Fic: Bloodless - 1/6
Master post of all chapters here.
Chapter 1: Mneme, The United Federation of Lunar Colonies, Moon
“It’s been a long time.”
“Yusuf, old chap.” Eames stilled, drink hovering in mid-air between the counter and his mouth. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“One in the afternoon and you’re three sheets to the wind already?” Out of the corner of his eye, Eames could see Yusuf lifting a wrist to check his watch. It gleamed in the light, sleek titanium that matched the crisp wool suit he wore--ensemble complete down to his shined shoes and black tie. If it weren’t for the faint note of disdain in Yusuf’s voice, Eames wouldn’t have recognized him at all.
“Merely two sheets in,” Eames corrected as he brought his glass the rest of the way up to bump against his lips, his teeth. “Certainly not far enough for you to be a figment of my alcohol-addled imagination-which leads to the logical and yet highly improbable conclusion that you’re actually here and speaking to me of your own free will.”
Yusuf regarded him for a long moment with eyes free from any chemical haze, and Eames wondered what else had changed in the last three years. “I suppose neither of us thought this moment would ever come.”
“And what exactly is this moment?” Eames took another sip of his cognac, taking comfort in the familiar burn. “I assume you didn’t come here to play catch up with me.”
“No jokes first, Eames?” Yusuf asked, and he looked almost surprised. “No back and forth parrying and banter?”
Eames’ lips curled into a bitter half-smile. “I think you and I are a little bit beyond that now.”
“I suppose we are,” Yusuf replied quietly. "That's a thing that partners do."
“Partners,” Eames echoed, and the word felt strange on his lips. Being on his own-Eames supposed he'd gotten used to it. Or at least, as used to being lonely as anyone could get. “You look good, though. Sharp.”
“Healthy living.” Yusuf smiled, but there was something sad in it. “And a decent day’s wage.”
“Gone private, have you?” Eames swirled the remaining trickles of cognac around the bottom of his glass. “Money’s better, even if nothing else is.”
“Of course I have.” Yusuf smoothed down the front of his jacket, jarring loose in Eames' mind the memory of Yusuf pulling his badge out and sliding it across the Commissioner’s desk. “You saw to that, didn’t you?”
“There’s other work out there,” Eames replied, but it was weak and they both knew it.
“Not for people like us.”
"People like us," Eames echoed. "You mean Blade Runners or heartless bastards?"
Yusuf smiled thinly. "Dealer's choice."
"Right." Eames finished off the last of his drink. “I'm not interested in chasing down Replicants that have gone off-programming anymore--I’m a private investigator now.”
“Because taking pictures of cheaters and hookers is such an elevation.”
“Less blood on my hands,” Eames said, already weary and wondering why Yusuf had come.
“There's no blood when they aren’t people.” Yusuf's voice was sharp, unforgiving. “Isn’t that what you once told me?”
"Well, it's been a lovely chat, truly, but-" Eames turned back to the counter and signaled for another drink, "If you'll excuse me, I'm about to get well and truly shit-faced."
"I'm here to offer you a job."
“I’m out of the business,” Eames replied immediately. "I have clients now, you know. Clients who only sporadically pay, but clients all the same-"
"You should take this offer," Yusuf said. "The money's better and your clients can find some other goon to not pay."
"Probably. But I'm old and I'm tired, Yusuf." Eames bowed his head. "Running isn't my game anymore."
“And there’s nothing that could persuade you?” Yusuf persisted. “Not even the chance to free the fair maiden from Cobol?”
Eames closed his eyes. “What do you know about it?”
“I know that she’s the only reason you're not sleeping in a box somewhere,” Yusuf said. “I’d imagine not everyone gets so lucky with their ex-wives.”
Eames took the fresh glass of cognac and downed half of it in one swallow. “This job will wipe the slate clean? For both of us?”
“Everything you owe and more,” Yusuf promised.
Eames finished the last of his drink, then stood. He resisted the urge to put his hands in his pockets, to finger the chip that lay heavy and solid in his trousers. “Are we to work together again?”
“No,” Yusuf said as he led the way out of the bar. “Proclus Global will be supplying you with a partner.”
“You’re telling me the galaxy's leading supplier of Replicants is hiring Blade Runners?” Eames raised an eyebrow. “And you’re one of them now?”
“They have an excellent benefits package,” Yusuf said blandly. He led Eames around the back of the building to a parking lot taken up entirely by a private airship emblazoned with ‘Proclus Enterprises’ across the side. “If you live long enough to use it.”
“You’re simply the headhunter then?” Eames asked, watching a ramp descend.
Yusuf shrugged. “I’m not any good at the running game without a partner. Neither of us are.”
“You could find a new one.” Eames started towards the ramp and then stopped when he realized Yusuf wasn’t following.
“After you?” Yusuf’s smile was brittle. “I don’t think I’ve got it in me anymore.”
Eames took a tentative first step up, and then looked back. “Are you even going to tell me where I’m going?”
“To the spacedock and then back to Earth,” Yusuf said. “It’s where Proclus headquarters is located and where the rogues have fled to.”
“Will I be seeing you again?” Eames called out once he reached the door to the airship.
“I suppose that depends on you.” Yusuf shrugged. “Try to avoid betraying any more of your future partners, will you?”
“Can’t make any promises, I’m afraid,” Eames said to himself as the door closed with a quiet click behind him.
Tokyo, Japan, Earth
The airship dropped Eames off in a courtyard at the bottom of a towering skyscraper. The words, 'Bringing energy to life' flickered across its face, alongside images of picture-perfect families running together through idyllic fields of wildflowers. Eames wondered, briefly, if fields like that even existed on Earth's surface anymore; if anywhere, it was probably some private island owned by a reclusive trillionaire.
As Eames made his way through the courtyard dotted with tasteful sculptures and immaculately tended trees, a lone figure by the glass doors came into view.
“Mr. Eames,” the man said in a tone that suggested both boredom and faint impatience. “This way.”
He spun on his well-heeled shoe and went inside, the tailored fabric of his three-piece suit clinging to his every flex and step. Even as Eames shifted into a brisk almost-jog to keep up, the man only came to a stop once he passed through the security checkpoint and reached a bank of elevators.
The guards nodded as Eames passed, evidently expecting his arrival. He felt a faint tingle as he passed through the security arch, the full-body scanners announcing him to be free of weaponry, contagious diseases, and other dangerous contaminants.
“And you are?” Eames prompted when he finally reached the elevators.
“Arthur,” the man replied, staring straight ahead for a retinal scan and then holding his hand out for a fingerprint analysis.
“Arthur,” Eames repeated, letting the name roll through his mouth. “I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, but you’re making it rather difficult at the moment.” It felt good to slip into the old habits of mild flirtation and charm, to take on an old persona like a coat of armor--even if it didn’t quite fit any longer.
Arthur finished the biometric scans and then walked into the first elevator that opened. “Please keep up, Mr. Eames.”
Eames followed Arthur into the lift and allowed himself a wry smile at the impeccable posture, the hidden strength of Arthur's body underneath the prissy suit. “Is this how it’s going to be? Everybody leading me about by the nose without bothering to stop and explain where I’m going?”
“Anything you need to know will be told to you,” Arthur said, still staring straight ahead at the closed lift doors.
Eames stared at the obscenely high number Arthur had pressed on the keypad, and watched the floor numbers change on the electronic display. “But not by you?”
“No.”
“Then you’re just here to escort me and fetch me drinks, are you?”
That got Arthur’s attention. “I am not your butler,” he snapped, twisting around in lovely curve to snarl at Eames.
Confronted with the full force of Arthur’s glare, Eames allowed himself to study the fine architecture of Arthur's face and cheekbones, the slope of his nose. For all that his movements were restrained and careful, his face was strangely open, expressive.
“No, of course not,” Eames murmured. “You’re to be my partner, yeah?”
Arthur blinked, startled, and then turned back to the doors when the elevator came to a smooth halt. “We’re here,” he said, seeming relieved for the distraction.
Arthur stepped out onto a marble floor almost before the doors had finished opening, and led the way through a giant antechamber with windows on all sides and modulated levels of light streaming in through the blinds. At the end of the antechamber was a set of double-doors with two desks on either side and a pair of matching, non-descript secretaries behind them. They nodded at Arthur as he passed, pressing their keypads in tandem to allow him access.
The flooring transitioned into rich green carpet beneath Eames’ feet, absorbing all the sounds into the hush of the office. Silhouetted in front of a window that revealed a sprawling view of the entirety of Tokyo was none other than the CEO of Proclus Global, Hisoka Saito.
“Mr. Eames, Arthur.” Saito turned and nodded at the chairs in front of his ornate, mahogany desk. “Please, have a seat.”
Arthur bowed slightly at the waist before sitting down stiffly in a high-backed chair. Eames followed his lead, and noted that Saito made no move to take a seat himself. “You’re a very persuasive man,” Eames said without preamble. “Sending ghosts from my past to haunt me.”
“When it comes to high stakes operations, I like to work with the best,” Saito said, not seeming remotely contrite. “And you are the very best.”
“I’m sure there are an abundance of eager young Runners out there who’d be willing to give me competition for that title,” Eames replied, glancing over at Arthur. "And for significantly lower rates."
"Perhaps, but we both know it is experience that separates greatness from mere talent," Saito said. “And wisdom which tempers youth’s folly.”
“Wisdom?” Eames slipped a hand into his pocket and ran a thumb over the number ten engraved on the plastic chip. “You assume I’ve learned something from my mistakes.”
Saito smiled, and it was nearly kind. “You are here, aren’t you?”
“As long as you keep Marita out of it,” Eames said. “She was never involved in my work and I don’t want that to change now.”
“Do you think me the sort of man who would use threats against family?” Saito asked, and didn’t wait for the answer. “I offer a chance for freedom from the debt that you owe Cobol and, more importantly, freedom from the debt you owe your ex-wife.”
“Freedom is an illusion,” Eames said, glib. “But it is a rather nice one we’re all willing to pay steeply for, isn’t it?”
“Without it, how can one truly live?” Saito replied. “I offer money enough to pay off your debts to Cobol, your wife, and make you a wealthy man besides. Do we have a deal?”
“Pay off the debt to Cobol and wire Marita the money I owe her up front,” Eames said, slouching back in his chair. “Then we’ll talk.”
Saito raised an eyebrow. “A moment ago, you were questioning my choice. Now you believe you are in a position to make such demands?”
“I wanted to know whether this was an interview or a job offer.” Eames flicked a piece of lint off his trousers and felt Arthur’s eyes tracking the movement. “Now I know.”
“A man that understands what his skill is worth.” Saito chuckled as he leaned forward to press a button on his desk. “Stroheim, release the payment.”
Stroheim’s voice buzzed through the intercom a second later. “It’s done.”
“Would you like a receipt?” Saito asked with a hint of a smile.
Eames snorted. “I believe you. And if you haven’t paid me-I simply won’t do the work.”
“Then let us get down to business, shall we?” Saito took a seat. “I assume you are aware of our newest model of Replicant, the Nexus-6?”
“More human than humans,” Eames quoted with a sardonic smile. “That’s your motto, isn’t it? Unfortunate that humans make messes, too.”
“The source of the problem in this case is one particular model, serial number MA-98762,” Saito continued on, tranquil. “But she has taken to calling herself ‘Mal.’ It seems oddly appropriate.”
“You didn’t bring me on to solve a single rogue Replicant problem,” Eames said, glancing over at Arthur again. “There was a break-out on the Venusian colony two months ago-was she the one responsible?”
“Very good.” Grainy news footage of burning wreckage and overturned tanks on the surface of Venus shivered into the air in front of Eames and Arthur. “Ten Replicants hijacked several space ships and escaped the colony. At least twenty other Replicants were destroyed in the uprising.”
“Uprising?” Eames frowned at the list of broken machinery that scrolled at the bottom of the feed alongside a human casualty count (twenty-two killed, thirty-seven injured). “It’s a corporate colony with little to no communication with the rest of the galaxy. How could the Nexus-6 models have evolved enough self-awareness to stage an uprising so quickly?”
“And there you see our dilemma,” Saito said, leaning back in his chair. “Our concern is not the escaped fugitives, but rather, the seed of the idea that this Mal is threatening to spread.”
The display changed from the newsfeed to a video of a hauntingly beautiful woman with defiant blue eyes striding down an empty hallway. “She wasn’t designed to work in a mine on Venus,” Eames said as her model number, manufacture date, and physical description flashed beneath her picture.
“No, she wasn’t,” Saito agreed. “Your job is to find her as quickly as you can and retire her. I’m sure you can understand why she must be handled immediately, and why we cannot simply wait for her termination date to resolve the issue.”
“I suppose it’d be too easy for you to give me a clue as to where she might be hiding,” Eames said. “Perhaps even a few last known locations downloaded off the Mainframe?”
“She was never connected to the Mainframe to begin with,” Arthur said, and Eames turned to him, surprised. “None of her information was ever downloaded.”
“A Replicant without a backup copy?” Eames said, staring back at the display. “No wonder she wants to start a revolution.”
“She managed to disable the remote links between the Mainframe and the other ten Replicants she helped escape,” Saito said. “We have engineers working around the clock to repair the damage, but the virus was quite thorough.”
“She managed to cut them all off?” Eames sat back in his chair. “Exactly who is this Mal?”
“A very resourceful problem I am hiring you to solve, Mr. Eames,” Saito replied, not seeming inclined to part with any more information on the matter.
“Where are the other ten?” Eames asked after a minute of silence. “Out in the wilds, rampaging?”
“Arthur already dispatched with the most volatile models,” Saito said, and Eames could see in his peripheral vision the ramrod straight line of Arthur’s back, not relaxing even slightly at Saito’s words. “Only three remain, and they have gone into hiding. We believe they may know what Mal intends.”
“These chrome or skinjobs?”
“'Chrome'-what an interesting euphemism. To answer your question, they were custom-built to withstand the harsh conditions of the mines on Venus,” Saito said. “But it appears Mal helped them all find 'skins.'”
“Wonderful,” Eames replied. “Do we have any idea which models?”
“Only for two. A generic customer service model and a male pleasure bot.”
“You’re telling me they look like people, they’ve gone to ground, and you don’t know where.” The image of a handsome young man with delicate features popped up on the display, followed by a gaunt man with stringy hair. “What an excellent place to start.”
“That is why Proclus Global will be providing you with transportation, lodging and, of course, Arthur.” Saito paused. “Of the Blade Runners in my employ, he is--like you--the best.”
Eames watched the muscles in Arthur’s jaw tighten. “Ever worked with a partner before, love?”
“No,” Arthur replied flatly. “I never needed one.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” Eames said, voice light. “It’s me that needs the help.”
Arthur’s brow furrowed, and he cast a curious glance over at Eames before looking away.
“The two of you will make a formidable pair,” Saito cut in smoothly. “Your targets’ model numbers are A-528xz, F-679si, and N-491yb, but our reports indicate that they have selected new monikers for themselves: Ariadne, Fischer, and Nash. Stroheim and Satonaka will provide you with dossiers on your way out. We managed to pinpoint the location of N-491yb based on his last known whereabouts and scouts we sent into the area.”
“And this Nash can lead us to Mal?” Eames said as he and Arthur both stood.
“That is the hope,” Saito replied. “Good luck, gentlemen, and enjoy your flight to Monte Carlo.”
The airship they were going to be traveling in was more spacious than the one that had picked Eames up, and was partitioned off into various rooms to allow for sleep and some semblance of privacy. Eames found himself surprisingly grateful for this as he barricaded himself in a private room to make a call.
“I thought you’d left the Blade Running business,” Marita said at last, after Eames had finished explaining Saito’s offer. He closed his eyes and could imagine, easily, the way she would look behind her desk, sighing as she rubbed the heel of her bare foot, pushing a stray curl of dark hair from her eyes.
“I had. But the money’s-well. You know I need it.”
“It sounds dangerous,” she replied, and if Eames tried very hard, he could almost make out an edge of concern through the distance between them.
“It’s not that much more dangerous than any of my previous jobs,” Eames said, not sure whether that was a lie or not. “Besides, I’ve a rather spectacular partner on my side now. He wears bespoke suits and insults me at every turn-the two of you would get on famously.”
Marita didn’t laugh, because she’d stopped laughing at almost all of Eames’ jokes years ago. “Is he more reliable than Yusuf was?”
“I haven’t the foggiest,” Eames said honestly. “But regardless of whether or not I complete the job in one piece, you’ve already been freed from my shackles to Cobol. The debt’s been paid off and the money I get afterwards is merely the cherry on top.”
"I see." There was a pause before Marita said, “I should go. Rohan is calling.”
“Ah yes, Rohan. Give him my finest,” Eames said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice and mostly failing.
“I will. And Jack-take care of yourself.”
Eames closed his mobile and took a deep breath before heading back into the main compartment of the airship, where Arthur was sitting, somber as a sphinx.
“Arthur,” Eames said as he flopped down onto the seat across from Arthur.
“Mr. Eames,” Arthur responded, not glancing up from the file he was reading. In the sunlight streaming in through the windows, his features were softened into something younger, less severe.
“Come now-are we going to be so formal with each other the entire trip?” Eames asked, watching Arthur carefully for a reaction.
“We are working together in a professional context,” Arthur replied, finally looking up. “Therefore, it stands to reason that we should be professional in our address.”
“Must you continuously throw rain into my sails?” Eames asked, tone light. “I’m starting to think you don’t like me.”
“How I feel about you is irrelevant,” Arthur said. “What matters, first and foremost, is the job.”
“All work and no play makes Arthur-well, you know the rest.” Eames leaned forward slightly. “Although, truthfully, I can hardly see you as a boy, playing with toys and games and so forth. I can only imagine you as one of those children who was terribly impatient with being young, hell-bent on forging ahead into the realm of adult responsibility and suits.”
There was a momentary twitch of Arthur’s lips and then it was gone. “I had a very happy childhood.”
“Indeed?” Eames said. “Do tell.”
“There’s nothing to tell. A happy childhood is a boring one,” Arthur said. Interesting, Eames thought, and, evasive. “Now, unless there's anything else you need, I should finish reading the dossiers.”
“Yes, well, I’m going to go take a nap.” Eames made a great show of standing up and stretching. “Do wake me if we seem in imminent danger of crashing and dying aboard this flying tin can, will you?”
Another hint of a smile twitched at the side of Arthur’s lips. “I'll be sure to buzz you, Mr. Eames.”
After laying about a while on a shockingly comfortable bed and studying everything in the files he could before his eyes started to bleed, Eames made his way back to the main compartment. There, Arthur was, predictably enough, still reading.
“I saw the video footage of you taking down that Replicant,” Eames said as he took a seat. “Very impressive.”
Arthur blinked up at Eames, seemingly surprised by the compliment. “Thank you.”
“You know your way around a gun,” Eames said. “Your file didn’t mention military training.”
“No formal military training,” Arthur confirmed. "But when I was sixteen, I was selected for the Proclus Accelerated Education Program. Also, my mother taught me how to shoot a gun when I was ten."
"Mother-son bonding time-how lovely." Eames paused. "And you needn't worry about me being a liability-at least, not on the physical front. I know my way around a gun as well."
"I'm not, actually," Arthur said, and this time it was Eames' turn to be surprised. "I read your file, I know your background. You are competent, even if you are-less than efficient. At least, you were."
"Now there's a half-hearted vote of confidence if I ever heard one," Eames said, smile a touch more forced than before.
"I'm not here to stroke your ego, Mr. Eames," Arthur said primly. "Either have confidence in your abilities, or don't."
"I'm guessing they never bothered giving you classes in that fancy Accelerated Education Program on how not to insult the partner that is supposed to have your back, hm?" Eames crossed his arms over his chest.
Arthur stared out the window until Eames assumed the conversation was over, but then Arthur spoke again, "I have advanced combat training in areas including: mixed martial arts, explosives, and short and long range weaponry. I was at the top of my class when I was sixteen and graduated the program when I was eighteen. Since then I've gone on to retire twenty-three Replicants and capture six more. My record is spotless, my work exemplary."
"Good to know." Eames slid back in his chair and hooked his right leg over his left. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because Saito didn't even offer me the opportunity to track down and retire Mal-that is, MA-98762-on my own before saddling me with you." Arthur's eyes flicked over to Eames. "It's insulting."
"Or it's a compliment," Eames replied. "Perhaps Saito is wary of losing his best Blade Runner to a deranged Replicant with an unprecedented amount of skill and cunning. Perhaps he's simply taking prudent steps to protect his asset."
Arthur blinked, and Eames raised his eyebrows. "I-had not considered this explanation."
Eames waited a moment for Arthur to launch into a counterargument. When it didn't seem to be forthcoming, Eames said, "What, that's it? You're not going to dig in your heels mulishly and defend your position?"
"No, your explanation is much more likely," Arthur said, without a trace of sarcasm. "Given my value to the corporation, it only makes sense that Saito would hire the equivalent of an expendable bodyguard."
Eames couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, Arthur. It's remarkable that you can deliver a capitulation with enough condescension to make me want to refute my own point."
"I know the value of a logical argument," Arthur replied, brow furrowing slightly. "This is my work, Mr. Eames, and I take it very seriously. You may feel free to correct any flawed conclusions I might come to if they will impede our progress."
"So you're giving me permission to disagree with you?" Eames leaned back and smirked at Arthur's irritable expression.
"I am merely stating that lines of communication will remain open for the duration of our time together," Arthur said. "And, I should point out that this goes both ways."
"Oh, I'm already well aware that you won't hesitate to tell me when you think I'm wrong," Eames replied. "In fact, I'm looking forward to it."
Arthur closed the file he was reading with great deliberateness. "What are your methods, Mr. Eames?"
Eames sensed that the distinct lack of social pleasantries such as politeness or segues would be a recurring pattern with Arthur. "Shouldn't you know the answer to that already? You have my entire file at your disposal."
"Contrary to whatever you may already misguidedly believe about me, I am aware that not everything I need to know can be contained in a file."
Eames raised an eyebrow. "Need or want?"
Arthur's brow furrowed. "What?"
"Is this information that you need to know, or-" Eames leaned forward in his seat. "Information you simply want to know?"
Arthur stared at Eames blankly for a moment, before the faintest hint of a flush touched his cheeks. "I don't-I have no idea what you're talking about."
Interesting, Eames thought as he eased back. "I track them down and deliver a headshot and two chest-shots as quickly as I possibly can."
Arthur blinked. “You don’t check to make sure they’re not human, first?”
“No." Eames shrugged. "Why bother? It’s a waste of time and there’s no foolproof method of doing so. Serial numbers can be filed off, identification papers can be forged.”
“There’s the Voight-Kampff test-"
“Ah yes, the Voight-Kampff test. Tell me, Arthur, if someone fails to exhibit the proper response to a tortoise on its back in the middle of the desert, does that make us more or less murderous when we kill them?”
“Replicants can’t be murdered,” Arthur replied. “They’d have to be alive, first.”
“Perhaps,” Eames said. “Have you ever taken the Voight-Kampff test?”
“I don’t need to. I know where I was today, yesterday, and fifteen years ago. I know how I got here, and I know who I am.”
"I took it once," Eames said. "Longest bloody four hours of my existence. Good luck trying to persuade a suspected Replicant to stop running for its life long enough to endure that bullshit."
Arthur shook his head, but Eames could see the corner of his mouth turning up. "The official government regulations for Replicant retirement require that Blade Runners make at least some effort to ensure that their target is not a human," Arthur said. "Possible methods include the: Voight-Kampff test, checking identification papers, and asking very nicely."
Eames let out a startled laugh, and Arthur peered up with the tiniest of smiles. "Ah yes, the regs. I assume it's company policy for all Blade Runners to do a review before they undertake their next job?"
"Review and take a brief examination," Arthur said as he produced a datapad from underneath his mountain of files and touched the screen a few times with his index finger. "Congratulations, Mr. Eames. It seems that your thorough understanding of SICRA Regulation 54-8424(A) has qualified you for all the weapons permits necessary under section 54-8424(J)(3)."
Eames sat back in his chair and gave Arthur a speculative look. "You know, I'm usually bollocks at taken written examinations. I once had to take an embarrassingly simple test for internal network clearance four times before I passed."
"Is that so?" Arthur replied, not sounding surprised in the least. "It's astonishing what a man can accomplish when he puts his mind to it."
"Or when he receives the right sort of help."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "We are to be partners, correct? And my understanding is that partners may-complement each others' strengths and weakness."
"Perhaps I was wrong about you," Eames said thoughtfully as Arthur tucked away the datapad. "Perhaps you aren't quite the dull martinet I originally took you for."
"Your stamp of approval is just the thing I've been waiting for all my life," Arthur replied.
"Do you sleep, or is that an indignity reserved only for mere mortals like myself?" Eames asked as he leaned against the doorframe of the Exercise Room; the airship, Eames had discovered, was practically a floating hotel--complete with a gym, sauna, and offices.
Arthur didn't even seem startled by Eames' presence though he was facing the opposite direction; Arthur merely continued with his exercises, stretching his arms out with controlled, steady grace. "I sleep," Arthur said, not turning around. "But I find it best to maintain a strict sleep schedule to avoid any overindulgence that might lead to suboptimal performance in the field."
"Oversleeping isn't exactly the first indulgence that springs to mind when I contemplate the bedroom," Eames replied. Arthur was wearing basic grey T-shirt and black shorts, both fitted enough to drape beautifully as he moved through his Tai Chi, but not tight enough give the whole game away. Regardless, the view was certainly nothing to scoff at.
"I suppose you eat in bed too?" Arthur replied, and there was the barest hint of teasing in his voice.
"Eating, drinking-I'm up for most everything, really," Eames said, and wished Arthur would turn around. "Why, would the crumbs afterwards bother you?"
Arthur paused for a moment before he slid a foot out in front of him, heel along the ground and toe up. "No." He extended his right arm and then bent down at the waist slowly, slowly until his fingertips touched his toes. "Crumbs wouldn't bother me."
Eames felt all the saliva in his mouth dry up at what the position did to the curves of Arthur's arse beneath his little black shorts, and mumbled something nonsensical.
"What was that?" Arthur asked, tone managing to be both coy and smug.
"I think," Eames cleared his throat, "we should be landing in about five hours."
"Thank you for informing me." Arthur straightened up again, and then slid his other foot forward. "Was there anything else?"
"No, not at the moment." Eames eyed the mobile phone Arthur had left next to his bottle of water by the free weights. "But I'm off to do a bit of boxing. If I'm not in the gym, best to check the sauna-I find there's nothing quite like the heat after a thorough workout."
As Eames turned to go, he saw--out of the corner of his eye--Arthur glance over his shoulder at Eames, lightning-fast, before ducking back and resuming his routine. "As long as you're ready when we land," Arthur said.
"And if I'm late," Eames said. "Will you come find me?"
Arthur huffed a quiet laugh. "Enjoy your workout, Mr. Eames."
Next: Chapter 2