Brick/Inception: Après Moi, le Deluge

[osaki_nana_707]

Title: Après Moi, le Deluge (18/24)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Brick/Inception fusion
Word count: 4,156
Pairing: later Brendan(Arthur)xEames, mentions of BrendanxEmily and BrendanxLaura
Rating: R
Warnings: currently violence, language, mentions of character death
Summary: Brendan should have known better than to tug on loose threads. He should have known that one loose thread was all it took to make everything unravel, but he’d been tired and just wanted things to be done. He should have known well enough that things were never done.

Special thanks to wadebramwilson for betaing! <3



EIGHTEEN

The others were wary to trust Laura, Charlie, and Russell. Brendan, for one, couldn't blame them, considering the circumstances, but he was still grateful that they'd been allowed to come along. Eames, Mal, and Cobb kept their eyes on them at all times however, just to make sure they didn't meet with anyone suspicious or make any phone calls to their supposedly ex-boss. Not one of them had a word of complaint about it, agreeing to share hotel rooms. Cobb and Eames were staying with the boys, while Laura bunked with Mal, sharing an attached suite with the boys. Their caution was understandable, but Brendan knew it was likely unnecessary. The three of them had risked life and limb to rescue him when he couldn't even guarantee their safety. He seriously doubted they'd go running back to the boss that made them miserable now. Things had gotten so chaotic that Johnny probably didn't know that the three of them were even still alive.

Brendan wasn't concerned, so he mostly stayed cooped up in his and Brain's room, behaving himself for the time being. If he refrained from throwing caution to the wind like he tended to, he'd heal faster. They would be going after John Wells as soon as they had a plan, that much was for sure, and he wanted to be in fighting shape. They had to strike before John did, so the sooner he was healthy, the better.

He spent a lot of his time asleep, and in the times he was awake he was constantly fiddling with his totem. Reality revealed itself each time, no matter how unreal everything seemed. It took him a few days to figure out why everything seemed so off kilter and incorrect, but when he realized the truth, he figured it should have been obvious.

Reality wasn't different when he woke up. He was.

It could have been a dream or a hallucination or any number of things, but Emily had told him to let go, and this time he had listened. He had let her go not because he wanted to but because he had no other choice, and now he was someone else. Brendan had been hanging on to Emily and her memory for so long and so strongly that now that he'd let go, he didn't really feel like his full self anymore.

It should have felt good to be free of that ache, but it didn't. It just felt… empty. Blank.

He'd put his heart and soul, his blood, sweat, and tears on the line for her, and now that he was alone, he didn't know what to do. He knew he was still fighting for something, but he no longer knew what. His friends, maybe, or his life… He hated how unbalanced he felt, like he was teetering over the edge of something extremely important and about to fall headfirst into it. Brendan had always been the man with a plan, but now he was just lost.

He couldn't talk to Brain about it. There was no way he would understand. He might have been Brendan's closest confidante, but there were still some things they would never be able to connect on. Brendan could put on an emotionless mask when it came down to it, but Brain really could become machinelike if he needed to. There was a reason why Brain didn't have many close relationships-he had no use for them. He'd never quite understood Brendan's hang-ups over Emily and would probably fail to understand why it was a problem. For Brain, the occasional emptiness was good. Brendan, on the other hand, found solitude a lot lonelier.

He certainly wasn't about to talk to Laura about any of this. She'd helped him get out of quite a jam, but that didn't mean he had forgiven her for her crimes. He doubted he ever would. Brendan no longer felt vengeful towards her, but trust had been broken between them the day he discovered he'd been her puppet. That bridge had burned, and there was no building it back.

The only other person who knew even a brief version of the tale of Emily was Eames. Hell, Eames probably even knew what Brendan was experiencing on some level considering his history with Antony (provided he wasn't still hung up on it), but he just wasn't sure how to breach the conversation. Things were eerily awkward between the two of them after the rescue. Brendan wasn't sure he knew what to think of Eames, considering the bizarre twists and turns their "relationship" or whatever it was had taken since they'd met.

He doubted Eames was the best person to go to for any kind of advice anyway. The man wasn't exactly wholesome after all. Besides, Brendan didn't like taking advice from others. For now, all he could do was just deal with it and try and figure things out for himself.

Brain had probably noticed Brendan's distance, his quietness and far-off gaze, but if he did he never commented on it. Brendan was grateful not to have questions hurled his way while he still didn't have any answers, but not everyone was so silent about Brendan's behavior.

Brendan had just gotten out of the shower and was moving back into the main part of the room when he jumped back with a hissed curse after spotting Laura sitting on the bed, legs crossed. He gripped the towel around his waist a little tighter, running a hand through his wet curls. "Is everyone going to see me naked before the end of this trip?"

"If you recall, I've already seen you naked," Laura reminded, leaning back onto her arms. "Besides, I've seen you in much worse a state than this."

Brendan snorted, digging his jeans and a clean pair of underwear out of his suitcase. "You want to maybe tell me what you're doing here?"

"Checking up on you. You haven't quite been yourself since everything went down back in London. It's not my place to ask, and I don't expect you to tell me anything anyway, but I just wanted to make sure that you're all right."

"Because you care about me?" Brendan asked skeptically, dropping the towel and sliding into his clothes.

"Maybe," she replied, but when his expression told her he wasn't buying it, she added, "but we're also walking on eggshells here. Things are tense. A war seems imminent, and you're sort of the troop leader. I just wanted to make sure your head was still in the game."

"In the end, you always are looking out for yourself, aren't you, angel?"

She didn't seem offended, instead curling a corner of her mouth upwards and responding, "Someone has to."

Brendan sat down next to her on the bed to put his socks on, not looking at her. "Don't worry about me. I'll be ready to fight when I need to. Whatever I've got going on with myself is for me to solve on my own time. I'm not going to let a bunch of people take a fall because of it."

She nodded. "So, those contact lenses suit you. I can see your face better."

"Doesn't work well for anonymity."

"It does if the ones you're up against already know what you look like. How about I give you a haircut?"

As Brendan sat in a chair in the middle of his hotel room with a sheet tied around his neck, he couldn't help but remark, "Considering our history, it doesn't seem like the best idea to let you come near me with a sharp object."

"These aren't even that sharp," Laura replied absently, snipping away at his curls. "Just hold still. I'm no expert at this, but I did well enough with my own hair."

Brendan couldn't help but stare back at her when she crouched in front of him to check the evenness so far. With her face free of makeup, she looked younger, less dangerous. She was just a child herself, no older than he was, rabidly fighting for what she believed was hers. Her actions were less than ideal, even unforgivable, but in the end she had only been trying to survive. He would never be able to condone her methods, but… well, he could understand them, at least a little.

"You know, the blonde is growing on me a bit," he said as she moved to his side to even up her trimmings.

"That's too bad, since once all this is over I'm changing it again."

"You planning on changing your hair and your name and then ride off into the sunset in search of something else?"

"I don't want to do this anymore. I'm tired of fighting to survive. I'm tired of all these horrible decisions and all the consequences. I just want to start over."

"You make it sound as mundane as going to the grocery store."

"For someone like me, it is… but I'm done running. Once Johnny's in a pine box or whatever, I won't have any ties to all of this. I could use a little bit of quiet, you know?"

"It won't last," Brendan said. "This kind of world has a way of pulling you back in."

"Only as long as you have ties and the desire to hunt," Laura said. "I just want something normal. I'm getting out. If the bulls find me, if I end up in Mexico, who knows? I'm going to just let things happen. I don't have it in me to keep it up. I've fought hard for my life, and I intend to make use of it now that I've got it."

Brendan was silent while she fetched an electric trimmer from the table and started buzzing the hair from his neck. "You know," she said, "you can come with me if you want. We could try our hands at the domestic thing."

"Sorry, doll, but I'm in a bit too deep now. I've still got ties, and if it all works out, then I still will. Domesticity was never an option for a guy like me."

"Can't say I'm surprised by that answer," she said, taking the trimmer to his sideburns. "You and me, we'd never work, would we? You can't trust me not to pull another fast one, and I can't trust you not to send the bulls on me at the first sign of trouble. Still, it's sort of nice to pretend sometimes."

She stepped back, shutting off the trimmer, sighing with a solemn smile. "You know, I genuinely did like you, Brendan. I always saw you… but that's all finished now, and I can accept it." She ran a hand over his sheared hair, combing it with her fingers. "Someone's going to cherish you someday, you know?"

Brendan swallowed, heart aching with familiarity. "That's what I keep hearing," he mumbled. When her expression narrowed in confusion, he dismissed it with, "Never mind. How's it look?"

"See for yourself," she said, brushing the hair off of his shoulders before untying the sheet and letting him up.

He got out of the chair and wandered into the bathroom. It was definitely short, shorter than he'd ever had it. With the curls shorn off, his hair looked darker, and he found it a bit odd to be staring back into his own face. He couldn't help but feel like the rest of his old self had died, leaving him staring at a complete stranger. It was something he would have to get used to, definitely, but… well, maybe this would get him on the right track to figuring out just who he was now.

"So? Not too bad, right?" Laura called from where she was rolling up the sheet from the floor where the chair had sat, tossing it into the hamper for housekeeping to pick up later. "It's not perfect, but it should grow out all right. You definitely look like a different person."

"Yeah," he said as he shuffled out, leaning against the doorway. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," she said, dusting her hands off. "Just… you know, make sure you take care of yourself, all right? Whatever it is you've got going on in that head of yours, don't let it keep you from eating or sleeping or anything. We need you in tip-top shape."

"I know."

She started to walk towards the front door but stopped in front of him, just to cup his face in her hand. "I know I've said it before, but… I'm sorry, Brendan. For everything."

"I know you are," he said softly. "I'm sorry I can't forgive you for it."

She nodded, gaze at the floor. "I understand." She ran her hand through his hair one final time, mussing it a little, and then she was gone.

Brendan flopped onto his bed face first, burying himself in the pillow, and he hoped that when he'd told Laura he could handle his own problems, he was telling the truth.

It wasn't just his life at stake now. It was everyone's, and they were counting on him to help. He didn't want to fail them after they'd all worked so hard to save him. He just wished he knew what to do.

Brendan awoke suddenly from a nap a few hours later, still lacking in any kind of answer to all of his questions. He rolled over onto his side, grunting, in an effort to go back to sleep, but then there was a knock at the door. Well, that explained what had woken him in the first place.

Brendan rolled his die across the bedside table as he'd gotten in the habit of doing whenever he woke up, then pocketed it, grabbed the pistol he left next to the alarm, and went to find out who was waiting outside. He checked the peephole first, gun held ready next to his head, then sighed, unlocking the door and turning the knob.

Eames sauntered in, smelling quite strongly of the casino downstairs and probably just a dab too much cologne to hide it.

"Mal doesn't like it when you smell of cigarettes and booze and body odor?" Brendan asked, scrunching his nose up a little.

"Mal doesn't care because she can play with the best of them but her boyfriend and current roommate isn't quite so-oh."

Brendan realized Eames was staring at him. It took a minute for him to remember that he looked a lot different than when Eames had seen him last. Brendan had been holed up in his room since their little talk in the lobby, so it was probably a bit startling.

Eames recovered as flawlessly as he always seemed to, smiling. "Well, don't you look spiffy?"

"What do you want, Eames?" Brendan asked flatly, shutting the door.

Eames nodded towards the gun in Brendan's hand. "Didn't expect you to be packing heat."

"We can't be too careful right now."

"Very true. That's actually why I've come around. Mal asked me to check up with Brain and see if he'd gotten any bites on the lines he put out over the net."

"Not so far," Brendan said, setting the gun back down on the nightstand. "It's been quiet. Probably a little too quiet, honestly. He's been following up on some new leads, but for the moment he's downstairs winning small amounts of money off of the slots he's hacking into just in case we need some cash to get away on."

"Why not just give himself a jackpot?"

"Draws too much attention."

"You think he could teach me how to do it?"

"He could, but he won't. A genius is a lot like a magician. He never reveals his secrets."

"Ah, well, a non-genius like myself would doubtfully understand them, yeah?"

Brendan snorted, scratching a hand over his hair. He still wasn't used to it. "I wouldn't know. I still don't know how smart you really are."

Eames laughed a little, sitting down on Brain's bed and digging out a cigarette. Brendan rolled his eyes and snagged it away, pocketing it. "Are you trying to get us kicked out of the hotel? There's no smoking in the rooms."

"So?" Eames scoffed. "They wouldn't kick us out for the right price."

"Then smoke in your own room. Considering I'm just now getting my lungs to work right again, I'd rather not damage them anymore."

Eames's brow furrowed a bit, but he didn't complain further. Instead he asked, "I'm sorry, are you angry at me for something?"

"What? No," Brendan said. "I just already told you what you wanted to know so I don't know why you're still here."

"Then why won't you look at me directly?" Eames asked, casual and light but Brendan could sense there was something more just below the surface. He could feel it in the way that Eames took hold of Brendan's wrist, gentle but firm. "You've been up here for days and haven't said much of anything to anyone. What's going on in that head of yours, hm? This is standoffish even for you."

"How would you know that?" Brendan asked quietly, staring at the floor. "You barely know me."

"Now is when I remind you that my number one skill is reading people. You're not quite as good at keeping things to yourself as you think you are, love."

Brendan chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before turning to look at Eames with a sigh. "What do you want me to say, Eames? I spent days being tortured to death in dreams so I'd give all of you up, got shot, nearly drowned and froze to death, and I'm supposed to be all right now? Is that what you want, for me to be hunky-dory? Well, I wish. My head's still screwy. It's going to take a hell of a lot longer than that."

He hadn't exactly meant for it to come out that way, turning away and scrubbing a hand over his mouth, a little embarrassed by the way his voice had trembled at the end.

"I'm the first one to ask you, aren't I?"

Brendan didn't answer, sniffing. He couldn't hide underneath his hair anymore. That was probably why Laura had cut it so short. She was pretty adept at reading people too, after all.

"No one needs to know what it was like," Brendan said. "It's not like it'll make a difference. In the end, they found the information or I gave it up, I don't remember, I don't know anymore… All anyone has to take from that is that I have a breaking point."

He hadn't realized how badly all of this had been bothering him until now, standing before Eames and feeling like he'd taken a knife to an old wound and split it back open, letting Eames see it bleed.

Eames stared up at him, expression carefully stony, hand still wrapped around Brendan's wrist. "Everyone has a breaking point. Not many people could have withstood something like that for so long and so relentlessly. I imagine it wasn't days for you, was it? Up in reality it might not have been even that long, but down below you endured months of it, probably parts you've blacked out completely. There are things so brutal you can't even face them, not yet, maybe not ever… and you woke up a different person than you were."

Brendan took in a shaky breath, staring down at Eames. "How do you… how do you know that…?"

Eames didn't have to answer for Brendan to hear it loud and clear. He could see it in his eyes.

"They tortured you too once."

"Of course they did," Eames said, as if it was nothing. "After Antony died, I went after all of them, guns a'blazing, but I was foolish, got caught, and spent several months in one of their makeshift torture chambers."

"What did they want?" Brendan asked.

"That's the worst part, mind," Eames sighed, hand loosening from Brendan's wrist to squeeze his fingers instead, thumb brushing over the back of his knuckles. "They didn't want anything from me. There was nothing I could say to get them to stop. Eventually I just had to fight my way out just like I fought my way in. I convinced some people to help me, like you did, but no one was there to save them. I saved myself but there was nothing I could do for them… but from that point on I knew I couldn't let their lives go in vain. They saved my life, and I made a vow to take down John Wells and his entire bloody operation, even if I had to spend the rest of my life, taking it one fucking step at a time. Too many people have fallen victim to his power trip, and I won't stand for it…"

Brendan couldn't believe Eames had actually admitted something like that. Eames wasn't exactly the most forthcoming type, and to trust Brendan with that kind of information was probably difficult for him. Brendan knew that because he was the same way. He never would have admitted it to Eames or even to himself if it weren't for Eames's scrutiny.

Brendan was silent for a few moments, and then asked hesitantly, "You had an opportunity to go after him, but… but instead you're here. You jumped over that bridge to save me, even though it was likely we both would have died. Why change your mind?"

Brendan hadn't exactly expected an answer, but apparently Eames wasn't done being obliging. "Because I saw myself in you. Always have, but especially on that bridge. Even through it all, you still wanted to live. You had promises to uphold. You're stubborn, just like I am. It's almost like we're different sides of the same coin, yeah? I just… I knew that I couldn't let you die, not like that. If you're determined to die, then you will, but I'm not letting you leave the world without the satisfaction of Johnny's head on a pike."

Brendan nodded, sporting a faint smile. "That's selfless of you, Eames, really."

"Your condescension is palpable, darling."

"No, I… I mean it," Brendan said honestly, sitting down on the bed next to him. "I really mean it. Thank you… for saving me and for giving me the chance to bleed that bastard. I don't consider myself a ruthless guy, but… him, I… I really want to take him down. He's hurt and killed too many people, and he's threatened my friends, and it's about time he got knocked down off of his pedestal."

Eames smiled, ducking his head. "Good, good. That's the spirit."

Brendan turned away from Eames to look out the window. The sky was clear blue, Emily's favorite color. "I let her go, by the way… The person I couldn't save. I forgave myself, and I let her go."

"Nothing to be done for a dead person," Eames said, sliding a hand up through Brendan's hair. "Good on you, mate. She'll be at peace now. Maybe she'll keep Antony company, wherever we go when this is over, if there is a place. They can complain to each other about what complete tossers we were."

It hurt to smile, but in a good way. Brendan dragged his hand up through Eames's hair too, and both of them just sat like that for a few minutes, chuckling to themselves.

When the laughter had died down, Eames's arm slid around Brendan's shoulders instead, while Brendan's arm fell back to his side. "I know you're not all right," Eames said. "No one would be. I'd be far more concerned if you were fine, I assure you… Just… don't think you have to solve all of this on your own. There are people you can talk to if you need to. This icy façade of yours that you're using to push everyone away, it's only going to hold up so long. That friend of yours that you're bunking with is keeping his distance because he thinks it's what you need, I know it from the way his shoulders were set when he left an hour ago, but now's not the time to hide. You'll drive yourself mad."

"I know, I just… I need some time to sort it out… When this war is over, maybe then, but I just… can't deal with all of it right now."

Eames just shook his head in wonder. "If I didn't know it for sure, I could swear you were a soldier. The military would absolutely love you."

"I doubt that," Brendan smirked. "I sort of have a problem with authority."

"Good point."

Eames tugged on Brendan a little, and Brendan found himself falling against Eames's shoulder, head pillowed there. "You'll be all right," Eames said. "In time, you'll be all right."

For once, Brendan believed him.

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