with a smile of confidence.
"So," Eames said after a beat, "this dishy blonde of yours that's got it out for you-ex-girlfriend, yeah?"
Brendan glanced at Eames and then down at his feet. "She's someone I used to eat lunch with," he said vaguely.
"Ah, lunch. Very serious, lunch is."
Brendan glared at Eames. "Don't fucking patronize me."
Eames grinned so widely that Brendan momentarily considered knocking his teeth out. "All I'm saying is that she's clearly some kind of manifestation over something you're not dealing with. Maybe it would be good to try and find out what that is, yeah?"
He took a long drag on the cigarette and then offered it to Brendan. Brendan stared at the pale blue arrow on the cigarette paper and shook his head. "I don't smoke."
"Suit yourself," Eames said, puffing on it again. "You know… you remind me a bit of a mate of mine I knew in Her Majesty's."
"Oh? Did you hate him too?"
"I would have to know you a bit better before I could hate you. I barely know you, so I don't really have much of an opinion of you. Still, you do remind me of this bloke, see? He was in the same unit as me. Scrappy and thin but with sharp eyes. He didn't really look like much, but he was tough as nails. I don't know if he was brave or just bloody crazy but he did some incredible things when we were together."
"Yeah?" Brendan said with a slight smirk.
"He was a good man," Eames said, turning to look at Brendan.
"Was?"
Eames nodded, dropping his cigarette butt to the ground and stubbing it out with the toe of his boot. "Jury is still out on you though," he said lightly. "I guess we shall see, yeah?"
Brendan wet his lips, watching a car go by. He looked over his shoulder as Eames started to head inside and said, "Why'd you tell me that?"
Eames shrugged, not looking back at him. "You need to stop thinking that we're all out to get you. We really are trying to help you. I mean, if you think about it, there's really no advantage for us to have you here besides getting that PASIV back, so… Maybe it's time you stopped treating us like we're the enemy. Just a thought."
Eames went back inside, leaving Brendan staring after him.
It was oddly kind of Eames and probably the most genuine and warm he'd been since they met, but Brendan wasn't going to accept it so easily. Eames was a forger which meant he was one hell of an actor, and Brendan had already suffered over some well-timed words and pretend affection. He made that mistake with Laura, but he wasn't going to let himself be won over this time.
Brendan breathed into his hands and rubbed them together to create warmth, shifted from foot to foot, and then went back inside.
There was still work to be done.
Brendan had expected to drop into bed that night and sleep almost instantly, but the fact that he'd been sleeping all day, albeit chemically induced, left him with a rather terrible case of insomnia. He tossed and turned for a good hour and a half before deciding to just get up. He knew Brain would be awake besides, and maybe if he got his friend going on a long enough tangent about something, it would lull him to sleep.
Brain looked up from his computer screen when Brendan entered, two rectangles of light reflecting off of the lenses of his glasses. "Can't sleep?"
"Afraid not," Brendan sighed. "What have you got your specs on?"
"Just trying to do my part," Brain said, moving over on the bed to make room for Brendan to sit. "I've been studying the PASIV some more, though I can't necessarily make heads or tails of it just yet. I've been looking more at the drug, actually, the Somnacin. It's a really interesting chemical concoction, and it can be mixed differently depending on what you might need in the dream. She said there are chemists all over the world who make the stuff. Mal thinks maybe if they change the mixture of it a little bit, it might help keep your projection of Emily at bay until they can militarize your subconscious to fight her off if need be."
"My subconscious would be fighting itself?"
"Not exactly," Brain said, adjusting his glasses. "See, apparently Em isn't like your normal projections. No one knows exactly what she is, honestly, but your projections are kind of like white blood cells. Maybe with the right ingredients, the Somnacin can convince your subconscious that she's the intruder, the uh, the virus, if you will, and will stop her from showing up and killing you and everyone else."
Brendan had a feeling that was a long shot. Everyone seemed to be grasping at straws for a solution since no one knew quite what they were dealing with. He didn't mention it, figuring Brain already knew.
"It's a little weird though, don't you think?" Brain mentioned, tapping away at his keyboard. "Emily was never violent. I wonder why she's so off the track in your head. As far as I know she never had it out for you, not like that, but hey, maybe I'm wrong. I never have been able to understand people."
Brendan shrugged one shoulder noncommittally. "Do me a favor."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"Do some research on our house guests. I know Mal and Miles don't have much to go on, but do a search on Dominic Cobb and on Eames too. See if something comes up."
"I don't know Eames's real name. I doubt I'll find anything."
"Look it up anyway. As far as we know it is his real name and he lied about lying about it. I can't tell with that guy. Either way, even if it doesn't turn anything up, I'll have my bases covered."
"Okay, but… I think they're with us, Brendan. I really do."
"That's what you said about Laura," he reminded.
Brain sighed. "Yeah, yeah, you've made your point. I'll see what I can see, and if I get any hints on his real name, I'll dig some more. Since he was in the military, I figure he has some dog tags or something, so if you find them, send them my way."
"I'll see what I can do."
Brendan stretched out on the available space of the bed, folding his hands behind his head. "Anything else I should know?"
Brain typed for a minute more before hesitantly saying, "I don't know if I should tell you."
"Spill."
Brain ran a hand over his hair and said, "I started looking into Wells criminal ring, these guys who work in the dreamshare. I found out who was supplying their stash of Somnacin."
"It was the Pin," Brendan said, brow furrowing, "wasn't it?"
"Well, yeah, the Pin got the supplies, but someone had to bring it to Wells. It wasn't exactly wise for these guys to be moving about. They've got their names on wanted lists all over. It was easier for someone less suspicious to bring them their stash, so-"
"Laura."
"Ah… yeah. Yeah, you hit the nail on the head."
Brendan suppressed a groan. "So she was involved with them before the war broke out. It makes sense, I guess. She was one of the Pin's top suppliers."
"Yeah, but… well, it's only a hunch. I don't have any evidence of this, but it's possible she might still be on the underneath. These are the kind of people who have connections and ways to make it across the globe undetected. It's possible is all I'm saying."
"She's probably not stateside if she's under their thumb, so that means it's possible that she's here, and if she catches wind that we're here… I don't know. It's not good."
"Well, I'll see if I can find her first. She's probably got a pseudo by now, but if anyone can find her, it'll be me. The good news is that she's probably lying low for the moment, so she likely isn't a threat."
Brendan sat up, eyes meeting Brain's in a firm glare. "Laura Dannon is always a threat."
Brain swallowed, a little alarmed. "If you say so."
Brendan forced himself to calm down. It wouldn't do either of them any good to be so tense. "It'd be best if we knew where she was. I'd rather move around her than face her at this point. She already knows who we are and probably more than these goons who are after us do. I can't guarantee that if she found us first they wouldn't come shooting. I seriously doubt she'd be very amicable considering I'm the reason she's on the run in the first place. It's best just to play it cool."
"I'll do my best, Brendan. I can't make any promises, but I'm pretty good at this stuff. Laura's not the kind of girl to hide her face-she's too much of a looker for that. She's bound to show up on some security cameras somewhere. Besides, it's not like I've got anything better to do for the moment."
"Do you want me to make coffee?" Brendan asked.
Brain smirked.
Brendan threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood. "I'll be back in a few minutes then."
As he exited Brain's room, he nearly ran straight into Eames who was coming out of the bathroom.
"Pardon," Eames said casually, hands momentarily settling on Brendan's slim shoulders. "Didn't know anyone else was up."
Brendan glanced towards the bathroom and then back towards Brain's room, trying to figure out if anything they had been talking about could have been heard.
"Don't worry about it," Brendan said slowly, scanning Eames with his eyes to see if he had a wire or a listening device on his person. It didn't seem so, considering he was dressed in only his undershirt and pajama bottoms.
Eames nodded, offering a slightly awkward smile and excused himself back to his bedroom.
When Brain mentioned it took Brendan quite a while to return with the coffee, he decided not to say anything about his thorough search of the bathroom. It hadn't turned up anything anyway.
also available on AO3
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Brick/Inception fusion
Word count: 3,672
Pairing: later Brendan(Arthur)xEames, mentions of BrendanxEmily and BrendanxLaura
Rating: R
Warnings: currently violence, language, mentions of character death
Summary: Brendan should have known better than to tug on loose threads. He should have known that one loose thread was all it took to make everything unravel, but he’d been tired and just wanted things to be done. He should have known well enough that things were never done.
Special thanks to wadebramwilson for betaing! <3
EIGHT
Brendan jolted into wakefulness, diving forward from his chair as his hands flew to the back of his head in a panicked attempt to keep his skull together. Even when it registered that the gunshot hadn't happened in reality, his ears were still ringing with it and with the ringing came the most agonizing pain, as if the bullet was still ripping through his brain matter and splintering his skull into fragments. He felt like he was going to vomit, vision swimming as a hand fell on top of his wrist.
"Hey, hey," a gentle, feminine voice said. "Hey, you're all right. You're okay. Listen to my voice."
Brendan turned to look at Mal, focusing on her eyes as the pain started to recede, agonizingly slow. His breath was shaky, as if he'd been running for miles.
"It's all right," she said, voice soft and soothing. "You're all right. It was only a dream."
When he finally calmed down, she ran a hand through his hair, pushing it off of his sweat-dotted forehead.
Eames and Cobb had awoken moments after Brendan, albeit much more quietly than Brendan had since they were used to these sorts of things. Brendan could feel their eyes on him, and he felt the urge to hunker down and try to disappear.
Mal kept carding her fingers through his hair, bringing to mind a memory of Laura doing the same when the dam broke on his tears.
"I'm sorry, Brendan. I'm so sorry."
He couldn't help but wonder how she could dare to say something like that when she'd been the cause. How could she say she was sorry when she had put Emily in front of the gun? How could she have held him and let him kiss every breath off of her lips?
He squeezed his eyes shut against the ache in his head and the similar one in his chest.
"Hey, mate, what the hell was that all about?" Eames asked. "Why did your projection kill you? That's not how it's supposed to work."
"My subconscious isn't a friendly place," Brendan mumbled, slumping over the arm of the chair, letting Mal continue her gentle scalp massage.
"Yeah, but it's supposed to attack the intruders, not you," Cobb mentioned, rubbing the spot where he'd been shot in the dream, only a distant phantom pain.
"Well, at least it attacked you first," Eames said lightly.
"It?" Brain questioned.
"One of his projections. It came after us with a bloody pistol. It shot Cobb and then blew your little mate's brains out-"
"Stop calling her 'it'," Brendan growled before he could stop himself.
All eyes were on Brendan then, but he refused to look up at them. He refused to acknowledge what he'd just said.
It was too bad that Eames was going to acknowledge it anyway. "You… You are aware that projections aren't real people, right? They're just parts of your subconscious. They don't have real genders or… They're fantasy."
Brendan continued to stare at the floor, fists clenched.
"Well," Mal interjected when the silence had gotten too heavy, "it is difficult to come to terms with that at first. If your subconscious is detailed enough, it's nearly impossible to tell the difference. It takes some getting used to. Don't fret over it, okay?"
Brendan didn't lift his head, but he did look up at her over the rim of his glasses, feeling so very small. He kept telling himself not to let her in, that she would be Laura all over again, but it was getting harder and harder to listen to himself.
"Fine, fine, that's all well and good," Eames said, "but it still doesn't explain why it-she sent a bullet whizzing through his bloody skull. What kind of subconscious sabotages itself like that?"
"Maybe one that really doesn't want people to find anything," Cobb said, getting out of his chair and rolling his shoulders. "You have to admit, it's kind of a fail-safe method."
"It's not all that useful if we're getting shot out of the dreams where we're supposed to be finding things in though."
Brendan finally turned to look at them, eyes narrow and suspicious. "That's not what we're here for. I thought you said you didn't have any interest in stealing ideas."
"We don't know what we might be forced to do," Eames replied, and all glee had left his face. His smile was tight, sarcastic, his eyes absolutely challenging Brendan to cross him. "We're treading quite lightly because they're coming after us. Your subconscious going out of its way to kill not just us but you as well isn't ideal conditions, especially if your defense mechanisms are strong enough to burst through someone else's walls."
"Well, I'm not a part of your team," Brendan spat, jumping to his feet. "What difference does it make? As far as I'm concerned it doesn't matter if my subconscious rubs you out. Seems to me like it's good news. They won't be able to get anything out of me, no matter what they try."
"You think because a little blonde girl shows up with a shotgun at random and blows you away they won't be able to find anything?" Eames argued standing as well. His voice was calm, frank, and biting in a subtly devastating way. "These people are professionals. They'll manage it. You're not properly militarized, especially if your own subconscious comes after you. I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, but you need to get your shite together if you expect to walk away from this battle alive, no matter whose side you're on or if you're even on a side."
Brendan worked his jaw, staring down Eames with the same amount of intensity he was getting back. Cobb looked uncomfortably between the two of them and then turned to Mal for help.
Miles stepped in instead. "Boys," he said, "There's no purpose in butting heads over this."
"You weren't even the one who got shot," Cobb mumbled.
"We'll work on properly militarizing Arthur's subconscious and do what we can to fix the other issues if possible. Eames, simmer down. Arthur, try to be a little more open to our help. It will make things easier."
"Fine," Eames mumbled, scrubbing a hand over his mouth, fidgeting as he moved away from the group and the conversation. "I knew he was barking mad. I knew he was."
Brendan stayed silent but nodded. He could feel Brain's eyes boring into him. Through his peripheral vision he could see the set of his jaw and the nervous twitching of his fingers. Brain knew. It was why Brendan couldn't look at him directly.
"Well," Mal exhaled, "let's take fifteen minutes and reconvene, shall we? Get our wits about us and let the air clear."
Brendan took that as his cue to slip upstairs and back into his room. He needed to be alone for a few minutes.
Of course, Brain wasn't going to let him. Within three minutes, he was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. "Little blonde girl?" he said, cocking an eyebrow.
Brendan, who had taken a seat on the bed, rubbed his hands over his face. "Come inside. Close the door. If we're going to jaw about this, then I don't want anyone getting the wire right now."
Brain did shut the door, but as he approached he mentioned, "Maybe they should know. I mean, come on, Brendan… Clearly something is going on here."
"I'll rein it in," Brendan sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Will you? You don't even know how this stuff works. Every single time you've gone under on that device, this projection of Emily has offed you. You didn't think I'd figure that out? You didn't think they would?"
"It'll be fine, all right?" Brendan interrupted him before he could say more. "It's not like she's going to actually kill me."
Brain sighed, fingers twitching, aching to handle something that he could work his brain around like a Rubik's cube. "I'm not concerned about the what, Brendan. I'm concerned about the why. Why is this projection coming after you? I thought this was settled."
"It is. I don't know why."
"Yes, you do. Come on, Brendan, I'm not stupid. You might be able to pull that kind of cryptic shit on someone else, but I know you. Spill it."
After a minute of silence from Brendan, Brain exhaled through his nose. "Okay, fine. You don't have to tell me. I know how you are about your personal life, but don't forget that you promised me just last night that you wouldn't let yourself get lost. You promised me that you'd be okay, and if you go back on that promise, I don't know if I'll be able to co-op with you again, you understand?"
"I understand," Brendan said softly. "I'll be all right."
"Good," Brain sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, rocking back on his heels. He hesitated for several seconds, and Brendan could feel him debating whether or not to ask the question on his mind. After much debate, he seemed to finally choose to attempt it.
"Is this about what Laura whispered to you?"
Brendan's eyes fell closed for just a moment as the memory replayed in his mind.
"Motherfucker."
"No," he said firmly.
Brain shrugged and opened the door again. "They'll want you back down there in less than ten."
"I'll be there."
Progress was painfully slow.
There were a few times they managed to go under without being viciously murdered by Emily, but a good majority of them resulted in them being found and bludgeoned, shot, or drowned. The only way to keep her at bay was the increasingly complicated mazes Cobb built to confuse the projections. It lead to a lot of standing around while Cobb drew out his designs and introduced them to Eames, and then Mal when Eames apparently grew too bored of being killed, and then Miles when he decided to join them in their quest to properly militarize Brendan's chaotic subconscious.
Mal was making a valiant effort to be reassuring but when she started asking questions about his personal life in the attempt to understand just who this blonde girl was, he instantly shut her down, escaping into the chilly afternoon air in the front garden.
Eames was out there, smoking a cigarette. Mal had shooed him outside so as not to get the scent of the smoke on her furniture. He seemed to have gotten over his distaste towards Brendan's behavior, at least as far as Brendan could tell, but it was also entirely possible that he'd just set it aside for later. Eames was a hard man to read.
"Running so soon?" Eames queried as Brendan hunkered into his jacket. Rain had moved in during the night and washed away most of the snow.
"Not going anywhere," Brendan said. "Just needed some air."
Eames gave a curt nod and looked back out towards the street, smoke drifting from between his plush lips. He had a dusting of stubble already growing on his face which somehow made him look instantly older. Brendan didn't like how he felt so young and inexperienced standing next to him. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that Eames had been in actual combat or if it was because he'd experienced much more life through the extension of dreamtime, but his eyes were so much older than the rest of him. The worst part was just how aware of it Eames was, having called him a child to his face with a smile of confidence.
"So," Eames said after a beat, "this dishy blonde of yours that's got it out for you-ex-girlfriend, yeah?"
Brendan glanced at Eames and then down at his feet. "She's someone I used to eat lunch with," he said vaguely.
"Ah, lunch. Very serious, lunch is."
Brendan glared at Eames. "Don't fucking patronize me."
Eames grinned so widely that Brendan momentarily considered knocking his teeth out. "All I'm saying is that she's clearly some kind of manifestation over something you're not dealing with. Maybe it would be good to try and find out what that is, yeah?"
He took a long drag on the cigarette and then offered it to Brendan. Brendan stared at the pale blue arrow on the cigarette paper and shook his head. "I don't smoke."
"Suit yourself," Eames said, puffing on it again. "You know… you remind me a bit of a mate of mine I knew in Her Majesty's."
"Oh? Did you hate him too?"
"I would have to know you a bit better before I could hate you. I barely know you, so I don't really have much of an opinion of you. Still, you do remind me of this bloke, see? He was in the same unit as me. Scrappy and thin but with sharp eyes. He didn't really look like much, but he was tough as nails. I don't know if he was brave or just bloody crazy but he did some incredible things when we were together."
"Yeah?" Brendan said with a slight smirk.
"He was a good man," Eames said, turning to look at Brendan.
"Was?"
Eames nodded, dropping his cigarette butt to the ground and stubbing it out with the toe of his boot. "Jury is still out on you though," he said lightly. "I guess we shall see, yeah?"
Brendan wet his lips, watching a car go by. He looked over his shoulder as Eames started to head inside and said, "Why'd you tell me that?"
Eames shrugged, not looking back at him. "You need to stop thinking that we're all out to get you. We really are trying to help you. I mean, if you think about it, there's really no advantage for us to have you here besides getting that PASIV back, so… Maybe it's time you stopped treating us like we're the enemy. Just a thought."
Eames went back inside, leaving Brendan staring after him.
It was oddly kind of Eames and probably the most genuine and warm he'd been since they met, but Brendan wasn't going to accept it so easily. Eames was a forger which meant he was one hell of an actor, and Brendan had already suffered over some well-timed words and pretend affection. He made that mistake with Laura, but he wasn't going to let himself be won over this time.
Brendan breathed into his hands and rubbed them together to create warmth, shifted from foot to foot, and then went back inside.
There was still work to be done.
Brendan had expected to drop into bed that night and sleep almost instantly, but the fact that he'd been sleeping all day, albeit chemically induced, left him with a rather terrible case of insomnia. He tossed and turned for a good hour and a half before deciding to just get up. He knew Brain would be awake besides, and maybe if he got his friend going on a long enough tangent about something, it would lull him to sleep.
Brain looked up from his computer screen when Brendan entered, two rectangles of light reflecting off of the lenses of his glasses. "Can't sleep?"
"Afraid not," Brendan sighed. "What have you got your specs on?"
"Just trying to do my part," Brain said, moving over on the bed to make room for Brendan to sit. "I've been studying the PASIV some more, though I can't necessarily make heads or tails of it just yet. I've been looking more at the drug, actually, the Somnacin. It's a really interesting chemical concoction, and it can be mixed differently depending on what you might need in the dream. She said there are chemists all over the world who make the stuff. Mal thinks maybe if they change the mixture of it a little bit, it might help keep your projection of Emily at bay until they can militarize your subconscious to fight her off if need be."
"My subconscious would be fighting itself?"
"Not exactly," Brain said, adjusting his glasses. "See, apparently Em isn't like your normal projections. No one knows exactly what she is, honestly, but your projections are kind of like white blood cells. Maybe with the right ingredients, the Somnacin can convince your subconscious that she's the intruder, the uh, the virus, if you will, and will stop her from showing up and killing you and everyone else."
Brendan had a feeling that was a long shot. Everyone seemed to be grasping at straws for a solution since no one knew quite what they were dealing with. He didn't mention it, figuring Brain already knew.
"It's a little weird though, don't you think?" Brain mentioned, tapping away at his keyboard. "Emily was never violent. I wonder why she's so off the track in your head. As far as I know she never had it out for you, not like that, but hey, maybe I'm wrong. I never have been able to understand people."
Brendan shrugged one shoulder noncommittally. "Do me a favor."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"Do some research on our house guests. I know Mal and Miles don't have much to go on, but do a search on Dominic Cobb and on Eames too. See if something comes up."
"I don't know Eames's real name. I doubt I'll find anything."
"Look it up anyway. As far as we know it is his real name and he lied about lying about it. I can't tell with that guy. Either way, even if it doesn't turn anything up, I'll have my bases covered."
"Okay, but… I think they're with us, Brendan. I really do."
"That's what you said about Laura," he reminded.
Brain sighed. "Yeah, yeah, you've made your point. I'll see what I can see, and if I get any hints on his real name, I'll dig some more. Since he was in the military, I figure he has some dog tags or something, so if you find them, send them my way."
"I'll see what I can do."
Brendan stretched out on the available space of the bed, folding his hands behind his head. "Anything else I should know?"
Brain typed for a minute more before hesitantly saying, "I don't know if I should tell you."
"Spill."
Brain ran a hand over his hair and said, "I started looking into Wells criminal ring, these guys who work in the dreamshare. I found out who was supplying their stash of Somnacin."
"It was the Pin," Brendan said, brow furrowing, "wasn't it?"
"Well, yeah, the Pin got the supplies, but someone had to bring it to Wells. It wasn't exactly wise for these guys to be moving about. They've got their names on wanted lists all over. It was easier for someone less suspicious to bring them their stash, so-"
"Laura."
"Ah… yeah. Yeah, you hit the nail on the head."
Brendan suppressed a groan. "So she was involved with them before the war broke out. It makes sense, I guess. She was one of the Pin's top suppliers."
"Yeah, but… well, it's only a hunch. I don't have any evidence of this, but it's possible she might still be on the underneath. These are the kind of people who have connections and ways to make it across the globe undetected. It's possible is all I'm saying."
"She's probably not stateside if she's under their thumb, so that means it's possible that she's here, and if she catches wind that we're here… I don't know. It's not good."
"Well, I'll see if I can find her first. She's probably got a pseudo by now, but if anyone can find her, it'll be me. The good news is that she's probably lying low for the moment, so she likely isn't a threat."
Brendan sat up, eyes meeting Brain's in a firm glare. "Laura Dannon is always a threat."
Brain swallowed, a little alarmed. "If you say so."
Brendan forced himself to calm down. It wouldn't do either of them any good to be so tense. "It'd be best if we knew where she was. I'd rather move around her than face her at this point. She already knows who we are and probably more than these goons who are after us do. I can't guarantee that if she found us first they wouldn't come shooting. I seriously doubt she'd be very amicable considering I'm the reason she's on the run in the first place. It's best just to play it cool."
"I'll do my best, Brendan. I can't make any promises, but I'm pretty good at this stuff. Laura's not the kind of girl to hide her face-she's too much of a looker for that. She's bound to show up on some security cameras somewhere. Besides, it's not like I've got anything better to do for the moment."
"Do you want me to make coffee?" Brendan asked.
Brain smirked.
Brendan threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood. "I'll be back in a few minutes then."
As he exited Brain's room, he nearly ran straight into Eames who was coming out of the bathroom.
"Pardon," Eames said casually, hands momentarily settling on Brendan's slim shoulders. "Didn't know anyone else was up."
Brendan glanced towards the bathroom and then back towards Brain's room, trying to figure out if anything they had been talking about could have been heard.
"Don't worry about it," Brendan said slowly, scanning Eames with his eyes to see if he had a wire or a listening device on his person. It didn't seem so, considering he was dressed in only his undershirt and pajama bottoms.
Eames nodded, offering a slightly awkward smile and excused himself back to his bedroom.
When Brain mentioned it took Brendan quite a while to return with the coffee, he decided not to say anything about his thorough search of the bathroom. It hadn't turned up anything anyway.
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