#18 - Diplomacy, for zoi_no_miko
Title: Diplomacy
Recipient: zoi_no_miko
Author: sobota
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Saito/Eames preslash
Word count: 1580
Warnings: implied violence
Eames is always the only person in the room who could pronounce his name correctly at all times.
Eames wears a heavy, unfashionable gold watch and strange patterns just as well as he wears a thin gold watch and his favourite Dunhill suits.
Eames jokes through his dying, jokes throughout the inception plan, even jokes as they stand in queue at the International Arrivals of LAX. His mouth issues forth funny little quips but his eyes are narrowed, sweeping the room.
So when Saito calls him six months after the Inception, it is no surprise when the first words out of Eames's mouth are, "Saito-san, you must be as bored as I am."
"Not bored as such," Saito says. "How did you know it was me?"
"Zero-seven-five followed by seven digits is a Kyoto prefecture number. I don't generally have many friends in Kyoto." Eames says easily. "To what do I owe this very distinct pleasure? Am I taking down another company that you don't like?"
"Mister Eames, really. I could just want the pleasure of your company."
Saito hears and feels Eames's deep chuckle. "The pleasure of my company," Eames repeats. "Am I coming to Japan then?"
"I will send a plane for you."
And that is exactly what Saito does.
//
Saito watches as Eames handles each increasingly complicated entrée with all the finesse of a fine gourmand. Eames wears his suit well, and his cufflinks are expensive. He still wears that silly heavy gold watch. He drinks his saké carefully, and answers all the silly parlour game questions with aplomb, his English accent never marring his Japanese. Eames, Saito decides, would look good here.
Saito touches his elbow, and Eames's eyes alight on Saito's face. "All this for the pleasure of my company?" Eames demurs, taking another sip of his saké and contemplating his next entrée. "Or are you fattening me up to serve for breakfast tomorrow?"
"It would take too long to cook you," Saito replies, sliding his fingers up Eames's arm and squeezing his expansive shoulder. Eames shifts his arm, and Saito can feel the muscle tense and relax. "It would be...satisfying, however."
Eames narrows his eyes and reaches out to pick up one of his bowls. The way Eames handles his chopsticks was almost delicate, careful, and Saito watches Eames's mouth.
//
"I have not been entirely truthful with you," Saito says as they sit in Eames's room, legs akimbo as they play a very fraught game of backgammon. Those who do not think backgammon could be fraught have never watched two hard-wired competitors play.
Eames contemplates the board. "Mmm?" he says softly before moving his piece. "So there is a reason I'm here as your kept man, then?"
Saito sits in still repose at Eames's words. He can feel Eames's eyes watching his face, but then he watches Saito's fingers on the board.
"I need you to kill someone," comes Saito's response, as if from very far away.
Eames excuses himself, and walks out of Saito's flat. Saito sits in silence, looking at the board.
Eames was winning.
//
"It's been a very long time since I've killed a man. Longer still that I've killed a man at somebody's bidding," Eames says later, as they sit smoking cigars at the CASK cigar bar. Saito is pleased to see Eames in another expensive suit, a very staid grey wool, obviously bespoke.
"I would like to know the name of your tailor," Saito says instead.
"Can't have him," Eames replies, shifting against the expensive leather of the sofa. "I keep him chained in my basement. Besides, if I ever let him go I'll have a hell of time trying to find someone that can fit my beast of a neck."
Saito reaches out, lets his fingers trail over Eames's collar. "Would you actually kill for me?"
Eames smiles around his cigar. "Saito, I would have your children, damn the biology, if the price were right."
//
Saito gives Eames the information he needs. Eames does not take notes, just nods occasionally as Saito details the man's comings and goings, and ideas as to when would be the best time to strike.
"Why have you not asked why I want him dead?"
"It's not important, is it?" Eames says, looking critically at his nails. He looks up at Saito. "You obviously want him dead. I'm not having a moral crisis about it, if that's what you're worried about."
"What happened to you?"
Eames's brow furrows. "'Fraid I don't understand the question, Saito-san."
"I mean..." Saito fiddles with his cufflinks, and Eames watches his fingers. Saito didn't quite know what he meant, anyway. "Something has changed."
"Ah, yes..." Eames sighs. "Many things have changed, Saito-san. I'm sorry if I am no longer the man you remember."
"Were you ever the man I remember?"
Eames smiles.
//
He kills the man. And the men who were with him. He thanks Saito, and is off on the next plane ride home. Saito does not accompany him to the airport to bid him farewell.
He calls Cobb. "Eames...?"
"What about him? He was Arthur's contact, not mine."
"Yes, but we all became close."
Cobb snorts. "You can't get close to a man like Eames. He is what he is. He's a thief, a forger, and most of all, a diplomat."
"What do you mean by that?" Saito has a feeling he knows, but Cobb's theories are good for contemplation. Cobb has a lot of time to think of everything, what with being in retirement and all.
"He becomes what you need him to be, without you even knowing you need it. He's the king of compromise. He was the one that solved our...hmm...problem. He was there to smooth over Arthur's and my fight. He was there to teach Ariadne about the dirtier parts of dream sharing, and he brought us Yusuf. All things for all people. That is a successful diplomat."
"So less James Bond and more..."
"He is what James Bond should be," Cobb says. "Are you looking for him?"
"I found him once. I feel..." Saito had never had trouble articulating before, but Eames was a problem. "I feel that I have lost him."
Cobb makes a noise low in his throat. "Maybe you never had him at all."
//
Eames has made it difficult to find him. Saito has to dig deep until he finds him in Germany. It's December by the time he finds Eames at the Nürnberg Christmas Market, the biggest one in Germany. He's sitting in a tent, bright red gloves wrapped around a steaming mug of mulled wine.
"Eames," Saito says, and Eames starts, looking up at him, smirking.
"Saito-san," Eames says, bowing his head. "Have another job for me?"
"Not at all," Saito replies, going to buy his own mug and sitting with Eames. "Buying Christmas gifts?"
Eames nods. "Seems so." He looks at Saito. "And you?"
"I seem to have made a mistake in my recent past."
"Is that so?" Eames takes a sip of his wine. "Has that ever happened before?"
"If it has, you will never hear me admit it."
Eames smiles, showing a line of crooked teeth. Saito had never seen him smile with his teeth before. It was charming, another little flaw that strengthened Eames's armour, adding a little more to the picture Saito had of Eames in his head.
"So," Eames says, almost sighing. "You need help finding an apology?"
"I'm not sure if an apology will work in this instance," Saito muses.
"You'll never know until you try." Eames is looking at Saito, appraising his face. His winter coat is thick and black, and the scarf is plain and grey. The red gloves seem a little startling, but definitely more in keeping with Eames's usual sartorial choices.
Saito sips at his wine.
They sit together, quiet. Eames smiles into his mug.
"When you've figured it out, come and find me." Eames finishes his wine, and before Saito can say another word, Eames has vanished into the crowd.
//
It's summer again by the time Saito finds Eames again, this time in Monaco. Eames is at a high roller poker table, and introduces himself as Michel Friot. His accent is Belgian, and he speaks French with the dealer, making a very off-colour joke about armadillos.
Saito watches Eames as they play, and Eames is watching everyone except him. Saito assumes--probably correctly--that Eames knows all of his tells. Eames, as far as Saito can make out, has no tells.
"Friot is one of my favourite identities," Eames says later, as they enjoy drinks out on the veranda. "He's a good fit, charming and just a little bent. Makes it easier to flirt my way to a high roller table." Eames rarely talks about his identities. Saito feels that this exchange is important, but he can't fathom how.
The air is balmy, but moving, and Eames is once again in a bespoke suit. And still wearing that unfashionably heavy gold watch.
"That watch..."
"My grandfather's, God rest him," Eames replies. "Sentimental, and more than a little bit of a tell."
"Do you ever take it off?"
"To shower, and when it's necessary." Eames looks at Saito, taking a sip of his jack-and-coke.
Saito sighs. "Apologies are difficult."
"I forgave you a long time ago."
Saito looks out at the glittering night. He takes a sip of his martini.
Something loosens in his stomach, and his shoulders relax.
It's an obvious tell.
Recipient: zoi_no_miko
Author: sobota
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Saito/Eames preslash
Word count: 1580
Warnings: implied violence
Eames is always the only person in the room who could pronounce his name correctly at all times.
Eames wears a heavy, unfashionable gold watch and strange patterns just as well as he wears a thin gold watch and his favourite Dunhill suits.
Eames jokes through his dying, jokes throughout the inception plan, even jokes as they stand in queue at the International Arrivals of LAX. His mouth issues forth funny little quips but his eyes are narrowed, sweeping the room.
So when Saito calls him six months after the Inception, it is no surprise when the first words out of Eames's mouth are, "Saito-san, you must be as bored as I am."
"Not bored as such," Saito says. "How did you know it was me?"
"Zero-seven-five followed by seven digits is a Kyoto prefecture number. I don't generally have many friends in Kyoto." Eames says easily. "To what do I owe this very distinct pleasure? Am I taking down another company that you don't like?"
"Mister Eames, really. I could just want the pleasure of your company."
Saito hears and feels Eames's deep chuckle. "The pleasure of my company," Eames repeats. "Am I coming to Japan then?"
"I will send a plane for you."
And that is exactly what Saito does.
//
Saito watches as Eames handles each increasingly complicated entrée with all the finesse of a fine gourmand. Eames wears his suit well, and his cufflinks are expensive. He still wears that silly heavy gold watch. He drinks his saké carefully, and answers all the silly parlour game questions with aplomb, his English accent never marring his Japanese. Eames, Saito decides, would look good here.
Saito touches his elbow, and Eames's eyes alight on Saito's face. "All this for the pleasure of my company?" Eames demurs, taking another sip of his saké and contemplating his next entrée. "Or are you fattening me up to serve for breakfast tomorrow?"
"It would take too long to cook you," Saito replies, sliding his fingers up Eames's arm and squeezing his expansive shoulder. Eames shifts his arm, and Saito can feel the muscle tense and relax. "It would be...satisfying, however."
Eames narrows his eyes and reaches out to pick up one of his bowls. The way Eames handles his chopsticks was almost delicate, careful, and Saito watches Eames's mouth.
//
"I have not been entirely truthful with you," Saito says as they sit in Eames's room, legs akimbo as they play a very fraught game of backgammon. Those who do not think backgammon could be fraught have never watched two hard-wired competitors play.
Eames contemplates the board. "Mmm?" he says softly before moving his piece. "So there is a reason I'm here as your kept man, then?"
Saito sits in still repose at Eames's words. He can feel Eames's eyes watching his face, but then he watches Saito's fingers on the board.
"I need you to kill someone," comes Saito's response, as if from very far away.
Eames excuses himself, and walks out of Saito's flat. Saito sits in silence, looking at the board.
Eames was winning.
//
"It's been a very long time since I've killed a man. Longer still that I've killed a man at somebody's bidding," Eames says later, as they sit smoking cigars at the CASK cigar bar. Saito is pleased to see Eames in another expensive suit, a very staid grey wool, obviously bespoke.
"I would like to know the name of your tailor," Saito says instead.
"Can't have him," Eames replies, shifting against the expensive leather of the sofa. "I keep him chained in my basement. Besides, if I ever let him go I'll have a hell of time trying to find someone that can fit my beast of a neck."
Saito reaches out, lets his fingers trail over Eames's collar. "Would you actually kill for me?"
Eames smiles around his cigar. "Saito, I would have your children, damn the biology, if the price were right."
//
Saito gives Eames the information he needs. Eames does not take notes, just nods occasionally as Saito details the man's comings and goings, and ideas as to when would be the best time to strike.
"Why have you not asked why I want him dead?"
"It's not important, is it?" Eames says, looking critically at his nails. He looks up at Saito. "You obviously want him dead. I'm not having a moral crisis about it, if that's what you're worried about."
"What happened to you?"
Eames's brow furrows. "'Fraid I don't understand the question, Saito-san."
"I mean..." Saito fiddles with his cufflinks, and Eames watches his fingers. Saito didn't quite know what he meant, anyway. "Something has changed."
"Ah, yes..." Eames sighs. "Many things have changed, Saito-san. I'm sorry if I am no longer the man you remember."
"Were you ever the man I remember?"
Eames smiles.
//
He kills the man. And the men who were with him. He thanks Saito, and is off on the next plane ride home. Saito does not accompany him to the airport to bid him farewell.
He calls Cobb. "Eames...?"
"What about him? He was Arthur's contact, not mine."
"Yes, but we all became close."
Cobb snorts. "You can't get close to a man like Eames. He is what he is. He's a thief, a forger, and most of all, a diplomat."
"What do you mean by that?" Saito has a feeling he knows, but Cobb's theories are good for contemplation. Cobb has a lot of time to think of everything, what with being in retirement and all.
"He becomes what you need him to be, without you even knowing you need it. He's the king of compromise. He was the one that solved our...hmm...problem. He was there to smooth over Arthur's and my fight. He was there to teach Ariadne about the dirtier parts of dream sharing, and he brought us Yusuf. All things for all people. That is a successful diplomat."
"So less James Bond and more..."
"He is what James Bond should be," Cobb says. "Are you looking for him?"
"I found him once. I feel..." Saito had never had trouble articulating before, but Eames was a problem. "I feel that I have lost him."
Cobb makes a noise low in his throat. "Maybe you never had him at all."
//
Eames has made it difficult to find him. Saito has to dig deep until he finds him in Germany. It's December by the time he finds Eames at the Nürnberg Christmas Market, the biggest one in Germany. He's sitting in a tent, bright red gloves wrapped around a steaming mug of mulled wine.
"Eames," Saito says, and Eames starts, looking up at him, smirking.
"Saito-san," Eames says, bowing his head. "Have another job for me?"
"Not at all," Saito replies, going to buy his own mug and sitting with Eames. "Buying Christmas gifts?"
Eames nods. "Seems so." He looks at Saito. "And you?"
"I seem to have made a mistake in my recent past."
"Is that so?" Eames takes a sip of his wine. "Has that ever happened before?"
"If it has, you will never hear me admit it."
Eames smiles, showing a line of crooked teeth. Saito had never seen him smile with his teeth before. It was charming, another little flaw that strengthened Eames's armour, adding a little more to the picture Saito had of Eames in his head.
"So," Eames says, almost sighing. "You need help finding an apology?"
"I'm not sure if an apology will work in this instance," Saito muses.
"You'll never know until you try." Eames is looking at Saito, appraising his face. His winter coat is thick and black, and the scarf is plain and grey. The red gloves seem a little startling, but definitely more in keeping with Eames's usual sartorial choices.
Saito sips at his wine.
They sit together, quiet. Eames smiles into his mug.
"When you've figured it out, come and find me." Eames finishes his wine, and before Saito can say another word, Eames has vanished into the crowd.
//
It's summer again by the time Saito finds Eames again, this time in Monaco. Eames is at a high roller poker table, and introduces himself as Michel Friot. His accent is Belgian, and he speaks French with the dealer, making a very off-colour joke about armadillos.
Saito watches Eames as they play, and Eames is watching everyone except him. Saito assumes--probably correctly--that Eames knows all of his tells. Eames, as far as Saito can make out, has no tells.
"Friot is one of my favourite identities," Eames says later, as they enjoy drinks out on the veranda. "He's a good fit, charming and just a little bent. Makes it easier to flirt my way to a high roller table." Eames rarely talks about his identities. Saito feels that this exchange is important, but he can't fathom how.
The air is balmy, but moving, and Eames is once again in a bespoke suit. And still wearing that unfashionably heavy gold watch.
"That watch..."
"My grandfather's, God rest him," Eames replies. "Sentimental, and more than a little bit of a tell."
"Do you ever take it off?"
"To shower, and when it's necessary." Eames looks at Saito, taking a sip of his jack-and-coke.
Saito sighs. "Apologies are difficult."
"I forgave you a long time ago."
Saito looks out at the glittering night. He takes a sip of his martini.
Something loosens in his stomach, and his shoulders relax.
It's an obvious tell.