Fic: Bloodless - 2/6

[bauble]

Master post of all chapters here.


Chapter 2: Monte Carlo, Monaco, Earth

They arrived in Monaco sooner than Eames expected-sooner, frankly, than he was prepared for. When they made their way down the ship and stopped in front of the Sogni, the casino Nash was reported to be working at, Eames gripped the chip in his jacket so tightly it ached.

"You don't have to go in," Arthur said abruptly, and Eames glanced over, startled. "I can handle this alone. He's not even a combat model."

"Is this some sort of misplaced chivalry I'm sensing?" Eames asked. "There's no need to make assumptions here-I can handle myself."

"Maybe, maybe not," Arthur replied. "But I don't want your-difficulties-to compromise the mission."

"How unexpectedly delicate of you to word it that way," Eames said, and glanced up at the glittering entrance to the casino. "I'm fine. I promise to keep my money to myself and follow your lead."

Arthur gave Eames a long, searching look before nodding. "If you need to leave, just say, 'kumquat.'"

Eames snorted, and after a moment, Arthur cracked a smile as well. "Now I'm certain I'll have no difficulty working that particular safeword into ordinary conversation."

"I have faith you'll find a way," Arthur replied dryly.

They entered the casino together, Eames a half-step behind, and he couldn't quite suppress the tiny thrill that ran up his spine at the familiar noise and light and energy of the place. Bells and whistles whirred constantly in the background, dealers spoke in measured tones while players shouted in joy or despair at every throw of the die, every slap of a card. It was positively intoxicating, and Eames took the chip in his pocket in hand more firmly.

Nash was relatively easy to spot, as lanky and thin-haired as his photo had promised. He was dealing at a low stakes blackjack table, and smiled blankly at Arthur and Eames' approach.

"Bonjour," Nash said, and then switched to English upon hearing their heavily accented bonjours in response. "Care to try your luck, gentlemen?" Nash asked as the two players already at the table stood up and wandered off, murmuring something about getting food.

Eames felt his hands itch for the feel of cards beneath fingertips, the sweat of a pile of chips beneath his palms. Mindful of Arthur's gaze upon him, however, Eames shook his head with a rueful smile. "Not for me, I'm afraid. I'm just here to watch." Eames put a solicitous arm around Arthur's waist. "But I do believe my buttered squash is feeling lucky tonight."

Arthur tensed at Eames' touch and threw him a look at the 'buttered squash' moniker, but, to his credit, did not move away. Instead, he smiled. "I think I am."

"Then pull up a seat," Nash said. "Players and observers alike are always welcome."

While Nash shuffled the cards, Eames arranged himself into a comfortable position behind Arthur, leaning in close enough to inhale his cologne. He smelled good-a mix of hair gel and expensive fabric and the faintest hint of sandalwood.

"You two in town long?" Nash asked as he dealt.

"Got in today," Eames said, resting his hand lightly on Arthur's waist. "I wanted to relax back in the hotel room, but this one got itchy for the floor."

"We're only here for three days," Arthur said, playing along surprisingly well. "Have to make the most of it."

Eames could feel how tense Arthur was beneath the casual pose, and leaned forward to murmur in Arthur's ear--not quite low enough for Nash not to hear, "We can still make the most of it back in the room."

Arthur's body was, it seemed, too well-trained for him to react beyond the briefest sharp inhale and release. "Later," he said, as he turned his face ever so slightly towards Eames, eyes heavy-lidded. "Let me win you something first."

Nash studied the cards and the table with a careful disinterest while Eames spoke again, this time, even lower. "How long?"

"Long enough for me to get a feel of this place," Arthur replied, and Eames nodded before backing away a little.

"Don't lose too much money," Eames said lightly, in a more conversational tone.

"Oh, you never know. Your-" fiancé, Eames supplied, "fiancé could end up winning big." Nash smiled broadly. "Anything's possible in Monte Carlo."

"Trust me," Arthur said.

"It's not you I don't trust," Eames replied, and curled both his hands more firmly into the material of Arthur's shirt.

So Eames watched and Arthur played, measuring minute wins and losses. Other players came and went, won and lost in big or small increments, but throughout it, Arthur varied his betting little. Eames arranged and rearranged himself as he studied the target, draping himself over the straight line of Arthur's back, the lack of give in his shoulders. Nash seemed to suspect nothing, treating them with the same trained warmth he regarded other customers with.

Arthur initiated none of his own physical or romantic gestures, other than occasionally asking if Eames was tired and wanted to go back to the room. Arthur did, however, indulge Eames' own showy displays, allowing him to press the occasional kiss to his temple and cheek with impunity.

And then there was the fact that every time Eames brushed up against Arthur's jaw, his neck, he could feel the faintest jump in his heart rate; Eames would be lying if he said it wasn't a small delight that made the whole experience a little less difficult.

"I thought you were going to win me something," Eames murmured as he brushed his lips against Arthur's ear.

"Slow and steady wins the race," Arthur replied. "Besides, I can't control the cards."

"Why are we even wasting time with this dealer?" Eames asked, pitched low only Arthur could hear it. "I don't like his face." When Nash narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly as he dealt, Eames checked superhuman hearing off his list.

As the hours dragged on, Eames began to feel some of the tension drain away from Arthur's muscles. Arthur didn't fully relax-still tight like a spring-but he no longer shifted in uncomfortable, aborted moves away from Eames' touch.

Eventually, Nash's shift came to an end, and another dealer came by to relieve him. Meanwhile, Arthur collected his meager winnings and stood. Eames backed away and briefly allowed himself to miss the contact, but then shook it off and followed Arthur to the money exchange.

"I'll see about him," Eames said, and Arthur nodded without looking up.

What seemed like an excellent plan in the relative safety of Arthur's calming presence turned out to be less so once Eames was left on his own, tailing Nash. Watching blackjack being played with the surprisingly effective distraction of Arthur had been one thing, but as Eames wandered through the maze of a floor literally built to confuse and entice, and he felt the all too familiar longing for the risk, the high--the promise of a big win just around the corner.

Every table called to him, every dealer held a gold-rush in his deck, and even the smell of the casino floor conjured up memories of the least time he’d held a pile of chips in his hands.

But Eames curled his twitching fingers around the single chip in his pocket, thumbed the grooves across it and reminded himself of the promise he’d made that it would be the only chip he’d ever hold again.

Nash was moving fast through the crowd, weaving with practiced ease through the maze of tables and slot machines, and with a speed Eames would have found difficult to match even if he weren’t attempting to remain inconspicuous. A momentary distraction in the form of a drunk, elderly woman was all it took to fall behind. By the time Eames had finished cleaning the worst of the neon blue margarita off the front of his trousers, Nash was gone.

Swearing under his breath, Eames hurried through the crowd to the nearest exit and stepped outside into the cool evening air. Sucking in a deep breath, he steadied himself and took out his mobile to call Arthur. Eames hated having to admit failure so early in the game, but there was nothing for it.

After a few minutes of ringing, Eames sighed and gave up, switching to the tracking application he’d covertly installed earlier. Arthur likely wouldn’t approve of being tracked without his explicit consent, but then again, Arthur was supposed to pick up his mobile when his partner was calling.

Eames followed the blue dot around the side of the casino to the back, where empty trash cans and rats lined the alleyways. He heard voices as he crept along the wall.

“I don’t know anything about Mal, but I know Ariadne wanted to sing,” a male voice said. Nash.

“Sing?” Eames could hear the scoff in Arthur’s voice. “Replicants don’t sing.”

“Yeah, well, they do when Mal teaches them how.”

"I don't give a fuck about what Replicants want," Arthur said. "Tell me where Mal is."

There was the sound of a body hitting the ground and the screech of a trash can being upended. "Do you know when my termination date is?" Nash demanded, sounding not even slightly breathless, and then continued after a second, "I guess it doesn't matter. Because today is yours."

Eames heard the indistinct sounds of another scuffle and then a gunshot. "That was a warning," Arthur said, apparently emerging victorious. "Now don't make me ask twice."

"I don't know," Nash said. There was a silence-no doubt filled with an intimidating gesture of some kind-and then he added, "But-I do know who might."

"Who?"

"Dr. Cobb," Nash said, and Eames thought: bingo.

Eames un-holstered his gun as he slid up against the side of the building, peering around the next corner in time to see Nash land a vicious punch that sent Arthur flying back into a wall.

Allowing instinct to take over, Eames rounded the corner and fired three rounds in quick succession. Only one shot landed, but it was enough, the red blooming across Nash’s white shirt as he fell to his knees on the ground.

Striding forward, Eames leveled another shot at the back of Nash’s head and watched him collapse face-first into the concrete.

“Arthur,” Eames said, holstering his gun and making his way over to Arthur’s side. “Why didn’t you call me? Or pick up?”

“No time,” Arthur responded, spitting out a mouthful of blood-but no teeth-onto the ground. “I was handling the situation.”

“I could see that." Eames offered a hand to help Arthur up, and wasn't particularly surprised when he didn’t take it. “Made a mess of your suit, though.”

“It’s not one of my best,” Arthur said as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the blood smeared across his lips. Eames walked to where Arthur’s sidearm lay on the ground.

“You have enough suits to play favorites?” Eames asked as he picked up the gun and held it out.

“Favoritism implies an emotional attachment,” Arthur replied, regarding the gun with a wary expression. “That this suit is not the best I own is an objective fact-in terms of tailoring, material, and the way it makes me look.”

“Darling, I’m sure you’d be ravishing in a brown burlap sack,” Eames said, because it was the truth. Even covered in blood, dirt, and what was probably day-old garbage, Arthur looked devastatingly handsome. Perhaps even more so than usual, given his disheveled hair and flushed cheeks.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Arthur cocked his head to one side and didn’t look away when his fingers brushed Eames’ as he took back the gun.

“Doing what?”

“Acting as though-" Arthur struggled for the words. “The mark is dead. You can drop it now.”

“It’s called flirting, love.” Eames raised an eyebrow. "Does it offend you?”

“You’re my colleague and we're out in the field,” Arthur said, as if that statement alone should make it obvious. “It is not-appropriate.”

“Propriety is something you can toss to the wind once you’re sufficiently famous for what you do.” Eames laughed at Arthur’s outraged expression. “You needn’t look so scandalized. At the rate you’re going, I have no doubt that you’ll be freed from the confines of propriety soon enough.”

Arthur’s next words surprised him. “What do you want, Mr. Eames?”

Eames looked Arthur over very carefully, feeling the air around them shift, grow tense and heavy. “I think I’ve made it clear what I want,” Eames staid, and took a few short strides to crowd Arthur, standing almost chest to chest. But Arthur wasn’t pulling away. “I think the more pressing question here is what do you want?”

“What I want is irrelevant,” Arthur said, taking a step back. “We’re on a job.”

“Is this how we’re going to do this?” Eames asks, letting Arthur back away. “Is this how it’s going to be?”

“There’s something about you that makes me-" Arthur’s gaze flickered between Eames’ lips and then back up to his eyes. “This isn’t professional.”

“Let’s be unprofessional then,” Eames replied, taking a bold step forward, back into Arthur’s personal space. “Loosen our ties a little.”

“I-" Arthur hesitated, and Eames could see the lust and the uncertainty warring across Arthur’s face, open and almost thrillingly honest. “I could lose my job over this.”

Eames smiled as he took Arthur’s tie in hand and ran a thumb down the center of it. “So it isn’t just me, is it?”

“No.” Arthur said, before coughing and then turning away. “This isn't a good time. Or the right situation."

"No?" Eames let go.

"No, but-" Arthur paused. "Perhaps we can… revisit this topic after the job is done.”

“Revisit?” Eames allowed himself a small smile at Arthur’s retreating form. "Am I being led to believe that there's hope for me in that frozen tundra you call your heart?"

“Professionalism, Mr. Eames,” Arthur replied without turning back, but Eames could see the pink at the tip of his ears. "Professionalism."



“So what’s this Cobb fellow got to do with the lovely Mal, then?” Eames asked as he dropped into the seat across from Arthur, who had taken his jacket off and was typing rapidly into his datapad.

“He built her.” Aboard the airship, Arthur was all business again, not a trace of flirtation to be found.

“Come again?” Eames stared at the top of Arthur’s head until he sighed and looked up. “As in a custom-make and not off the factory floor?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, returning to the report he was filling out.

“And Saito didn’t think it necessary to mention this little factoid to us-I mean me-before now.” Eames narrowed his eyes at Arthur. “Nor did you.”

“I didn’t think it was relevant,” Arthur replied. “All the information I received indicated that Cobb didn't know Ariadne or Mal’s locations, and was otherwise unwilling to furnish that knowledge even if he did.”

“So you two decided to take a hands-off approach?”

“Dom-Dr. Cobb is an extremely valuable asset to Proclus,” Arthur said. “His ideas and innovation have been directly responsible for generating billions, if not trillions, of dollars worth of revenue for the company, and his mental state is such that if we were to push too hard-"

“Wait, are we talking about the Dominic Cobb?" Eames sat up. "The pioneer of graphene-based neural networks?”

“As a matter of fact, yes." Arthur seemed surprised. "You've heard of his work?"

"The man revolutionized the way Replicants learn and adapt to new stimuli," Eames said. "His work has been written up in every leading scientific publication in the solar system."

Arthur cocked his head to one side. "And here I thought you were nothing more than a shoot-to-kill bounty hunter."

"That's precisely what I am." Eames huffed out a weary laugh. "But still, one must always understand the target if they hope to actually hit it. And what better way to understand than studying their maker?"

"I didn't expect you to be so knowledgeable about the Replicant technology field," Arthur said thoughtfully.

"And I didn't expect such a critical piece of information would be withheld from me," Eames responded, and held Arthur's gaze in challenge.

After a moment, Arthur nodded. "I'll put in a request that Proclus give you clearance to access whatever files are relevant-and which do not pose too high a security risk."

"Afraid I'm going to turn around and sell any trade secrets I discover to the competition?" Eames asked. "And here I thought you trusted me."

"I'm not the one that makes the calls regarding clearance," Arthur replied. "I can only put in my request and recommendation; everything is reviewed internally at Proclus."

"It's all out of your hands, is it?" Eames' expression grew serious. "Trust doesn't run one way, Arthur. If you don't trust me, I can't trust you."

"I wasn't-" Arthur seemed almost contrite. "I wasn't trying to deceive you. Honestly, I was hoping he would be a non-issue, and that we could find a way to track Mal through other means."

"Why?" Eames asked, and Arthur hesitated.

"Because I knew him," Arthur said. "Some years ago, when Mal-the real Mal, his wife-was still alive."

"He built a Replicant version of his dead wife?" Eames rubbed his forehead. "Of course he did. Charming, those genius scientist types are."

Both of them fell silent, and Eames tipped his head back in his chair, eyes closed. He opened them again when he felt a light touch on his knee.

"I've never worked with anyone before," Arthur said quietly. "Sometimes I forget-that you don't know everything I know."

"You don't need to tell me all your secrets," Eames replied, feeling the loss of heat when Arthur moves his hand away from his knee. "It's not as if I'm trying to pry into your life story."

"What if I-" Arthur halted when he saw a flight attendant approaching. “Yes?”

“Excuse me for the interruption, but Mr. Saito would like word with you, Arthur. Also, I wanted to inform both of you that the ship will be landing soon to refuel, and arrangements have been made for both you to stay in a hotel overnight.”

“Thank you,” Arthur replied and stood. Eames watched him, unable to stop himself from staring at the curve of his arse as he went.

Before Arthur slipped into the next room, he glanced over his shoulder at Eames, and the corner of his mouth quirked up knowingly.



"Marita," Eames flipped open his mobile and watched the projection of her head and shoulders appear in the air. "Hey."

"Do you have a minute?"

"Of course." Eames stood and began moving towards the back of the airship; Arthur hadn't returned from his debriefing with Saito yet.

"I'm sorry I was a bit short with you the other day. I-I wasn't expecting your call and you got me at a bit of a bad time." Her hair was a little shorter than Eames remembered it, and there was a bit of tiredness around the eyes. "Anyway, I received a confirmation from Cobol that all your debts are paid off. And I received a pretty impressive electronic payment from Proclus yesterday."

"Good. When I finish the job, I'll send you the rest." Eames stepped into a private room and shut the door behind him.

"You don't need to do that." Marita adjusted her wire rim glasses-a nervous habit, though Eames wasn't sure what she had to be nervous about. "The amount that's been wired to me is already-"

"It's the least I can do," Eames said. "After-everything."

"How dangerous of a job is this?" Marita asked. "Why is CEO of Proclus involved?"

"Because the Replicant I'm tracking down is special. One of a kind." Eames shrugged. "The things she does could have consequences for the future of the entire company, and maybe for the entire Replicant industry as a whole. Saito's willing to pay us whatever it takes to neutralize her before worse things than an uprising on Venus takes place."

"The one you're hunting was responsible for that?" At Eames' nod, Marita sighed. "I guess I don't need to tell you to be careful."

"I'm always careful." Eames smiled crookedly, and for a second it seemed as though she was going to smile back, but then she spoke.

"Jack, I didn't just call you to talk about the money."

"No?" Eames replied, trying to keep his tone light. "Called to reminisce about the good old days?"

"I married Rohan last Tuesday," Marita blurted out, and Eames felt his face go slack in surprise. "I meant to tell you, before, but then the money came and you were talking about your new job and I-"

"Last week," Eames repeated. "I-my invitation must have been lost in the mail."

"It wasn't like that," Marita said, words coming out in a rush. "It was a spur of the moment thing. We filled out the license and then went straight to Town Hall. My witnesses were a homeless man that smelled like fish and a secretary who fell asleep halfway through."

Eames tried to summon a glimmer of a smile, but it wouldn't come. "Impulsive. That's not like you."

"Yes, well." Marita took off her glasses and rubbed at the indents on the bridge of her nose. "Rohan's been asking for a while, now, and I-I guess it seemed like the right time."

"That's-" Eames closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Congratulations. I suppose. That's what one says in these situations, isn't it?"

"Jack," Marita said, and it sounded pained. "Now that I'm-well, now that your debt's paid off and you have a job again, I think it's best if we-take some time apart from each other. For a while."

"Time apart?" Eames said. "We've been divorced for over three years, how much-"

"I can't do this anymore." Marita looked down at her hand, at the obnoxiously large ring Eames could see on her finger, now. "Not if I want this thing with Rohan to work."

"Do what?" Eames asked. "It's not as if we-"

"Don't, Jack," Marita said, voice sharp. "Don't pretend as if-you know I still-"

"You're the one that left me," Eames said, very softly, and she shook her head again.

"Only because I couldn't stay and watch you rip yourself apart anymore." Marita looked away for a moment, and when she looked back, her face was carefully blank. "I'll continue to pay the alimony, of course, and if you ever need-"

"Don't bother," Eames interrupted. "I don't need it."

"Jack-"

"I have to go," Eames said tightly. "I'm getting another call."

Marita paused, and then nodded, oddly formal. "Goodbye, Jack."

After Eames had hung up, he spoke into the empty room. "Goodbye."



El Hierro, Spain, Earth

"I hear congratulations are in order."

Eames glanced up from the bar to see Yusuf approaching--in yet another suit. This one was dark blue. "I assume you're talking about the successful retirement of Nash."

"What else would I be talking about?" Yusuf took a seat on the stool beside Eames. "You still drink cognac?"

"Of course. People don't change their habits." Eames took a sip. "Anyone who tells you otherwise wants something from you."

"Ever the cynical son-of-a-bitch," Yusuf replied. "Where's Arthur? Celebratory drinks were always one of your favorite parts of the job."

"He seemed rather preoccupied with work, last I checked." Eames had tried to find a moment to invite Arthur to drinks (and perhaps more) as they checked into the hotel, but Arthur had disappeared with his datapad and briefcase before Eames had even gotten the chance to pick up his keycard. A bit disappointing, but perhaps not that surprising.

And Eames had to admit that, given his current mood, he probably wouldn't have been the best company, either.

"He's very dedicated," Yusuf said.

Eames nodded. "You trained him, didn't you?" He enjoyed Yusuf's slight twitch of surprise.

"You noticed," Yusuf replied after a moment. "I'm flattered."

"The way he holds his gun--you think I wouldn't know my own partner's style?"

"You were always the flashy one," Yusuf said. "I prefer a more practical grip."

"If it gets the job done, why not add a little flash?" Eames smiled sourly. "It took Nash down quite neatly."

"I know." At Eames' raised eyebrows, Yusuf explained, "I read Arthur's report."

"So," Eames said. "Are you our handler?"

"Mostly your handler," Yusuf replied. "Arthur is quite efficient on his own, as you might have noticed."

"I have." Eames thought back to the figure he cut in his dress shirt and trousers. "Among other things." Eames took another sip, a sting of bitterness on his tongue. "I spoke with Marita earlier."

"Oh?" Yusuf said, and it was like old times again, conversation hopping from topic to topic, talking about whatever surfaced. It was strange in its familiarity, in how easily it all came back. "And how is she?"

"Better, now." Eames raised one shoulder and then dropped it. "Your new employer is good for his word, it seems."

"Would you expect anything less than the CEO of Proclus?"

"Since I don't regularly hobnob with men whose haircuts are worth more than the sum of all of my internal organs sold separately on the black market, I can't say that I'd have idea what to expect," Eames said.

"Saito's a brilliant, ruthless, and dangerous man," Yusuf said. "You don't need me to tell me that. But he isn't out to ruin his allies--or the investments that will make him money."

"Good to know," Eames said.

"I'm surprised she still talks to you," Yusuf said. "Marita, I mean."

"Only if she has to." Eames ducked his head and let out a breathy, weary laugh. "She got remarried."

"I'm sorry." Yusuf's expression didn't change, but it sounded genuine.

"And what about Ling?" Eames asked as he took a deep drag of his drink. "How is she?"

"She took me back," Yusuf said, answering the unasked question. "I don't know why and I never will-but I'm grateful."

"Well that's-" Eames shook his head. "I'm happy for you."

"You're not. I understand though-if our positions were reversed, I wouldn't be either."

Eames scrubbed a hand over his face. "Why are you here if you're not going to have a drink with me?"

"You know why I can't," Yusuf said, and it wasn't angry, but it was firm. "I'm here to tell you that Saito is pleased with your results so far, and that you've been granted temporary security clearance to access Dr. Cobb's files-at least, the ones pertinent to your investigation."

"Have to keep some mysteries alive, hm?" Eames finished his drink. "Very well. Tell Saito I'm his man until the end of the job and then he can piss right off."

"To think," Yusuf stood, "I actually missed your charm for a minute there."

"I'm better in small doses," Eames replied. "Ask anyone."

Yusuf huffed a sad laugh as he turned to go. "Who's left to ask?"

Next: Chapter 3