out of the frying pan (and into the fire) part six
OUT OF THE FRYING PAN (AND INTO THE FIRE) PART SIX
word count: 4,33O
Becoming part of an international crime organization was a lot less glamorous than Arthur had anticipated. The underground dreamshare program was miniscule. With six PASIVs circulating, there were only so many team permutations possible. Six PASIVs meant six teams. From what he gathered, Arthur calculated an average of three or four members per job: an architect, a chemist, a point man, and an extractor, and few jobs required a chemist onboard permanently.
Recently, rumors had been circulating, mainly coming from Britain, about a fifth addition, a forger, one who could apparently take on new faces in dreams. Arthur kept a watchful eye on the rumors, but he doubted they would amount to much. So far, all of the reports had stated that none of them were very realistic, or could hold the changes for longer than fifteen minutes.
It was hard to calculate the exact number of people in the dreamshare realm precisely for that reason. It was easy for people to come in and drop out unannounced, barely seen, virtually unheard of, but they came in for a job and then disappeared. There were a lot of shams, as well, people who saw a seemingly easy few bucks, only to be sorely mistaken. The clientele was still sparse, and the payout not always as grand or generous as they had become used to. Cobb said it would only be a matter of time until the more wealthy caught wind of the technology. Then the stakes would become interesting.
Then there were the conmen. Men who had made a reputation and career by trying to take off with the PASIV the moment everyone's eyes were averted.
It was exhausting work, distrusting everyone.
Arthur, Cobb, and Mal quickly got a reputation of a trio who actually trusted each other. They tried to only work with each other, but every now and then, they had to take on a new addition to the team, usually when Mal had to go back to France, and it usually ended in disaster. The newcomer saw that unconditional trust Cobb and Arthur had long ago perfected and became resentful, feeling like a third wheel. They were the most dangerous, acting like a spurned lover.
So they stuck to only working together, except when it absolutely couldn't be helped.
This time, however, was not one of those times, which was why Arthur was so surprised when Cobb came to tell him that their fourth member would be arriving sometime that afternoon.
Mal had gone back to France to pick up the PASIV they'd left in her father's care. The timer had been acting up lately, and it was a priority to get it fixed. They also had been running low on Somnacin, and Mal could also get her fill from her father. Arthur knew they had to find their own chemist soon. They could hardly earn a name or a reputation for themselves if they kept relying on Daddy's connections to get them by. But Cobb wanted to hold out a little bit longer. It would be career suicide getting Somnacin from an individual provider without knowing what they would put into it.
Arthur was meditating on this, wondering which of their last partners had been the least distasteful who could possibly recommend a half-way decent chemist who wouldn't poison them and run off with the cash, when Cobb approached him.
"Got a new guy coming in this afternoon."
Arthur frowned. "What for?" Mal was running the extraction, this time around, to let Cobb handle the architecture for once. Arthur, as always, was on the research.
"He's a forger. Apparently, the only one who's any good, for the moment. He can-"
"I know what a forger does, I've heard the rumors," Arthur snapped, irritation at not having been consulted on the matter starting to claw its way up. "Anyway, we don't need a different face in this one."
Cobb gave a mild shrug. "It's good to try out new elements, especially on low-key jobs when the stakes are low."
Arthur gritted his teeth. "Fine. I don't need to tell you then that we'll need to keep an extra eye on this guy. If he's sleazy enough to change his appearance in the dream, just imagine how questionable his motives could be in reality. What's his name?"
"I-" Cobb closed his mouth, and then frowned. "Well, actually, I don't think she told me. Mal just booked him, apparently. She called from the airport to tell me. He should be arriving in the late afternoon."
Arthur groaned. He hated it when Mal and Cobb went off on their own accord for such matters. They knew he preferred to meet potential partners on neutral grounds before disclosing the location of their current headquarters to them. They had rented a small warehouse, a good distance from either of their rooms, for work. Mal always claimed it was such a waste of time. If the temporary additional team member was in fact shady, they could always just stalk them and find out where they lived in the end. So Mal always snatched any opportunity to bypass that step.
"Fine," Arthur finally growled at Cobb. "But he better be on time. I'm not waiting around for him just to show up."
He was late.
Arthur waited around anyway.
He mumbled something about not having finished some paperwork when Cobb casually mentioned the time to him.
It was growing dark when Cobb said he was popping out to get them coffee. Three minutes later, Arthur heard a hummed greeting behind him. He had been so absorbed in his paperwork, with fatigue tugging at the corner of his eyes as he hadn't gotten much sleep lately, that he hadn't even heard Cobb's usual heavy-footed steps. He spun around, stretching out a hand for the coffee.
"That was fa-" The words died on his lips as he finally lifted his head away from his desk to stare at Cobb.
Only, it wasn't Cobb. It was Eames, standing a few feet away from him with a bulging duffel bag slung over one shoulder. His hair was disheveled, his horrible yellow shirt with some kind of circle design on it was wrinkled, and he looked exhausted. And about just as surprised as Arthur, although Arthur doubted Eames felt the same punch to the gut that made it hard to breathe and his head spin as a burst of longing, stronger than he'd felt in years, coursed through him. Eames hadn’t been anything more than a voice on the phone for three years now; actually seeing him again felt too surreal to properly process.
Arthur swallowed, throat dry and tongue pasty. He had to say something. He wondered if maybe he was dreaming, had plugged himself up to the PASIV, but he couldn't reach for his die, and a quick rerun in his mind found no blanks as to how he had gotten anywhere in the last day. Besides, he had never dreamed of Eames. Arthur had compartmentalized him too well for that. He had wanted to forget how he'd ever felt in Eames' presence. And it had worked. Up until now, and suddenly it was all coming back.
Eames was the one who finally spoke. "You're Mal's Arthur."
It seemed like such a ridiculous thing to say. Of course Arthur was Mal's Arthur, but it broke the spell, and Arthur collected himself and stood, because he could not tolerate Eames looking down at him like that. He felt stronger when he saw Eames' eyes rise along with his body. They were the same height. Arthur had grown since the last time they'd seen each other, he realized with a burst of satisfaction.
"You're late." He felt very proud of himself for managing to keep his voice steady, although he didn't know what to do with his hands as Eames' eyes did a once-over of Arthur's body. Arthur wondered what he thought of the transformation. Arthur was all suits and slicked-back hair and professionalism now. If he marveled at what Arthur had become, or if he regretted having missed out on what had been a gradual metamorphosis.
Eames made a guttural noise in the back of his throat. "Traffic. There was an accident on the highway."
Right. The air around them was heavy and awkward, and Arthur wished Cobb was here to take over the conversation. Then he realized all the explaining he would have to do if that had been the case, and was glad Cobb had stepped out after all. "So, you're a forger." It wasn't a question, but Eames nodded all the same. "How long?"
"Only recently. It's a bugger of a skill to nail down."
"I mean, how long have you been in dreamsharing?"
Eames heaved his shoulder and looked past Arthur's, reluctant to answer. "A few months after I got back to London? It just sort of... happened," he added, with a tinge of what may be an apologetic tone.
Arthur's heart clenched painfully. He felt betrayed. He hadn't told Eames because they had already broken up. He would have told him if it had happened earlier. But it wasn't the same, a side of him bitterly justified. Eames had already made it clear that he didn't want much to do with you as soon as he left.
"Right. Okay," he inhaled sharply. He had to be the bigger man here.
"Arthur, I tried-"
"It's fine," Arthur cut him off sharply, but his chest was tight and his arms wanted to stretch out toward Eames. Hearing his name said like that - a plea, almost - was almost too much to bear. It would do no good to talk about the past now. Arthur would have to work at separating the old Eames from this new one, this new one who had filled out nicely around the shoulder and who had developed the firm muscles that eighteen-year-old Eames had only just started forming when he'd left, but Arthur could only do that by moving forward in their conversation. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Eames. You'll be meeting my partner soon enough."
Eames' mouth twisted around the word, "Partner?"
Arthur blinked at him. "Of course. You didn't think I'd be alone, did you?"
Eames' mouth opened and then closed again, a firm line. Arthur couldn't read him at all. Of course, that was nothing new.
That's when Cobb stormed back in, opening the door with his same force and lack of discretion. "Here's your Ristretto double shot Cinnamon Spice Mocha. You ready to head home? I hardly think that he'll be here anytime soon. We could grab a bite to-" That was when Cobb kicked the door shut, and finally looked up from the two cups he was holding and saw Eames.
"Cobb, meet Eames, our forger. Eames, this is Cobb."
"Hi, Eames," Cobb greeted politely enough, oblivious to the tension in the air as he walked over to Arthur and handed him his coffee with a small smile and a pat on the shoulder.
Eames' eyes never left Cobb, and after a few seconds of Cobb staring expectantly at Eames, he finally bit out: "Cobb's your boyfriend? The slob?"
"What?" Arthur almost yelled, and Cobb sputtered out his coffee beside him. Arthur's mind churned as to how Eames could have come to this conclusion, and then realized that Eames was completely and utterly stupid. Arthur straightened his shoulders out. "That's none of your business," he snapped, preventing Cobb from replying.
After a few beats of silence, Cobb finally tentatively suggested that they all go home. Or in Eames' case, to the hotel room they booked for him two blocks down, and they could fill Eames in on the case the next day.
That was how Eames spent the first half of the job believing Cobb and Arthur were an item. Arthur didn't bother to dissuade him of the illusion he had basically implemented, and Cobb, after confronting Arthur once they had dropped Eames off at the hotel ("That's Eames? Your Eames? Fuck."), after Arthur had politely but quite coldly told him he didn't want to talk about it, meekly went along with the charade. He didn't outwardly encourage it, but he didn't set Eames straight either, for which Arthur was indefinitely grateful.
The tension, however, was palpable, helped none in the least by the petty game Eames set up for himself, seeing how far he could push him before Arthur snapped.
The game went like this: Eames did something to irritate Arthur, and Arthur, unable to hold himself back as was always the case with Eames, who had always known how to get under his skin, retorted on a greater scale. Eames would prod him with a verbal jab that hit too close to home, so Arthur would 'accidentally' stab him with a pen with a jerky movement when Eames was standing too close. Or Eames mixed up a pile of documents that Arthur had taken great pains to color-code and arrange alphabetically, so Arthur blocked Eames out of his computer so Eames couldn't access the files on the victim, and lost a day's worth of work which resulted in Cobb yelling at him for being so petulant and provoking Arthur. Then he told Arthur off for being so petulant as to let himself be provoked by Eames and enable him in his activities.
Arthur didn't delude himself that this was jealousy on Eames' part. Although he didn't have the longest track record in relationships, as it began and ended with Eames as far as he was concerned, he knew better than to believe Eames still wanted him.
Then Mal returned with the PASIV. "So she's the famous Mal, huh?" Eames wondered aloud, forgetting himself in Arthur's presence in a moment of intrigue as he watched Mal stroll through the room with purpose, handing the repaired PASIV over to Cobb with great care. It was starting to look more like the sleek technology that it was, now, and less like a pile of knotted wires.
"I suppose so," Arthur mumbled in reply, gathering up the files he needed Mal to look over.
He stood just as Mal leaned over to kiss Cobb in a manner that was a smidgen inappropriate for a working place environment.
"W-what is she doing?" Eames choked out, eyes wide and hands braced on the arms of his chair as though ready to propel himself from his seat.
"Kissing him. She is Cobb's girlfriend, after all," Arthur replied easily, as he left Eames to stare dumbly after him before the information registered and he bellowed:
"WHAT?"
**
The job was relatively simple. The client was certain that he had been fired from his job because of his cancer. He wanted proof of his former employer's dishonesty, but he didn't want a big scene. He just wanted his job back. They were cheaper than lawyers, and more discreet than a private investigator.
The plan was for Arthur and Mal, posing as employees of the firm, to discuss the recent layoff of the employee, and their client, Harisson Cane. This would happen at a time their boss, a partner of the firm and their mark, Josh Coutlee, walked by. Coutlee thought he was on his way to an improv meeting with another partner of the firm, forged by Eames.
With Cane on his mind as he entered the meeting, the folder Eames had asked Coutlee to bring up with him would be subconsciously filled with the transactions of the discussion between Coutlee and his partner, in which they had decided which pretext to fire Cane under that was the most plausible.
It was a straightforward job, and they honestly hadn't needed Eames to play the part, but Mal had wanted to test out the new forger on the market before anyone else claimed him. Of course, at that time, Mal hadn't known the forger was Eames.
Eames must have given Mal another name, his dreamshare alias perhaps, because she was beyond shocked when she discovered who he was. She became icy toward him from that moment on, refusing to speak to him unless absolutely necessary, and taking apparent pleasure in shooting down any idea with the smallest visible flaw in it.
Arthur was sure one of them would snap and kill the other, but they had managed to get through the planning phase without any casualties, and there was no reason the job should fail. Mal and Eames had absolutely no interactions.
After the job, Arthur was packing up the warehouse, rolling up the blueprints of the firm and the file he'd put together on Coutlee's biography and work schedule, when Eames showed up beside him.
"I thought everyone had left," Arthur told him, moving to the other side of the desk so they wouldn't be too close together.
"I did call you that day," Eames said by way of answering.
Arthur looked up from his tidying, surprised. He didn't have to ask what Eames was talking about. Over two years had passed, but he didn't think he would ever forget that day, even if he lived to stop loving Eames. He wanted to be the better man about it, smile and wave it off like he'd gotten over it. Instead, he blurted. "You really didn't. I waited all day-"
"You'd stepped out, for class," Eames pointed out.
"Bullshit. I had my cellphone on me. Besides, Cobb was home all day."
"Yeah, I know," Eames snapped, "because I talked to him. Look, my cell had died, and it was too expensive to call yours from my home phone, so I called your dorm. Cobb said he'd pass the message."
Arthur remembered Cobb's excitement. Arthur hadn't known it then, but that had been the day Miles had arrived with the PASIV. And remembered the way he hadn't heard Arthur asking if anyone had called. Maybe he had remembered later, but hadn't dared to tell Arthur. Or maybe he had never remembered at all. "He didn't," he admitted with a sick feeling in his stomach. Then, he pulled himself together. "But that hardly matters. You never called anyway. I could never get a hold of you, and when I did, you could never speak."
Eames' guilty look told Arthur he was right on the mark. "I couldn't do it anymore. I was always waiting and hoping, and I was always disappointed. You were never there, Eames."
Eames waited a beat, and then he said, "I'm here now," softly, like a promise. Like the sweetest promise Arthur had ever wanted to hear.
Arthur sometimes forgot how young he actually was. He felt like he had lived half a lifetime already. High school and university already felt a universe away, though he had only left the latter a year ago. In that time, he had committed suicide, been murdered, been tortured, stolen dreams, stolen secrets, and made enough money to pay back his loans twenty times over. He'd felt old. Until Eames had shown up again. Now he had never felt so young.
Eames stirred uneasily under his silent gaze. "I got scared," he said, to justify himself or to fill in the silence, Arthur wasn't sure. "It was so serious, between us, and it was going so fast, and I was scared of people finding out and what they would say." He snorted. "So, I ran. Fuck, Arthur. I regretted it before the plane even took off, but it was too bloody late by then. I met up with my old mates in London. I never told you, but that's why we left England in the first place, my mates. Creepy, sleazy guys from the poor side of town. I got into dreamsharing pretty quickly after that. I wanted to tell you, I really did, but I didn't know how you'd react. You were always so anal about rules and regulations. I thought it'd be better if I avoided you."
They'd moved closer, but Arthur wasn't sure who had been the one to take the steps. They were facing each other on the same side of the desk, but Eames had a faraway look in his eyes, remembering the past. Arthur didn't dare interrupt him.
"Then, the job went south, and I called you to tell you I would contact you when I got back. But that fucker Cobb answered instead, said he'd pass on the message. When I got home, I got a very different message waiting for me." Eames' mouth twisted in a downward grimace. "I didn't know what he'd told you, or if you were just fed up with waiting. Can't say I blame you, really."
His look became sharp then, focused, and Arthur could tell he was looking at him again.
"I want to try again," he said, firmly and sure of himself.
Arthur's heart fluttered. "What about when you go back to London. What then?"
"There's nothing for me in London," Eames replied instantly. "I don't need to go back."
"I-I don't know." He couldn't be hurt like that again. Arthur could take anything, physically, but he was scared of losing his emotional sensitivity if Eames disappointed him again.
"There's someone else?"
"No." Arthur didn't tell him that there had never been anyone else, not emotionally, anyway. "But-"
Eames didn't wait to hear what he had to say. Instead, he leaned over, cupped Arthur and pulled him in, kissing him firmly on the mouth.
It was the best argument Arthur had ever heard; he couldn't contradict it. He melted into the touch, body sliding up again Eames' automatically, like it had been so used to doing once. The papers he had been holding had slipped out of his grip, and he brought a free hand to grab Eames' shirt to pull him closer, deepening the kiss until it turned dirty and they both panting against each other, hips angling toward each other.
"We can't," Arthur panted, pressing his palm flat against Eames' chest to push him away. He licked his swollen lips, and the glazed look of lust in Eames' eyes sent a surge of hot mercury to his groin. "We can't do it here."
"My hotel room is two blocks away," Eames muttered, leaning in to catch Arthur's mouth again, arms wrapping around his waist to pull him in.
Arthur twisted out of his hold. "Let's go. Now," he said, pausing only to grab the keys to lock the building.
Eames was hot on his heels.
Arthur woke to the low drone of the television. His body ached pleasantly when he turned onto his back. Beside him, Eames was sitting up, one leg dangling off the bed, the other slipped underneath the sheet, which covered him up as high up as his thigh. The contentment over his sated body was not an unfamiliar one, but the lurch in his heart and the uncontrollable desire to grin up at the man beside him was a feeling Arthur had not experienced in years.
"Mmm, dimples," Eames muttered, as he let out a billow of smoke and leaned down for a slow kiss.
"That's a two hundred dollar fine, you know," Arthur said when they separated, nodding at the cigarette held between two fingers.
Eames smiled wily down at him. "Is it, now? Bugger for Joshua Montgomery, then. If he exists and they contact the poor sod."
Arthur should have felt affronted at the trouble coming the innocent man's way, but he was too happy, and too much of a conman himself now, to feel aggrieved for someone he didn't know. Instead, he laughed, straddled Eames and leaned down for a kiss. Eames complied eagerly, putting out the cigarette on the dresser to his right and cupping Arthur's ass with warm, large hands.
"It'll be different this time around, pet," Eames was whispering in Arthur's ear, as he brought his hips up, slowly creating a wonderful friction against their bare erections. The slow pace was tortuous, and Arthur's head spun with want, mind urging him faster instead of listening to his words. "No more sneaking around. No more secrecy. It'll be just like you wanted."
That's when the meaning registered, and Arthur slammed Eames back against the headboard and fear drowned out his lust. Eames cursed as his head banged against the heavy wood behind him; he had not been expecting that.
"What the bloody hell, Arthur?"
"No," Arthur said, his mind still a bit hazy, but his heart racing with the need to correct Eames. To lay things out clearly. "This time won't be any different than the last, Eames. No one can know about us. Not in the business we're in."
Eames frowned. "Come off it. Mal and Cobb are doing just fine."
Arthur snorted. "They're so bloody discreet you wouldn’t have even know about if Mal hadn’t kissed Cobb right in front of you. And she probably only did that because Cobb must have filled her in about your stupid delusion believing me and him were a couple."
"That's-" Eames started, but Arthur cut him off.
"But that's not the point. The point is that we're going to be making a lot of enemies, and we can't be the first out gay couple, not with the people we'll be around."
Eames heaved a sigh, obviously displeased with what he was hearing. Arthur smiled ironically at the reversal of their opinions. "We have to make our mark first. Show how good we are, be respected."
Arthur rolled his hips against Eames'. "Deal?"
Eames groaned, but it was more in arousal than anything. "You didn't offer me a deal, you little rascal." But his arms were wrapping around Arthur's back anyway. He flipped them over, pinning Arthur on his back effortlessly with his weight. Arthur could flip him off easily, if he wanted, but he let Eames believe he had him trapped. "But have it your way." His eyes burned as he leaned down, and Arthur grinned, his own eyes slipping shut before the distance was bridged.
part seven...