Inception + James Bond 007 Fan Fic
Title: Oh, scones. Oh, bollocks. Oh, British spies.
Author: Birddi
Summary: Oh, scones. Oh, bollocks. Oh, British spies. When James Bond takes a fancy to the Inception team’s point man.
Fandoms: Inception, James Bond 007 - first crossover, eva!
Rating: PG, If you can read it, you’re old enough to read it.
Original Prompt: (here) The gang teams up with JAMES BOND for some reason or another. James goes about making Arthur his new Bond Girl and Eames is having none of it.
Disclaimer: It's not mine to keep/profit, just to borrow.
“What are you doing here? Looking for shells?” Arthur asked, indicating to the bullet-casings that had been left over from last night. He wasn’t foolish enough to think a man skulking around on the East side of the city with a pair of military oxfords was looking for anything but trouble.
“No.” The man said, stepping further into the warehouses’ light so the cut of his suit was shown even if his face was still in shadow. “Just looking,” came the flirty British response.
Ignoring that, “This is private property. I’m asking you to leave now.” If the man wasn’t here to clean up his mess of offer a word of gratitude for the two dead bodies in the alley Arthur had to dispose of before Ariadne arrived, then he could leave.
“Bit of a pity, then.”
Arthur rethought his actions of asking questions first, but before he could rectify that he was interrupted when the warehouse door open at his back.
“What’s going on?” Cobb walked out of the warehouse door, stride smoother than it had been these past years. Being a family man was a good look on his old partner. It was a pity Arthur had to request the man’s skills for the job, but Eames had assured him only the best would do for this, especially with Ariadne away for part of the week.
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“May I come in?”
“Being polite only goes so far when the man’s hidden himself in shadows.”
When they were in better light Arthur could see that the blond man was a bit shorter than himself, but only by an two inches. Broader, though. Arthur recognized the British Secret Service training though, it was hard not to spot with the man’s finely polished shoes and watchful eyes all but shouting that the newcomer some type of specialized military man. The fine lines around the man’s eyes pulled up as if he smiled, however the deep ridge that came only in the fury of combat or in situations where concentration meant one’s life said more of the man’s lifestyle. Arthur bet it would take the man a fraction of a second to pull his gun, and he had the advantage if it came to that.
The blond followed them calmly into the warehouse, it grated on Arthur’s nerves, but he had a gun on the man and the only two left currently were the two men in the group that could handle weapons. It gave him some comfort to know Ariadne was only a quick jet trip away tdefending her thesis at her school.
“And you are?,” no one could pull of derision quite like Cobb.
“Bond. James Bond.” Then the man struck a pose. Oh, it wasn’t a dramatic stance, but the subtle shift of the hip and toss of the chin were definitely staged.
Baffled, Arthur blinked at the introduction. For some reason he felt as if the words were a calling-card of sorts for the other man. Although, not an excuse for poor manners Arthur accidentally choked on his reply, “Was that supposed to be impressive?” A skew embarrassed for his words, he coughed into his hand and asked with a much more clear voice, “What are you doing here?”
“Secret spy stuff. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
Another British voice answered, “Color me unimpressed.” Eames walked up on Arthur’s side. The man was considerate enough to stay in his peripheral. “What’s a MI6 doing in our little part of the world? A little lost? Or are you just ‘chicken oriental’ to come where you know you’re not wanted?”
Arthur would be so glad when Eames left his home country and stopped with the mumble jumble they called language here.
“I thought it was Americans that had trouble listening. I guess it was ruffian instead.”
“...Right.” Cobb broke in, steering the conversation back to their mutual interest in the mark, a British dignitary who enjoyed selling the names of the Queen’s spies to the highest bidder. “So what you’re asking is that we allow you to join us, and make sure these spy names are retrieved. And we should trust you, why?”
“I have a person you can call. They’ll vouch for me.” With an elaborate wink sent at Arthur, “It’s the Queen.”
With a scowl Eames pulled out his phone, typed in the phone number the man offered and stepped outside for a moment.
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“You can put that gun away, pet.” James Bond teased. “I assure you, we’re all friends here. No need to get wild.”
“Do you like wild things Mr. Bond, James Bond?” Arthur drawled, not lowering his gun. Only after he spoke did he realize how the words could be taken, and had been taken if the smugness on the man’s face was anything to go by.
“James, please. I would like to know the name of my would be executioner.” James reasoned.
“Is this a British thing?” Cobb inquired from the side.
Arthur gamely ignored him. No need for Cobb to expound upon his theory that British men were taken by Arthur at first sight, or at least Arthur’s exquisite taste in suits.
“If your story checks out, we’ll see.”
“You are a bit of heaven though, aren’t you dove?”
Arthur was too used to Eames to blush. Although, he did sigh.
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“Now. Arthur, wasn’t it, wouldn’t it be nice to get your kit off?”
“My kit?” Ignoring the man’s use of his name. Arthur would have to speak with Eames about not addressing each other via names until well after the second background check was done. Their English team member seemed convinced though, so either the man had talked to the Queen herself or someone as convincing.
“Darling, are you a not bit ‘fifty-cent’?” James inquired, leaning in with a smile. A rather dashing one, Arthur would admit, pulling up more on the right than the left. “‘Cause I’d enjoy getting some ‘posh’, if you take a fancy.”
“Excuse me?” Arthur asked a bit offended. He’d certainly dealt with the British Secret Service before but they certainly never asked him to go get drugs before. Arthur did not look like a drug seller; and certainly out of their entire hodgepodge group, the chemist would be more likely than the man in the tailored three-piece.
“Oh, are you not?”
“American.” Eames interrupted with a response that was more insult than informative. “Bit of a ‘tin roof’, I think.” Eames responded. “But he’s well and spoken for, mate.”
“Tin roof?” Arthur echoed, not sure what that was supposed to mean but if this turned out to be an analogy to the tin man with no heart Eames was not going to like the repercussions.
James looked intrigued, not put off. Not entirely. “Are you all then?”
“Suppose so. Not that I know much about the others. But lay off.”
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“Well, he’s gobshite, ain’t he?” Eames spat, throwing himself into the chair in what Arthur would call a sprawl. “Talking like he did, the bloody ‘gooseberry’.”
With a light sigh, Arthur turned his back on the forger and went to work. They had an extra person they had to contend with now, and that certainly changed a few things. As it had when Saito had demanded to join. Not much, hopefully. If this Bond fellow was a fifth as good as he had later hinted to be, then nothing too bad should happen. He would have to repair some of his plan though, specifically in keeping a noisy blond spy away from Cobb’s and Arthur’s mission. Shuffling some papers on the desk, the point-man nodded as the other Brit in his life continued to complain.
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With a stifled sigh, “I don’t know you, Mr. Bond.”
“I drink Vodka Martinis. Shaken - not stirred.”
“That’s not really enough for me to sleep with you.”
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“He’s a bit dashing, isn’t he?”
“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever described someone like that.”
“Well, we’re in London. What is it with the British? James, Eames. They must have a thing for those types of names.” Ariadne mused over on her side of their table. The city scape they’d use on the mark was interesting, the model being an abstract rendition of London - an urban scape that was both tailored to the mark as well as being different enough to provide shortcuts, escapes, and the visual proof of the dream scape itself. Arthur had the job of figuring the the technicalities of designing a paradoxical roundabout in the middle of the city that would spiral upwards when a driver so chose.
Looking up from his adaption of the devil’s pitch fork he hummed in thought, knowing full well that their were two sets of ears near by, “Probably because they like to stretch out the vowels. The British have a tendency to think things are ...longer than they really are.”
Ariadne took a moment, as she always did when Arthur dabbled in a bit of humor, to get it. When she did, she flushed a healthy shade of rose and squealed in delight. It was such a girlish thing, that Arthur had to grin in response. Mal rarely laughed like that but sometimes when she thought Arthur was being particularly witty she would, Arthur thought fondly. It was nice to have such feminine touches to their group again.
“Oi, pet. What’s this I hear you saying about we Brit’s lengths?” Eames called from across the room.
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“Why are you staring at me?” Arthur asked, face still buried in his documents.
“You remind me of a colleague of mine. Had a rather invented way of completing a job, I say.” The word colleague sounded like lover to Arthur’s astute ear.
“Oh.”
“Are you curious?” James asked. “You don’t strike me as the jealous type.”
Looking up and over at the man, eyebrow raised high, “I don’t?”
James paused, his index finger going up to tap at his pursed lips, “Interesting.”
“Indeed.”
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The job goes smoothly. Of course it does, Arthur planned it.
The only slight hiccup when James decided he’d try blowing up three buildings and accidentally killed Cobb. Eames had thankfully took measures to counter the destruction of half the man’s consciousness, and the bank in which the documents were in, by quickly disarming the bomb and instead lead the forger to pull off a rather noisy gunfight on wall street.
“Mr. Bond,” Arthur began in his quiet tone, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves and rolling them up evenly to his elbows. “I know you probably don’t understand this. You’re English.” Picking up the scalpel he stood in front of the terrified mark, and glaring up at the spy standing a few meters away. “But there are times when precision is much more effective than things that make a lot of flash and fire.”
Holding up the scalpel to the fatty flesh of the man’s lower eyelid, “Do be sure to explain the rudiments of my argument for him.”
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“The bloody wanker can go soak his head, for all that he’s done.”
Arthur looked over at Eames dropping the advil into his mouth and swallowing dry. “That’s tame for you.”
“I hurt, darling.” Eames’s head flopped to the side of the couch, “I need some good old fashion healing...” The come hither stare was expected, so was the follow up question, “Will you kiss it better, dear?”
He tossed over the advil as he left, “I’m not your wife.”
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“That wasn’t a ‘no’!”
----------------
“He’s giving you the elbow, mate. So I’d be obliged if you’d get on with your travels now, case done and all that.”
“-”
“Not blooming likely.”
“-”
“I’ll give you what for if you don’t shut your mouth!” Eames shouted.
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It was after the two British men were tossing each other through the door that had Arthur and Cobb on their feet and across the room to break up the mess. But where Cobb went to pry the spy off the forger and ended up with an elbow to the stomach before joining the fray, Arthur help his firearm up to the ceiling and fired three consecutive shots.
Behind him Ariadne screamed and ducked under the table.
Silence reigned in the echo of the gun shots. The blissed quiet and the three men’s attention was greatly encouraged by the fact that Arthur felt the need to point his weapon at the three men in front of him. “Alright then. Before we begin, I’d like to remind the three of you that this gun is loaded, the safety is off, and I have three bullets left. Now, would anyone like to explain what happened?”
“A bit of fisticuffs, dove.” Eames smiled from the floor, impervious to being in Arthur’s sight-lines.
“A misunderstanding of sorts, Arthur. The ruffian and I were just settling our differences.” John corrected. “With his sort, one must speak the same language.”
Eames opened his mouth to retort, just as Cobb did. Most likely to explain his innocence.
Arthur cleared his throat first.
“Mr. Bond.” Arthur started, then paused to smile tightly. His tone a study in false-warmth, “James. While I appreciate your need to settle your differences as there are times when I feel the need to beat sense into the man, as well. I will ask that you not solve them with violence. Likewise, I will ask you to leave. Our next client does not have any dealings with ‘super secret British agencies’ and although I am flattered, I am not a weak willed woman who desires to be swept off her feet.”
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“Oh, and Mr. Bond.” Eames called out, not bothering to look over his shoulder at the exiting man, from his place still sprawled out on the floor. “Do give M my regards. It’s been a while since we’ve had tea.”
Arthur silently asked what forger meant with a look, but the one Eames’s returned told him not to worry about it.
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“Arthur. Pet. I think you can caper on to the fact that, well... I think you’re the bee’s knees.”
Arthur knew he was blushing, a rare enough thing that the heat on his cheeks was only expounded upon by his embarrassment. One couldn’t help themselves he reasoned, not with Eames looking at them so sweet and adoring. Sickening almost, but Arthur was too...something by the response, oh well, he’d figure out a word for those feelings later. He certainly didn’t need to be British to understand the man’s sentiment.
He surprised himself by kissing the other man first. It was good. The simple press of their mouths. The slide of stubble against his own shaved cheeks was hot, so hot. Such an odd juxtaposition of that reminder of masculinity paired with Eames’ too full lips. Like a girl’s, almost. Plump and ripe, and he bit into the bottom lip, suckled it like the temptation it was.
Eames was smiling, and Arthur was too.
The irritating man in paisley broke the kiss to give a proper smirk, “Well, if that’s your answer pet. Does this mean there’s a chance of a ‘zig and zag’ tonight, love?”
“Sometimes, I wish you spoke bloody English.”
Bonus who gets all the references. (Or why I’m awesome *snorts*)
008 illusion to those who get’s it.
“Are you looking for shells?” + Bond’s response. Honey Ryder, Dr. No.
Bond’s ‘weak-willed woman’ was Mary Goodnight, The Man with the Golden Gun
"Do you like wild things, Mr. Bond, James Bond?" - Fione Falope, Thunderball
“I don’t expect you to understand. You’re English. But I’m half-Greek, and Greek women - like Elektra - always avenge their loved ones.” Melina Havelock, For Your Eyes Only.
Bond’s ‘Colleague/Lover’ Xania was Xenia Zaragevna Onatopp, Goldeneye