[FIC - Inception] The Helix Trap Chapter 8/19
I've canabalized my buffer to post this, because I felt bad about taking a break from it to work on something else. I hope you like it~
Fandom: Inception
Title: The Helix Trap
Chapter: 8/19 (5,960 words) (For other parts please check my My main post.
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Eames/Robert, Arthur/Ariadne, Cobb, Yusuf, Saito, Browning, and others.
Warnings: Violence, sexual content.
Disclaimer: These characters and setting do not belong to me and are being used without permission but for no profit
Summary: After the Inception proves successful, Eames tracks down Robert out of concern for its unusual side effects. Meanwhile, Arthur is hired to a dangerous job that forces the rest of the team to take sides: whether to defend Robert and his fragile mind, or ruin him completely.
Notes: C&C Welcome and appreciated. Thanks to my beta chypie for her input! This chapter is slightly more "mature" than those before it so I hope you're here for the slash as well as the A/A, lol.
EDIT: hungryspider did some adorable fanart inspired by this chapter. Check it out!
Eames glanced back just to see where Arthur and Ariadne were headed before turning to Robert. "Don't worry about them," he said, and he gave the back of his neck a gentle squeeze to break his stare. "I just had a bit of business to take care of. Now come on, let's get out of here."
He reached for his bag, but Robert twisted it away from him. "No--I just said I don't want to go to the condo," Robert insisted. "I'm staying here for the night."
Eames frowned, but they were starting to garner attention, and he didn't want to risk more. "All right, if you insist." They moved toward the elevators together, and while waiting Eames couldn't help but take special note of the floor Arthur and Ariadne's had stopped on. "You might get your face in the tabloids for this," he warned. "Billionaire spends the night in a hotel with a strange man..."
Robert scoffed. "What difference does that make now? Our stock is plummeting, Peter's been speaking to the board behind my back..." An elevator arrived, and they stepped inside. "And I could be having a nervous breakdown. A scandal is the last thing on my mind."
A pair of women with their luggage joined them in the elevator, and pressed the button for the same floor Eames's room was on. He glanced over them suspiciously; knowing that Arthur was in town put him on edge, and he could not help but be wary of spies. "You're handling it better than most would," he told Robert. "Except, maybe, in this case." He plucked the cap off Robert's head, revealing his short crop of hair--barely an inch in length remained, and it stuck up in odd places. "Did you do this yourself?"
Robert smoothed it down with his fingers irritably. "Of course not," he grumbled.
"It's not bad." Eames touched the back of Robert's head, enjoying the tickle of soft hairs against his fingertips. "Reminds me of my military days."
"You were a soldier?"
"Oh so briefly."
Eames handed him his hat back, but Robert wrung it against his hands and didn't replace it. The elevator chimed their floor a moment later, and the women left first, casting the pair curious glances along the way. Eames waited for them to get a ways down the hall before leading Robert into his room. As soon as they were inside he moved to the window to confirm it was securely locked, then circled around, making sure everything was as he had left it.
"Something wrong?" Robert asked as he set Eames's satchel onto the table.
"Not at all." Eames finished by locking and latching the door. He wouldn't try anything with me here, he assured himself. He knows what I'm capable of. He turned back to Robert without any indication of his thoughts in his face. "Now, when was the last time you ate?" When it took more than a few seconds for Robert to remember, he moved to the phone. "I'm ordering room service."
Robert sank into a chair. "I'm not hungry."
"Liar." Eames called in two orders of the chef recommended lasagna--he had already eaten, but he hoped it would further convince Robert to do the same. Once that was finished he shed his jacket and sat down on the bed. "Now, tell me about this week of yours," he said. "From the sound of it, you haven't had a pleasant time."
"Understatement," Robert grunted. He ran his hands over his hair again. "Every time I try to sleep, those...those things are everywhere. It's like I can feel them moving around in my brain." His fingers curled, scratching his scalp. "Changing things. I was trying to tell Shelby about how I hurt my knee horseback riding, and how my father flew in to see me, and...and I realized it might have not happened that way." He shuddered, and his fear made Eames's stomach turn. "What if it didn't happen at all?"
"Hey, hey." Eames stood and moved closer, peeling Robert's hands gently away from his head before he could hurt himself. "It's all right--that's why I'm here, to help you figure this out."
Robert nodded, swallowing hard. "Peter keeps trying to talk to me about what's going on, but I don't know what to tell him," he said. "I'm not even sure he cares, except that people are starting to notice. I've even tried researching this dream crap myself but I didn't know where to start... You don't know how many times I wished I'd taken your number. I realized as soon as you left that..."
He looked up, his hands tightening against Eames's almost painfully. "That I was alone," he finished. His eyes narrowed, searching. "I'm alone except for the man who did this to me."
Eames went rigid. Robert's fingers dug like icicles into his skin, but he didn't try to free himself--couldn't move beneath the heavy interrogation of those bright blue eyes. By the time he thought to deny it his silence had given him away, and Robert surrendered a dull laugh. "At least Peter was right about one thing," he muttered.
Eames forced half a smile, even as his heart sank and his instinct told him to flee. "Did Saito tell you?"
"No. I just stopped being stupid." Robert let him go and leaned back in his chair. His weary acceptance was unnerving, and Eames was not sure how to respond to it. "What did you do to me?"
It's over. He licked his lips, trying to think rationally, but Robert's unfaltering stare kept breaking him down. But all he has is my name. If I leave, he'll never find me again. So there's no harm in telling him the truth. "Inception," he said. "Saito hired me to put an idea in your mind--to break up your father's company."
Robert's shoulders sagged. "So he could take over the pipeline?"
"I suppose, among other things." Eames retook his seat on the bed. He could see some significant revelation transpiring inside the man across him, but he wasn't prepared to even guess what it was. "I tried to do this clean," he found himself saying. "I really did. The whole point of inception is to not leave any evidence behind. I didn't know it would..."
He frowned when he realized that Robert wasn't listening--he was staring into space, pale but calm. Eames was worried he was suffering another moment of dizziness, but then he spoke.
"That pipeline is going to be built up the African coast," Robert murmured, staring out the window. "Construction is going to take years. They'll have to relocate entire villages, thousands of families, for it to be made. People are going to die--it's going to be a humanitarian nightmare. When Fischer Morrow got involved we doubled the size of our PR department just to deal with the backlash." He laughed again, bitterly, and rubbed his face. "And Saito sent you to invade my mind so he could have it. Christ, he's insane."
Eames watched him, his brow furrowed, unable to respond. He shook his head.
Robert looked left and right, and then focused on Eames at last. "I can't say I wouldn't have done the same to him," he admitted. "Or to you. And I wouldn't have looked back." He frowned. "I can't believe you came back."
"I can't believe you haven't arrested me," Eames replied.
Robert rubbed his mouth again and stood so he could shed his coat. "That's simple. You can't help me if you're in prison." His confidence faltered. "And it's true--I am alone, if not for you. So don't go anywhere."
Eames straightened and watched Robert move away. "Go anywhere?"
"I'm taking a shower," Robert declared. "And you'd better still be here when I get out." He shot Eames a hard glare before heading into the bathroom. "I mean it."
"Yes sir..."
The bathroom door closed. Eames remained still until he heard the water start, and then he pushed himself up, reaching for his bag on the table. He gave up on his retreat before he got two more steps. Banks is still going to come for him, he reminded himself, grinding his teeth in frustration. Arthur being here is no coincidence. They're up to something. He looked to the closed bathroom door, then the outline of his PASIV, and muttered a curse under his breath. I can't leave him.
Eames collapsed onto the bed. He had been in his share of sticky situations but the unease plucking his strings was alien to him. When he closed his eyes he imagined Cobb's voice, reciting to him all the advice he had told Cobb himself at the start of their acquaintance. Don't get involved. Ha. Don't make it personal. His fingers crept over his abdomen, pressing into the soft flesh inside his hip bone as if expecting to find a scar. I should have been long gone by now. Is it really just curiosity keeping me here? Guilt? Hell, I've gone soft.
Robert took his time in the bathroom, and by the time he emerged their dinner had arrived. He feigned disinterest at first, but as soon as Eames began to eat hunger got the better of him and he gulped his and half of Eames's portion in no time.
"Glad to see your appetite's returned," Eames remarked. "How do you feel?"
"Better." In fact he looked remarkably calm given what Eames had confessed earlier, and the agitation he had displayed. "What about you?"
"Me?" Eames poured them each a glass of wine, and wondered vaguely if he could convince Robert to help pay his room charges. "I feel brilliant."
"Because you looked like you were going to pass out earlier."
He frowned as he passed Robert his glass. "Did I?"
"You did." Robert took a sip of his drink, and much like the lasagna seemed to realize all at once that he was thirsty. He gulped half the glass down, ignoring Eames's look of disapproval. "Did you really think I was going to turn you in?" he asked.
"It crossed my mind." Eames moved the wine bottle out of Robert's reach, just in case. "Isn't that usually what happens when a criminal gets caught?"
Robert gave his response much more thought than seemed necessary. "No," he concluded. "Not really." He relaxed back in his chair, swirling his remaining wine. "You wouldn't believe some of the things we get away with. The extortion, the cover-ups, the threats. A few months ago I was set to work with Cobol to ruin thousands of lives and it barely occurred to me to do differently." He rubbed his thumb hard against the lip of his glass. "Maybe I deserve whatever you did to me."
He glanced to Eames, and when he received no response, he made a face. "This is where you say, 'no you don't.'"
Eames finished the last bite of lasagna. "Do you want me to lie?" he replied easily.
Robert glared back at him, affronted, but then very gradually a smile tugged his lips. He laughed, with more genuine humor than Eames had ever heard from him, and his shoulders trembled with the effort as if it had been years. Watching him spread warmth through Eames's stomach; he knew he was witnessing something rare.
"Ahh, you're right," Robert said around a chuckle. He gulped down the rest of his wine and reached for the bottle, but could not quite get to it. "I am a horrible person."
"You're in good company," Eames assured. He poured only a little more wine into Robert's glass and clinked his against it. "Cheers."
"Cheers." Robert smiled at him sideways and, catching on to that he was being rationed, sipped his wine with more reservation. When he pulled his bare feet up onto the chair he looked as if his own laughter had stripped him down, leaving nothing left of the cold billionaire prince. "You know how it happened, don't you?" he said, growing more serious. "I spent my whole life trying to be him."
Eames nudged his plate aside so he could lean his elbows on the table. "Your father."
"It's ridiculous, really," Robert continued. "All that time I wasted trying to prove myself to him, and I didn't even know what he wanted from me. I still don't..." He tensed abruptly. "Did I tell you his last words to me?"
It pained him to say it, but he knew why Robert was asking. "He said, 'disappointed.'"
Robert nodded, looking both relieved and ashamed as his memory was confirmed for him. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yes. Disappointed with what I've become. This person I wasn't supposed to be."
Eames thought back to the scenes he'd witnessed in Munich, the tantrums initiated by poorly chosen suits and tall, unrelenting mirrors. "You've said that a few times now," he said quietly. "That you're not who you're supposed to be."
"It's true." Robert again lost focus, staring sightlessly down into his wine. "Nothing feels right now," he mumbled. "I just can't be myself. Something won't fit." He fingered his short hair. "He's still disappointed."
Eames swallowed hard. Watching Robert he could almost see the plastic faces of black ghosts parading by, changing him, and it made his skin crawl. I did this to him, he thought, the full weight of his crime a heavy stone in his gut. I'm ruining him even now. "Robert, you don't have to think like that," he said, even knowing it was futile. "I'm sorry, but your father is gone. You have to stop worrying about what he would have wanted."
As expected, Robert barely responded to the well-meant words. "He wanted something," he said more to himself than to Eames. "I don't know what. I know what he didn't want." His eyelids fluttered and he rubbed his temple. "Disappointed...."
"Robert." Eames sighed, and walked around the table to take Robert's glass away from him. "That's enough for tonight. You need to sleep."
Robert jerked awake. "No," he said immediately. "I'm not tired."
"Yes you are." He smiled reassuringly and hoped his ill ease didn't show through. "Come on, I'll teach you some tricks. It might be the best I can do for now."
Robert sank deeper into his chair, regarding Eames's offered hand as if it were about to bite. Abruptly he straightened. "Are you going to teach me to forge?"
Eames leaned back. "So you've done some research after all," he said warily.
"Only what I could find online," Robert replied. He fidgeted excitedly. "Is it true you can be whoever you want in a dream? And even change at will?"
"If you're a very good forger, yes. Which I happen to be."
Robert latched onto Eames's hand. "Teach me."
He was shaking his head almost before Robert said it. "That's not a good idea." He took Robert's other hand and pulled him out of his chair.
"But I want to learn," Robert insisted. He let Eames guide him to the bed and sat down. "It is a teachable skill, isn't it? So teach me."
"It's bloody difficult," Eames said, returning to the table for his PASIV. "And dangerous. You'll be much more susceptible to other dreamers, not to mention your own projections." He set the small silver case on the bed. "Right now it's more important that I help you get real sleep."
Robert heaved a melodramatic sigh. "I'm the victim here, you know," he grumbled as he crawled further up the bed. "You ought to be doing what I tell you. I could have you arrested at any moment."
Eames rolled up his sleeve and stepped out of his shoes on his way to joining him. "I won't let you have me arrested," he said, his smile genuine. "I don't want you to be alone."
His words caught Robert by surprise, and the ill humor left him as he relaxed on his back. As soon as Eames was on the bed he offered his arm. But he hadn't given in. "I just want to try for myself. Please."
Eames gently inserted and taped down the PASIV needle to Robert's arm. "I understand," he said, doing the same for himself. He stretched out on his side, propped up on his elbow so he could look Robert in the eye as he made himself clear. "I know how tempting it is, to want to be someone else for a while. But it's not going to help you figure out who you're supposed to be."
Robert watched him closely. "Why are you so sure?"
Eames's smile faltered, but he spread his fingertips through Robert's short hair with affection. "Because it hasn't worked for me so far," he replied dryly. He reached for the plunger.
He was halted by a warm hand sliding up the side of his face. Fingernails scraped his whiskers, and then sturdy fingers hooked around the back of his neck, pulling him down. Eames tensed as Robert's kiss found his lips, at once reassuring and needy. He knew better than to allow it, but when Robert's mouth moved against his, each gentle pressure a silent and hopeful question, his resolve wavered. He shivered, leaning into him, until the moment had run its course and Robert sagged on the mattress.
Eames watched him, struggling between concern and excitement. "What was that for?"
Robert shrugged, scratching lazily at Eames's sideburn. "No reason," he said. He glanced down at the PASIV. "What should I do?"
"Ah…nothing." He reached again for the plunger. "Just relax; I'm taking you into my dream."
Eames pressed the button and inviting darkness swelled up to envelope them. He only barely felt his body sag against Robert's as his mind went to work creating their dreamscape. He constructed it with care, filling every space and accounting for every detail, to put as little strain on Robert's fractured imagination as possible.
When they opened their eyes, they were still in bed together, but the bed was two sizes larger and the mattress comfortably worn. Robert took in a slow breath as he looked around, noticing the log cabin walls, the rustic décor, and a crackling fire surrounded by a broad stone hearth.
"Where are we?" Robert asked. He touched his chest and found himself clothed in long pajamas and a thick bathrobe.
"In the middle of nowhere," Eames replied. He was dressed the same, and he belted his robe more firmly around him as he climbed out of bed and then helped Robert up. "Come take a look."
He led Robert to the window. A cold wind whistled at the pane, and beyond, towering evergreens swayed along a steep mountain slope. Snow coated the long branches and drifted in white curtains off the cabin eaves. They were isolated, with only a very dim gleam of yellow lights illuminating the valley below.
"I know this valley," Robert murmured. He pressed his fingertips to the glass and got a chill. "That's my fortress down there."
"My fortress," Eames corrected him. "But yes, that's it. It's the only outpost for a thousand miles in any direction--we're completely alone here."
He snorted lightly. "I suppose that's meant to be romantic?"
Eames thumbed his nose and tried not to grin. "I’m trying to teach you something here," he said. "Namely, how to keep those ghosts out of your mind."
Robert scanned the room again, and seemed to realize for the first time that they truly were alone. "How?"
"The first rule of dreaming is that your mind will always try to fill an empty space," he explained. "So when you dream of a house, or a city, your mind fills it with people--your projections." He led them toward the bedroom door. "But you can prevent that by creating contextual blank spaces, like this isolated mountain."
Robert frowned. "So...by dreaming up a place that is supposed to be empty, it keeps my mind from filling it."
"Precisely."
Eames opened the door, revealing the rest of the modest cabin: lumpy sofas, quilts on the walls, a tiger skin rug on the floor. Robert took everything in with fascination, but abruptly jerked back.
"The rug just moved," he hissed.
Eames looked for himself, and chuckled when he realized what he had intended to be a rug was really a fully formed, very alive Siberian tiger. Its tail flicked back and forth and it regarded the pair of them with lazy disinterest.
"Sorry," Eames said sheepishly. "He's one of my projections. I can suppress him, if you want."
Robert watched the animal nervously for a long moment and at last shook his head. "No, he's fine. As long as he...stays in here."
They went back into the bedroom and closed the door. "I think I understand how this works," Robert said. "Do you really think it will keep those things out of my mind?"
"I can't say for sure, but it's worked for me." When Eames glanced to the fireplace he noticed an unnatural swirl in the flames, almost...spinning. He frowned and continued. "What's most important is that when you dream on your own, you retain control of your surroundings. You can make safe places for yourself, like this. Once you learn that, I think you'll be able to sleep peacefully."
Robert nodded along and sat on the bed with a thump. "So what happens now?"
"I can wake us up to let you try for yourself. Or...we can wait out the time here." Eames gestured to their immaculately constructed surroundings. "If you feel comfortable here, you should get some sleep."
"I should get some sleep while I sleep?" Robert said doubtfully.
"You said yourself you've had a rough week." Eames stopped in front of him. "We have an hour down here--you might as well spend it relaxing. And if you happen to fall asleep, you can practice what I've just taught you."
Robert stared up at him. "And you?"
"I'll be right here."
He considered that for a moment, his eyes intense. "Sleep with me."
Eames's mouth went dry, leaving him briefly speechless. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "That's about the opposite of relaxing, isn't it?" he teased.
Robert stood, putting them uncomfortably close. "If we both fall asleep down here, and dream...will we dream together?" he asked.
"I don't know," Eames admitted. "I've never dreamed a second level without using a PASIV." His hands tensed, wanting to reach out but knowing better. "But if it will make you feel better about it, I can take a nap, too."
"It will." Robert turned and climbed onto the bed, and though he didn’t reach out in any physical way, Eames could feel being tugged along all the same. He stretched out deliberately in the bed, making himself comfortable, looking very much like a fussy cat settling in.
Eames smiled as he joined him. "Good night, Robert," he murmured.
Robert closed his eyes and squirmed one last time. "Good night."
The room fell quiet, save the crackling of burning logs. Eames relaxed at Robert's side, watching his muscles grow slack, listening to the gradually slowing hiss of his breath. Only then did he touch him, moving his fingers slightly against the soft crop of his hair. His hands trembled at the contact, and the way Robert leaned unconsciously into him as he slept pulled at his chest and stole his breath.
His dream shifted as their time ticked down. He could feel palisades rising inch by inch along the walls, moats digging into the perimeter--even one tiger becoming two in the front hall. Robert's fingers curled tightly in the front of his robe and the defenses strengthened, making a fortress of their cabin bungalow, until Eames's subconscious was satisfied that Robert was safe inside him, from ghosts and pinwheels and anything else that would threaten him.
"It wasn't a lie," Eames whispered into the slope of Robert's shoulder. "You don't deserve what we did to you."
Robert mumbled in his sleep. When Eames draped his arm over him he tugged, demanding and needing that gesture of protection, and it felt so damn good Eames almost forgot they were dreaming.
"Are you here for the secrets?"
Eames jolted upright, just in time to see a shadow retreating from the edge of the bed. It disappeared into the fireplace.
He sat very still, feeling out the edges of his dream to be sure the defenses were secure. He had changed nothing. When he paid better attention to the fireplace he realized that the swirling he had noticed earlier was worse, and was even forming shapes. One very familiar, twirling shape in particular.
Damn it. He glanced to Robert and, finding him still deeply asleep, looked back to the fireplace. "Yes," he whispered.
"I know where they're hidden," a woman's voice echoed from the hearth. "Come with me."
Eames eased carefully away from Robert and stood, padding to the fireplace. When he drew his hand along the mantle it clinked, and he could hear metal grinding from within the wall. Slowly, the entire stone chimney began to slide upwards, taking the fireplace with it. Eames watched with mounting shock as it folded into the ceiling, leaving in its place the polished metal door of a safe.
I didn't put this here, Eames thought, a thrill of panic skating his edges. Is he doing this? He looked over his shoulder but Robert was still asleep in bed. This is my dream--how is he building in my dream when he's not even conscious?
His heart began to pound. Unable to contain his curiosity he felt out the keypad and typed in the combination. With a hiss and a groan the safe door separated in front of him, as expected opening into a hollow, black-walled chamber.
Eames stepped inside slowly as if in a trance. His palms grew clammy as he examined his surroundings and found the hundreds of empty masks that had occupied the space last he saw it. Licking his lips, he moved closer to the nearest wall and touched the plastic face in front of him. He recognized it as a face he had forged a few jobs back, and the one next to it a feminine beauty he had attempted for his own amusement some time before that. When he came to the third he paused, and realized with mix fascination and dread that it was not one of his: it was Robert's assistant, Shelby, who he'd had an occasion to meet but never assume.
"What's she's doing here?" he thought aloud, and when he moved to the next face he didn't recognize it at all. Down the line he continued, picking out the faces he knew, frowning at those he didn't. "How are you doing this?" he hissed in growing agitation. "Who are these people? What are they doing here?"
He spotted one among the throngs that shot cold needles into his gut. With shaking hands he felt out the curve of its jaw, the plush fullness of its lips, the scratch of unshaved whiskers: his face. His own, normal face, nestled on the wall like the countless other empty identities. Inexplicable panic overtook him and he stumbled back, clutching the mask with white fingers.
A hand fell on his shoulder. "Eames?"
Eames jumped, but it was only Robert, watching him with concern. "What's wrong?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Did you build this?" Eames asked urgently. "Did you put these here? What is this?"
He shook the mask at him, and when Robert was able to actually get a look at it, he nodded knowingly. "Yes, I know him." His lip quirked. "That's Fred Simmonds."
Eames threw it into the corner. "I'm not joking--I want to know if you built this!"
Robert crossed his arms defensively. "I was asleep. How could I?"
"But if I didn't put this here, it had to be you," Eames reasoned, trying to smother his temper. He glanced to the entrance and saw a feline shadow spilling over the threshold. "Just like before."
"Then maybe I did, I don't know." Robert retrieved the fallen mask and looked it over again. "What difference does it make?"
Eames followed him. "It makes quite a bit of difference. Last time all these faces were mine--my forgeries. Now half of them I don't even recognize. You must have put them here."
"So? You said earlier that I can and should control my surroundings, didn't you?"
"Yes, but--" Eames cut himself off with a bark of incredulous laughter. "In your dream. This is my dream--I control it."
Robert raised an eyebrow. "Apparently, you don't."
Eames started to reply, but couldn't. Even in jest it was a disturbing thought, and with a growl he turned away. He stared up and down the walls, trying to make sense of the crossover. "One of us built this room without realizing," he murmured, "and we're both projecting into it. But why?" He knocked the closest masks off the wall out of spite. "What does it mean?"
Robert fingered the Eames-likeness between his fingers, and at long last replaced it on the wall. "Maybe..." He gave the nose a pinch, and stepped back as the face begin to twirl around its center. "Maybe it means we're hiding the same secret."
Eames stared as it turned, hypnotized. The mask split, its plastic edges crinkling as it shaped itself into the pinwheel it had already been mimicking. It drew him in, until he was standing beside Robert again, watching his distorted face twist in place. He started to reach for it but Robert stopped him, winding their fingers together.
"It's all right," Robert said quietly.
That's not his pinwheel. Eames shivered and drew closer to the man next to him. It's mine. And it means the same thing. It means... He looked again to the dull faces and saw them shudder, trying to drag the black away from the walls. I don't know who I'm...
Robert wrapped his arms around him, and with a gasp he woke up.
They were back in the hotel. Eames was on his side, his face pressed into the crook of Robert's neck, his lips still warm from a kiss. He let out his breath in a long sigh, relieved to have been spared the escalation of his dream. Like every other time awakening next to Robert Fischer he felt exhausted and exposed, and when short fingernails again skated over his cheek he didn't resist.
Robert's second kiss was the same as the first. His lips were warm, eager to comfort and be comforted, and Eames replied in equal measure. Every time they came together the dream faded a bit more, until the black chill of the safe was distant memory. Slowly they twisted toward each other, pausing only to remove the stinging pull of the PASIV needles.
Robert hissed and abruptly shoved against the mattress. He swung his knee, forcing Eames onto his back as he rolled on top of him. When they pressed together Eames felt Robert's heart pound against his ribs, tasted the desperation on the tip of his tongue, heard the silent pleas made tangible by the long fingers tugging his hair. Robert needed him, needed control and affection, and more than anything the reassurance that he was not the only one with fear in the corners of his mind, breaking him down and leaving him raw.
Robert rolled his shoulders, kissing Eames with greater passion as he rubbed their bodies together. He coaxed Eames's mouth open with his tongue and moaned into him--the gentle rumble rippled all through him, tightening arousal in the pit of his stomach. It was wrong, and Eames wondered distantly if he was still taking advantage of his vulnerable companion, but it felt so damn good he almost forgot they were awake.
He broke the kiss with a gasp. His hands slid to Robert's waist, encouraging him, and he sucked through his teeth when their hips ground. They moved together inelegantly; Eames tried bending his knees for greater leverage, and was surprised when Robert squirmed and slid his thigh between his. When Robert rocked into him hard denim stroked his groin and he growled breathlessly.
Robert's eyelids fluttered, his breath a seething pant against Eames's ear as he braced his palms to the mattress and thrust again against the rise of Eames's pelvis. He began to move in a gradually mounting rhythm, pumping urgently into the writhing body beneath him. If the tight grip of his jeans was of any discomfort he did not show it, and in fact seemed to relish the frustration. His fly dug into an imaginary scar.
Eames's head fell back. With one hand at the back of Robert's neck and the other clenching around his belt loops he pulled in time with their motion and bucked as best he could with his hips. He ached, and he would have let Robert inside him if he could have stopped him long enough; but Robert clung to him, unwilling to let any space between them as if afraid Eames would be gone if he did. So he stroked Robert's hair, and squeezed him with his thighs, and imagined that he was enveloping him completely. Imagined they were still the only men in the world, isolated, sharing the same fears and the same passion.
They churned and arched until Robert's breath grew ragged, and abruptly his body jerked. He shuddered against Eames with low groans. Feeling Robert unravel within his arms shot fresh pleasure through Eames's veins, and he pressed their mouths in an anxious kiss as he shook through his own unexpected release. Panting, they both sagged, and waited long minutes before attempting to untangle their twisted limbs.
Robert flopped onto his back. He wiped his hands over his forehead as if pushing the hair from his sweat-dampened face, though it was no longer necessary. He stared at the ceiling, and as he came to his senses seemed to regret his haste. He made a face and undid his fly. "Damn."
It may not have been the most tactful response, but Eames couldn't help but laugh. He rubbed his hip. "Think you'll be able to sleep now?" he joked.
Robert chuckled dully, but when they looked to each other, he grew quickly serious again. "Sleep with me."
"You'll have to let me catch my breath," Eames replied. He sat up, stretching his weary back and legs. "My turn for the shower. Since you didn’t bring any clothes with you, you can borrow some of mine. Clean ones are in the right zipper."
Robert frowned as he watched Eames move away. "All right..."
Eames did not take long in the bathroom. As the euphoria ran down he couldn't help but be reminded of the chilling discovery in his dream, and he washed and dried quickly so that he would not be alone with his thoughts. He didn't want to imagine the wraiths in his mind, changing things.
"I just can't be myself," he remembered Robert saying as he pulled on fresh boxers and a shirt. "Something won't fit."
I'm not who I'm supposed to be.
He returned to the room and found Robert curled up under the blankets, dressed in his clothes and fast asleep.
To Chapter 9
Fandom: Inception
Title: The Helix Trap
Chapter: 8/19 (5,960 words) (For other parts please check my My main post.
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Eames/Robert, Arthur/Ariadne, Cobb, Yusuf, Saito, Browning, and others.
Warnings: Violence, sexual content.
Disclaimer: These characters and setting do not belong to me and are being used without permission but for no profit
Summary: After the Inception proves successful, Eames tracks down Robert out of concern for its unusual side effects. Meanwhile, Arthur is hired to a dangerous job that forces the rest of the team to take sides: whether to defend Robert and his fragile mind, or ruin him completely.
Notes: C&C Welcome and appreciated. Thanks to my beta chypie for her input! This chapter is slightly more "mature" than those before it so I hope you're here for the slash as well as the A/A, lol.
EDIT: hungryspider did some adorable fanart inspired by this chapter. Check it out!
Eames glanced back just to see where Arthur and Ariadne were headed before turning to Robert. "Don't worry about them," he said, and he gave the back of his neck a gentle squeeze to break his stare. "I just had a bit of business to take care of. Now come on, let's get out of here."
He reached for his bag, but Robert twisted it away from him. "No--I just said I don't want to go to the condo," Robert insisted. "I'm staying here for the night."
Eames frowned, but they were starting to garner attention, and he didn't want to risk more. "All right, if you insist." They moved toward the elevators together, and while waiting Eames couldn't help but take special note of the floor Arthur and Ariadne's had stopped on. "You might get your face in the tabloids for this," he warned. "Billionaire spends the night in a hotel with a strange man..."
Robert scoffed. "What difference does that make now? Our stock is plummeting, Peter's been speaking to the board behind my back..." An elevator arrived, and they stepped inside. "And I could be having a nervous breakdown. A scandal is the last thing on my mind."
A pair of women with their luggage joined them in the elevator, and pressed the button for the same floor Eames's room was on. He glanced over them suspiciously; knowing that Arthur was in town put him on edge, and he could not help but be wary of spies. "You're handling it better than most would," he told Robert. "Except, maybe, in this case." He plucked the cap off Robert's head, revealing his short crop of hair--barely an inch in length remained, and it stuck up in odd places. "Did you do this yourself?"
Robert smoothed it down with his fingers irritably. "Of course not," he grumbled.
"It's not bad." Eames touched the back of Robert's head, enjoying the tickle of soft hairs against his fingertips. "Reminds me of my military days."
"You were a soldier?"
"Oh so briefly."
Eames handed him his hat back, but Robert wrung it against his hands and didn't replace it. The elevator chimed their floor a moment later, and the women left first, casting the pair curious glances along the way. Eames waited for them to get a ways down the hall before leading Robert into his room. As soon as they were inside he moved to the window to confirm it was securely locked, then circled around, making sure everything was as he had left it.
"Something wrong?" Robert asked as he set Eames's satchel onto the table.
"Not at all." Eames finished by locking and latching the door. He wouldn't try anything with me here, he assured himself. He knows what I'm capable of. He turned back to Robert without any indication of his thoughts in his face. "Now, when was the last time you ate?" When it took more than a few seconds for Robert to remember, he moved to the phone. "I'm ordering room service."
Robert sank into a chair. "I'm not hungry."
"Liar." Eames called in two orders of the chef recommended lasagna--he had already eaten, but he hoped it would further convince Robert to do the same. Once that was finished he shed his jacket and sat down on the bed. "Now, tell me about this week of yours," he said. "From the sound of it, you haven't had a pleasant time."
"Understatement," Robert grunted. He ran his hands over his hair again. "Every time I try to sleep, those...those things are everywhere. It's like I can feel them moving around in my brain." His fingers curled, scratching his scalp. "Changing things. I was trying to tell Shelby about how I hurt my knee horseback riding, and how my father flew in to see me, and...and I realized it might have not happened that way." He shuddered, and his fear made Eames's stomach turn. "What if it didn't happen at all?"
"Hey, hey." Eames stood and moved closer, peeling Robert's hands gently away from his head before he could hurt himself. "It's all right--that's why I'm here, to help you figure this out."
Robert nodded, swallowing hard. "Peter keeps trying to talk to me about what's going on, but I don't know what to tell him," he said. "I'm not even sure he cares, except that people are starting to notice. I've even tried researching this dream crap myself but I didn't know where to start... You don't know how many times I wished I'd taken your number. I realized as soon as you left that..."
He looked up, his hands tightening against Eames's almost painfully. "That I was alone," he finished. His eyes narrowed, searching. "I'm alone except for the man who did this to me."
Eames went rigid. Robert's fingers dug like icicles into his skin, but he didn't try to free himself--couldn't move beneath the heavy interrogation of those bright blue eyes. By the time he thought to deny it his silence had given him away, and Robert surrendered a dull laugh. "At least Peter was right about one thing," he muttered.
Eames forced half a smile, even as his heart sank and his instinct told him to flee. "Did Saito tell you?"
"No. I just stopped being stupid." Robert let him go and leaned back in his chair. His weary acceptance was unnerving, and Eames was not sure how to respond to it. "What did you do to me?"
It's over. He licked his lips, trying to think rationally, but Robert's unfaltering stare kept breaking him down. But all he has is my name. If I leave, he'll never find me again. So there's no harm in telling him the truth. "Inception," he said. "Saito hired me to put an idea in your mind--to break up your father's company."
Robert's shoulders sagged. "So he could take over the pipeline?"
"I suppose, among other things." Eames retook his seat on the bed. He could see some significant revelation transpiring inside the man across him, but he wasn't prepared to even guess what it was. "I tried to do this clean," he found himself saying. "I really did. The whole point of inception is to not leave any evidence behind. I didn't know it would..."
He frowned when he realized that Robert wasn't listening--he was staring into space, pale but calm. Eames was worried he was suffering another moment of dizziness, but then he spoke.
"That pipeline is going to be built up the African coast," Robert murmured, staring out the window. "Construction is going to take years. They'll have to relocate entire villages, thousands of families, for it to be made. People are going to die--it's going to be a humanitarian nightmare. When Fischer Morrow got involved we doubled the size of our PR department just to deal with the backlash." He laughed again, bitterly, and rubbed his face. "And Saito sent you to invade my mind so he could have it. Christ, he's insane."
Eames watched him, his brow furrowed, unable to respond. He shook his head.
Robert looked left and right, and then focused on Eames at last. "I can't say I wouldn't have done the same to him," he admitted. "Or to you. And I wouldn't have looked back." He frowned. "I can't believe you came back."
"I can't believe you haven't arrested me," Eames replied.
Robert rubbed his mouth again and stood so he could shed his coat. "That's simple. You can't help me if you're in prison." His confidence faltered. "And it's true--I am alone, if not for you. So don't go anywhere."
Eames straightened and watched Robert move away. "Go anywhere?"
"I'm taking a shower," Robert declared. "And you'd better still be here when I get out." He shot Eames a hard glare before heading into the bathroom. "I mean it."
"Yes sir..."
The bathroom door closed. Eames remained still until he heard the water start, and then he pushed himself up, reaching for his bag on the table. He gave up on his retreat before he got two more steps. Banks is still going to come for him, he reminded himself, grinding his teeth in frustration. Arthur being here is no coincidence. They're up to something. He looked to the closed bathroom door, then the outline of his PASIV, and muttered a curse under his breath. I can't leave him.
Eames collapsed onto the bed. He had been in his share of sticky situations but the unease plucking his strings was alien to him. When he closed his eyes he imagined Cobb's voice, reciting to him all the advice he had told Cobb himself at the start of their acquaintance. Don't get involved. Ha. Don't make it personal. His fingers crept over his abdomen, pressing into the soft flesh inside his hip bone as if expecting to find a scar. I should have been long gone by now. Is it really just curiosity keeping me here? Guilt? Hell, I've gone soft.
Robert took his time in the bathroom, and by the time he emerged their dinner had arrived. He feigned disinterest at first, but as soon as Eames began to eat hunger got the better of him and he gulped his and half of Eames's portion in no time.
"Glad to see your appetite's returned," Eames remarked. "How do you feel?"
"Better." In fact he looked remarkably calm given what Eames had confessed earlier, and the agitation he had displayed. "What about you?"
"Me?" Eames poured them each a glass of wine, and wondered vaguely if he could convince Robert to help pay his room charges. "I feel brilliant."
"Because you looked like you were going to pass out earlier."
He frowned as he passed Robert his glass. "Did I?"
"You did." Robert took a sip of his drink, and much like the lasagna seemed to realize all at once that he was thirsty. He gulped half the glass down, ignoring Eames's look of disapproval. "Did you really think I was going to turn you in?" he asked.
"It crossed my mind." Eames moved the wine bottle out of Robert's reach, just in case. "Isn't that usually what happens when a criminal gets caught?"
Robert gave his response much more thought than seemed necessary. "No," he concluded. "Not really." He relaxed back in his chair, swirling his remaining wine. "You wouldn't believe some of the things we get away with. The extortion, the cover-ups, the threats. A few months ago I was set to work with Cobol to ruin thousands of lives and it barely occurred to me to do differently." He rubbed his thumb hard against the lip of his glass. "Maybe I deserve whatever you did to me."
He glanced to Eames, and when he received no response, he made a face. "This is where you say, 'no you don't.'"
Eames finished the last bite of lasagna. "Do you want me to lie?" he replied easily.
Robert glared back at him, affronted, but then very gradually a smile tugged his lips. He laughed, with more genuine humor than Eames had ever heard from him, and his shoulders trembled with the effort as if it had been years. Watching him spread warmth through Eames's stomach; he knew he was witnessing something rare.
"Ahh, you're right," Robert said around a chuckle. He gulped down the rest of his wine and reached for the bottle, but could not quite get to it. "I am a horrible person."
"You're in good company," Eames assured. He poured only a little more wine into Robert's glass and clinked his against it. "Cheers."
"Cheers." Robert smiled at him sideways and, catching on to that he was being rationed, sipped his wine with more reservation. When he pulled his bare feet up onto the chair he looked as if his own laughter had stripped him down, leaving nothing left of the cold billionaire prince. "You know how it happened, don't you?" he said, growing more serious. "I spent my whole life trying to be him."
Eames nudged his plate aside so he could lean his elbows on the table. "Your father."
"It's ridiculous, really," Robert continued. "All that time I wasted trying to prove myself to him, and I didn't even know what he wanted from me. I still don't..." He tensed abruptly. "Did I tell you his last words to me?"
It pained him to say it, but he knew why Robert was asking. "He said, 'disappointed.'"
Robert nodded, looking both relieved and ashamed as his memory was confirmed for him. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yes. Disappointed with what I've become. This person I wasn't supposed to be."
Eames thought back to the scenes he'd witnessed in Munich, the tantrums initiated by poorly chosen suits and tall, unrelenting mirrors. "You've said that a few times now," he said quietly. "That you're not who you're supposed to be."
"It's true." Robert again lost focus, staring sightlessly down into his wine. "Nothing feels right now," he mumbled. "I just can't be myself. Something won't fit." He fingered his short hair. "He's still disappointed."
Eames swallowed hard. Watching Robert he could almost see the plastic faces of black ghosts parading by, changing him, and it made his skin crawl. I did this to him, he thought, the full weight of his crime a heavy stone in his gut. I'm ruining him even now. "Robert, you don't have to think like that," he said, even knowing it was futile. "I'm sorry, but your father is gone. You have to stop worrying about what he would have wanted."
As expected, Robert barely responded to the well-meant words. "He wanted something," he said more to himself than to Eames. "I don't know what. I know what he didn't want." His eyelids fluttered and he rubbed his temple. "Disappointed...."
"Robert." Eames sighed, and walked around the table to take Robert's glass away from him. "That's enough for tonight. You need to sleep."
Robert jerked awake. "No," he said immediately. "I'm not tired."
"Yes you are." He smiled reassuringly and hoped his ill ease didn't show through. "Come on, I'll teach you some tricks. It might be the best I can do for now."
Robert sank deeper into his chair, regarding Eames's offered hand as if it were about to bite. Abruptly he straightened. "Are you going to teach me to forge?"
Eames leaned back. "So you've done some research after all," he said warily.
"Only what I could find online," Robert replied. He fidgeted excitedly. "Is it true you can be whoever you want in a dream? And even change at will?"
"If you're a very good forger, yes. Which I happen to be."
Robert latched onto Eames's hand. "Teach me."
He was shaking his head almost before Robert said it. "That's not a good idea." He took Robert's other hand and pulled him out of his chair.
"But I want to learn," Robert insisted. He let Eames guide him to the bed and sat down. "It is a teachable skill, isn't it? So teach me."
"It's bloody difficult," Eames said, returning to the table for his PASIV. "And dangerous. You'll be much more susceptible to other dreamers, not to mention your own projections." He set the small silver case on the bed. "Right now it's more important that I help you get real sleep."
Robert heaved a melodramatic sigh. "I'm the victim here, you know," he grumbled as he crawled further up the bed. "You ought to be doing what I tell you. I could have you arrested at any moment."
Eames rolled up his sleeve and stepped out of his shoes on his way to joining him. "I won't let you have me arrested," he said, his smile genuine. "I don't want you to be alone."
His words caught Robert by surprise, and the ill humor left him as he relaxed on his back. As soon as Eames was on the bed he offered his arm. But he hadn't given in. "I just want to try for myself. Please."
Eames gently inserted and taped down the PASIV needle to Robert's arm. "I understand," he said, doing the same for himself. He stretched out on his side, propped up on his elbow so he could look Robert in the eye as he made himself clear. "I know how tempting it is, to want to be someone else for a while. But it's not going to help you figure out who you're supposed to be."
Robert watched him closely. "Why are you so sure?"
Eames's smile faltered, but he spread his fingertips through Robert's short hair with affection. "Because it hasn't worked for me so far," he replied dryly. He reached for the plunger.
He was halted by a warm hand sliding up the side of his face. Fingernails scraped his whiskers, and then sturdy fingers hooked around the back of his neck, pulling him down. Eames tensed as Robert's kiss found his lips, at once reassuring and needy. He knew better than to allow it, but when Robert's mouth moved against his, each gentle pressure a silent and hopeful question, his resolve wavered. He shivered, leaning into him, until the moment had run its course and Robert sagged on the mattress.
Eames watched him, struggling between concern and excitement. "What was that for?"
Robert shrugged, scratching lazily at Eames's sideburn. "No reason," he said. He glanced down at the PASIV. "What should I do?"
"Ah…nothing." He reached again for the plunger. "Just relax; I'm taking you into my dream."
Eames pressed the button and inviting darkness swelled up to envelope them. He only barely felt his body sag against Robert's as his mind went to work creating their dreamscape. He constructed it with care, filling every space and accounting for every detail, to put as little strain on Robert's fractured imagination as possible.
When they opened their eyes, they were still in bed together, but the bed was two sizes larger and the mattress comfortably worn. Robert took in a slow breath as he looked around, noticing the log cabin walls, the rustic décor, and a crackling fire surrounded by a broad stone hearth.
"Where are we?" Robert asked. He touched his chest and found himself clothed in long pajamas and a thick bathrobe.
"In the middle of nowhere," Eames replied. He was dressed the same, and he belted his robe more firmly around him as he climbed out of bed and then helped Robert up. "Come take a look."
He led Robert to the window. A cold wind whistled at the pane, and beyond, towering evergreens swayed along a steep mountain slope. Snow coated the long branches and drifted in white curtains off the cabin eaves. They were isolated, with only a very dim gleam of yellow lights illuminating the valley below.
"I know this valley," Robert murmured. He pressed his fingertips to the glass and got a chill. "That's my fortress down there."
"My fortress," Eames corrected him. "But yes, that's it. It's the only outpost for a thousand miles in any direction--we're completely alone here."
He snorted lightly. "I suppose that's meant to be romantic?"
Eames thumbed his nose and tried not to grin. "I’m trying to teach you something here," he said. "Namely, how to keep those ghosts out of your mind."
Robert scanned the room again, and seemed to realize for the first time that they truly were alone. "How?"
"The first rule of dreaming is that your mind will always try to fill an empty space," he explained. "So when you dream of a house, or a city, your mind fills it with people--your projections." He led them toward the bedroom door. "But you can prevent that by creating contextual blank spaces, like this isolated mountain."
Robert frowned. "So...by dreaming up a place that is supposed to be empty, it keeps my mind from filling it."
"Precisely."
Eames opened the door, revealing the rest of the modest cabin: lumpy sofas, quilts on the walls, a tiger skin rug on the floor. Robert took everything in with fascination, but abruptly jerked back.
"The rug just moved," he hissed.
Eames looked for himself, and chuckled when he realized what he had intended to be a rug was really a fully formed, very alive Siberian tiger. Its tail flicked back and forth and it regarded the pair of them with lazy disinterest.
"Sorry," Eames said sheepishly. "He's one of my projections. I can suppress him, if you want."
Robert watched the animal nervously for a long moment and at last shook his head. "No, he's fine. As long as he...stays in here."
They went back into the bedroom and closed the door. "I think I understand how this works," Robert said. "Do you really think it will keep those things out of my mind?"
"I can't say for sure, but it's worked for me." When Eames glanced to the fireplace he noticed an unnatural swirl in the flames, almost...spinning. He frowned and continued. "What's most important is that when you dream on your own, you retain control of your surroundings. You can make safe places for yourself, like this. Once you learn that, I think you'll be able to sleep peacefully."
Robert nodded along and sat on the bed with a thump. "So what happens now?"
"I can wake us up to let you try for yourself. Or...we can wait out the time here." Eames gestured to their immaculately constructed surroundings. "If you feel comfortable here, you should get some sleep."
"I should get some sleep while I sleep?" Robert said doubtfully.
"You said yourself you've had a rough week." Eames stopped in front of him. "We have an hour down here--you might as well spend it relaxing. And if you happen to fall asleep, you can practice what I've just taught you."
Robert stared up at him. "And you?"
"I'll be right here."
He considered that for a moment, his eyes intense. "Sleep with me."
Eames's mouth went dry, leaving him briefly speechless. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "That's about the opposite of relaxing, isn't it?" he teased.
Robert stood, putting them uncomfortably close. "If we both fall asleep down here, and dream...will we dream together?" he asked.
"I don't know," Eames admitted. "I've never dreamed a second level without using a PASIV." His hands tensed, wanting to reach out but knowing better. "But if it will make you feel better about it, I can take a nap, too."
"It will." Robert turned and climbed onto the bed, and though he didn’t reach out in any physical way, Eames could feel being tugged along all the same. He stretched out deliberately in the bed, making himself comfortable, looking very much like a fussy cat settling in.
Eames smiled as he joined him. "Good night, Robert," he murmured.
Robert closed his eyes and squirmed one last time. "Good night."
The room fell quiet, save the crackling of burning logs. Eames relaxed at Robert's side, watching his muscles grow slack, listening to the gradually slowing hiss of his breath. Only then did he touch him, moving his fingers slightly against the soft crop of his hair. His hands trembled at the contact, and the way Robert leaned unconsciously into him as he slept pulled at his chest and stole his breath.
His dream shifted as their time ticked down. He could feel palisades rising inch by inch along the walls, moats digging into the perimeter--even one tiger becoming two in the front hall. Robert's fingers curled tightly in the front of his robe and the defenses strengthened, making a fortress of their cabin bungalow, until Eames's subconscious was satisfied that Robert was safe inside him, from ghosts and pinwheels and anything else that would threaten him.
"It wasn't a lie," Eames whispered into the slope of Robert's shoulder. "You don't deserve what we did to you."
Robert mumbled in his sleep. When Eames draped his arm over him he tugged, demanding and needing that gesture of protection, and it felt so damn good Eames almost forgot they were dreaming.
"Are you here for the secrets?"
Eames jolted upright, just in time to see a shadow retreating from the edge of the bed. It disappeared into the fireplace.
He sat very still, feeling out the edges of his dream to be sure the defenses were secure. He had changed nothing. When he paid better attention to the fireplace he realized that the swirling he had noticed earlier was worse, and was even forming shapes. One very familiar, twirling shape in particular.
Damn it. He glanced to Robert and, finding him still deeply asleep, looked back to the fireplace. "Yes," he whispered.
"I know where they're hidden," a woman's voice echoed from the hearth. "Come with me."
Eames eased carefully away from Robert and stood, padding to the fireplace. When he drew his hand along the mantle it clinked, and he could hear metal grinding from within the wall. Slowly, the entire stone chimney began to slide upwards, taking the fireplace with it. Eames watched with mounting shock as it folded into the ceiling, leaving in its place the polished metal door of a safe.
I didn't put this here, Eames thought, a thrill of panic skating his edges. Is he doing this? He looked over his shoulder but Robert was still asleep in bed. This is my dream--how is he building in my dream when he's not even conscious?
His heart began to pound. Unable to contain his curiosity he felt out the keypad and typed in the combination. With a hiss and a groan the safe door separated in front of him, as expected opening into a hollow, black-walled chamber.
Eames stepped inside slowly as if in a trance. His palms grew clammy as he examined his surroundings and found the hundreds of empty masks that had occupied the space last he saw it. Licking his lips, he moved closer to the nearest wall and touched the plastic face in front of him. He recognized it as a face he had forged a few jobs back, and the one next to it a feminine beauty he had attempted for his own amusement some time before that. When he came to the third he paused, and realized with mix fascination and dread that it was not one of his: it was Robert's assistant, Shelby, who he'd had an occasion to meet but never assume.
"What's she's doing here?" he thought aloud, and when he moved to the next face he didn't recognize it at all. Down the line he continued, picking out the faces he knew, frowning at those he didn't. "How are you doing this?" he hissed in growing agitation. "Who are these people? What are they doing here?"
He spotted one among the throngs that shot cold needles into his gut. With shaking hands he felt out the curve of its jaw, the plush fullness of its lips, the scratch of unshaved whiskers: his face. His own, normal face, nestled on the wall like the countless other empty identities. Inexplicable panic overtook him and he stumbled back, clutching the mask with white fingers.
A hand fell on his shoulder. "Eames?"
Eames jumped, but it was only Robert, watching him with concern. "What's wrong?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Did you build this?" Eames asked urgently. "Did you put these here? What is this?"
He shook the mask at him, and when Robert was able to actually get a look at it, he nodded knowingly. "Yes, I know him." His lip quirked. "That's Fred Simmonds."
Eames threw it into the corner. "I'm not joking--I want to know if you built this!"
Robert crossed his arms defensively. "I was asleep. How could I?"
"But if I didn't put this here, it had to be you," Eames reasoned, trying to smother his temper. He glanced to the entrance and saw a feline shadow spilling over the threshold. "Just like before."
"Then maybe I did, I don't know." Robert retrieved the fallen mask and looked it over again. "What difference does it make?"
Eames followed him. "It makes quite a bit of difference. Last time all these faces were mine--my forgeries. Now half of them I don't even recognize. You must have put them here."
"So? You said earlier that I can and should control my surroundings, didn't you?"
"Yes, but--" Eames cut himself off with a bark of incredulous laughter. "In your dream. This is my dream--I control it."
Robert raised an eyebrow. "Apparently, you don't."
Eames started to reply, but couldn't. Even in jest it was a disturbing thought, and with a growl he turned away. He stared up and down the walls, trying to make sense of the crossover. "One of us built this room without realizing," he murmured, "and we're both projecting into it. But why?" He knocked the closest masks off the wall out of spite. "What does it mean?"
Robert fingered the Eames-likeness between his fingers, and at long last replaced it on the wall. "Maybe..." He gave the nose a pinch, and stepped back as the face begin to twirl around its center. "Maybe it means we're hiding the same secret."
Eames stared as it turned, hypnotized. The mask split, its plastic edges crinkling as it shaped itself into the pinwheel it had already been mimicking. It drew him in, until he was standing beside Robert again, watching his distorted face twist in place. He started to reach for it but Robert stopped him, winding their fingers together.
"It's all right," Robert said quietly.
That's not his pinwheel. Eames shivered and drew closer to the man next to him. It's mine. And it means the same thing. It means... He looked again to the dull faces and saw them shudder, trying to drag the black away from the walls. I don't know who I'm...
Robert wrapped his arms around him, and with a gasp he woke up.
They were back in the hotel. Eames was on his side, his face pressed into the crook of Robert's neck, his lips still warm from a kiss. He let out his breath in a long sigh, relieved to have been spared the escalation of his dream. Like every other time awakening next to Robert Fischer he felt exhausted and exposed, and when short fingernails again skated over his cheek he didn't resist.
Robert's second kiss was the same as the first. His lips were warm, eager to comfort and be comforted, and Eames replied in equal measure. Every time they came together the dream faded a bit more, until the black chill of the safe was distant memory. Slowly they twisted toward each other, pausing only to remove the stinging pull of the PASIV needles.
Robert hissed and abruptly shoved against the mattress. He swung his knee, forcing Eames onto his back as he rolled on top of him. When they pressed together Eames felt Robert's heart pound against his ribs, tasted the desperation on the tip of his tongue, heard the silent pleas made tangible by the long fingers tugging his hair. Robert needed him, needed control and affection, and more than anything the reassurance that he was not the only one with fear in the corners of his mind, breaking him down and leaving him raw.
Robert rolled his shoulders, kissing Eames with greater passion as he rubbed their bodies together. He coaxed Eames's mouth open with his tongue and moaned into him--the gentle rumble rippled all through him, tightening arousal in the pit of his stomach. It was wrong, and Eames wondered distantly if he was still taking advantage of his vulnerable companion, but it felt so damn good he almost forgot they were awake.
He broke the kiss with a gasp. His hands slid to Robert's waist, encouraging him, and he sucked through his teeth when their hips ground. They moved together inelegantly; Eames tried bending his knees for greater leverage, and was surprised when Robert squirmed and slid his thigh between his. When Robert rocked into him hard denim stroked his groin and he growled breathlessly.
Robert's eyelids fluttered, his breath a seething pant against Eames's ear as he braced his palms to the mattress and thrust again against the rise of Eames's pelvis. He began to move in a gradually mounting rhythm, pumping urgently into the writhing body beneath him. If the tight grip of his jeans was of any discomfort he did not show it, and in fact seemed to relish the frustration. His fly dug into an imaginary scar.
Eames's head fell back. With one hand at the back of Robert's neck and the other clenching around his belt loops he pulled in time with their motion and bucked as best he could with his hips. He ached, and he would have let Robert inside him if he could have stopped him long enough; but Robert clung to him, unwilling to let any space between them as if afraid Eames would be gone if he did. So he stroked Robert's hair, and squeezed him with his thighs, and imagined that he was enveloping him completely. Imagined they were still the only men in the world, isolated, sharing the same fears and the same passion.
They churned and arched until Robert's breath grew ragged, and abruptly his body jerked. He shuddered against Eames with low groans. Feeling Robert unravel within his arms shot fresh pleasure through Eames's veins, and he pressed their mouths in an anxious kiss as he shook through his own unexpected release. Panting, they both sagged, and waited long minutes before attempting to untangle their twisted limbs.
Robert flopped onto his back. He wiped his hands over his forehead as if pushing the hair from his sweat-dampened face, though it was no longer necessary. He stared at the ceiling, and as he came to his senses seemed to regret his haste. He made a face and undid his fly. "Damn."
It may not have been the most tactful response, but Eames couldn't help but laugh. He rubbed his hip. "Think you'll be able to sleep now?" he joked.
Robert chuckled dully, but when they looked to each other, he grew quickly serious again. "Sleep with me."
"You'll have to let me catch my breath," Eames replied. He sat up, stretching his weary back and legs. "My turn for the shower. Since you didn’t bring any clothes with you, you can borrow some of mine. Clean ones are in the right zipper."
Robert frowned as he watched Eames move away. "All right..."
Eames did not take long in the bathroom. As the euphoria ran down he couldn't help but be reminded of the chilling discovery in his dream, and he washed and dried quickly so that he would not be alone with his thoughts. He didn't want to imagine the wraiths in his mind, changing things.
"I just can't be myself," he remembered Robert saying as he pulled on fresh boxers and a shirt. "Something won't fit."
I'm not who I'm supposed to be.
He returned to the room and found Robert curled up under the blankets, dressed in his clothes and fast asleep.
To Chapter 9