fic - Late to Settle [3/5]
Title: Late to Settle
Author: yjudaes
Team: angst.
Prompt: hunger, fear.
Word Count: 1118.
Rating: PG.
Warnings: Eames likes to play games; Arthur has a secret. Fulfilling my desire to write a self-indulgent His Dark Materials crossover, though it is otherwise canon-compliant. Nimue is an amber-morph red fox and Mekhmet is a melanistic leopard. Thank you once more to silvrey for wun beta.
Part One | Part Two
Mekhmet tries an ocelot. “No,” says Arthur, glancing at her and then back up at the ceiling. They’ve been under for hours; he’s sprawled in an armchair in the hotel lounge, Nimue stretched out in front of him, while Eames forges Camille and Mekhmet runs through a veritable encyclopedia’s worth of animals for the daemon. Eames's forge is picture-perfect, down to the shape of the woman's fingernails, but no matter what Mekhmet tries for the daemon, it's never right.
"I'm sorry," Eames says, his words slightly clipped. "Are we boring you?"
Arthur straightens a little. "What am I even doing, down here?" he asks. "You could just as well have done this on your own." Nimue puts her head on her paws and huffs in agreement.
"How true," Eames replies. Mekhmet becomes an osprey and Arthur shakes his head again. "And then I wouldn't be luxuriating in the fantastic sense of utter boredom you're radiating. What a pity. Think of the trouble I could have saved us both."
Mekhmet is an ostrich, and Arthur almost snorts. "You're down here because, as much as you 'trust my judgement' -" Eames continues, shooting him a filthy look which is totally incongruous on Camille's face - "I do like having you as a second set of eyes. You really do notice every last little nitty gritty detail."
Arthur thinks that's meant to be some kind of compliment, in a roundabout way. He would almost care, if they hadn't been at this for five hours and counting. "The forge is perfect," he says. "I'm not going to argue that. And I don't know what help I can possibly be with the daemon."
"You were the one who researched all those traits," Eames says, turning in a slow circle while Mekhmet spools rapidly through a series of tropical birds, like one of those sets of binoculars Arthur had as a kid, where you would depress the switch and the image inside would change. None of them are right. "And, as much disdain as you pretend to have for humanity as a species -"
"It's not pretending, I assure you," Arthur says dryly.
Eames rolls Camille's eyes. "As much disdain as you have for humanity as a species, you are nonetheless a keen observer of human nature. You have an eye for human weakness, Arthur."
"Wonderful," Arthur answers. Nimue is watching them, and though her head is still settled on her paws, her ears are swiveled forward in interest. "Is this you trying to make up for insulting me yesterday?"
"I'm not trying to make up for anything," Eames replies. Mekhmet settles for a moment on some kind of small, deerlike animal.
Arthur looks at it. "That could be right," he says. "Or close to right."
Eames-Camille's gaze snaps to Mekhmet and he studies her silently for a span of seconds that stretches into almost a minute, and then she shudders the forge off abruptly and is herself, her tail twitching with restless irritation. "Not right," she says, her voice holding the beginnings of a growl. She's just as frustrated as Arthur and Nimue, then. Just as frustrated as Eames must be.
"We need a break," Arthur says, standing up. He looks at his watch; the time's almost up for this round anyway. "Nothing's going to happen if we keep trying to force it."
"You are the last person I would have expected to say that," Eames answers, himself again, wearing that hideous tweed jacket. He walks toward Arthur, stops about a foot away, maybe less, and starts to lean down conspiratorially. Nimue gets to her feet and skitters to the side, and Arthur looks up. Eames is wearing a strange expression on his face that Arthur doesn't think he's ever seen before, and then --
-- the ceiling collapses and Arthur wakes up, his leg curled under him, in his chaise, Nimue on his lap. He sits up, and when he looks over at Eames, Eames already has his line out and is rolling down his sleeves, slinging his jacket back on. "You said a break, yes?" he asks Arthur. "I'm going for lunch."
Just like that, he's gone.
+
They go under, all four of them even if Karen isn't going to be in the final dream, to look at the forge. Mekhmet has settled on a small antelope, a dik-dik that, at least, feels more right than any of the other animals she tried out for Arthur.
"Is this going to work?" Tollefsrud asks, her mouth drawn into a thin line. Her arms are crossed, her daemon perched on her shoulder with his hands in her hair.
Arthur wishes he could say yes. He looks at Eames, who is impeccably Camille, all his gestures practiced from the video footage of her graduation. Eames gives Tollefsrud a Camille smile. "We won't know until we try," he says.
"If it goes downhill --" Tollefsrud starts.
Arthur cuts her off. "We'll just have to do it as quickly as we can," he says. "As soon as Eames gets the passcode, he'll hand it off to one of us, and from there, it's all on us to get the information before the mark has a chance to realize he's not really talking to Camille."
Tollefsrud looks between the two of them. "I hope for both your sakes that your reputations are well-deserved," she says.
"We wouldn't have them if they weren't," Eames says evenly, dropping the forge. "Compliments to Karen on the architecture."
Karen, who is stern-looking but surprisingly shy and mousy in personality, whose daemon is a prairie dog, looks up, surprised, from where she had been studying the arch of a doorway. "Oh," she says, her voice colored with pleasure. "Well, thank you." She is about as far from Ariadne, Arthur thinks, as you could get.
When they wake, Arthur starts to get out of his chair and go for the kitchen. Eames follows him in and closes the door behind them. "This might not go well," he says, and Arthur has to step to the side to avoid Mekhmet's bulk as she crowds into the small room.
"I know," Arthur answers. "I know that, Eames. Are you - what? Afraid I'm not going to be prepared?"
Eames's expression is embarrassingly bare and completely unstudied for a moment. "No," he says. He's concerned, Arthur realizes. "I know you will be, Arthur. You always are."
The unspoken 'except when I'm not' hangs between them even though Arthur stays silent. "Okay," he says finally, turning to pour himself a cup of coffee. Mekhmet is too close to him, and it's making him feel itchy all over. "Was that - is that it?"
"That's all, yes," Eames replies. There's a note that might be disappointment in his voice. Arthur tries not to think very hard about it, as Eames steps back out into the warehouse.
Author: yjudaes
Team: angst.
Prompt: hunger, fear.
Word Count: 1118.
Rating: PG.
Warnings: Eames likes to play games; Arthur has a secret. Fulfilling my desire to write a self-indulgent His Dark Materials crossover, though it is otherwise canon-compliant. Nimue is an amber-morph red fox and Mekhmet is a melanistic leopard. Thank you once more to silvrey for wun beta.
Part One | Part Two
Mekhmet tries an ocelot. “No,” says Arthur, glancing at her and then back up at the ceiling. They’ve been under for hours; he’s sprawled in an armchair in the hotel lounge, Nimue stretched out in front of him, while Eames forges Camille and Mekhmet runs through a veritable encyclopedia’s worth of animals for the daemon. Eames's forge is picture-perfect, down to the shape of the woman's fingernails, but no matter what Mekhmet tries for the daemon, it's never right.
"I'm sorry," Eames says, his words slightly clipped. "Are we boring you?"
Arthur straightens a little. "What am I even doing, down here?" he asks. "You could just as well have done this on your own." Nimue puts her head on her paws and huffs in agreement.
"How true," Eames replies. Mekhmet becomes an osprey and Arthur shakes his head again. "And then I wouldn't be luxuriating in the fantastic sense of utter boredom you're radiating. What a pity. Think of the trouble I could have saved us both."
Mekhmet is an ostrich, and Arthur almost snorts. "You're down here because, as much as you 'trust my judgement' -" Eames continues, shooting him a filthy look which is totally incongruous on Camille's face - "I do like having you as a second set of eyes. You really do notice every last little nitty gritty detail."
Arthur thinks that's meant to be some kind of compliment, in a roundabout way. He would almost care, if they hadn't been at this for five hours and counting. "The forge is perfect," he says. "I'm not going to argue that. And I don't know what help I can possibly be with the daemon."
"You were the one who researched all those traits," Eames says, turning in a slow circle while Mekhmet spools rapidly through a series of tropical birds, like one of those sets of binoculars Arthur had as a kid, where you would depress the switch and the image inside would change. None of them are right. "And, as much disdain as you pretend to have for humanity as a species -"
"It's not pretending, I assure you," Arthur says dryly.
Eames rolls Camille's eyes. "As much disdain as you have for humanity as a species, you are nonetheless a keen observer of human nature. You have an eye for human weakness, Arthur."
"Wonderful," Arthur answers. Nimue is watching them, and though her head is still settled on her paws, her ears are swiveled forward in interest. "Is this you trying to make up for insulting me yesterday?"
"I'm not trying to make up for anything," Eames replies. Mekhmet settles for a moment on some kind of small, deerlike animal.
Arthur looks at it. "That could be right," he says. "Or close to right."
Eames-Camille's gaze snaps to Mekhmet and he studies her silently for a span of seconds that stretches into almost a minute, and then she shudders the forge off abruptly and is herself, her tail twitching with restless irritation. "Not right," she says, her voice holding the beginnings of a growl. She's just as frustrated as Arthur and Nimue, then. Just as frustrated as Eames must be.
"We need a break," Arthur says, standing up. He looks at his watch; the time's almost up for this round anyway. "Nothing's going to happen if we keep trying to force it."
"You are the last person I would have expected to say that," Eames answers, himself again, wearing that hideous tweed jacket. He walks toward Arthur, stops about a foot away, maybe less, and starts to lean down conspiratorially. Nimue gets to her feet and skitters to the side, and Arthur looks up. Eames is wearing a strange expression on his face that Arthur doesn't think he's ever seen before, and then --
-- the ceiling collapses and Arthur wakes up, his leg curled under him, in his chaise, Nimue on his lap. He sits up, and when he looks over at Eames, Eames already has his line out and is rolling down his sleeves, slinging his jacket back on. "You said a break, yes?" he asks Arthur. "I'm going for lunch."
Just like that, he's gone.
+
They go under, all four of them even if Karen isn't going to be in the final dream, to look at the forge. Mekhmet has settled on a small antelope, a dik-dik that, at least, feels more right than any of the other animals she tried out for Arthur.
"Is this going to work?" Tollefsrud asks, her mouth drawn into a thin line. Her arms are crossed, her daemon perched on her shoulder with his hands in her hair.
Arthur wishes he could say yes. He looks at Eames, who is impeccably Camille, all his gestures practiced from the video footage of her graduation. Eames gives Tollefsrud a Camille smile. "We won't know until we try," he says.
"If it goes downhill --" Tollefsrud starts.
Arthur cuts her off. "We'll just have to do it as quickly as we can," he says. "As soon as Eames gets the passcode, he'll hand it off to one of us, and from there, it's all on us to get the information before the mark has a chance to realize he's not really talking to Camille."
Tollefsrud looks between the two of them. "I hope for both your sakes that your reputations are well-deserved," she says.
"We wouldn't have them if they weren't," Eames says evenly, dropping the forge. "Compliments to Karen on the architecture."
Karen, who is stern-looking but surprisingly shy and mousy in personality, whose daemon is a prairie dog, looks up, surprised, from where she had been studying the arch of a doorway. "Oh," she says, her voice colored with pleasure. "Well, thank you." She is about as far from Ariadne, Arthur thinks, as you could get.
When they wake, Arthur starts to get out of his chair and go for the kitchen. Eames follows him in and closes the door behind them. "This might not go well," he says, and Arthur has to step to the side to avoid Mekhmet's bulk as she crowds into the small room.
"I know," Arthur answers. "I know that, Eames. Are you - what? Afraid I'm not going to be prepared?"
Eames's expression is embarrassingly bare and completely unstudied for a moment. "No," he says. He's concerned, Arthur realizes. "I know you will be, Arthur. You always are."
The unspoken 'except when I'm not' hangs between them even though Arthur stays silent. "Okay," he says finally, turning to pour himself a cup of coffee. Mekhmet is too close to him, and it's making him feel itchy all over. "Was that - is that it?"
"That's all, yes," Eames replies. There's a note that might be disappointment in his voice. Arthur tries not to think very hard about it, as Eames steps back out into the warehouse.