Brick/Inception: Après Moi, le Deluge (Final Chapter)

[osaki_nana_707]

Title: Après Moi, le Deluge (24/24)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Brick/Inception fusion
Word count: 3,999
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



TWENTY-FOUR

"You're an idiot."

That was the first thing Brain said when Brendan was finally allowed to move about on his own. Brendan had rolled his wheelchair down the hall to Brain's room first, knowing that any delay would have probably warranted insults that were a little more scathing than 'idiot'.

Brendan smiled, laughing a little. "If I'm such an idiot then what does that say about you, huh?"

"That I associate with idiots," Brain said. All of the bite had already left his tone, a tiny, relieved grin on his face. "Good God, if I had gone along with your stupid plan, we would all be dead right now."

"Yeah, I heard about that. Didn't take you as the type to brag, Brain."

"I've never gotten to play the part of the hero before." He paused, brow furrowing, and then added, "The bragging rights are nice, and it's definitely not boring, but I wouldn't recommend it. At least the behind the scenes work is generally safer. You get to keep all your fingers."

When Brain lifted his hand to wiggle his remaining three fingers, Brendan winced. Before he could even open his mouth to apologize, as if that could even be good enough, Brain interrupted. "Don't start with that," he said. "Now's the time where I remind you that I could have turned back at any time I wanted, but I didn't. There's no point in you saying sorry for my fingers. The only damned thing you should be saying is thank you because I saved your ass. I'm always saving your ass, really."

Brendan swallowed around the knot that had formed in his throat at the sight of Brain's damaged hand all the same, and he nodded. "Thank you, Brain. It's not enough to say, but seriously, thank you."

Brain rolled his eyes. "Emotional doesn't suit you, Brendan. Besides, I've got to thank you too. Sure, you came out scraped up and full of bullets, but you did survive. All I asked was that you didn't die, so I guess you held up your end of it… though that wouldn't have happened if it weren't for me. I retract my thanks."

Brendan snorted. "I take it you're not going to let that go for a while then."

"Not ever."

The both of them laughed at that, though it quickly tapered off into silence. Brendan could feel the question Brain was going to ask hanging in the air before he asked it.

"So… what are you going to do now?"

Brendan shrugged a shoulder. "Miles needs an apprentice. I figure I have a knack for this, so I should stick to it for a bit and see where it takes me. All I'll do if I go back home is get bored and get into trouble."

"You'll get into trouble regardless," Brain said, "but a hobby might be good for you. Then you can get into more disciplined trouble."

Silence fell again. Brendan squirmed a bit in his wheelchair.

"I can't come with you for that, you know," Brain said. "From this point on, you're going to be on your own. I've got a lot of rehabilitation for my hand, and I've got a life-at least a little one-back in San Clemente. I'm not into the whole big crime thing. I don't like the danger of it. I'm not made of concrete and nails and the sheer stupid determination you have. I wouldn't make it. Even if I would, it's not a risk I'm willing to take."

"I know, Brain. It's time I did things on my own, stopped getting other folks involved in my mess. I would never ask you to come with me."

They both knew that if Brendan had asked, Brain would find a way, but Brain had suffered more than enough.

"So, you're a dreamer now. That's going to be pretty interesting," Brain said. "You'll be dealing with more high-class espionage, so maybe there will be less shoot outs to the death. God, at the rate you're going, the next time you show your face in San Clemente you'll be wearing a three-piece suit and tie. Makes a man's heart sing to see his boy all grown up."

Brendan chuckled. "I will. I will wear a suit when I come back just for that remark, Brain."

"You'd sure as hell better. I'm not going to be around to hold your hand through these suicide missions you love so much, but if I don't get a phone call at least then I'll hunt you down myself. It wouldn't even be hard for me to do."

"Don't worry about it. I promised you I wouldn't die, and I'm going to keep that promise."

Brain's expression softened a little. For a moment Brendan thought he might cry, but instead he just sniffed and said, "So uh… what about Eames? How's he doing?"

"Don't know," Brendan said, shoulders sagging a little. "They said he made it out of surgery but he's not awake yet. Said it was a miracle he was even alive when he got here because of a collapsed lung or something. Even if he pulls through, they said he's going to be slow moving for a bit, might not even leave the hospital for a few weeks."

"Do you think he'll be all right?"

Brendan wasn't sure why the question made his cheeks feel warm, but he tried to ignore it. "Probably. If he's as stubborn as I am, which he is, I doubt a bullet would stop him."

"If he's as stubborn as you are, a nuclear explosion wouldn't stop him."

The smile that spread across Brendan's face made him ache inside. He still couldn't put a finger on what it was that he and Eames had, but he knew he definitely didn't want him dead or comatose. There was a certain something that drew Brendan to Eames, a gravitational pull, and he wasn't entirely sure he would recover well if he was to lose him. He wasn't stupid enough to think it was something as simple as love, or lust, or any sort of romance, but it was definitely important. It was similar to what he had with Brain, though not quite, and that on its own was astounding because of the years put into his relationship with Brain.

Either way, he didn't like to think about it too much, especially not right now when everything was still up in the air. Now that he'd survived, and once he knew Eames did too, he'd have all the time in the world to figure out what it all meant.

He wasn't going to give up on Eames though.

He had faith in him. That was one thing he knew for sure.

It only took a few days before Brendan was absolutely sick of being asleep. Mal had found it a bit funny since that was pretty much part of his job description from here on out, but all of them seemed antsy to do something. Russell had already left the hospital to go and find his family now that his nightmare was over. He'd been scraped up pretty badly, but when he said goodbye he had a smile on his face.

"Tell Eames when he wakes up to never contact me for any favors ever," he had said to Brendan. "You can, but it better only be a need to have company for coffee or something while you're in town. Got it?"

Brendan had given him a quick, loose hug, careful of both of their still-healing wounds, and he'd promised.

When he could no longer sleep, Brendan found himself lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. He had nothing to do now but deal with the aftermath, and that meant his thoughts were heavy. He always hated this part, facing what he'd done, what had happened, the uncertainty of where he'd go from here on out, and he couldn't help but wonder if that's why he threw himself into these suicide missions. He wanted to do things, but he'd never wanted to deal with the consequences. He really had been childish.

Laura had died. That still sat solidly in his chest. She had done so many unforgivable things, and yet she had done some good things too. If it weren't for her, he probably would have never made it this far… So he still wasn't entirely sure how to respond to it. He supposed it didn't really matter now. Forgiveness and redemption didn't mean a damned thing to a corpse.

There was also the anger he felt towards Charlie for duping them and the anger towards himself for falling for it in the first place. Brendan knew that everyone had been fooled and that he probably shouldn't beat himself up for it (at least that was what Brain had told him when they discussed it-"It was like me coming out as the leader of the mob," he had said), but Brendan cursed himself for it anyway. At least he'd gotten what he deserved, Brendan supposed, but he really wished it had happened before Eames had a bullet in his chest.

Eames was another complicated moment in his life, growing more complicated by the hour as he waited for some sort of news. Mal said he'd woken up for a few minutes, groggy from pain meds, and mumbled something unintelligible before going back to sleep. That was likely a good sign, but Brendan couldn't get up the nerve to go into his hospital room… and his reasoning was so dumb even he was angry at himself for it.

He didn't want Eames to think he was waiting at his bedside.

He'd cringe when he'd think about how ridiculous he was being, but he didn't want Eames to read too much into it.

He didn't want the man who'd taken a bullet for him to think too much into Brendan sitting by his bedside.

As horribly stupid as it sounded even to his own ears, Brendan had yet to get up the nerve to just roll his wheelchair down to the room in intensive care to see him. It wasn't like him to be so cowardly, but there was just so much uncertainty built between them. More than once Brendan had thought Eames to be traitorous, and then Eames had gone and nearly died for him. It was complicated, or at least Brendan thought so.

Brain on the other hand, didn't seem to agree.

"Just go see him for God's sakes," he complained out of the blue over a game of cards.

Brendan looked up from where he sat in his wheelchair across the table, eyebrows raising a bit. "Excuse me?"

"You're being an idiot and you know it so just grow some balls and go see Eames. It'd probably make him feel better to know you at least give a shit. If it was Emily, you never would have left the bedside."

"Eames isn't Emily."

"I know," Brain said, looking at Brendan over the edge of his cards. "That's not my point. Do you really feel so guilty about him getting shot that you think he's just going to hate you? He knew what he was getting into when he went in there without any sort of protection."

Brendan's face felt warm, but he tried to ignore it for now. "I don't feel guilty about it. I know he knew that. He's the one who gave me the damned bulletproof vest."

Brain was quiet for a second, and then he sighed, setting his cards down. "You do feel guilty. You feel guilty that you weren't able to protect him. He's the reason you're alive, and you feel guilty for that."

"Don't tell me what I do and do not feel, Brain."

"I just call it like I see it, Brendan… but I mean, having survivor's guilt is kind of ridiculous if you both lived so go and see him. It'll make you feel better too, I'd bet."

Brendan snorted.

"I think I've earned the privilege to say that I'm right about everything and you should do what I say," Brain said. "Just do it. Stop being such a wuss."

"Fine," he said, huffing.

"So do it then."

Brendan would have hesitated, but he knew Brain would just keep pressing, so he threw his cards down and wheeled himself out of the room.

Eames was hooked up to several different machines that Brendan couldn't even pretend he knew the purpose of. He was also slightly ashen, bandaged and stitched up and still bruised. It probably hurt a lot, Brendan thought, feeling unnecessarily guilty over it as he moved hesitantly closer to the bed. It had been a miracle Eames had survived at all, or at least that was what the doctor had said. Mal had said she had no doubts Eames would pull through because it was just his nature, but Brendan still didn't know if she meant that or if she was just trying to ease her own mind.

He looked down at Eames's hand, finding the fingers slightly bent, the palm facing up. Eames's hands were nothing like Emily's, but in a way they reminded him of hers in that moment if only because he could still remember her hands so vividly from when she was lying face down in that water. He had wanted so badly to reach out and touch her then, but he'd known she would be cold. When he'd hefted her into the tunnel, he'd made the effort not to touch any unclothed skin because he just couldn't handle the lack of warmth. Even now, he was afraid to touch Eames's hand. Instead he reached into the pocket of his jacket and squeezed his totem.

Emily was dead, but Eames was still alive, he reminded himself. He wasn't the same person that he was when Emily had died, and he had promised her and himself that he wouldn't let anyone else die if he could help it. He'd promised Brain that he wouldn't be a coward. Most of all, he'd promised Eames that he would protect him. He wasn't a perfect person, but God knew Brendan Frye kept his promises.

He placed his hand on top of Eames's wrist, right over the pulse point. His skin was warm, and Brendan found himself letting out a small, shaky breath.

"Didn't think you'd ever show up."

Brendan jolted and looked up to Eames's face, finding that his eyes were open and he was wearing his usual grin, albeit it being a bit more tired than usual.

"Eames," Brendan breathed.

"That'd be me, yeah. I'm assuming since you're sitting here and because I saw Mal whenever it was I was last awake that we won. That's good."

"Yeah," Brendan said awkwardly. Then, "You're a fucking idiot, did you know that? You could have lied. You could have told Charlie anything, but instead you had to use that smart ass mouth of yours and because of it you got shot in the chest."

Eames shrugged one shoulder, and Brendan realized Eames had moved his hand to place it on top of Brendan's rather than the other way around. "Yes, well, I guess I thought you'd come up with something."

"What was I going to do? I was tied up too."

"Yeah, but they had their guns trained on you, so I figured I needed to get them off of you so that you could break free."

"You could have died, you asshole. What good would that have done anyone?"

Eames's thumb brushed across Brendan's knuckles. "Not much, but I didn't die, now did I? No use dwelling on the 'what if's of things."

"Maybe not," Brendan mumbled, looking down at their hands. He couldn't quite muster the energy to move his out from under Eames's, "but making the sacrifice play isn't going to save anyone. I had to learn that, and you have to know it too. You've got to find the balance."

"If you're telling me not to be so bloody stupid ever again, I can't make any promises."

Brendan smirked a little, meeting Eames's eyes. "Thank you," he said, "for protecting me… for… well, you've done a lot for me, and I haven't exactly been the most grateful."

Eames probably could have said something snarky in response, but in that moment all he said was, "You're welcome."

They both fell quiet for a few moments, the only sounds in the room being the beeping of the machines and the mumblings on the television.

"I really am glad that you're all right," Brendan finally managed. "When he shot you, I just-I don't know."

"You're not confessing your love to me, are you?" Eames laughed a little.

Brendan would have smacked him, but he had a feeling that it would be just a tad too cruel considering his current condition. "Of course not. Idiot."

"Well, that's good," Eames said, eyes falling closed. "There's no need to make this moment too saccharine. It wouldn't suit you. I do hope that 'I'm glad you're better' sex won't be entirely out of the question though once we get out of this bloody hospital."

Brendan bit down on his bottom lip for a moment, then said, "I'm going back to Paris to study under Miles."

Eames hummed sleepily, and if Brendan didn't know better, he'd think there was a twinge of disappointment in it. "Figures you'd already have a plan of action. You really would make a marvelous pointman. Maybe if I'm in the area I'll stop by."

"Where are you going to go?"

"Well, I sure as hell don't want to be in Paris or London for a bit, and I want to get away from the States as soon as possible as well. Any of Charlie's boys that might still be out for blood will be sniffing my trail, so I think I'll go back to Mombasa and gamble for a while, maybe even travel someplace new. Hell, I may just ride down to Mexico and get some quality Mexican food."

Brendan was quiet, wondering if Eames was falling asleep on him and feeling oddly sad that he didn't have any intention of following Eames to Mexico or Mombasa or wherever he decided to go. He'd made his decision, and he was going to stick to it. He had a world to open up for himself, and keeping only in Eames's company was no better than the way he acted with Emily. He had to build his skills up so no one would ever get hurt this way again. The people he would come into contact with, his friends and his comrades, everyone… they deserved that much.

"Darling," Eames said, voice slow as his medication kicked in and sleep started tugging at his senses again. "Do me a favor, would you? I know it's a bit much to ask considering all of the shite I put you through, but humor me?"

"What is it?"

"Stay here until I fall asleep."

A corner of Brendan's mouth tilted up, and he found himself squeezing Eames's fingers a little. "Okay."

In the end, it was a bit funny that there was any doubt at all over Eames bouncing back. Brendan had already settled himself in with Miles when he heard Eames had gotten out of the hospital a week early. He hadn't quite expected it, but he'd expected even less that he'd hear it from the man himself via a phone call during breakfast.

"How did you get this number?" Brendan asked before taking a sip of his coffee, looking out the window of Miles's kitchen into the garden.

"I ring you up at a respectable hour after having spent days upon days holed up in a hospital bed-alone, I might add, and that's all you have to say to me?" Eames asked. Brendan could hear the smile in his voice.

"Turns out to be," Brendan said.

"I got it from Miles of course, when he told me to stop calling him to get in touch with you. When the man is focused on something he can be an outright beast about getting interrupted."

"It's something I've found we have in common," Brendan said, leaning his hip against the counter. "So are you headed down to Mexico then?"

"Already there, mate," Eames said. "I've got a ticket to Boston for the end of the week, then it's to Amsterdam, and then I'm going to Mombasa to settle in for a bit before I start looking for work. The dreamshare community has recovered just as flawlessly as I have it seems. I've already got offers, but I'm not taking them just yet."

"That's responsible of you."

"I'm not always about the death wish and sacrifice play."

"Could have fooled me."

Eames snorted into the line. "I suppose you've got a point there. How's Miles treating you?"

"He says I'm a natural, just like Cobb was. He thinks I'd be good on point actually."

"I knew I was right about that."

"Yeah, well… it turns out that point is all in the little details too, now isn't it?"

"First thing you learn when dreaming is that all of it is, honestly."

There was a pause on the other end of the line after that, and then Eames said, "So how long do you think it'll be before you're ready to hop out into the field?"

"Well," Brendan said, setting down his cup so that he could top off his coffee with what was left in the pot, "I know all the technical stuff, so I could probably manage now if I had to, but Miles says if I keep on track it could even be as little as a couple of months before I'm considered a professional. Why?"

"Well, we can't have you working your first job without folks you know… I suppose Cobb and Mal will be back by then though."

"Miles doesn't think either of them have it in them to stay out of the game for long. They'll probably be back within this month, honestly. Mal says she wants me on their team, that I fill in the sensible spots when she and Cobb get too idealistic. They're planning on moving stateside and seeing if they can't really make a name for themselves in the dreamshare community there. Mal says they're going to dig deeper and go further than anyone could have imagined."

"That sounds terrifying," Eames laughed.

"Hey, if you're going to dream, dream big, I guess."

"Says the boy with no imagination."

"I do have an imagination. It just works differently than yours."

Eames chuckled, "Well, darling, if you need to get out of Mal and Cobb's hair so they can do their couple things, I'll see if you can't work a few jobs with me. You've got to branch out if you're going to be the best."

Brendan took a sip of coffee and said, "You might get shot in the chest again."

"With you on point, I wouldn't even worry about it. You're a crazy person, but your plans are crazy enough to work, and with my improvisational skills, I think we'd make a perfect pair."

"You seemed to have forgotten I was there when you previously got shot in the chest."

"I haven't forgotten. I also haven't forgotten anything else, thank you very much, and I think you should take it as a compliment that I still want to work with you. You're something special, Brendan. People are going to be talking about you someday soon. You know me, love. I can read people, and I already know you've got full intention of taking this whole operation by storm."

"Yeah, well, I don't really like to share."

"I know that as well," Eames said, voice growing fond. "So, what do you say, Brendan? Join me on a few jobs?"

Brendan smirked.

"It's Arthur now."

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