Fic: Thicker Than Blood: Part 5
Title: Thicker Than Blood
Fandom: Inception/500 Days of Summer
Pairing: Arthur/Eames, Tom/Autumn
Rating: R
Word Count: 8,200
Summary: "My brother, Tom, has been missing for three days."
Notes: Written for this prompt on the Inception Kink meme. Edited, beta checked (thanks Starlingthefool!) and reposted.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
*****
Arthur stood in a park.
He looked around, frowning. This was a place he recognized, a place he had been many times as a teen and which he knew Tom had been as well... which meant that his brother was building from memories. That wasn't good.
Glancing down at his watch, Arthur set the timer for two hours. Then he started walking.
He had been prepared for anything, but the overall atmosphere in the park was one of... tranquility. Arthur followed a bike path which curved through springy lawns and around groves of flowering cherry trees; soft petals drifting up away with the light breeze. The sun was high and warm overhead, the sky a deep, clear blue. A monarch butterfly drifted past, alighting briefly on a flower before moving on.
Arthur briefly paused at a bench overlooking what would normally be the city vista. Tom had shifted the cityscape, he noted with some amusement. The tall skyscrapers in the distance now looked like three jagged fingers reaching to the sky... the middle extended much more prominently than the rest. A manifestation of resistance, perhaps?
A passing bicyclist flew on by at top speed, so close Arthur felt the wind of his passing. In the distance, he could hear children playing - loud shrieks drowning out laughter. It seemed at odds with the sunny spring day: the projections were on edge, but not hostile. Not yet.
Arthur walked on, noting how the bike path doubled back without quite seeming to do so - trees and a few water features were placed to catch the eye, and draw attention away from fact that every route seemed to funnel into the same direction. It was neatly done, though the method was still a little transparent to Arthur's experienced eye.
Still, he let the maze guide him, knowing that the most attention would be paid towards the heart of it all. That would be where the trap would be sprung.
Two more bicyclists flashed by, one sneering a curse at Arthur to get out of the way or be run over. They curved down the path, disappearing into a thick, shadowed patch of trees. Beyond, Arthur heard the sound of babbling water - and an angry male voice.
Arthur increased his pace and soon passed through the barrier of trees to step into an authentic looking Japanese strolling garden. The area itself was alight with subtle green bushes. A small stream wound throughout and drained into a pond with flashing white and orange koi. A free standing wooden tea house stood off to the side.
Carson stood there, his back to Arthur, one meaty hand laying flat against the wooden wall of the tea house and jabbing the finger of his other hand in the chest of a slighter figure. The other man wore jeans and a dark gray hoodie, his head turned away as if Carson berated him, either unwilling or unable to look into his eyes.
"This needs to be perfect!" Carson snarled. "Anything out of the ordinary, anything at all and it'll tip him off. I saw that skyline! You think this is a joke?" Then Carson almost casually struck Tom upside the head. Tom staggered, shoulder crashing into the wall of the tea house.
Anger, dark and hot, bubbled up in Arthur's veins. Breaking into a jog, he made a beeline for them both.
"I want more fish in that pond," Carson continued, unnoticing. He pulled Tom back up to his feet by the scruff of his sweater, as if he were an errant puppy. "And get rid of that jungle-gym out in the first loop on the path. Kids are distracting and we don't need-"
Arthur came up from behind him and in one swift movement, locked his elbow around Caron's fat neck. The other man choked and tried to throw an elbow back, but Arthur was too quick, and, with a sharp kick to the back of his knee, knocked Carson to the ground. They fell together, but Arthur had a good lock on him and within moments Carson's movements slowed - stopped. He gave it a few more seconds to be sure, and released. He didn't want to kill him - that would only wake him up.
"Arthur?" The hoodie had slipped from Tom's head. His face was waxen, eyes bruised with exhaustion. He stared at his twin in a haunted sort of shock, as if he wasn't sure if he should embrace him or run for his life.
But there was no time for reunions. A woman screamed from the other side of the gardens - these were Carson's projections. They would be on the war path, soon.
Arthur glanced around. His eyes fell on the tea-house. "Does this have a way in?"
"Y-yeah. Around the back."
"Good," Arthur said, "Help me with him."
Together, each one grabbing Carson by the arm, they dragged the unconscious man around back and through the door. Once all three stood inside, Arthur closed the door and locked it.
"Are you a projection?" Tom wondered. "My projection?"
Arthur turned from the door to face him. "No," he said, keeping his voice quiet and firm. "I'm really here. I came under to wake you up and... Autumn's up there, too. We're going to get you out. You're going to be okay, Tom."
Tom shook his head, but it wasn't in denial. "Autumn's with you?" he repeated. "She's safe?"
"She's fine, but she's been worried about you." He hated the uncertainty in Tom's face, just as he had hated seeing it with Cobb - as if he wasn't sure, even now, if the world around him was real or a dream. So Arthur added. "We've all been looking for you... I couldn't stop her from coming along."
His brother took a step closer, looking intently at his face as if looking for a sign of deception. "Arthur?"
"It's really me," he confirmed.
This close, he saw the exact moment when Tom started to accept his words as truth - then the flash of anger that replaced uncertainty.
Tom punched Arthur, hard, in the mouth.
"Asshole!" he yelled, while Arthur staggered back, tripped over Carson's body, and landed flat on his ass. "They thought I was you at first! I almost got shot in the face! Then they dragged me back to their warehouse, threatened my girlfriend - this is what you do for a living? Huh?" He loomed over Arthur, fists clenched and shaking at his sides, face contorted into something ugly.
For an insane moment, Arthur wondered if he looked half as scary when he was really pissed off.
"Tom... no.." Arthur held up his hands in a gesture of peace, trying to stave him off as he got up. He could taste blood in his mouth and knew he had cut his lip on his teeth. "Not like this."
"Then what?! Do you know what they're going to do to that guy? Their mark?" Tom continued, as if Arthur hadn't spoken. "They're going to lead him through mazes I designed and trap him down in Hell for years - decades until he's completely insane. And then they are going to do the same to me." The last part came out broken, almost a sob. "I heard Muir and Carson talking about it when they thought I wasn't listening. He... he's going to leave me for you to find as a warning, because you screwed them over... and..."
He couldn't continue because Arthur closed the distance and grabbed him in a fierce hug. Tom stiffened as if to fight him off, but Arthur had conveniently pinned his arms to his sides.
Arthur said, "They're not going to do that to you, okay? I found you. You're going to be all right..."
"How do I know it's you?" Tom asked, muscles and sinew strung so tightly that Arthur could feel him trembling. "I thought things were real so many times and then I'd wake up." He drew in a ragged breath. "Carson got fed up once and took me outside, made me dig my own grave. I thought-I thought they were going to... but then I woke up. And they had Autumn... they put a gun to her head."
"Jesus, Tom," Arthur breathed. "I'm sorry. I never thought any of this would ever... I'm so, so sorry."
Tom didn't reply, but he didn't try to pull away either; his breathing hitched and silted as if he was struggling not to cry, and failing.
Arthur released his brother slowly, more than a little wary of being hit again, but Tom only stood there looking listless as if the outburst had taken the last dregs of his energy. Arthur turned his head briefly away to wipe damp streaks of his own off his cheeks.
He wondered, briefly, if he shouldn't just give him the kick now, but he'd spent years working with one of the greatest extractors of all time, and he had a good idea of how the mind worked. Catharsis, Dom had once told him, was a powerful process, easily underestimated.
It wouldn't do Tom any good to wake him, if he still doubted he was dreaming.
Arthur's hand fell to his jacket pocket and he withdrew his loaded die. "You need a totem," he said, uncurling his fingers to show his brother the die. "Remember this?"
Tom's brows knit. "Yeah..." he said slowly. "Las Vegas, right? I got one that landed on four or higher. Yours landed on the lower numbers."
"That's right. Roll it," Arthur said.
Still looking doubtful, Tom took the die. He didn't know - couldn't have known that it was the first time Arthur had let anyone touch it, not even Eames.
Tom bent and tossed it lightly across the floor. It landed on a six.
"I don't understand," he said.
"It's called a totem," Arthur explained. "It can be easy to lose yourself in a dream, so experienced dream sharers carry around little items to remind ourselves if we're asleep or awake. I'm the only one who knows the trick of that die, and as long as it ends up rolling on the wrong number, I know I'm in someone else's dream."
Tom didn't answer, but picked up the dice and rolled it twice more. A three and a five.
"When we're awake, I'll let you roll it again - you'll see." Arthur said, feeling a little desperate now with Tom's continued silence. His twin had always been prone to outbursts, swinging easily from one emotion to another. Seeing Tom now, unanswering and withdrawn, frightened him a little.
But Tom picked up the die for a fourth time and didn't roll it, instead clenching it in his hand. Then, with the air of a decision made, he slipped it in the pocket of his jeans and stood to face Arthur. "How about if I wake up, and it's in your pocket instead of mine, I know I'm awake."
"Yeah," he replied, relief flooding through him. It was a start. "That'll work."
Carson stirred slightly by their feet and Arthur had to fight the sudden urge to draw his gun and shoot him somewhere non-lethal but immensely painful. Or dream up a pack of wild hyenas and set them loose. Or-
Tom reacted with speed borne of fear, lurching towards a shadowed cabinet in the corner and withdrawing a familiar silver case. PASIV devices usually had extra vials of somnacin, and before Carson could do more than raise his head, Tom jabbed him viciously in the ass with a loaded syringe. Carson groaned and went quiet.
"You were going to lead Saito here and put him under again," Arthur said.
Tom nodded, looking sick. "Carson was going to change his appearance, make himself look like Saito's ex-wife. He proposed to her in a garden like this. It... was supposed to put him in a more retrospective mood - plant the idea of regret."
"And the second level?"
"Corporate building. We designed a scenario where his business is failing and his board turns against him. The regret plays in on that. There was supposed to be some kind of betrayal from within. They didn't tell me much about it, but I was supposed to hold up the second level while Muir took him under again."
The betrayal from within sounded ominous, and lent weight to the theory that Muir was planning to use Tom as a double for Arthur himself, while Carson forged a look-alike for Eames.
Tom glanced up suddenly, brows knit. "I never told you their mark's name, though. How did you know?"
"I've had dealings with Saito in the past, and he's a high profile target." Arthur checked his watch. Just under an hour had passed in the dream, making it about five minutes up above. "Tom," he said, "It's important that I find out what his exact plans are for Saito, and who hired him in the first place. You don't have to come," he added, seeing his brother pale. He withdrew his handgun and shoved it into Tom's limp hands. "Stay here and watch our bodies. If the projections find you, give yourself the kick."
"The what?" Tom rasped.
That gave Arthur a pause. "When you die in a dream, you wake up." The look of horror and disbelief on Tom's face spoke volumes. Arthur swallowed. "Of course... they wouldn't want to give you an easy way to escape back up. They never told you."
"You want me to shoot myself?"
Preferably, Arthur would have liked for Tom to shoot him awake first and then himself, but he had a feeling that wouldn't go over well either. "Yes."
"But if you shoot yourself... doesn't your mind make it real?"
"This isn't the Matrix," Arthur told him, rolling his eyes. "You just wake up." And the glare Tom gave him was so sour, so Tom that for a moment Arthur felt like they were teenagers again, arguing who was better - The Smiths or The Flaming Lips.
"Fuck it," Tom said, handing back the gun and rolling up the sleeve of his hoodie. "I'm coming with you."
****
When Arthur opened his eyes, he found himself in a light, airy room with round port-hole windows to the outside and a full length mirror set in the corner. He blinked and went through the process of tracing back how he had arrived there and what he recalled last.
"Never build from memories," he remembered telling Tom. "Always create new."
Tom had frowned at him. "Okay, but what do you need?"
Arthur had given him the very basics of what the extraction would require and then added, "As for the rest... surprise me."
He remembered the glint of challenge in his brother's eyes as they plugged themselves in - Tom with the architect line and the still unconscious Carson as the dreamer. Arthur took one of the guest lines, and pressed the plunger on the PASIV...
It had come back to him now. They were in the attic.
Arthur turned and caught sight of Tom looking his own attire over - the hoodie and ratty jeans were gone. Tom had cleaned himself up - still in jeans, but those were fresh and new. He'd complimented it with a two button sports jacket, and a dark tie. His hair was combed neatly back, though not as heavily jelled as Arthur usually kept his.
Tom caught his eye and gave a sideways smile, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing Arthur's totem. "Still asleep," he confirmed. "We're in the attic level. The party should be downstairs. So how do we do this?"
"You're going in as me," Arthur said, stepping to the mirror. He gave his own reflection a once over, and on second thought, removed his tie. "I'll be a man named Dom Cobb."
"I don't understand."
"Have you ever dreamed you're someone else?"
Tom started to shake his head then stopped, frowning. "Sometimes, if I fall asleep reading. But... you can do that?"
"Not normally," Arthur admitted. "It's a specialized talent, and I've known Dom for years so I think I'll be able to pull it off. There's a man named Eames - you'll meet him topside, he's guarding our bodies with Autumn. He can forge a person so easily it's like... art." He was facing his own reflection, and so caught the odd, wistful expression on his face. Quickly, he controlled it, but not before Tom noticed.
His eyebrows rose. "Eames, huh?"
"It's not like that," Arthur wanted to say, but that would have been a lie. It was. He just didn't want to hear one of Tom's tangents on love at that moment. "Yeah," he said, curtly, and concentrated on his reflection - remembering Dom's blue eyes. Eames always told him that, when forging, to start with the eyes. Windows to the soul, darling.
"How come I never heard of this Eames guy before now?" Tom asked, totally destroying all of Arthur's concentration.
He grit his teeth. "Why do you think?" he said, with a gesture around the room, meaning dream share... everything. "Besides, we've... It's only been a few months."
"This from the guy who told me one night stands are all anyone should ever need." Tom was nearly grinning now, clearly enjoying a rare occasion to tease his brother. "So, do you love him?"
"You tell me. You're the expert on love," Arthur snapped, his feathers thoroughly ruffled.
Tom just chuckled, but thankfully held up his hands. "Okay, okay."
Arthur faced his reflection and recalled Dom. Not as he had seen him last - oddly content and sharing beers with Arthur as they watched the children play in the back yard. But how he remembered working with him when he was on the run: the slightly manic glint in his eyes, as if he expected to turn a corner and see Mal there at any second because he just might still be dreaming.
What would it feel like to lose Eames like how Dom had lost Mal?
Arthur grimaced at that thought, and Dom in the mirror grimaced back at him: dirty blonde hair, his favorite slightly rumpled jacket, and the air of loss which hung thick around him like a cloud. He'd retained his same height and was an inch or two too short - he wasn't a professional forger after all - but Carson probably wouldn't be observant enough to pick up on that.
"Wow," Tom said, stepping back to take a good look at him. "You look a little like that guy from Titanic."
"Dom wishes," Arthur said, and was pleased when his voice came out a lighter baritone. He didn't know how long he could hold this up. It was time to get to work. "Do you have those folders I asked you about?"
****
Eames trussed Carson up as best he could, careful not to move the cannula while securing the man's thick arms behind his back. At least that way, should he wake early, he would at least be easier to control.
Autumn didn't move where she sat by Tom's side, biting her lower lip in worry. "I still don't understand why we can't just wake them up," she said. "What could Arthur do in just ten minutes?"
"Ten minutes to us," Eames corrected as he moved over to a nearby corner where piles of papers - receipts and schematics for a 747 jetliner among them - lay crumpled in a corner. These men were slobs. "It'll be two hours for them, down there."
She blinked and opened her mouth to ask another question.
And they both froze at the sound of a rusty hinges squeaking open downstairs.
Motioning for her to stay back and be quiet, Eames withdrew his handgun and scuttled to the top of the stairs to peer down.
"-make the grab in three hours," someone said, his voice bouncing around through the warehouse enough that Eames couldn't pin-point his exact location.
"We got everything covered on our end," said another voice, lower in pitch. "What was this about your architect?"
"Oh, you're going to love this," the first voice said.
The two men rounded the corner at the same time. The first was smaller with a pointed-nose and was still talking - Muir, Eames assumed, and he planned on shooting him first - repay him for a little agony he had put Tom -and Arthur- through. But Muir's deep voiced associate spotted him and drew first.
Eames shot, but he was already ducking away, and he knew without looking that the bullet went wide. Gunfire flew over his head as he landed flat on his belly.
"That's not your man?" the deep voiced man said, and must have received a negative because Eames next heard, "I'm calling for backup."
Eames knew without looking that his clip held fifteen bullets. He'd already used one. As he stepped back and took firm position between the stairwell and Autumn and the sleeping twins, he glanced at the PASIV timer. Five minutes to go.
He may not have that long, but he would give them as much time as he could.
****
The attic was equipped with a trap door built into the floor which led to the main level below. Arthur went first, wanting to get there before Tom in case the projections were already suspicious.
Fine, classical violin music spilled in the moment he began stepping down the ladder, along with quiet babble of people - no urgency in their tones. So far, so good.
Arthur was halfway down the short ladder, however, when a subtle rumbling shook the room. He stilled, and his hands which still gripped the rungs briefly blurred into his own until he reestablished focus. The problem with forging in dreams was that it required constant concentration and will. He didn't know how Eames did it.
Tom's head peeked over the trap-door. "What was that?"
"Something is happening above," Arthur replied, keeping Dom's voice stoic. Either their bodies were in trouble in the first level or, more likely, up top. If that was the case, he trusted Eames to handle it. Arthur jumped the last step, brushed off Dom's spotless slacks and gestured for Tom to follow.
The room they'd entered was actually a small utility closet, complete with a wash bucket and brooms. Arthur's eyes fell to a spider-web in the corner. It seemed Tom had an unusual mind for detail.
Tom, rather whimsically, used the railing rather than the steps to come down, and cocked an eyebrow at Arthur when he gave him a dirty look. Arthur knew his brother was nervous if not outright afraid, given the sheen of sweat blooming on his forehead - he was to confront Carson, who had tormented him for days, after all - but Tom was misdirecting, as he used to do when they were kids, by showing off.
Now was not the time.
"You're supposed to be me," he reminded him. "Get serious."
"I still don't get it," Tom muttered, though to his credit he squared his shoulders and frowned at Arthur rather darkly. "He's just going to confess everything to us, James Bond villain style?"
Arthur shook his head. "Dom Cobb has the reputation of being the best extractor in the business. Carson tried working for him once when he needed a forger - I was there, but Cobb turned him down because his methods were..." he trailed off, seeing his brother wince, and decided he didn't need to elaborate. "I'm willing to bet on some level he still wants to impress Dom. We can use that to our advantage."
Tom hesitated for a long, long moment, looking at Arthur as if trying to see right through him. "You act like your methods are different than Muir's."
"Because they are. Muir and Carson get results by pain and intimidation. They don't come much worse," Arthur said, bluntly. "Real extractors like the man I'm playing get information from misdirection, trickery. We don’t damage the mind."
"It's still theft."
"Yeah," he said and he didn't shy away from it. He had come to terms a long time ago that he was a criminal, and aside from his immediate family, everyone he cared about was as well. "It is." He paused, letting that sink in. "I'll understand if you don't want to do this - I'm Cobb's right hand man, and my absence would be noted if I wasn't there, but I can do this without you if I need to."
He was almost certain Tom was going to take him up on his offer. Arthur couldn't blame him - he'd been through hell over the last few days, and this business was not for everyone.
Then Tom lifted his chin, doubt solidifying into a steely sort of certainty that looked, honestly, a little intimidating.
"Lead the way, Mr. Cobb," he said.
*****
The utility closet led to a wider ballroom. A small stage took up one wide corner, elegant tables covered in what looked to be pristine white silk in another. It reminded Arthur of a wedding reception, although the projections around him seemed to be in the mood to gossip and socialize rather than celebrate.
With Tom by his side, Arthur wound his way around groups of talking people, returning curious stares with polite nods and keeping his eye open. More than one projection didn’t turn away after they passed, but stared after. They weren’t on alert yet, but the feeling Arthur got as he moved into the middle of the room was one of unwelcome.
This wasn’t like a proper extraction at all. It would be quick and dirty, and if they were lucky they would get something out of this.
Tom touched his arm briefly to get his attention. “Over there,” he said and pointed.
Carson stood by the bar with a flavored beer in hand, chatting up a young female server.
“We’re on,” Arthur said, and made a bee-line over towards him, his most charming smile on his face. He had watched Dom charm clients for years.
Carson’s expression was a mix of curiosity with just the under shadings of fear. “Dom Cobb,” he said, through lips that hardly seemed to move enough to form words. “This is… an unexpected surprise.” He nodded towards Tom. “Arthur. What is this about?”
Arthur smiled and returned the handshake offered. Carson’s hands were cold. “I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time?” He made a show of squinting around the room. “Could we talk somewhere private?”
“A job?” Carson asked.
“If you feel you’re up to it,” Tom said, and Arthur had to give him credit: there was a measured amount of disinterest in his voice, as if he couldn’t believe Cobb would come to this guy with work. It hit right at Carson’s ego - exactly as Arthur himself would have played it.
A cool, utterly false smile played across Carson’s face. But he beckoned Arthur and Tom forward, leading them to a shadowed table underneath boroughs of freshly cut wisteria.
The sound in the room was muted - more whisperings from the projections. They were becoming more on edge by the second as if on the verge of realizing that something was going on. Carson was a lucid dreamer by trade - he would not be fooled for much longer.
Arthur and Tom took seats across the table from Carson, and Arthur decided to come to the point. “We’re in need of a forger, a good one.”
“Is that so?” Carson’s smile turned into a smirk and he looked directly at Tom. “What happened to your butt-buddy?”
Tom stared across the table at this man - his tormenter - and didn’t flinch, although a stain of red crept up his neck. “None of your business,” he said, flatly.
“Eames is not available,” Arthur said, trying to recapture Carson’s attention. “It’s a quick job, one level.”
Carson leaned back and made a show of crossing his arms over his chest, clearly liking the idea of having the great Dom Cobb come to him for help. Drawing out the moment. “Sure,” he said, at last. “But I get my third of the deal, plus half of his.” He nodded towards Tom.
“Done,” Arthur said quickly, as if forestalling his point man before he argued. Tom shot him a look which luckily looked more accusing than confused, but didn’t say anything. Just returned to staring at Carson with a clenched jaw and barely concealed dislike in his eyes.
Carson chuckled. “Damn, you two must be desperate.” Again, his eyes fell towards Tom. “And a bad fuck if Eames finally wised up and left.” He turned back to grin at Arthur while Tom clenched a napkin in his fist. “So what’s the job?”
Arthur decided at that moment he didn’t care what damage it made or what it took: he was going to shoot Carson. In reality.
But this was his moment. He pulled a manila folder out of Dom’s vest and slid it across the table. “The mark is the CEO of a major multinational energy company.”
Carson’s fingers stilled for just the briefest of moments before he opened the folder. “Is that so?”
“Our client is a rival company who is the middle of being bought out - the board want blackmail on him, no matter what it takes.” Arthur continued, and then sunk in the proverbial knife. “We plan on buying out his security and making the grab on his own private jet. Simple and neat.”
Carson didn’t say anything as he opened the folder. There, before him was a schematic of what looked to be a private Leerjet. Saito’s private jet.
Arthur saw Tom lean forward in interest - he knew that the folder had contained only blank pieces of paper, before. Carson’s mind had filled it with details of his own job with Muir.
They only had a few seconds to take it in. The schematic, the list of names of people Muir had bought out, the airport the plane was being diverted to - San Diego International - and the time.
Then Carson slammed one hand upon the folder. “What is this?” he demanded, eyes wild as he looked around: a dreamer who was on the verge of realizing he was dreaming.
As one, all conversation in the room ceased and Arthur felt the gaze of a hundred angry eyes on him.
The knowledge that things were about the explode triggered an instinctive reaction to defend - to pull his gun and make sure those under his care were safe - it was part of the reason he made such a good point man, and such a lousy forger. The moment he stopped thinking like Dom, the illusion slipped.
Carson’s eyes widened as he stared at two identical men sitting across from him.
“No…” Carson whispered, realization burning in his eyes.
Arthur reached for the handgun by his side, but Carson was a faction faster.
Carson took aim and fired.
*****
Eames took aim and fired.
His aim was true - the first silly bloke at the top of the stairwell screamed and fell backwards, blood blossoming from the pale sports jacket he’d only seen Cobol Engineering assassins wear.
His mind worked quickly: how did Cobol fit into this? Were they behind the funding to take out Saito?
But he didn’t have much time to think on it as the next man decided to run up, firing wildly, and Eames had to quickly fall to his knees, to avoid a bullet to the throat. Autumn let out a short, truncated, scream from the back of the room where she sat with Tom and Arthur.
Eames returned fire - two shoots that missed and hit respectively. Goon number two went down, clutching his knee, and one more bullet finished him off.
Turning, Eames risked a glance over his shoulder to see Autumn with her hand clapped to her mouth as if she were horrified at her own shriek of fear. The three dreamers slept on: four more minutes on the PASIV’s count-down.
There was a slight lull in the activity below: he heard shouted orders below, the echo of thick boot heels striking flat concrete. It sounded like they were ordering themselves. Not good.
“Autumn,” Eames said calmly, “Please bring me Arthur’s gun. He usually keeps it to the left side.” There were no exits he could see, and if the amount of people on the first floor was accurate, their lives could be measured on the space of time it took for him to run out of ammunition.
Autumn did, though she looked extremely reluctant to leave Tom’s side. “What do we do?” she asked in a voice that only quavered a little.
Eames flashed her a smile he did not remotely feel. “Let’s just hope whatever Arthur and Tom find out down there is enough to get us out of this scrape, yeah?” He gave her a little push towards them. “In the meantime, get out your taser. You may need it.”
“O-okay." Hurrying back to the cot, she took one of Tom’s limp hands into her own. They were shaking hard enough to tremble the IV line.
An authoritative voice called up from below. “Who’s up there?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Eames called back, without pause.
“Our business is with Muir and the architect. You’re out numbered and outgunned. Surrender your weapons and you have my word that you can leave in peace.”
Eames snorted. That wasn’t bloody likely. He was a little unclear if Arthur still carried that price on his head from back before the Fischer job, but as soon as they figured out who and what they were, the only way Cobol would allow them to leave would be in pieces. That, or practically enslave them to work extraction jobs like Muir and Carson did with Tom.
“No deal,” he called, and stalling for time, added, “We’re working with Proclus Global. We received a tip this team was involved in a threat against one of our own. Just to give you a sporting chance - reinforcements are on the way.”
He heard a muffled, “Bullshit,” from a new voice below, quickly stifled.
The authoritative voice spoke again. “You’re not from Saito’s security team. We bought out his security team.”
And before Eames could answer, he heard a new gunshot - not coming from the stairwell, but right at his feet. In that instant, he knew his mistake: the men below used the sound of his voice to pinpoint his general location, and had simply pointed upward.
He threw himself to the side, but it was too late. Fire ripped through his leg.
****
The muzzle of Carson’s gun flashed and Arthur felt the impact of the bullet like a punch to the chest. The projections all around him shrieked in fear, and above that he heard Tom’s anguished, “NO! Arthur!”
”This isn’t real,” he wanted to remind him, but couldn’t seem to draw in enough breath to speak.
Another loud bang and Arthur saw Carson’s body crumple - he had eaten the bullet and kicked himself up awake on the second level.
“Arthur! Shit! Hold on… just hold on…” Tom looked broken as he reached over as if trying to somehow stanch the blood from a gaping hole just above his brother’s heart.
Arthur couldn’t draw in enough air to speak, his mouth so full of his own blood he could barely even breathe, but his legs still worked. He kicked Tom sharply in the knee, knocking him back down in his seat. Then, grabbing the back of Tom’s chair, Arthur tipped it backwards.
He caught a flash of Tom’s startled eyes as he fell. His body vanished before hitting the floor, snapped awake into the next level.
The room immediately started to crumple around him. The architect was gone and the dream was collapsing. Arthur shut his eyes, hoping he was killed by a falling beam before he drowned in his own blood.
There was a loud crash, a flash of crushing pain… and abruptly it gone and Arthur was opening his eyes, staring at the ceiling of the teahouse.
A desperate scuffling sound drew his attention: Carson and Tom were fighting for control of a handgun - rolling over and over. Even as Arthur sat up, pulling out his needle and ready to help, Tom got the upper hand, hitting Carson with a teeth-cracking right hook. Carson’s hand came up with the gun, but Tom knocked it away, hitting him again in the side of the head. This time Carson went down and stayed down.
Tom’s face was twisted in an enraged snarl, but that fell away when he looked up and saw Arthur sitting up, and apparently unharmed. “You’re okay?” he asked, and Arthur realized that he must have thought that Carson had killed him for real.
Arthur nodded. “I told you that you just wake up. Next time, just shoot me in the head and put me out of my misery.” He grimaced, resisting the urge to rub his chest where a phantom ache still lingered. “Bleeding to death sucks.”
Tom barked out a short, surprised laugh. “I can’t believe you do this for a living.”
He shrugged. “I-“
And that’s when the sound of gun-fire echoed through the room. The twins ducked on impulse, but instead of the sharp crack of normal gunfire it sounded… slowed down, stretched oddly as if coming at them from a long way off.
Arthur’s breath seemed to freeze in his chest. “That’s coming from up top,” he said. “We have to wake up. Hand me the gun.” And when Tom hesitated and Arthur snapped. “Autumn and Eames are in trouble. Give me the gun!”
That did it. “Okay,” Tom said low, still hesitant, but handed it over.
Arthur looked him straight in the eye. “Trust me,” he said, and aimed his shot right between Tom’s eyes. His brother crumpled, and Arthur put the gun to his own temple and squeezed the trigger.
****
Arthur heard the sound of more gunfire as he came awake - sharp and immediate. He blinked open his eyes just in time to see Eames fall.
"EAMES!" the name ripped from his throat, harsh and distorted. Arthur was up and running towards him the second the needle was out.
Eames was trying to scoot himself backwards, away from the bullet marked floor. Roughly, Arthur grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him backwards towards the far wall moments before a second round of fresh gunfire ripped through the rug, upward towards the ceiling where he had been a second before.
"Fine-I'm fine," Eames gasped, and shoved his handgun into Arthur's hands. "They'll be coming up second now."
It was impossible to know how bad the wound was - blood was staining the leg of Eames' right calf, but it only looked to be one hit. There wasn't time to treat it now.
Nodding, Arthur sensed someone at his back. It was Tom, his face thin and looking exhausted, but his eyes alert.
"We need to find a way out," Arthur said. "Preferably something other than shooting our way back downstairs."
"There's a fire escape out there. It should lead around to the back of the building,” Tom said, pointing to a window so grimy it was nearly impossible to see through, save for what looked like a shadowed railing.
Wary of being shot through the floor, Autumn minced over to the window and wiped her sleeve over it. Then, after squinting through the grime she turned back to them and nodded.
“Tom, get Eames out of here. I’ll cover your backs,” Arthur said, and when Tom looked rebellious he said. “This is what I do. Please, just go.”
“Better listen to him,” Eames added, wincing as he leveraged himself up with only one working leg. Tom helped him to stand, throwing Eames’ arm around his shoulder and taking his weight.
Arthur had an odd moment, seeing Tom and Eames standing together. He realized that he and Eames made a handsome pair.
The sound of footsteps hesitantly ascending the stairwell shook him back to the present. “Go,” Arthur said, turning with gun leveled. “I’ll be right after you.”
It seemed whoever was coordinating the men downstairs wasn’t sure if there were any casualties or not and were sending up a few men at a time. Arthur shot twice down the stairwell as warning and to give himself space, and grinned when he heard an answering cry of pain as one of the ricochets accidently struck a target. Good.
He bent to search one of several bodies that Eames must have downed and came away with an extra handgun, and then pay-dirt: two grenades.
Arthur had always hated Cobol Engineering ever since that first botched extraction, but at least they equipped their employees well.
Tom and Autumn had just got Eames outside to the fire escape, so Arthur worked to keep attention on him and the stairwell - shooting down there at random intervals to keep anyone from charging up. When he was low on bullets and five minutes had passed by his internal count, he picked up the first hand grenade, pulled the pin and lobbed it down.
Turning, he sprinted for the fire escape, hearing several panicked shouts behind him as the unlucky men downstairs realized what had just come down.
He paused just long enough to snap the PASIV case shut and grab the handle.
The explosion ripped through the warehouse, shuddering the thin floor. Arthur made a running leap for the window and caught the sill in one hand as the rusty support beams gave way and the floor lurched under him. Pulling himself up, he tumbled through the open window and out to the landing which led to the fire escape.
This side of the building was shadowed and led to a skinny alleyway, too narrow for even a car to fit in. It was no wonder the Cobol men hadn’t covered it - they probably didn’t notice it at all.
PASIV still in hand, Arthur climbed down the escape, but had to drop the last ten feet as the ladder ran short. He winced as he saw a bright smear of blood on the asphalt. From Eames, most likely, although Arthur couldn’t see them anywhere. He followed the small spots of blood he could see, glistening on the pavement - heart in his throat.
A sudden shout echoed behind him and Arthur ducked as bullets flew over his head. He turned down the next alleyway, past another abandoned warehouse. He came out the other side, looking right and then left and seeing empty road on either side.
Then, in answer to an unasked prayer, Autumn’s SUV roared into view.
Autumn was driving and she screeched to a stop right beside him.
“Go, go!” Arthur yelled, climbing in and shutting the door just as a bullet took out one of the back windows.
“Shit!” Autumn screeched, and punched the gas.
“Are you okay?” Tom asked, from his spot in the passenger seat.
“Yeah.” Arthur turned to Eames who was laid partially out on the back bench seat, pale and looking pained. Someone had fixed a tourniquet around his bloodied leg, but Eames was strong enough to bat his hands away when Arthur went to examine the wound.
“Clean wound through the calf,” he grunted. “You may have to wheel me around for a bit, darling.”
“Bullshit,” Arthur said, and surprised himself with how his voice cracked. He took Eames’ hand, squeezing tightly. “You can survive on crutches.”
Eames’ lips ticked up at the corners. He glanced at the extra silver briefcase. “You brought Carson’s PASIV?”
Arthur nodded, and deciding that Eames wouldn’t need immediate medical attention, turned to his brother. Tom was holding Autumn’s hand as well, with almost white knuckled strength. The reflection of him and Eames, Tom and Autumn almost derailed Arthur’s thoughts for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and spoke.
“Here, this should be yours,” he said, indicating the PASIV. “The black market value for a second generation device like this is around one hundred thousand.”
Autumn gasped, but Tom was more hesitant, shaking his head. “I can’t…” he said, looking at the device with mixed emotions in his eyes. Fear and something else. Longing, perhaps. “I can’t. You take it.”
“I already have one.” Arthur set the briefcase down, deliberately under the seat.
Tom shook his head again but didn’t object. That’s when Arthur noticed his free hand was stuffed in his side-pants pocket, as if looking for something. Remembering his promise in the dream, Arthur reached into his own pocket and withdrew his totem. He felt Eames’ eyes sharply focused on him as he put it in Tom’s cupped palm.
His brother’s fingers closed around it and Tom gave a sigh, his shoulders visibly relaxing into a slump. “Thanks.”
“It’s not over with yet,” Eames said darkly, and at Arthur’s questioning look, said, “I’m certain the Muir got away along with most of the Cobol assassins. We still have Saito to contend with. Did you happen to extract anything interesting down there?”
Arthur and Tom exchanged a look.
“Just one thing,” Arthur said. “Autumn, how far are we from San Diego International?”
****
Saito woke to the smell of something sharp and pungent right under his nose. He blinked, and heard someone replace the cap of smelling salts as the world spun into focus.
“Welcome to San Diego, Mr. Saito,” said a deep, professionally clipped voice.
“San Diego?” Saito blinked again as the final bits of lassitude washed away and he recognized the man standing before him as Arthur. He was as rumpled as Saito had ever seen him - his hair falling out of its normal gel, and shadows of exhaustion under his eyes. Reflexively, Saito clenched his fist and felt the slight dig of his downturned ring against his palm - his personal totem. He was indeed awake, and still aboard his jet if his surroundings were to be believed. “I gave orders for this jet to land in Los Angeles.”
“It seems Petrox Green’s board of directors had other ideas. They paid off your pilot and many of your top level security to sedate you, take control of the jet, and reroute your flight.”
“For an extraction?” Saito asked, and felt a thrill of carefully controlled fear. “Or… inception?”
Arthur shook his head. “We have no direct evidence, but we believe they went through Cobol Engineering for the means to hire the same team Eames and I were looking for, with the purpose of… damaging your subconscious. Incapacitation.” He nodded behind him to where another man stood, half in shadow, carefully holding a gun on several of Saito’s security team - now bound and gagged. The rest of Saito’s team, those who were presumably loyal, seemed to be in the process of binding the rest.
“We had a man on the inside,” Arthur said, and at his slight smirk the shadowed figure took a step forward. It was not Mr. Eames as Saito had presumed, but… well, he was clearly not Arthur, either, being a shade thinner and even more ragged looking. He also did not hold himself like an experienced fighter, to Saito’s eye, but the resemblance was uncanny.
“Your brother, I take it?” Saito asked, and the other man nodded warily.
“I’m Tom. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Saito.”
Later, Saito would allow himself to feel the sting of betrayal from his security team. He was loyal to those who showed their loyalty to him - that even some of them could be bought of was deeply disturbing.
Now, however, he had to work with what he had in the present. “Than I believe I owe you my thanks.” He inclined his head towards Arthur as he spoke.
Arthur smiled tightly. “You hired us to do the job. Although I need to ask two favors.”
“Go on.”
“Eames was shot,” Arthur said, expression turning serious again. “It’s not life threatening, but I would prefer it if he was seen by a physician… discreetly.”
That was reasonable. “You may have access to my personal doctor.”
“Secondly,” Arthur’s hesitation was slight, but noticeable. “Tom may have made himself an enemy of Cobol Engineering. If there’s a price put on his head, I need it taken care of.”
“Consider it done.” Once Saito finally purchased Petrox Green, he would have the majority share of the energy companies within the Western part of North America. Persuading Cobol to drop a hit would not take much effort. “And if the price should be on your head?”
The tight, false smile was back. “I can take care of myself.”
More likely, he did not want to put himself too far within Saito’s debt - which was something that Saito himself could appreciate. The fact that he would do so for Eames and his brother, however, spoke volumes. Saito filed it away, as he did most points of interest with business associates. Arthur had shown himself to be an honorable man, both today and during the inception job. However, old habits died hard.
Saito stood and took a slow sweeping look at the seats around him. It seemed that his remaining security team now had the situation well in hand. He turned to Arthur and offered his hand.
“Until next time.”
Arthur’s handshake was firm and as rigidly professional as always. Tom, however, grinned almost jauntily and nodded his goodbye before turning to follow his brother out.
Saito decided it would be prudent to keep a quiet watch on both of them, should he need their services again in the future.
Epilogue
Fandom: Inception/500 Days of Summer
Pairing: Arthur/Eames, Tom/Autumn
Rating: R
Word Count: 8,200
Summary: "My brother, Tom, has been missing for three days."
Notes: Written for this prompt on the Inception Kink meme. Edited, beta checked (thanks Starlingthefool!) and reposted.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
*****
Arthur stood in a park.
He looked around, frowning. This was a place he recognized, a place he had been many times as a teen and which he knew Tom had been as well... which meant that his brother was building from memories. That wasn't good.
Glancing down at his watch, Arthur set the timer for two hours. Then he started walking.
He had been prepared for anything, but the overall atmosphere in the park was one of... tranquility. Arthur followed a bike path which curved through springy lawns and around groves of flowering cherry trees; soft petals drifting up away with the light breeze. The sun was high and warm overhead, the sky a deep, clear blue. A monarch butterfly drifted past, alighting briefly on a flower before moving on.
Arthur briefly paused at a bench overlooking what would normally be the city vista. Tom had shifted the cityscape, he noted with some amusement. The tall skyscrapers in the distance now looked like three jagged fingers reaching to the sky... the middle extended much more prominently than the rest. A manifestation of resistance, perhaps?
A passing bicyclist flew on by at top speed, so close Arthur felt the wind of his passing. In the distance, he could hear children playing - loud shrieks drowning out laughter. It seemed at odds with the sunny spring day: the projections were on edge, but not hostile. Not yet.
Arthur walked on, noting how the bike path doubled back without quite seeming to do so - trees and a few water features were placed to catch the eye, and draw attention away from fact that every route seemed to funnel into the same direction. It was neatly done, though the method was still a little transparent to Arthur's experienced eye.
Still, he let the maze guide him, knowing that the most attention would be paid towards the heart of it all. That would be where the trap would be sprung.
Two more bicyclists flashed by, one sneering a curse at Arthur to get out of the way or be run over. They curved down the path, disappearing into a thick, shadowed patch of trees. Beyond, Arthur heard the sound of babbling water - and an angry male voice.
Arthur increased his pace and soon passed through the barrier of trees to step into an authentic looking Japanese strolling garden. The area itself was alight with subtle green bushes. A small stream wound throughout and drained into a pond with flashing white and orange koi. A free standing wooden tea house stood off to the side.
Carson stood there, his back to Arthur, one meaty hand laying flat against the wooden wall of the tea house and jabbing the finger of his other hand in the chest of a slighter figure. The other man wore jeans and a dark gray hoodie, his head turned away as if Carson berated him, either unwilling or unable to look into his eyes.
"This needs to be perfect!" Carson snarled. "Anything out of the ordinary, anything at all and it'll tip him off. I saw that skyline! You think this is a joke?" Then Carson almost casually struck Tom upside the head. Tom staggered, shoulder crashing into the wall of the tea house.
Anger, dark and hot, bubbled up in Arthur's veins. Breaking into a jog, he made a beeline for them both.
"I want more fish in that pond," Carson continued, unnoticing. He pulled Tom back up to his feet by the scruff of his sweater, as if he were an errant puppy. "And get rid of that jungle-gym out in the first loop on the path. Kids are distracting and we don't need-"
Arthur came up from behind him and in one swift movement, locked his elbow around Caron's fat neck. The other man choked and tried to throw an elbow back, but Arthur was too quick, and, with a sharp kick to the back of his knee, knocked Carson to the ground. They fell together, but Arthur had a good lock on him and within moments Carson's movements slowed - stopped. He gave it a few more seconds to be sure, and released. He didn't want to kill him - that would only wake him up.
"Arthur?" The hoodie had slipped from Tom's head. His face was waxen, eyes bruised with exhaustion. He stared at his twin in a haunted sort of shock, as if he wasn't sure if he should embrace him or run for his life.
But there was no time for reunions. A woman screamed from the other side of the gardens - these were Carson's projections. They would be on the war path, soon.
Arthur glanced around. His eyes fell on the tea-house. "Does this have a way in?"
"Y-yeah. Around the back."
"Good," Arthur said, "Help me with him."
Together, each one grabbing Carson by the arm, they dragged the unconscious man around back and through the door. Once all three stood inside, Arthur closed the door and locked it.
"Are you a projection?" Tom wondered. "My projection?"
Arthur turned from the door to face him. "No," he said, keeping his voice quiet and firm. "I'm really here. I came under to wake you up and... Autumn's up there, too. We're going to get you out. You're going to be okay, Tom."
Tom shook his head, but it wasn't in denial. "Autumn's with you?" he repeated. "She's safe?"
"She's fine, but she's been worried about you." He hated the uncertainty in Tom's face, just as he had hated seeing it with Cobb - as if he wasn't sure, even now, if the world around him was real or a dream. So Arthur added. "We've all been looking for you... I couldn't stop her from coming along."
His brother took a step closer, looking intently at his face as if looking for a sign of deception. "Arthur?"
"It's really me," he confirmed.
This close, he saw the exact moment when Tom started to accept his words as truth - then the flash of anger that replaced uncertainty.
Tom punched Arthur, hard, in the mouth.
"Asshole!" he yelled, while Arthur staggered back, tripped over Carson's body, and landed flat on his ass. "They thought I was you at first! I almost got shot in the face! Then they dragged me back to their warehouse, threatened my girlfriend - this is what you do for a living? Huh?" He loomed over Arthur, fists clenched and shaking at his sides, face contorted into something ugly.
For an insane moment, Arthur wondered if he looked half as scary when he was really pissed off.
"Tom... no.." Arthur held up his hands in a gesture of peace, trying to stave him off as he got up. He could taste blood in his mouth and knew he had cut his lip on his teeth. "Not like this."
"Then what?! Do you know what they're going to do to that guy? Their mark?" Tom continued, as if Arthur hadn't spoken. "They're going to lead him through mazes I designed and trap him down in Hell for years - decades until he's completely insane. And then they are going to do the same to me." The last part came out broken, almost a sob. "I heard Muir and Carson talking about it when they thought I wasn't listening. He... he's going to leave me for you to find as a warning, because you screwed them over... and..."
He couldn't continue because Arthur closed the distance and grabbed him in a fierce hug. Tom stiffened as if to fight him off, but Arthur had conveniently pinned his arms to his sides.
Arthur said, "They're not going to do that to you, okay? I found you. You're going to be all right..."
"How do I know it's you?" Tom asked, muscles and sinew strung so tightly that Arthur could feel him trembling. "I thought things were real so many times and then I'd wake up." He drew in a ragged breath. "Carson got fed up once and took me outside, made me dig my own grave. I thought-I thought they were going to... but then I woke up. And they had Autumn... they put a gun to her head."
"Jesus, Tom," Arthur breathed. "I'm sorry. I never thought any of this would ever... I'm so, so sorry."
Tom didn't reply, but he didn't try to pull away either; his breathing hitched and silted as if he was struggling not to cry, and failing.
Arthur released his brother slowly, more than a little wary of being hit again, but Tom only stood there looking listless as if the outburst had taken the last dregs of his energy. Arthur turned his head briefly away to wipe damp streaks of his own off his cheeks.
He wondered, briefly, if he shouldn't just give him the kick now, but he'd spent years working with one of the greatest extractors of all time, and he had a good idea of how the mind worked. Catharsis, Dom had once told him, was a powerful process, easily underestimated.
It wouldn't do Tom any good to wake him, if he still doubted he was dreaming.
Arthur's hand fell to his jacket pocket and he withdrew his loaded die. "You need a totem," he said, uncurling his fingers to show his brother the die. "Remember this?"
Tom's brows knit. "Yeah..." he said slowly. "Las Vegas, right? I got one that landed on four or higher. Yours landed on the lower numbers."
"That's right. Roll it," Arthur said.
Still looking doubtful, Tom took the die. He didn't know - couldn't have known that it was the first time Arthur had let anyone touch it, not even Eames.
Tom bent and tossed it lightly across the floor. It landed on a six.
"I don't understand," he said.
"It's called a totem," Arthur explained. "It can be easy to lose yourself in a dream, so experienced dream sharers carry around little items to remind ourselves if we're asleep or awake. I'm the only one who knows the trick of that die, and as long as it ends up rolling on the wrong number, I know I'm in someone else's dream."
Tom didn't answer, but picked up the dice and rolled it twice more. A three and a five.
"When we're awake, I'll let you roll it again - you'll see." Arthur said, feeling a little desperate now with Tom's continued silence. His twin had always been prone to outbursts, swinging easily from one emotion to another. Seeing Tom now, unanswering and withdrawn, frightened him a little.
But Tom picked up the die for a fourth time and didn't roll it, instead clenching it in his hand. Then, with the air of a decision made, he slipped it in the pocket of his jeans and stood to face Arthur. "How about if I wake up, and it's in your pocket instead of mine, I know I'm awake."
"Yeah," he replied, relief flooding through him. It was a start. "That'll work."
Carson stirred slightly by their feet and Arthur had to fight the sudden urge to draw his gun and shoot him somewhere non-lethal but immensely painful. Or dream up a pack of wild hyenas and set them loose. Or-
Tom reacted with speed borne of fear, lurching towards a shadowed cabinet in the corner and withdrawing a familiar silver case. PASIV devices usually had extra vials of somnacin, and before Carson could do more than raise his head, Tom jabbed him viciously in the ass with a loaded syringe. Carson groaned and went quiet.
"You were going to lead Saito here and put him under again," Arthur said.
Tom nodded, looking sick. "Carson was going to change his appearance, make himself look like Saito's ex-wife. He proposed to her in a garden like this. It... was supposed to put him in a more retrospective mood - plant the idea of regret."
"And the second level?"
"Corporate building. We designed a scenario where his business is failing and his board turns against him. The regret plays in on that. There was supposed to be some kind of betrayal from within. They didn't tell me much about it, but I was supposed to hold up the second level while Muir took him under again."
The betrayal from within sounded ominous, and lent weight to the theory that Muir was planning to use Tom as a double for Arthur himself, while Carson forged a look-alike for Eames.
Tom glanced up suddenly, brows knit. "I never told you their mark's name, though. How did you know?"
"I've had dealings with Saito in the past, and he's a high profile target." Arthur checked his watch. Just under an hour had passed in the dream, making it about five minutes up above. "Tom," he said, "It's important that I find out what his exact plans are for Saito, and who hired him in the first place. You don't have to come," he added, seeing his brother pale. He withdrew his handgun and shoved it into Tom's limp hands. "Stay here and watch our bodies. If the projections find you, give yourself the kick."
"The what?" Tom rasped.
That gave Arthur a pause. "When you die in a dream, you wake up." The look of horror and disbelief on Tom's face spoke volumes. Arthur swallowed. "Of course... they wouldn't want to give you an easy way to escape back up. They never told you."
"You want me to shoot myself?"
Preferably, Arthur would have liked for Tom to shoot him awake first and then himself, but he had a feeling that wouldn't go over well either. "Yes."
"But if you shoot yourself... doesn't your mind make it real?"
"This isn't the Matrix," Arthur told him, rolling his eyes. "You just wake up." And the glare Tom gave him was so sour, so Tom that for a moment Arthur felt like they were teenagers again, arguing who was better - The Smiths or The Flaming Lips.
"Fuck it," Tom said, handing back the gun and rolling up the sleeve of his hoodie. "I'm coming with you."
****
When Arthur opened his eyes, he found himself in a light, airy room with round port-hole windows to the outside and a full length mirror set in the corner. He blinked and went through the process of tracing back how he had arrived there and what he recalled last.
"Never build from memories," he remembered telling Tom. "Always create new."
Tom had frowned at him. "Okay, but what do you need?"
Arthur had given him the very basics of what the extraction would require and then added, "As for the rest... surprise me."
He remembered the glint of challenge in his brother's eyes as they plugged themselves in - Tom with the architect line and the still unconscious Carson as the dreamer. Arthur took one of the guest lines, and pressed the plunger on the PASIV...
It had come back to him now. They were in the attic.
Arthur turned and caught sight of Tom looking his own attire over - the hoodie and ratty jeans were gone. Tom had cleaned himself up - still in jeans, but those were fresh and new. He'd complimented it with a two button sports jacket, and a dark tie. His hair was combed neatly back, though not as heavily jelled as Arthur usually kept his.
Tom caught his eye and gave a sideways smile, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing Arthur's totem. "Still asleep," he confirmed. "We're in the attic level. The party should be downstairs. So how do we do this?"
"You're going in as me," Arthur said, stepping to the mirror. He gave his own reflection a once over, and on second thought, removed his tie. "I'll be a man named Dom Cobb."
"I don't understand."
"Have you ever dreamed you're someone else?"
Tom started to shake his head then stopped, frowning. "Sometimes, if I fall asleep reading. But... you can do that?"
"Not normally," Arthur admitted. "It's a specialized talent, and I've known Dom for years so I think I'll be able to pull it off. There's a man named Eames - you'll meet him topside, he's guarding our bodies with Autumn. He can forge a person so easily it's like... art." He was facing his own reflection, and so caught the odd, wistful expression on his face. Quickly, he controlled it, but not before Tom noticed.
His eyebrows rose. "Eames, huh?"
"It's not like that," Arthur wanted to say, but that would have been a lie. It was. He just didn't want to hear one of Tom's tangents on love at that moment. "Yeah," he said, curtly, and concentrated on his reflection - remembering Dom's blue eyes. Eames always told him that, when forging, to start with the eyes. Windows to the soul, darling.
"How come I never heard of this Eames guy before now?" Tom asked, totally destroying all of Arthur's concentration.
He grit his teeth. "Why do you think?" he said, with a gesture around the room, meaning dream share... everything. "Besides, we've... It's only been a few months."
"This from the guy who told me one night stands are all anyone should ever need." Tom was nearly grinning now, clearly enjoying a rare occasion to tease his brother. "So, do you love him?"
"You tell me. You're the expert on love," Arthur snapped, his feathers thoroughly ruffled.
Tom just chuckled, but thankfully held up his hands. "Okay, okay."
Arthur faced his reflection and recalled Dom. Not as he had seen him last - oddly content and sharing beers with Arthur as they watched the children play in the back yard. But how he remembered working with him when he was on the run: the slightly manic glint in his eyes, as if he expected to turn a corner and see Mal there at any second because he just might still be dreaming.
What would it feel like to lose Eames like how Dom had lost Mal?
Arthur grimaced at that thought, and Dom in the mirror grimaced back at him: dirty blonde hair, his favorite slightly rumpled jacket, and the air of loss which hung thick around him like a cloud. He'd retained his same height and was an inch or two too short - he wasn't a professional forger after all - but Carson probably wouldn't be observant enough to pick up on that.
"Wow," Tom said, stepping back to take a good look at him. "You look a little like that guy from Titanic."
"Dom wishes," Arthur said, and was pleased when his voice came out a lighter baritone. He didn't know how long he could hold this up. It was time to get to work. "Do you have those folders I asked you about?"
****
Eames trussed Carson up as best he could, careful not to move the cannula while securing the man's thick arms behind his back. At least that way, should he wake early, he would at least be easier to control.
Autumn didn't move where she sat by Tom's side, biting her lower lip in worry. "I still don't understand why we can't just wake them up," she said. "What could Arthur do in just ten minutes?"
"Ten minutes to us," Eames corrected as he moved over to a nearby corner where piles of papers - receipts and schematics for a 747 jetliner among them - lay crumpled in a corner. These men were slobs. "It'll be two hours for them, down there."
She blinked and opened her mouth to ask another question.
And they both froze at the sound of a rusty hinges squeaking open downstairs.
Motioning for her to stay back and be quiet, Eames withdrew his handgun and scuttled to the top of the stairs to peer down.
"-make the grab in three hours," someone said, his voice bouncing around through the warehouse enough that Eames couldn't pin-point his exact location.
"We got everything covered on our end," said another voice, lower in pitch. "What was this about your architect?"
"Oh, you're going to love this," the first voice said.
The two men rounded the corner at the same time. The first was smaller with a pointed-nose and was still talking - Muir, Eames assumed, and he planned on shooting him first - repay him for a little agony he had put Tom -and Arthur- through. But Muir's deep voiced associate spotted him and drew first.
Eames shot, but he was already ducking away, and he knew without looking that the bullet went wide. Gunfire flew over his head as he landed flat on his belly.
"That's not your man?" the deep voiced man said, and must have received a negative because Eames next heard, "I'm calling for backup."
Eames knew without looking that his clip held fifteen bullets. He'd already used one. As he stepped back and took firm position between the stairwell and Autumn and the sleeping twins, he glanced at the PASIV timer. Five minutes to go.
He may not have that long, but he would give them as much time as he could.
****
The attic was equipped with a trap door built into the floor which led to the main level below. Arthur went first, wanting to get there before Tom in case the projections were already suspicious.
Fine, classical violin music spilled in the moment he began stepping down the ladder, along with quiet babble of people - no urgency in their tones. So far, so good.
Arthur was halfway down the short ladder, however, when a subtle rumbling shook the room. He stilled, and his hands which still gripped the rungs briefly blurred into his own until he reestablished focus. The problem with forging in dreams was that it required constant concentration and will. He didn't know how Eames did it.
Tom's head peeked over the trap-door. "What was that?"
"Something is happening above," Arthur replied, keeping Dom's voice stoic. Either their bodies were in trouble in the first level or, more likely, up top. If that was the case, he trusted Eames to handle it. Arthur jumped the last step, brushed off Dom's spotless slacks and gestured for Tom to follow.
The room they'd entered was actually a small utility closet, complete with a wash bucket and brooms. Arthur's eyes fell to a spider-web in the corner. It seemed Tom had an unusual mind for detail.
Tom, rather whimsically, used the railing rather than the steps to come down, and cocked an eyebrow at Arthur when he gave him a dirty look. Arthur knew his brother was nervous if not outright afraid, given the sheen of sweat blooming on his forehead - he was to confront Carson, who had tormented him for days, after all - but Tom was misdirecting, as he used to do when they were kids, by showing off.
Now was not the time.
"You're supposed to be me," he reminded him. "Get serious."
"I still don't get it," Tom muttered, though to his credit he squared his shoulders and frowned at Arthur rather darkly. "He's just going to confess everything to us, James Bond villain style?"
Arthur shook his head. "Dom Cobb has the reputation of being the best extractor in the business. Carson tried working for him once when he needed a forger - I was there, but Cobb turned him down because his methods were..." he trailed off, seeing his brother wince, and decided he didn't need to elaborate. "I'm willing to bet on some level he still wants to impress Dom. We can use that to our advantage."
Tom hesitated for a long, long moment, looking at Arthur as if trying to see right through him. "You act like your methods are different than Muir's."
"Because they are. Muir and Carson get results by pain and intimidation. They don't come much worse," Arthur said, bluntly. "Real extractors like the man I'm playing get information from misdirection, trickery. We don’t damage the mind."
"It's still theft."
"Yeah," he said and he didn't shy away from it. He had come to terms a long time ago that he was a criminal, and aside from his immediate family, everyone he cared about was as well. "It is." He paused, letting that sink in. "I'll understand if you don't want to do this - I'm Cobb's right hand man, and my absence would be noted if I wasn't there, but I can do this without you if I need to."
He was almost certain Tom was going to take him up on his offer. Arthur couldn't blame him - he'd been through hell over the last few days, and this business was not for everyone.
Then Tom lifted his chin, doubt solidifying into a steely sort of certainty that looked, honestly, a little intimidating.
"Lead the way, Mr. Cobb," he said.
*****
The utility closet led to a wider ballroom. A small stage took up one wide corner, elegant tables covered in what looked to be pristine white silk in another. It reminded Arthur of a wedding reception, although the projections around him seemed to be in the mood to gossip and socialize rather than celebrate.
With Tom by his side, Arthur wound his way around groups of talking people, returning curious stares with polite nods and keeping his eye open. More than one projection didn’t turn away after they passed, but stared after. They weren’t on alert yet, but the feeling Arthur got as he moved into the middle of the room was one of unwelcome.
This wasn’t like a proper extraction at all. It would be quick and dirty, and if they were lucky they would get something out of this.
Tom touched his arm briefly to get his attention. “Over there,” he said and pointed.
Carson stood by the bar with a flavored beer in hand, chatting up a young female server.
“We’re on,” Arthur said, and made a bee-line over towards him, his most charming smile on his face. He had watched Dom charm clients for years.
Carson’s expression was a mix of curiosity with just the under shadings of fear. “Dom Cobb,” he said, through lips that hardly seemed to move enough to form words. “This is… an unexpected surprise.” He nodded towards Tom. “Arthur. What is this about?”
Arthur smiled and returned the handshake offered. Carson’s hands were cold. “I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time?” He made a show of squinting around the room. “Could we talk somewhere private?”
“A job?” Carson asked.
“If you feel you’re up to it,” Tom said, and Arthur had to give him credit: there was a measured amount of disinterest in his voice, as if he couldn’t believe Cobb would come to this guy with work. It hit right at Carson’s ego - exactly as Arthur himself would have played it.
A cool, utterly false smile played across Carson’s face. But he beckoned Arthur and Tom forward, leading them to a shadowed table underneath boroughs of freshly cut wisteria.
The sound in the room was muted - more whisperings from the projections. They were becoming more on edge by the second as if on the verge of realizing that something was going on. Carson was a lucid dreamer by trade - he would not be fooled for much longer.
Arthur and Tom took seats across the table from Carson, and Arthur decided to come to the point. “We’re in need of a forger, a good one.”
“Is that so?” Carson’s smile turned into a smirk and he looked directly at Tom. “What happened to your butt-buddy?”
Tom stared across the table at this man - his tormenter - and didn’t flinch, although a stain of red crept up his neck. “None of your business,” he said, flatly.
“Eames is not available,” Arthur said, trying to recapture Carson’s attention. “It’s a quick job, one level.”
Carson leaned back and made a show of crossing his arms over his chest, clearly liking the idea of having the great Dom Cobb come to him for help. Drawing out the moment. “Sure,” he said, at last. “But I get my third of the deal, plus half of his.” He nodded towards Tom.
“Done,” Arthur said quickly, as if forestalling his point man before he argued. Tom shot him a look which luckily looked more accusing than confused, but didn’t say anything. Just returned to staring at Carson with a clenched jaw and barely concealed dislike in his eyes.
Carson chuckled. “Damn, you two must be desperate.” Again, his eyes fell towards Tom. “And a bad fuck if Eames finally wised up and left.” He turned back to grin at Arthur while Tom clenched a napkin in his fist. “So what’s the job?”
Arthur decided at that moment he didn’t care what damage it made or what it took: he was going to shoot Carson. In reality.
But this was his moment. He pulled a manila folder out of Dom’s vest and slid it across the table. “The mark is the CEO of a major multinational energy company.”
Carson’s fingers stilled for just the briefest of moments before he opened the folder. “Is that so?”
“Our client is a rival company who is the middle of being bought out - the board want blackmail on him, no matter what it takes.” Arthur continued, and then sunk in the proverbial knife. “We plan on buying out his security and making the grab on his own private jet. Simple and neat.”
Carson didn’t say anything as he opened the folder. There, before him was a schematic of what looked to be a private Leerjet. Saito’s private jet.
Arthur saw Tom lean forward in interest - he knew that the folder had contained only blank pieces of paper, before. Carson’s mind had filled it with details of his own job with Muir.
They only had a few seconds to take it in. The schematic, the list of names of people Muir had bought out, the airport the plane was being diverted to - San Diego International - and the time.
Then Carson slammed one hand upon the folder. “What is this?” he demanded, eyes wild as he looked around: a dreamer who was on the verge of realizing he was dreaming.
As one, all conversation in the room ceased and Arthur felt the gaze of a hundred angry eyes on him.
The knowledge that things were about the explode triggered an instinctive reaction to defend - to pull his gun and make sure those under his care were safe - it was part of the reason he made such a good point man, and such a lousy forger. The moment he stopped thinking like Dom, the illusion slipped.
Carson’s eyes widened as he stared at two identical men sitting across from him.
“No…” Carson whispered, realization burning in his eyes.
Arthur reached for the handgun by his side, but Carson was a faction faster.
Carson took aim and fired.
*****
Eames took aim and fired.
His aim was true - the first silly bloke at the top of the stairwell screamed and fell backwards, blood blossoming from the pale sports jacket he’d only seen Cobol Engineering assassins wear.
His mind worked quickly: how did Cobol fit into this? Were they behind the funding to take out Saito?
But he didn’t have much time to think on it as the next man decided to run up, firing wildly, and Eames had to quickly fall to his knees, to avoid a bullet to the throat. Autumn let out a short, truncated, scream from the back of the room where she sat with Tom and Arthur.
Eames returned fire - two shoots that missed and hit respectively. Goon number two went down, clutching his knee, and one more bullet finished him off.
Turning, Eames risked a glance over his shoulder to see Autumn with her hand clapped to her mouth as if she were horrified at her own shriek of fear. The three dreamers slept on: four more minutes on the PASIV’s count-down.
There was a slight lull in the activity below: he heard shouted orders below, the echo of thick boot heels striking flat concrete. It sounded like they were ordering themselves. Not good.
“Autumn,” Eames said calmly, “Please bring me Arthur’s gun. He usually keeps it to the left side.” There were no exits he could see, and if the amount of people on the first floor was accurate, their lives could be measured on the space of time it took for him to run out of ammunition.
Autumn did, though she looked extremely reluctant to leave Tom’s side. “What do we do?” she asked in a voice that only quavered a little.
Eames flashed her a smile he did not remotely feel. “Let’s just hope whatever Arthur and Tom find out down there is enough to get us out of this scrape, yeah?” He gave her a little push towards them. “In the meantime, get out your taser. You may need it.”
“O-okay." Hurrying back to the cot, she took one of Tom’s limp hands into her own. They were shaking hard enough to tremble the IV line.
An authoritative voice called up from below. “Who’s up there?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Eames called back, without pause.
“Our business is with Muir and the architect. You’re out numbered and outgunned. Surrender your weapons and you have my word that you can leave in peace.”
Eames snorted. That wasn’t bloody likely. He was a little unclear if Arthur still carried that price on his head from back before the Fischer job, but as soon as they figured out who and what they were, the only way Cobol would allow them to leave would be in pieces. That, or practically enslave them to work extraction jobs like Muir and Carson did with Tom.
“No deal,” he called, and stalling for time, added, “We’re working with Proclus Global. We received a tip this team was involved in a threat against one of our own. Just to give you a sporting chance - reinforcements are on the way.”
He heard a muffled, “Bullshit,” from a new voice below, quickly stifled.
The authoritative voice spoke again. “You’re not from Saito’s security team. We bought out his security team.”
And before Eames could answer, he heard a new gunshot - not coming from the stairwell, but right at his feet. In that instant, he knew his mistake: the men below used the sound of his voice to pinpoint his general location, and had simply pointed upward.
He threw himself to the side, but it was too late. Fire ripped through his leg.
****
The muzzle of Carson’s gun flashed and Arthur felt the impact of the bullet like a punch to the chest. The projections all around him shrieked in fear, and above that he heard Tom’s anguished, “NO! Arthur!”
”This isn’t real,” he wanted to remind him, but couldn’t seem to draw in enough breath to speak.
Another loud bang and Arthur saw Carson’s body crumple - he had eaten the bullet and kicked himself up awake on the second level.
“Arthur! Shit! Hold on… just hold on…” Tom looked broken as he reached over as if trying to somehow stanch the blood from a gaping hole just above his brother’s heart.
Arthur couldn’t draw in enough air to speak, his mouth so full of his own blood he could barely even breathe, but his legs still worked. He kicked Tom sharply in the knee, knocking him back down in his seat. Then, grabbing the back of Tom’s chair, Arthur tipped it backwards.
He caught a flash of Tom’s startled eyes as he fell. His body vanished before hitting the floor, snapped awake into the next level.
The room immediately started to crumple around him. The architect was gone and the dream was collapsing. Arthur shut his eyes, hoping he was killed by a falling beam before he drowned in his own blood.
There was a loud crash, a flash of crushing pain… and abruptly it gone and Arthur was opening his eyes, staring at the ceiling of the teahouse.
A desperate scuffling sound drew his attention: Carson and Tom were fighting for control of a handgun - rolling over and over. Even as Arthur sat up, pulling out his needle and ready to help, Tom got the upper hand, hitting Carson with a teeth-cracking right hook. Carson’s hand came up with the gun, but Tom knocked it away, hitting him again in the side of the head. This time Carson went down and stayed down.
Tom’s face was twisted in an enraged snarl, but that fell away when he looked up and saw Arthur sitting up, and apparently unharmed. “You’re okay?” he asked, and Arthur realized that he must have thought that Carson had killed him for real.
Arthur nodded. “I told you that you just wake up. Next time, just shoot me in the head and put me out of my misery.” He grimaced, resisting the urge to rub his chest where a phantom ache still lingered. “Bleeding to death sucks.”
Tom barked out a short, surprised laugh. “I can’t believe you do this for a living.”
He shrugged. “I-“
And that’s when the sound of gun-fire echoed through the room. The twins ducked on impulse, but instead of the sharp crack of normal gunfire it sounded… slowed down, stretched oddly as if coming at them from a long way off.
Arthur’s breath seemed to freeze in his chest. “That’s coming from up top,” he said. “We have to wake up. Hand me the gun.” And when Tom hesitated and Arthur snapped. “Autumn and Eames are in trouble. Give me the gun!”
That did it. “Okay,” Tom said low, still hesitant, but handed it over.
Arthur looked him straight in the eye. “Trust me,” he said, and aimed his shot right between Tom’s eyes. His brother crumpled, and Arthur put the gun to his own temple and squeezed the trigger.
****
Arthur heard the sound of more gunfire as he came awake - sharp and immediate. He blinked open his eyes just in time to see Eames fall.
"EAMES!" the name ripped from his throat, harsh and distorted. Arthur was up and running towards him the second the needle was out.
Eames was trying to scoot himself backwards, away from the bullet marked floor. Roughly, Arthur grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him backwards towards the far wall moments before a second round of fresh gunfire ripped through the rug, upward towards the ceiling where he had been a second before.
"Fine-I'm fine," Eames gasped, and shoved his handgun into Arthur's hands. "They'll be coming up second now."
It was impossible to know how bad the wound was - blood was staining the leg of Eames' right calf, but it only looked to be one hit. There wasn't time to treat it now.
Nodding, Arthur sensed someone at his back. It was Tom, his face thin and looking exhausted, but his eyes alert.
"We need to find a way out," Arthur said. "Preferably something other than shooting our way back downstairs."
"There's a fire escape out there. It should lead around to the back of the building,” Tom said, pointing to a window so grimy it was nearly impossible to see through, save for what looked like a shadowed railing.
Wary of being shot through the floor, Autumn minced over to the window and wiped her sleeve over it. Then, after squinting through the grime she turned back to them and nodded.
“Tom, get Eames out of here. I’ll cover your backs,” Arthur said, and when Tom looked rebellious he said. “This is what I do. Please, just go.”
“Better listen to him,” Eames added, wincing as he leveraged himself up with only one working leg. Tom helped him to stand, throwing Eames’ arm around his shoulder and taking his weight.
Arthur had an odd moment, seeing Tom and Eames standing together. He realized that he and Eames made a handsome pair.
The sound of footsteps hesitantly ascending the stairwell shook him back to the present. “Go,” Arthur said, turning with gun leveled. “I’ll be right after you.”
It seemed whoever was coordinating the men downstairs wasn’t sure if there were any casualties or not and were sending up a few men at a time. Arthur shot twice down the stairwell as warning and to give himself space, and grinned when he heard an answering cry of pain as one of the ricochets accidently struck a target. Good.
He bent to search one of several bodies that Eames must have downed and came away with an extra handgun, and then pay-dirt: two grenades.
Arthur had always hated Cobol Engineering ever since that first botched extraction, but at least they equipped their employees well.
Tom and Autumn had just got Eames outside to the fire escape, so Arthur worked to keep attention on him and the stairwell - shooting down there at random intervals to keep anyone from charging up. When he was low on bullets and five minutes had passed by his internal count, he picked up the first hand grenade, pulled the pin and lobbed it down.
Turning, he sprinted for the fire escape, hearing several panicked shouts behind him as the unlucky men downstairs realized what had just come down.
He paused just long enough to snap the PASIV case shut and grab the handle.
The explosion ripped through the warehouse, shuddering the thin floor. Arthur made a running leap for the window and caught the sill in one hand as the rusty support beams gave way and the floor lurched under him. Pulling himself up, he tumbled through the open window and out to the landing which led to the fire escape.
This side of the building was shadowed and led to a skinny alleyway, too narrow for even a car to fit in. It was no wonder the Cobol men hadn’t covered it - they probably didn’t notice it at all.
PASIV still in hand, Arthur climbed down the escape, but had to drop the last ten feet as the ladder ran short. He winced as he saw a bright smear of blood on the asphalt. From Eames, most likely, although Arthur couldn’t see them anywhere. He followed the small spots of blood he could see, glistening on the pavement - heart in his throat.
A sudden shout echoed behind him and Arthur ducked as bullets flew over his head. He turned down the next alleyway, past another abandoned warehouse. He came out the other side, looking right and then left and seeing empty road on either side.
Then, in answer to an unasked prayer, Autumn’s SUV roared into view.
Autumn was driving and she screeched to a stop right beside him.
“Go, go!” Arthur yelled, climbing in and shutting the door just as a bullet took out one of the back windows.
“Shit!” Autumn screeched, and punched the gas.
“Are you okay?” Tom asked, from his spot in the passenger seat.
“Yeah.” Arthur turned to Eames who was laid partially out on the back bench seat, pale and looking pained. Someone had fixed a tourniquet around his bloodied leg, but Eames was strong enough to bat his hands away when Arthur went to examine the wound.
“Clean wound through the calf,” he grunted. “You may have to wheel me around for a bit, darling.”
“Bullshit,” Arthur said, and surprised himself with how his voice cracked. He took Eames’ hand, squeezing tightly. “You can survive on crutches.”
Eames’ lips ticked up at the corners. He glanced at the extra silver briefcase. “You brought Carson’s PASIV?”
Arthur nodded, and deciding that Eames wouldn’t need immediate medical attention, turned to his brother. Tom was holding Autumn’s hand as well, with almost white knuckled strength. The reflection of him and Eames, Tom and Autumn almost derailed Arthur’s thoughts for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and spoke.
“Here, this should be yours,” he said, indicating the PASIV. “The black market value for a second generation device like this is around one hundred thousand.”
Autumn gasped, but Tom was more hesitant, shaking his head. “I can’t…” he said, looking at the device with mixed emotions in his eyes. Fear and something else. Longing, perhaps. “I can’t. You take it.”
“I already have one.” Arthur set the briefcase down, deliberately under the seat.
Tom shook his head again but didn’t object. That’s when Arthur noticed his free hand was stuffed in his side-pants pocket, as if looking for something. Remembering his promise in the dream, Arthur reached into his own pocket and withdrew his totem. He felt Eames’ eyes sharply focused on him as he put it in Tom’s cupped palm.
His brother’s fingers closed around it and Tom gave a sigh, his shoulders visibly relaxing into a slump. “Thanks.”
“It’s not over with yet,” Eames said darkly, and at Arthur’s questioning look, said, “I’m certain the Muir got away along with most of the Cobol assassins. We still have Saito to contend with. Did you happen to extract anything interesting down there?”
Arthur and Tom exchanged a look.
“Just one thing,” Arthur said. “Autumn, how far are we from San Diego International?”
****
Saito woke to the smell of something sharp and pungent right under his nose. He blinked, and heard someone replace the cap of smelling salts as the world spun into focus.
“Welcome to San Diego, Mr. Saito,” said a deep, professionally clipped voice.
“San Diego?” Saito blinked again as the final bits of lassitude washed away and he recognized the man standing before him as Arthur. He was as rumpled as Saito had ever seen him - his hair falling out of its normal gel, and shadows of exhaustion under his eyes. Reflexively, Saito clenched his fist and felt the slight dig of his downturned ring against his palm - his personal totem. He was indeed awake, and still aboard his jet if his surroundings were to be believed. “I gave orders for this jet to land in Los Angeles.”
“It seems Petrox Green’s board of directors had other ideas. They paid off your pilot and many of your top level security to sedate you, take control of the jet, and reroute your flight.”
“For an extraction?” Saito asked, and felt a thrill of carefully controlled fear. “Or… inception?”
Arthur shook his head. “We have no direct evidence, but we believe they went through Cobol Engineering for the means to hire the same team Eames and I were looking for, with the purpose of… damaging your subconscious. Incapacitation.” He nodded behind him to where another man stood, half in shadow, carefully holding a gun on several of Saito’s security team - now bound and gagged. The rest of Saito’s team, those who were presumably loyal, seemed to be in the process of binding the rest.
“We had a man on the inside,” Arthur said, and at his slight smirk the shadowed figure took a step forward. It was not Mr. Eames as Saito had presumed, but… well, he was clearly not Arthur, either, being a shade thinner and even more ragged looking. He also did not hold himself like an experienced fighter, to Saito’s eye, but the resemblance was uncanny.
“Your brother, I take it?” Saito asked, and the other man nodded warily.
“I’m Tom. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Saito.”
Later, Saito would allow himself to feel the sting of betrayal from his security team. He was loyal to those who showed their loyalty to him - that even some of them could be bought of was deeply disturbing.
Now, however, he had to work with what he had in the present. “Than I believe I owe you my thanks.” He inclined his head towards Arthur as he spoke.
Arthur smiled tightly. “You hired us to do the job. Although I need to ask two favors.”
“Go on.”
“Eames was shot,” Arthur said, expression turning serious again. “It’s not life threatening, but I would prefer it if he was seen by a physician… discreetly.”
That was reasonable. “You may have access to my personal doctor.”
“Secondly,” Arthur’s hesitation was slight, but noticeable. “Tom may have made himself an enemy of Cobol Engineering. If there’s a price put on his head, I need it taken care of.”
“Consider it done.” Once Saito finally purchased Petrox Green, he would have the majority share of the energy companies within the Western part of North America. Persuading Cobol to drop a hit would not take much effort. “And if the price should be on your head?”
The tight, false smile was back. “I can take care of myself.”
More likely, he did not want to put himself too far within Saito’s debt - which was something that Saito himself could appreciate. The fact that he would do so for Eames and his brother, however, spoke volumes. Saito filed it away, as he did most points of interest with business associates. Arthur had shown himself to be an honorable man, both today and during the inception job. However, old habits died hard.
Saito stood and took a slow sweeping look at the seats around him. It seemed that his remaining security team now had the situation well in hand. He turned to Arthur and offered his hand.
“Until next time.”
Arthur’s handshake was firm and as rigidly professional as always. Tom, however, grinned almost jauntily and nodded his goodbye before turning to follow his brother out.
Saito decided it would be prudent to keep a quiet watch on both of them, should he need their services again in the future.
Epilogue