A Man of Courage Chapter 2
Title: A Man of Courage Chapter 2
Summary: Inception KM Prompt: Eames is hurt on the job and Arthur is left to play mother hen. Set post-movie.
Charaters: Eames, Arthur, Dom, Ariadne, Yusuf, Mark Stanford
Pairings: Eames/Arthur
Ratings: NC-17 for mentions of rape.
Words: 3,602
A/N: The title comes from the quote; "A man of courage is also full of faith" by Marcus Tillius Cicero. This is my first Inception ff so please let me know how it is. Beta'ed by the lovely obsessionful
Arthur didn't like waiting. That wasn't to suggest he wasn't very good at it - he could wait patiently for hours - but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. He was a man of action, whether that meaned helping draw up the newest plans or researching their newest mark. Just sitting though… that bugged him. At first, he had hoped that Eames would return to the warehouse in his own time, but after two hours that proved false. During his long wait he tried calling Eames on his cell, only to have his call ignored several times; eventually it started going straight to voice mail, leading him to believe Eames had turned off his phone. It was extremely annoying. One of the team rules stated that you always had your phone on you and you always always answered your team members’ calls. He could understand the extremities of the situation, but he had to find the guy. It was a difficult task to undertake but it was what he did.
If he knew Eames as well as he thought he did, then the first place he had to look was a bar. Picking the right bars to check was where the problem lied: there were hundreds in the city and Eames could blend in perfectly at any of them. A normal person would probably head to their home or hotel room and barricade themselves inside, but Eames was anything but normal. And if Yusuf was right, the man was also not thinking clearly.
Normally, he would say Eames never thought clearly, but right now they had a very angry and very sadistic man with nearly unlimited resources and he needed to find Eames before anyone else did. It wasn't just the Brit he had to worry about: besides Eames, he was the only other member of the team that Stanford had seen, and yet he was the one about to go wandering through the city. There were so many problems with the plan but he had no choice to go forward with it or abandon Eames to his fate. The second option wasn't even up for consideration.
Arthur changed into the spare set of clothes he had at the warehouse and cleaned himself up. He decided to risk a shoulder holster, since he was expecting to run into at least some opposition, and covered it up with a jacket. It was a slightly warm night out, but a little discomfort was worth the added security. On a whim, he grabbed Eames' spare bag, as all the extra ammo cartridges he could find; two he kept on his person and the rest went into the glove box of his rental car. As prepared as he would ever be, he left the warehouse and locked it up, hoping he wouldn't have to come back.
It went against every instinct he had to drive back towards the hotel their mark was staying in. They, too, had been staying there until tonight. Then they had moved their personal effects to the warehouse, knowing they couldn't risk coming back. Though, it wasn't really the hotel he was driving towards; it was a small hole in the wall Eames found and had become rather fond of. While it was a stupid tactical move to stay so close, Eames wasn't really thinking straight and probably let his feet carry him to a familiar location.
He doubted he would make it two feet past the door. Stanford kept himself surrounded by security, and it had been a great deal of work to draw them away long enough to get into the man's room and then into his head.
Arthur was sure to park several blocks away in an alley. Before he got out of the car, he stopped and looked down at himself. The point man wasn't vain - suits were professional and he liked them - but they drew attention. Standing out was a very bad idea. Unfortunately, all his clothes consisted of suits and vests.
But he did have Eames bag.
Oh God that man better appreciate the lengths he was going through to track him down. Arthur took off his jacket and encountered another problem: his shoulder holster. He stripped it off as well and put it in his jacket. Hopefully Eames would forgive his violation of privacy, but right now he needed clothes and his bag was the only place he was going to find them.
Arthur looked around the alley to assure himself it was empty. He unbuttoned his dress shirt and folded it carefully, before setting aside and taking out one of Eames' shirts - a plain gray t-shirt -and slipping it on. It was big on his smaller frame and much too baggy for his style but beggars couldn't be choosers. Unfortunately, the top looked totally out of place with his dress slacks. With a resigned sigh he grabbed a pair of jeans out of the bag and took another look around the alley. He didn't want to be caught with his pants down. If he thought the shirt was big then the pants were a whole other story. Eames wasn't by any means fat, but he was build much wider than Arthur was, and it was only a strong grip on the waist of the pants that kept them up on his narrow hips. He took the belt off his other pants and fastened it tightly, and was only slightly comforted in knowing that he wouldn't physically have to hold the jeans up the entire search. His Italian leather shoes looked horribly out of place on the ensemble, but he had to hope nobody noticed.
He tucked his gun into his belt. Arthur leaned down and rolled the bottoms of the jeans up several times to keep himself from tripping over the too long legs. Really how did people dress like this? All his clothing fit him perfectly but for some reason baggy clothing had become a style. Frankly it was uncomfortable.
He was dressed and ready to go. As he locked up the car he caught himself in the reflection of the window, dressed in odd clothing, but his hair was still slicked back. With a sigh he ruffled his hair until it fell in an ungracious flop around his eyes. With any luck, such a radical change from his usually impeccably dressed self would throw off any pursuers.
As he walked towards the bar he kept an eye out for anything that would be out of place. So far it seemed all clear. Maybe Stanford had cut his losses and decided not to have them hunted down. The odds of that were slim and he didn't hold out hope.
The small, smoke-filled bar was a crowded with people, and he had to fight the urge to send a swing at every one who brushed up against him. It was a horrible hiding place, from a tactical standpoint, and it was not surprising that Eames would pick it. With everyone so tightly packed together, it would be easy to press a gun against a man's back and march him out, or at least make it easier to sneak up on somebody. Arthur fought back a nervous twitch just being in there.
A cursory glance around the bar didn't reveal anything, though that didn’t surprise Arthur. He pushed his way up to the bar and used the vantage point to scan the bar. Arthur stood there for nearly ten minutes scanning the bar when the bartender wandered over and placed a drink down in front of him. The young man raised his eyebrow at the bartender who just nodded towards a dark haired man midway down the bar.
It was just then that he noticed the distinct lack of women in the bar. He was suddenly quite glad for the drink. Picking up the drink, he toasted the mysterious man and threw back the shot before pushing away from the bar and losing himself in the crowd. The last thing he needed was attention. If possible, he was even more aware of the people around and where their eyes went, but he was a man of self control and would do nothing to show his discomfort. He couldn't even wrap his head around the fact that Eames was in a gay bar. He shoved the thought to the back of his mind to deal with later.
The place seemed bigger on the inside then it did on the outside, and panic shot through him. Arthur put his hand in his pocket where he had stashed his die when he switched clothing, and he calmed slightly when he felt the familiar weight in his hand.
As if the crowd itself was not overwhelming there was also the noise. Music was pouring out of the speakers loudly and the patrons were talking loudly to be heard over it. He was always aware of his surroundings but now there was simply too much to keep track of in this stifling mass of bodies. He pushed himself through the crowd, trying to get next to the wall and out of the pressing mass. Most people ignored him but every once in a while, he felt a hand trying to grab him and pull into a dance or conversation and every time he jumped, expecting it to be one of Stanford's henchmen who had managed to track him down.
Finally, he pushed out of the crowd and put his back against the wall, making sure to be in the center instead of trapping himself in a corner. He wasn't one to panic under duress, but the sooner they got out of this place, the better.
A man who had at least twenty years on Arthur sauntered up to him and placed a hand on the wall over his shoulder, leaning in far too close. The man was smiling in what he thought was a seductive manner, but Arthur just found it annoying. He wondered if the man would still be smiling if he knew how easily the young man he was hitting on could kill him. Even as the older man started talking, the Arthur’s eyes continued to rove around the room and he was only half paying attention to what was being said to him.
“No, thank you. I'm not interested,” he said as politely as he could. The man huffed in annoyance and pushed off the wall, wandering off. Good, he didn't like having someone so far in his personal space.
“It doesn't matter if you look the part if you don't talk the part. Though, your shoes are all wrong.” The space the man had occupied was suddenly filled with a familiar form.
Arthur would be lying if he said he wasn't relieved. “Eames. We need to get out of here, it's not safe.”
The British man leaned against the wall next to him. “That would be a shame. It isn't often we get you out of those stuffy suits. Why don't get a seat and get a round. My treat.”
“No, thank you. We really need to go, it is not safe here.” Arthur was trying to be patient; Eames had stormed off for a reason but he didn't have time for all this.
“Don't be such a stick in the mud, Arthur.” he said with a graceful wave of his hand. “It's not as if they will come in here gun blazing; far too many witnesses.”
“Which is why it would be so much easier for them to blend in and stick a gun to our backs. This is a tactical nightmare Eames. We have to go.” His brain was yelling at him to keep calm, but he couldn't help the small twinge of annoyance that crept into his tone. The man before him always knew how to push his buttons when no one else could.
Eames shook his head with a condescending smile on his face. It wasn't the usual mocking grin he used almost exclusively for Arthur; it was fake and near painful to see. Some deep down part of him that Arthur usually denied having pained. Eames was the happy one of the group; he shouldn't look so haunted and fake. Arthur suddenly knew the reason he was seeing these emotions on the man's face.
“Are you drunk?!”
The con man snorted and that familiar mocking grin was back. “No. I was drunk twenty minutes ago. Now I'm devastated. Your power of observation leaves something to be desired, darling. I can't say I'm surprised. You let the mission go to hell as badly as I did. First the misstep with Fischer and now this? One would think you are losing your touch.”
Arthur felt his hands curl into fists and his face flush ever so slightly in anger but the worst part was knowing that despite being smashed, Eames picked up each little sign. The grin the man gave him only proved that point. With amazing self-control, he kept from swinging at Eames and grit his teeth to stop himself from saying something he would regret. If his suspicions were correct, then something terrible had happened to Eames and he was looking for someone to blame and Arthur couldn't be angry at him for his outburst. The fact that he was right made it worse. He had failed in protecting his team member and shouldn't be angry when his failures were flaunted in his face. It didn't make it any easier though.
In retrospect, it probably wasn't the great idea for him to squeeze Eames' wrist with slightly more force than necessary but he was angry and even he had limits on his patience.
“We're going now.”
One of the things Arthur had come to grudgingly respect about Eames was the man's versatility. He was a con man, a forger, and a surprisingly good fighter. That was probably why he didn't see the fist coming at him until it was too late to block it. It hit Arthur right on the temple and sent him staggering sideways into several other patrons.
“Don't touch me!” the Brit snapped at him, totally unaware of the man coming up behind him. As much as it hurt, that hit had been a gift from providence since Arthur doubted he would have seen the man or the gun he was pulling from under his jacket until it was too late. When the point man threw himself forward, Eames tensed and readied himself for a fight, but Arthur flew right past him and at the other man.
Arthur’s hands wrapped around the one the man had on the weapon and, he struggled to keep it pointed down as the goon instinctively pulled the trigger. The bullets harmlessly buried into the floor, but at the sound of shots, the crowd panicked. People started rushing for the door in a disordered and chaotic rush to get away, but a few men were headed towards them. From the way they were dressed it was easy to see they were some sort of security, though Arthur didn't think they belonged to the bar. He released one hand from where he was struggling with the gun and drilled it into the man's temple. The men approaching were well-trained and well-armed. He had to get Eames and himself out of there.
Without wasting time, Arthur grabbed a handful of Eames' jacket and pushed him towards the emergency exit. He would deal with the man's newfound no-touching policy later. Never before had he seen Eames freeze under fire, and he wasn't sure if it was because of his recent experience, the fact that they were awake, or a combination of the two.
“God dammit, Eames, move!” Arthur all but threw the man through the door before he turned and pulled out his own weapon, firing a few shoots back, hoping to keep them at a distance. With so many attackers, he had to be frugal with his ammunition.
Eames snapped out of his daze, and took off running with Arthur right on his heels. “I've got a car just a few blocks away,” he said, keeping an eye on their pursuers and forgoing a 'I told you so'.
“Let's just hope they didn't have the foresight to surround the building.”
“Let's hope.” Arthur wasn't really a man who liked to rely on hope. If they had surrounded the building, it meant that they had positively identified their location instead of just stumbling across them, and if that was the case, he didn't hold out much hope of them getting out alive. As if reading his mind, two men stepped into the alleyway they were currently running down and blocked their exit.
Once again, his fingers latched onto Eames' jacket and he pulled him back while he stepped forward and raised his weapon. He fired off two quick shots in succession,n but before they fell they sent some of their own back. Eames was torn from his grasp and he spun to find the man on the ground clutching his arm. They really didn't have time to check the injury, but before he could think, Arthur was on his knees next to the man and peeling his hand away from the wound.
“How bad is it? Let me see.” It came out as a tense and bitten off sentence, as close as Arthur could get to panic.
Eames stared up at him in surprise, and the point man inspected the wound. Arthur swore when he didn't have anything to press to the bullet wound, since he was no longer wearing his suit that had a folded handkerchief in the pocket. It was hardly more than a graze and Eames told him so, but for some reason he found it much more unnerving than many of the much more serious wounds he had seen in his lifetime.
It was the sound of footsteps that snapped him back into fighting mode. Arthur stood and pulled Eames up with him, leveling his gun at the juncture where the men were coming from. Just as the men turned the corner they were each met with a bullet to the head. Four down. This whole escape was messy and Arthur hated messy. It was even worse since this was real life and that would lead to investigations and police. He had enough to worry about without several murder charges hanging over his head.
“I think that’s our cue to be leaving,” Eames said after a moment of silence where Arthur could do nothing but stare at the dead. He had almost forgotten what it was like to kill a man in the waking world.
The rest of the trip to the car was rather anticlimactic. They had been expecting more security around every turn so when they reached the car, they were both on edge. Without a word they climbed in, and Arthur backed out of the alley, and onto the road, taking an indirect route back to the warehouse. For the entire ride neither man spoke or looked at the other.