fic: close your eyes, replay these days (2/3)
Part One
******
Paul has decided to be a vegetarian the next week, so he drags Arthur and Eames down to the hippie veggie burger joint a few blocks from where Tom used to work. McKenzie refuses to join them despite the proximity, which Eames is quite happy to find out.
"What's your problem with McKenzie?" Paul asks around a mouthful of food. Arthur glares at him and gestures, Mouth: Closed. Swallow. Then talk. Paul rolls his eyes and swallows before continuing. "I mean I know he's not the nicest guy, but he hasn't done anything to you."
Arthur answers for him. "Eames doesn't like it when people younger than him think they're better than he is."
Eames shoves at him and calls him a wanker. Arthur smiles around his french fries.
"It's true, though. Tom would know," Eames says, leaning across the table as if he's about to let Paul in on a secret. "Would you like to hear the story of how we met?"
"Here we go," Arthur says, pushing his food away. Paul looks intrigued. "Don't believe a word he says."
Eames' lips twist, and he goes into a doctored version of the real story.
******
In the real world, they had met on the job. Arthur was still getting used to working in dreamsharing outside of the military, and Eames was fresh off a life of crime, though Arthur didn't know that at the time.
They spent the entire job butting heads. For every relevant detail Arthur unearthed in the financial records, Eames had an equally important observation on the mark's sleeping habits. Arthur found pictures of the household pet; Eames knew the story of how they got it. Every day was full of them constantly trying to one-up each other, until Arthur ultimately won the battle of wits by discovering the mark's love of classical opera. The setting of the dream was so perfect that the extraction was almost effortless.
******
Eames, apparently, remembers it differently. Arthur reads between the lines of the two of them "conning a professor" to get on his good side and realizes that Eames thought Arthur actually approached one of the mark's family members directly to obtain information. It's such a blatant disregard for what they do that Arthur can't help but speak up.
"I didn't talk to his sister," he says, letting his surprise carry into his tone. Eames shoots him a look that says, sure you didn't, and Arthur protests further, "The music was on his computer! I would have never... gotten involved with his family, just to win a bet with you. I'm resourceful, but I'm not a cheater."
"I was just annoyed I didn't think of it myself," Eames says to Paul, who laughs at his cue, but then turns a concerned look on Arthur while Eames slurps at his soda.
Arthur knows he should let it go, at least for now, but he can't stop the defensive response. "You honestly believed that I cheated? All this time you've known me?"
"Tom, it was uni. It's okay to let it go," Eames says, and Arthur is about to launch into a tirade -fuck the projections, he needs to set Eames straight - but then Eames' hand finds its way onto Arthur's knee. "Let it go," he says again, his thumb moving slowly back and forth.
Arthur's protests die on his lips, because Eames' expression is more than just that of an old friend telling his college buddy to forget a fake bet. Something about it acknowledges that he believes Arthur. Something says, "I was wrong."
"I would offer to give you two a moment alone, but this veggie burger is really good," Paul says, his mouth full once again. Arthur shoots him a disgusted look, and Paul grins mockingly.
"Why don't you tell me how you first met Tom?" Eames asks, squeezing Arthur's knee before moving his hand away. He surreptitiously steals one of Arthur's fries as he nods interestedly at Paul's story. Arthur kicks him under the table and tries to pretend nothing significant just happened.
******
A couple days later, Arthur decides to go running with Eames. While they pass through the park, Arthur tries to start up a game familiar to both he and Eames, wherein they guess the reactions of random people they see on the streets. He's surprised when Eames shoots down the possibility immediately.
"Why not?" Arthur says, mentally predicting that the hipster on the bench won't give up his seat for the old lady. Too easy.
"For one thing, you've been here for nearly a year and a half, and another, they're your projections. Don't you think that might be cheating?"
Arthur rolls his eyes. "You just don't like to lose." The reference reminds him of their first time playing this game, though, and Arthur finds himself remembering.
******
It had all started on their second job together. Arthur needed to know how often the mark came home every day, and Eames needed to observe the mark's husband, who stayed at home all day. Doing the stakeout together was an obvious choice, though Eames hadn't seemed too thrilled with it at first. Admittedly, Arthur hadn't either, but for entirely different reasons.
Their first job working together had been a new experience for Arthur, who hadn't yet worked with anyone who challenged him the way Eames did. The day that Arthur revealed his music-related findings had been quite a show, consisting of raised voices and excited reasoning, and by the time Arthur headed home, he was so turned on he had hardly closed the door before he had his hand on his cock.
When Arthur found out Eames was working with them a second time, the news didn't exactly sit well. Naturally he expected he'd eventually have to work with Eames again, but he'd hoped he would have more than a couple of months to get over any lingering attraction. Instead, he'd been shoved into a nondescript sedan with the guy for the greater part of two weeks. Still, it wasn't hard to ignore any potential feelings during that time, because Eames clearly harbored no happy thoughts where Arthur was concerned. He laughed meanly when Arthur stumbled in late wearing mismatched shoes, and when the time came to start the stakeout, he started to drive off before Arthur had even shut the door.
The tension lessened considerably the second day, when Arthur made a call about the mark’s eating habits and was almost immediately proven spectacularly wrong. Eames had laughed and teased him for the rest of the day, but after that things were easier. In future jobs, they started to predict random bits of information about the mark, the mark’s friends and family, and sometimes even the client. The winner got bragging rights, though Eames almost always teased Arthur, even when he was right.
******
Arthur never did find out why Eames had been so pissed off at the beginning of that second job, not until two days ago. "I can't believe you thought I talked to the mark's family," Arthur says out of nowhere, as if Eames was following his train of thought. "My professional image may have needed a bit of work back then, but that doesn't mean I was an idiot."
Embarrassingly enough, it's true. The mismatched shoes were not an isolated incident, but Arthur had realized something needed to change after months of Eames' teasing and a few other instances of disrespect from other colleagues. Over time, Arthur started paying more attention to the way he presented himself on the job, and Eames adapted by finding out other, more inventive ways to tease him. But Arthur learned too. As Eames learned Arthur's tells, Arthur discovered the topics which made Eames purse his lips just slightly.
"Are you still whinging over that?" Eames asks with a scoff. "I get it, Arthur. I didn't know you then like I do now, and with your attitude it just... seemed likely. I'm happy to know my first impression of you was wrong."
"No wonder you've hated me for all these years."
Eames falters for a moment in his jog. Arthur can just see him staring in his peripheral.
"What?"
"Arthur," Eames says, exasperated. "I don't hate you, darling. I only mildly disliked you for the expanse of one job. I've certainly never hated you. Far from it."
The words echo in Arthur's head. Far from it. "I wouldn't blame you. Back then I still had quite a few things to learn about etiquette and professionalism."
Eames makes a noise that makes Arthur think he's rolling his eyes, even though he's not looking at him. "You could use a few steps down from your 'professionalism' now," he complains. "Learn to loosen up a bit, like Tom! He has fun now and again, doesn't he?"
Arthur's expression darkens. "We're almost back. Let's just enjoy the rest of the run."
******
The following Tuesday, Arthur is sitting at his drawing table, listening to music and sketching away at a new building design. Eames has been gone for a while, but Arthur doesn't think much of it. He disappears for entire afternoons at times, more so lately than he did in the beginning; Arthur's not sure he wants to know what he's doing.
He pulls out his compass to help him shape exactly what he's envisioning - a park design that could be useful in dreamspace - when he realizes that this isn't Tom's usual overused compass with the wonky arm. It's brand new, and he definitely didn't put it there.
When Eames gets back, Arthur is preoccupied. But then Eames wanders by and says, "Would you turn that off? I bloody hate the Smiths."
It catches Arthur by surprise, and he laughs out loud. Eames shoots him a confused look as he turns off his iTunes, but Arthur changes the subject. "Where did this come from?" he asks, holding up the compass.
"I imagine it came from one of the many craft stores your subconscious seems so fond of. There seem to be more of those than Starbucks." Arthur doesn't see why that's a problem, as Eames refuses to drink coffee, but he doesn't let himself get distracted.
"That doesn't explain how it got from the craft store to here," Arthur clarifies.
"Well I would say 'it certainly didn't walk itself over', but this is a dream, so I suppose anything could happen."
His non-answer is practically an admission that he did, in fact, get it for Arthur, but he wanders off to make tea before Arthur can find the words to thank him.
He switches iTunes over to play something Eames would like and goes back to work, fighting a smile.
Hours pass, long enough for Eames to go out again, but still Arthur stays glued to his drafting table, feeling a sort of giddy energy as his thoughts take form on paper. He knows he shouldn't be getting so immersed in architecture, as it's just a cruel tease limited to the dream, but since he's here he might as well enjoy it. When he wakes up, he'll go right back to his designated role on point, leaving the dream behind just as he's supposed to.
He rolls his die out on the desk beside him, staring at the five dots that remind him this isn't real. The corners of his mouth turn down as he goes back to his blueprints.
******
With approximately eight days left until the timer ends on the dream, Arthur wakes up in Tom's apartment with a splitting headache. He makes a pitiful noise as he calls for Eames, who rushes in wearing nothing but his boxers. "What is it? What happened?"
"My head," Arthur complains, fingers rubbing at his temples. "Christ, it feels like something's trying to claw its way out."
Eames stumbles out long enough to retrieve a glass of water and some aspirin. He hands both to Arthur with a worried look. "Is this the first time this has happened?" he asks quietly.
Arthur swallows the pills thickly. "Yes. Do you think it's a side effect of the drug?"
"I sincerely hope not." Eames leans over Arthur on the bed, inadvertently blocking out the sunlight as he rests his fingers on Arthur's temples. Arthur breathes a sigh of relief when some of the tension falls away, his mouth falling open in the process.
When Eames pulls back, Arthur's eyes open slowly and he makes a whining noise. He takes in the want in Eames' expression and almost does something drastic, headache be damned.
"It's a shame you won't remember any of this," Eames mumbles, staring down at Arthur.
"You won't remember it either," Arthur counters, but he can instantly tell from Eames' expression that he's wrong.
"Yusuf explained -- well, he didn't explain exactly, but he did mention that the sedative you ingested was meant to make you forget whatever happened down here once you wake up. It was part of the appeal of the drug. But for everyone else, well. Obviously it wouldn't be a valid choice for extraction if no one remembered the dream."
Arthur curses softly. It's like a slap in the face - anything he does down here, whether it ends well or ends badly - Eames will remember, but Arthur will be clueless. Any thoughts he'd entertained about going for it fly out the window in that moment.
Eames moves away from Arthur's bed. "I should--"
Arthur makes a pained noise and grabs Eames' arm involuntarily. "You're blocking the sunlight," he explains.
Eames chuckles and pulls Arthur's comforter over his head. Arthur makes a noise to show he's offended. "I'll get you a blanket to cover the window," Eames says, sounding amused even with his voice muffled.
When Eames comes back, he tosses a blanket over the window, then carefully lays another over Arthur. Arthur peeks his head out from under the covers, and it is gloriously dark.
Eames smiles kindly at him. "Try to get some sleep," he whispers, and Arthur realizes he's pulled on jeans and a T-shirt.
"Where are you going?" Arthur mumbles around a yawn.
"Don't worry about me. Sleep now."
The heavy extra blanket and darkness of the room do have a calming effect, or maybe that's the double dosage of aspirin kicking in. Arthur nods and shuts his eyes.
******
He wakes up an indeterminate number of hours later to the sound of Eames unlocking the apartment door. The intensity of the headache has lessened, but it's still piercing when he tries to sit up.
After a few minutes of milling about the kitchen, Eames eases the door open slowly, peeking around the edge. Arthur squints at his silhouette and murmurs, "I'm awake."
Eames leaves the door cracked open just enough to let a sliver of light in, then he thrusts a pill bottle and a glass of water into Arthur's hands.
"Where did these come from?" Arthur asks, examining the label of the bottle.
"I nicked them from the hospital when I went to 'visit' Paul," Eames says, complete with air quotes.
Arthur smiles despite himself. "I thought we weren't supposed to stir things up."
"No, you're not supposed to stir things up. Your projections already don't trust me. Stealing painkillers from the hospital is exactly what they expect from me."
Arthur laughs dryly. "I also thought we weren't predicting my projections because I had an unfair advantage."
"So you do, but I have the advantage of playing a projection more often than not. Perhaps the playing field is more even than I realized."
It's peacefully quiet for the next few minutes as Arthur drinks his water. He's apparently really thirsty.
"Here," Eames says, taking the glass. "Let me get you another."
When Eames returns, Arthur flashes him a grateful smile. He deliberately brushes their fingers together as he takes the glass.
"Has it gotten any better since this morning?" Eames asks, concerned.
Arthur nods carefully. "The pain has dulled a bit, but I don't see myself getting out of bed anytime soon."
"Of course not," Eames insists as Arthur takes a big gulp of water. He smooths down the covers as he absently adds, "If I had my way, you and I would never stray from this room."
Arthur nearly chokes. When he's satisfied that he's not about to make a fool of himself, he sets the glass aside and looks back at Eames intently. "What do you mean by that?"
Eames gives him a small smile, but it's almost a sad one. "You should rest."
Arthur watches him go out of the door, and as it clicks shut, he snaps out of it and says, "Eames?"
"You'll feel better after you sleep," Eames' voice carries through, muffled by the door. Arthur wants to say more, but he sees Eames' shadow move away from the door, and he can't imagine getting up.
The painkillers kick in soon enough, and when he wakes up, he can't remember what he meant to say anyway.
******
After a day full of bed rest, the headache goes away, and the days that follow are filled with a sort of edgy tension whenever Eames and Arthur are alone. Arthur resents Eames for the fact that he'll remember all of this, and he resents the sedative for ensuring that Arthur won't. Every part of him wants to pin Eames to his mattress and use the remaining days to their fullest, every part but the logical one. As much as he would love to draw out an innuendo from Eames and then take it literally, the fact is that he wouldn't even remember that he did it or why once the dream ended.
Of course Eames would wait until the moment Arthur convinced himself that he had been wrong to reveal that Arthur would forget everything about this dream. It effectively makes everything Arthur has done here null and void, and Eames has known the whole time.
Arthur has to wonder why. Why tell him then? Why tell him at all? And if Eames has nothing to regret from making a move, why hasn't he done anything?
The fact that he hasn't done anything eliminates the possibility that he's just looking for a good fuck with no strings. But maybe he's not ready for anything at all. Maybe he's already regretting letting Arthur get close, and now he's biding his time until the sedative frees him of any obligation. Maybe, just maybe he's actually fallen for Tom Hansen, someone only similar to a guy Arthur has long since left behind and has no interest in returning to. Either way, Arthur doesn't know how to treat Eames anymore, and he's never been more glad that the countdown is nearing zero.
Luckily, in that last week, Paul becomes uncharacteristically clingy. Something about problems with Robin, but he says it like he's lying. Arthur has no problem letting him crash on the couch, though, and Eames doesn't say anything in opposition.
However, on the morning of the last day, Eames wants to discuss dream-related things, so they slip out while Paul is still asleep.
"I'll be sure to tell Yusuf about your headache," Eames says, waving at a familiar-looking projection. "Any other potential side effects I should mention?"
"The fact that I didn't have access to my memories seems relevant," Arthur says, then smirks at Eames' nonplussed look.
"I hadn't thought of that, Arthur, thank you."
"Just making sure you're up to speed," he says with a grin. Arthur spots a woman with a large purse heading his way a moment too late, and she smacks right into his side. "Excuse me," Arthur says by default, but she moves away with a scowl by the time he gets the words out.
"Anything else? Something you want to remember, that I should tell you?"
"I wouldn't really be remembering, would I? I'd just be taking you at your word."
Eames frowns a bit, eyes not meeting Arthur's. "Am I really that untrustworthy?"
"It's not--" Arthur starts to say, but then a boy of about 17 comes at them from the side and collides with Eames briefly, mumbling his apologies.
"Oi!" Eames shouts, immediately reaching out to turn the boy around. "I know a pickpocket when I see one," he says, taking his wallet back. The boy walks on, looking perturbed. "Bloody hell, Arthur. Keep your projections in line."
The phrasing catches Arthur's attention, and when he takes a look around, he realizes they're being watched. Intently. "Uh, Eames..."
Eames catches on quickly, his fingers wrapping around Arthur's arm to stop him from walking. "Are you doing that?"
"Not on purpose," Arthur says, and now the projections even seem to be heading their way.
"Follow me," Eames says, shifting his grasp to Arthur's wrist and pulling him along.
As they move, Arthur reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gun. If all bets are off, he might as well utilize the fact that it's a dream. "Where are we going?" he asks, keeping his eyes trained behind them and trusting Eames to lead the way.
"Escape route," Eames says, squeezing Arthur's wrist in warning before pulling him around a corner. "Don't tell me you thought I spent those days out picking up birds at bars," he says with a laugh in his voice. "I told you I'd have your back."
Arthur smiles at that. Twisted as it is, it's one of the nicest things Eames' has said to him. But before Arthur can convey his gratitude, a wayward projection rounds the corner and he's cocked his gun and fired before the guy can even get past the intent look of violence. "They'll have heard that," Arthur says, turning to face Eames once more.
"Almost there," Eames says, releasing Arthur's wrist to reach into his pocket for his own glock, a gun Arthur recognizes from previous jobs.
They stumble out of the alley only a block away from his apartment. "Impressive."
"Don't look at me," Eames says, beaming. "You were the architect in this one, I just found the pathway."
Arthur smiles back, just as widely, so he doesn't see the group of projections rounding the corner. Luckily, Eames does, and he grabs Arthur by the shoulder and pushes him back into the alley.
For a moment, all Arthur can process is that Eames has him pressed bodily against the wall. He can feel his breath against his neck as he exhales. The projections pass by, and Eames waits a moment before whispering, "They didn't see us."
When Eames starts to move away, Arthur darts a hand out to keep him there. "Wait."
Eames raises his eyebrows and settles back, leg bumping against Arthur's. Arthur can feel every point of contact between them, but he pushes it out of his mind and tries to focus. "Paul," he says. "He'll be in the apartment. I'd prefer not to have to be the one to kill him, if you don't mind."
Eames nods. "No problem," he promises. He pulls away into the street, motioning after a moment that the coast is clear.
The coast remains clear until they go to cross the street, when a woman lunges forward from the connecting street and latches onto Eames' arm.
Arthur is there in a second, shooting her down, then they give up all pretense and run to the apartment.
They hurry up the stairs, but Eames motions for Arthur to stay back as they get closer. Arthur nods and keeps watch outside, preparing himself for the inevitable gunshot.
"Not here," Eames finally calls.
"What?" Arthur calls back.
"Paul's gone," Eames says from right behind him.
"Oh," Arthur says, lowering his weapon. They bolt the door when they get inside, checking for any possible alternate entryways before finally having a drink together in the kitchen.
"To Tom!" Eames says, raising his glass. "May he design the best bloody building the Bank of America's ever seen."
Arthur tilts his glass against Eames', something clenching in his chest. The designs are rolled up carefully beside the drawing table. His fingers itch to pull them out and tweak them some more, one last time, but it's not as if it matters, in the end.
"Arthur," Eames says, catching his distant look. "What--?"
He's interrupted by a key quick on the lock, and the door swinging open. “Dude, there's some sort of zombie apocalypse going on out there. I nearly died!”
They both pivot, pointing their guns at Paul's forehead.
Paul holds up his hands. "Whoa, guys. Way to be paranoid."
"He's not a projection?" Arthur asks, as Eames cocks his gun and says, "He's not a projection."
"Okay, just listen to me," Paul says in a soothing tone. "I was hired by Cobb. I'm here for your protection. Shooting me right now would be one of the stupidest things you could do."
"You were hired by Cobb?" Arthur says, more interested than surprised. He lowers his gun, flicking the safety back on. Eames is not so easily convinced, and he keeps his gun trained on Paul even as he walks closer.
"Come on, man," Paul says to Eames. "I've been here for weeks. If I wanted to hurt either of you, I've certainly had plenty of opportunities."
"How do we know you didn't cause this sudden change in the projections?" Eames challenges, voice hard.
"Because I was here all morning. And as soon as I realized it was happening, I went out looking for you."
Eames doesn't look like he's buying any of it, so Arthur places a soothing hand on his arm. "Eames, it's okay. I trust him." He shares a long look with Eames, Paul still standing there with his hands in the air, but eventually Eames lowers his gun.
Arthur turns back to Paul. "Explain."
"So the thing is," and he makes the face he always makes before delivering bad news, "we kind of lied to you. Both of you, I'm assuming, since you're here," he says to Eames. "And by the way, who let you in? No one was supposed to wake up his memories, these projections wouldn't be doing this if you hadn't--"
"Paul," Arthur interrupts. "Focus."
"Right."
Through a series of tangents and wild hand gestures, Paul eventually manages to convey the whole story. Paul is a point man, a colleague of Yusuf's hired by Cobb because of his previous success in this particular role.
"And what role would that be?" Eames asks, still obviously skeptical.
"Protection," Paul says simply. "More specifically, protection for a dreamer who has no control of their dream."
Paul goes on to explain the dream. An hour and a half in the real world, timed to a year and a half down here on the third level. His explanation doesn't make sense at first, and it takes a while to understand exactly the goal in mind, but eventually Arthur begins to piece it together.
"A vacation," he says, shaking his head at Cobb's misguided attempt at helping him out.
"What?" Eames asks, and Paul looks a bit surprised.
"A while ago, or I guess, just a couple weeks ago, topside. I had a long conversation with Cobb, and he kept insisting that I needed a vacation. I told him I just went to the beach last month, but he said he had a different sort of vacation in mind. Something to give my mind a rest, he said."
"This is Cobb's idea of a vacation?" Eames says, gesturing around himself in disbelief.
"He wasn't supposed to be aware of his memories," Paul says a bit cuttingly, glaring at Eames. "I've never heard it described as a vacation before, but it's a fair enough description. The drug gives you a break from the real world, lets you live a separate life for a while, and when you wake up, it's just like you've had a really good night's sleep."
On further contemplation, Arthur supposes that makes sense. Natural dreams are so rare for him nowadays, the semblance of one might actually help him clear his mind.
"I should've known you were awake," Paul murmurs, self-deprecating. "Everything changed after he showed up."
"Oi," Eames says irritably, "it's not my fault. Yusuf fed me the same story you fed him, and to me it looked like I'd just found him down here defenseless."
"And look at you, coming to the rescue, his knight in shining armor." Arthur wants to protest that, but Paul continues before he gets a chance. "Did you not recognize me? There were three other men hooked in to Arthur, but what, I guess you assumed we were all incompetent and dropped him into the third level without any form of backup."
"I would've done the same," Arthur says before he can think about it. He's looking out the window at the projections milling about in the streets, but he can feel Paul and Eames both staring at him. He turns to face them, shrugging. "If Eames had been stuck down here and I found him like that, I would have done damage control first and asked questions later. It's never wise to be too trusting in our line of work." Never mind that he wouldn't interfere for just anyone. Never mind that he knows Cobb would only hire the most competent people he could find for this sort of thing.
Eames is looking at him, eyes soft, like maybe he understood Arthur's inner monologue. Paul looks exasperated.
"Listen, we've only got a couple of hours left, can we just agree to work together and make sure Arthur doesn't get killed at the last minute?" He shoots Arthur a knowing look that reminds him that they were best friends for a year and a half, and something of that remains. "No offense, man, I'm sure you can take care of yourself, but the projections are pretty vicious with this drug."
Arthur smiles, realizing that after this is all over, he and Paul could really become friends, provided that Paul stuck around and recounted the story upon waking.
"What about that mousy friend of yours? Don't tell me he's not a projection either?" Eames says with a scoff.
"No, McKenzie's just a projection. A prized one, though. I think Arthur may have dreamed him up just to annoy you."
Neither Arthur nor Eames appreciate that point, so Paul quickly changes the subject. "Anyway, we should be safe up here. The projections shouldn't know where to find you, unless, well..."
Arthur raises his eyebrows at the pause, and Eames says unhappily, "Out with it."
"Well, unless they've been invited in before."
“Are you saying Summer might show up to kill us?” Arthur says, feeling suddenly completely miserable.
Paul winces a bit, and that's answer enough.
“Oh great!” Eames says. “You not only managed to dream up the Super Mega Ultra-bitch, you gave her the one thing she needs to kill us all.”
“Would you shut up?" Arthur snaps. "What do you care, anyway; if you die, you just wake up.”
“Yeah, Eames,” Paul says, smirking. “Tell us, what's in it for you?” Arthur shoots him a warning look. Now is not the time.
Eames' mouth twists as he glares. “I knew there was something up with you. You were too... involved.”
“Oh, are we getting proprietary now?”
“Paul,” Arthur says loudly, and glares until his mouth snaps shut. Before Eames can jump in and get the last word, Arthur turns and says to him again, “Eames, shut up.”
Eames stares back hard at Arthur, who just looks back challengingly.
"I see you two have some things you may want to discuss," Paul says. "I'll just go visit the little boy's room, then."
The tension breaks when he leaves the room, and Arthur feels exhaustion seeping in. "Let's just get through this," he says, reaching for his glass and downing the rest of the champagne.
“It's a shame, I kind of wanted to go back to the Mill one last time,” Eames says. He stares down at the street with a wistful smile, fingers sliding over the safety on his gun.
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Even if the projections would let us try, we are not going to karaoke again.”
“You can tell you're about to wake up now; you're turning more into Arthur with every second.”
“Tom Hansen doesn't exist!” Arthur explodes. “He never did. So stop trying to make me more like him.”
Eames stands up fully from his slouch and clicks the safety off his gun as he approaches Arthur. “I'm not trying to make you into anyone,” he says, advancing on Arthur with his gun held snugly at his side. Arthur backs up a couple of steps.
“We've worked together on how many jobs now? Dozens. And I've never once told you what to do. Made plenty of suggestions, sure, but you've never listened to them before.” He continues to walk toward Arthur, gun pointing, and Arthur slowly backs away. “I wonder why this time is different. I wonder why you can't seem to let this one go.” He stops, smirking, then brings his gun up to Arthur's shoulder and steps forward one more time. “But I think I've figured out why.”
As Arthur's back hits the wall and he realizes Eames has cornered him, his defiance returns and he stands up straight to face Eames. “Why?” he challenges, tone biting.
Eames leans in, bridging the little distance left between them. He's so close that Arthur can feel his breath against his lips as he says, “Because I think, deep down, you want to have more fun. You wonder what it would be like.”
For a moment, Arthur is sure he's going to leave it there, lingering just long enough for Arthur to take the bait and be made a fool, and he refuses to give in. But then that moment passes and Eames presses forward, his lips a steady pressure against Arthur's, and after a moment of being torn, Arthur kisses back ferociously.
Eames barely gives him time to respond, pulling away quickly. Arthur blinks, and then Eames is several steps back, turning the gun on himself. “See you on the other side, love,” he says with a wink, and with a sharp bang that rings in Arthur's ears, he shoots himself in the chest.
He stares in horror at Eames' limp body. “My life would be a psychiatrist's field day,” he says to no one.
“What happened? I heard a gunshot!” Paul says, running out into the living room with his unbuckled pants falling down over his hips.
“Eames kissed me and then shot himself,” Arthur explains, pulling his own gun out of its holster.
“Oh,” Paul says, calming down and buckling his pants back up properly. “How was that?”
“The kissing or the suicide?”
“Either one.” Paul shrugs and sits on the couch, patting the spot next to him in invitation.
“Oh god,” Arthur says, realizing. “You actually know about--”
“--your big crush? Yeah.”
“Don't... tell him anything when you wake up.”
Paul laughs, slapping him on the back in a friendly gesture. “Dude. I don't have a death wish, thanks anyway.”
“And... don't tell me about the kiss,” he says, deciding on the spot. Eames will have one up on him, but it will be better if he just doesn't know. And Eames isn't likely to bring it up again, Arthur's sure. He only did it because he knew Arthur would forget.
Paul just looks confused. “I... think you probably know more about the kiss than I do.”
“No, I mean, after we wake up. It's better if I just don't know.”
Paul makes a noise of comprehension and tilts his head back. “You think you're going to forget,” he says. Arthur nods, and Paul shakes his head. “You brought back your identity in this dream; you're going to remember it. It'll be pretty fuzzy for you, due to the sedative, but with the right triggers, you'll remember quite a bit of it.”
Arthur gapes. “Eames didn't know that.”
“No he didn't,” Paul agrees, raising his eyebrows as if to add, ‘And what are we going to do about that?'
Arthur feels a smile spreading across his face, grateful Eames isn't there to comment on it. “I've got an idea.”
******
Part Three
******
Paul has decided to be a vegetarian the next week, so he drags Arthur and Eames down to the hippie veggie burger joint a few blocks from where Tom used to work. McKenzie refuses to join them despite the proximity, which Eames is quite happy to find out.
"What's your problem with McKenzie?" Paul asks around a mouthful of food. Arthur glares at him and gestures, Mouth: Closed. Swallow. Then talk. Paul rolls his eyes and swallows before continuing. "I mean I know he's not the nicest guy, but he hasn't done anything to you."
Arthur answers for him. "Eames doesn't like it when people younger than him think they're better than he is."
Eames shoves at him and calls him a wanker. Arthur smiles around his french fries.
"It's true, though. Tom would know," Eames says, leaning across the table as if he's about to let Paul in on a secret. "Would you like to hear the story of how we met?"
"Here we go," Arthur says, pushing his food away. Paul looks intrigued. "Don't believe a word he says."
Eames' lips twist, and he goes into a doctored version of the real story.
******
In the real world, they had met on the job. Arthur was still getting used to working in dreamsharing outside of the military, and Eames was fresh off a life of crime, though Arthur didn't know that at the time.
They spent the entire job butting heads. For every relevant detail Arthur unearthed in the financial records, Eames had an equally important observation on the mark's sleeping habits. Arthur found pictures of the household pet; Eames knew the story of how they got it. Every day was full of them constantly trying to one-up each other, until Arthur ultimately won the battle of wits by discovering the mark's love of classical opera. The setting of the dream was so perfect that the extraction was almost effortless.
******
Eames, apparently, remembers it differently. Arthur reads between the lines of the two of them "conning a professor" to get on his good side and realizes that Eames thought Arthur actually approached one of the mark's family members directly to obtain information. It's such a blatant disregard for what they do that Arthur can't help but speak up.
"I didn't talk to his sister," he says, letting his surprise carry into his tone. Eames shoots him a look that says, sure you didn't, and Arthur protests further, "The music was on his computer! I would have never... gotten involved with his family, just to win a bet with you. I'm resourceful, but I'm not a cheater."
"I was just annoyed I didn't think of it myself," Eames says to Paul, who laughs at his cue, but then turns a concerned look on Arthur while Eames slurps at his soda.
Arthur knows he should let it go, at least for now, but he can't stop the defensive response. "You honestly believed that I cheated? All this time you've known me?"
"Tom, it was uni. It's okay to let it go," Eames says, and Arthur is about to launch into a tirade -fuck the projections, he needs to set Eames straight - but then Eames' hand finds its way onto Arthur's knee. "Let it go," he says again, his thumb moving slowly back and forth.
Arthur's protests die on his lips, because Eames' expression is more than just that of an old friend telling his college buddy to forget a fake bet. Something about it acknowledges that he believes Arthur. Something says, "I was wrong."
"I would offer to give you two a moment alone, but this veggie burger is really good," Paul says, his mouth full once again. Arthur shoots him a disgusted look, and Paul grins mockingly.
"Why don't you tell me how you first met Tom?" Eames asks, squeezing Arthur's knee before moving his hand away. He surreptitiously steals one of Arthur's fries as he nods interestedly at Paul's story. Arthur kicks him under the table and tries to pretend nothing significant just happened.
******
A couple days later, Arthur decides to go running with Eames. While they pass through the park, Arthur tries to start up a game familiar to both he and Eames, wherein they guess the reactions of random people they see on the streets. He's surprised when Eames shoots down the possibility immediately.
"Why not?" Arthur says, mentally predicting that the hipster on the bench won't give up his seat for the old lady. Too easy.
"For one thing, you've been here for nearly a year and a half, and another, they're your projections. Don't you think that might be cheating?"
Arthur rolls his eyes. "You just don't like to lose." The reference reminds him of their first time playing this game, though, and Arthur finds himself remembering.
******
It had all started on their second job together. Arthur needed to know how often the mark came home every day, and Eames needed to observe the mark's husband, who stayed at home all day. Doing the stakeout together was an obvious choice, though Eames hadn't seemed too thrilled with it at first. Admittedly, Arthur hadn't either, but for entirely different reasons.
Their first job working together had been a new experience for Arthur, who hadn't yet worked with anyone who challenged him the way Eames did. The day that Arthur revealed his music-related findings had been quite a show, consisting of raised voices and excited reasoning, and by the time Arthur headed home, he was so turned on he had hardly closed the door before he had his hand on his cock.
When Arthur found out Eames was working with them a second time, the news didn't exactly sit well. Naturally he expected he'd eventually have to work with Eames again, but he'd hoped he would have more than a couple of months to get over any lingering attraction. Instead, he'd been shoved into a nondescript sedan with the guy for the greater part of two weeks. Still, it wasn't hard to ignore any potential feelings during that time, because Eames clearly harbored no happy thoughts where Arthur was concerned. He laughed meanly when Arthur stumbled in late wearing mismatched shoes, and when the time came to start the stakeout, he started to drive off before Arthur had even shut the door.
The tension lessened considerably the second day, when Arthur made a call about the mark’s eating habits and was almost immediately proven spectacularly wrong. Eames had laughed and teased him for the rest of the day, but after that things were easier. In future jobs, they started to predict random bits of information about the mark, the mark’s friends and family, and sometimes even the client. The winner got bragging rights, though Eames almost always teased Arthur, even when he was right.
******
Arthur never did find out why Eames had been so pissed off at the beginning of that second job, not until two days ago. "I can't believe you thought I talked to the mark's family," Arthur says out of nowhere, as if Eames was following his train of thought. "My professional image may have needed a bit of work back then, but that doesn't mean I was an idiot."
Embarrassingly enough, it's true. The mismatched shoes were not an isolated incident, but Arthur had realized something needed to change after months of Eames' teasing and a few other instances of disrespect from other colleagues. Over time, Arthur started paying more attention to the way he presented himself on the job, and Eames adapted by finding out other, more inventive ways to tease him. But Arthur learned too. As Eames learned Arthur's tells, Arthur discovered the topics which made Eames purse his lips just slightly.
"Are you still whinging over that?" Eames asks with a scoff. "I get it, Arthur. I didn't know you then like I do now, and with your attitude it just... seemed likely. I'm happy to know my first impression of you was wrong."
"No wonder you've hated me for all these years."
Eames falters for a moment in his jog. Arthur can just see him staring in his peripheral.
"What?"
"Arthur," Eames says, exasperated. "I don't hate you, darling. I only mildly disliked you for the expanse of one job. I've certainly never hated you. Far from it."
The words echo in Arthur's head. Far from it. "I wouldn't blame you. Back then I still had quite a few things to learn about etiquette and professionalism."
Eames makes a noise that makes Arthur think he's rolling his eyes, even though he's not looking at him. "You could use a few steps down from your 'professionalism' now," he complains. "Learn to loosen up a bit, like Tom! He has fun now and again, doesn't he?"
Arthur's expression darkens. "We're almost back. Let's just enjoy the rest of the run."
******
The following Tuesday, Arthur is sitting at his drawing table, listening to music and sketching away at a new building design. Eames has been gone for a while, but Arthur doesn't think much of it. He disappears for entire afternoons at times, more so lately than he did in the beginning; Arthur's not sure he wants to know what he's doing.
He pulls out his compass to help him shape exactly what he's envisioning - a park design that could be useful in dreamspace - when he realizes that this isn't Tom's usual overused compass with the wonky arm. It's brand new, and he definitely didn't put it there.
When Eames gets back, Arthur is preoccupied. But then Eames wanders by and says, "Would you turn that off? I bloody hate the Smiths."
It catches Arthur by surprise, and he laughs out loud. Eames shoots him a confused look as he turns off his iTunes, but Arthur changes the subject. "Where did this come from?" he asks, holding up the compass.
"I imagine it came from one of the many craft stores your subconscious seems so fond of. There seem to be more of those than Starbucks." Arthur doesn't see why that's a problem, as Eames refuses to drink coffee, but he doesn't let himself get distracted.
"That doesn't explain how it got from the craft store to here," Arthur clarifies.
"Well I would say 'it certainly didn't walk itself over', but this is a dream, so I suppose anything could happen."
His non-answer is practically an admission that he did, in fact, get it for Arthur, but he wanders off to make tea before Arthur can find the words to thank him.
He switches iTunes over to play something Eames would like and goes back to work, fighting a smile.
Hours pass, long enough for Eames to go out again, but still Arthur stays glued to his drafting table, feeling a sort of giddy energy as his thoughts take form on paper. He knows he shouldn't be getting so immersed in architecture, as it's just a cruel tease limited to the dream, but since he's here he might as well enjoy it. When he wakes up, he'll go right back to his designated role on point, leaving the dream behind just as he's supposed to.
He rolls his die out on the desk beside him, staring at the five dots that remind him this isn't real. The corners of his mouth turn down as he goes back to his blueprints.
******
With approximately eight days left until the timer ends on the dream, Arthur wakes up in Tom's apartment with a splitting headache. He makes a pitiful noise as he calls for Eames, who rushes in wearing nothing but his boxers. "What is it? What happened?"
"My head," Arthur complains, fingers rubbing at his temples. "Christ, it feels like something's trying to claw its way out."
Eames stumbles out long enough to retrieve a glass of water and some aspirin. He hands both to Arthur with a worried look. "Is this the first time this has happened?" he asks quietly.
Arthur swallows the pills thickly. "Yes. Do you think it's a side effect of the drug?"
"I sincerely hope not." Eames leans over Arthur on the bed, inadvertently blocking out the sunlight as he rests his fingers on Arthur's temples. Arthur breathes a sigh of relief when some of the tension falls away, his mouth falling open in the process.
When Eames pulls back, Arthur's eyes open slowly and he makes a whining noise. He takes in the want in Eames' expression and almost does something drastic, headache be damned.
"It's a shame you won't remember any of this," Eames mumbles, staring down at Arthur.
"You won't remember it either," Arthur counters, but he can instantly tell from Eames' expression that he's wrong.
"Yusuf explained -- well, he didn't explain exactly, but he did mention that the sedative you ingested was meant to make you forget whatever happened down here once you wake up. It was part of the appeal of the drug. But for everyone else, well. Obviously it wouldn't be a valid choice for extraction if no one remembered the dream."
Arthur curses softly. It's like a slap in the face - anything he does down here, whether it ends well or ends badly - Eames will remember, but Arthur will be clueless. Any thoughts he'd entertained about going for it fly out the window in that moment.
Eames moves away from Arthur's bed. "I should--"
Arthur makes a pained noise and grabs Eames' arm involuntarily. "You're blocking the sunlight," he explains.
Eames chuckles and pulls Arthur's comforter over his head. Arthur makes a noise to show he's offended. "I'll get you a blanket to cover the window," Eames says, sounding amused even with his voice muffled.
When Eames comes back, he tosses a blanket over the window, then carefully lays another over Arthur. Arthur peeks his head out from under the covers, and it is gloriously dark.
Eames smiles kindly at him. "Try to get some sleep," he whispers, and Arthur realizes he's pulled on jeans and a T-shirt.
"Where are you going?" Arthur mumbles around a yawn.
"Don't worry about me. Sleep now."
The heavy extra blanket and darkness of the room do have a calming effect, or maybe that's the double dosage of aspirin kicking in. Arthur nods and shuts his eyes.
******
He wakes up an indeterminate number of hours later to the sound of Eames unlocking the apartment door. The intensity of the headache has lessened, but it's still piercing when he tries to sit up.
After a few minutes of milling about the kitchen, Eames eases the door open slowly, peeking around the edge. Arthur squints at his silhouette and murmurs, "I'm awake."
Eames leaves the door cracked open just enough to let a sliver of light in, then he thrusts a pill bottle and a glass of water into Arthur's hands.
"Where did these come from?" Arthur asks, examining the label of the bottle.
"I nicked them from the hospital when I went to 'visit' Paul," Eames says, complete with air quotes.
Arthur smiles despite himself. "I thought we weren't supposed to stir things up."
"No, you're not supposed to stir things up. Your projections already don't trust me. Stealing painkillers from the hospital is exactly what they expect from me."
Arthur laughs dryly. "I also thought we weren't predicting my projections because I had an unfair advantage."
"So you do, but I have the advantage of playing a projection more often than not. Perhaps the playing field is more even than I realized."
It's peacefully quiet for the next few minutes as Arthur drinks his water. He's apparently really thirsty.
"Here," Eames says, taking the glass. "Let me get you another."
When Eames returns, Arthur flashes him a grateful smile. He deliberately brushes their fingers together as he takes the glass.
"Has it gotten any better since this morning?" Eames asks, concerned.
Arthur nods carefully. "The pain has dulled a bit, but I don't see myself getting out of bed anytime soon."
"Of course not," Eames insists as Arthur takes a big gulp of water. He smooths down the covers as he absently adds, "If I had my way, you and I would never stray from this room."
Arthur nearly chokes. When he's satisfied that he's not about to make a fool of himself, he sets the glass aside and looks back at Eames intently. "What do you mean by that?"
Eames gives him a small smile, but it's almost a sad one. "You should rest."
Arthur watches him go out of the door, and as it clicks shut, he snaps out of it and says, "Eames?"
"You'll feel better after you sleep," Eames' voice carries through, muffled by the door. Arthur wants to say more, but he sees Eames' shadow move away from the door, and he can't imagine getting up.
The painkillers kick in soon enough, and when he wakes up, he can't remember what he meant to say anyway.
******
After a day full of bed rest, the headache goes away, and the days that follow are filled with a sort of edgy tension whenever Eames and Arthur are alone. Arthur resents Eames for the fact that he'll remember all of this, and he resents the sedative for ensuring that Arthur won't. Every part of him wants to pin Eames to his mattress and use the remaining days to their fullest, every part but the logical one. As much as he would love to draw out an innuendo from Eames and then take it literally, the fact is that he wouldn't even remember that he did it or why once the dream ended.
Of course Eames would wait until the moment Arthur convinced himself that he had been wrong to reveal that Arthur would forget everything about this dream. It effectively makes everything Arthur has done here null and void, and Eames has known the whole time.
Arthur has to wonder why. Why tell him then? Why tell him at all? And if Eames has nothing to regret from making a move, why hasn't he done anything?
The fact that he hasn't done anything eliminates the possibility that he's just looking for a good fuck with no strings. But maybe he's not ready for anything at all. Maybe he's already regretting letting Arthur get close, and now he's biding his time until the sedative frees him of any obligation. Maybe, just maybe he's actually fallen for Tom Hansen, someone only similar to a guy Arthur has long since left behind and has no interest in returning to. Either way, Arthur doesn't know how to treat Eames anymore, and he's never been more glad that the countdown is nearing zero.
Luckily, in that last week, Paul becomes uncharacteristically clingy. Something about problems with Robin, but he says it like he's lying. Arthur has no problem letting him crash on the couch, though, and Eames doesn't say anything in opposition.
However, on the morning of the last day, Eames wants to discuss dream-related things, so they slip out while Paul is still asleep.
"I'll be sure to tell Yusuf about your headache," Eames says, waving at a familiar-looking projection. "Any other potential side effects I should mention?"
"The fact that I didn't have access to my memories seems relevant," Arthur says, then smirks at Eames' nonplussed look.
"I hadn't thought of that, Arthur, thank you."
"Just making sure you're up to speed," he says with a grin. Arthur spots a woman with a large purse heading his way a moment too late, and she smacks right into his side. "Excuse me," Arthur says by default, but she moves away with a scowl by the time he gets the words out.
"Anything else? Something you want to remember, that I should tell you?"
"I wouldn't really be remembering, would I? I'd just be taking you at your word."
Eames frowns a bit, eyes not meeting Arthur's. "Am I really that untrustworthy?"
"It's not--" Arthur starts to say, but then a boy of about 17 comes at them from the side and collides with Eames briefly, mumbling his apologies.
"Oi!" Eames shouts, immediately reaching out to turn the boy around. "I know a pickpocket when I see one," he says, taking his wallet back. The boy walks on, looking perturbed. "Bloody hell, Arthur. Keep your projections in line."
The phrasing catches Arthur's attention, and when he takes a look around, he realizes they're being watched. Intently. "Uh, Eames..."
Eames catches on quickly, his fingers wrapping around Arthur's arm to stop him from walking. "Are you doing that?"
"Not on purpose," Arthur says, and now the projections even seem to be heading their way.
"Follow me," Eames says, shifting his grasp to Arthur's wrist and pulling him along.
As they move, Arthur reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gun. If all bets are off, he might as well utilize the fact that it's a dream. "Where are we going?" he asks, keeping his eyes trained behind them and trusting Eames to lead the way.
"Escape route," Eames says, squeezing Arthur's wrist in warning before pulling him around a corner. "Don't tell me you thought I spent those days out picking up birds at bars," he says with a laugh in his voice. "I told you I'd have your back."
Arthur smiles at that. Twisted as it is, it's one of the nicest things Eames' has said to him. But before Arthur can convey his gratitude, a wayward projection rounds the corner and he's cocked his gun and fired before the guy can even get past the intent look of violence. "They'll have heard that," Arthur says, turning to face Eames once more.
"Almost there," Eames says, releasing Arthur's wrist to reach into his pocket for his own glock, a gun Arthur recognizes from previous jobs.
They stumble out of the alley only a block away from his apartment. "Impressive."
"Don't look at me," Eames says, beaming. "You were the architect in this one, I just found the pathway."
Arthur smiles back, just as widely, so he doesn't see the group of projections rounding the corner. Luckily, Eames does, and he grabs Arthur by the shoulder and pushes him back into the alley.
For a moment, all Arthur can process is that Eames has him pressed bodily against the wall. He can feel his breath against his neck as he exhales. The projections pass by, and Eames waits a moment before whispering, "They didn't see us."
When Eames starts to move away, Arthur darts a hand out to keep him there. "Wait."
Eames raises his eyebrows and settles back, leg bumping against Arthur's. Arthur can feel every point of contact between them, but he pushes it out of his mind and tries to focus. "Paul," he says. "He'll be in the apartment. I'd prefer not to have to be the one to kill him, if you don't mind."
Eames nods. "No problem," he promises. He pulls away into the street, motioning after a moment that the coast is clear.
The coast remains clear until they go to cross the street, when a woman lunges forward from the connecting street and latches onto Eames' arm.
Arthur is there in a second, shooting her down, then they give up all pretense and run to the apartment.
They hurry up the stairs, but Eames motions for Arthur to stay back as they get closer. Arthur nods and keeps watch outside, preparing himself for the inevitable gunshot.
"Not here," Eames finally calls.
"What?" Arthur calls back.
"Paul's gone," Eames says from right behind him.
"Oh," Arthur says, lowering his weapon. They bolt the door when they get inside, checking for any possible alternate entryways before finally having a drink together in the kitchen.
"To Tom!" Eames says, raising his glass. "May he design the best bloody building the Bank of America's ever seen."
Arthur tilts his glass against Eames', something clenching in his chest. The designs are rolled up carefully beside the drawing table. His fingers itch to pull them out and tweak them some more, one last time, but it's not as if it matters, in the end.
"Arthur," Eames says, catching his distant look. "What--?"
He's interrupted by a key quick on the lock, and the door swinging open. “Dude, there's some sort of zombie apocalypse going on out there. I nearly died!”
They both pivot, pointing their guns at Paul's forehead.
Paul holds up his hands. "Whoa, guys. Way to be paranoid."
"He's not a projection?" Arthur asks, as Eames cocks his gun and says, "He's not a projection."
"Okay, just listen to me," Paul says in a soothing tone. "I was hired by Cobb. I'm here for your protection. Shooting me right now would be one of the stupidest things you could do."
"You were hired by Cobb?" Arthur says, more interested than surprised. He lowers his gun, flicking the safety back on. Eames is not so easily convinced, and he keeps his gun trained on Paul even as he walks closer.
"Come on, man," Paul says to Eames. "I've been here for weeks. If I wanted to hurt either of you, I've certainly had plenty of opportunities."
"How do we know you didn't cause this sudden change in the projections?" Eames challenges, voice hard.
"Because I was here all morning. And as soon as I realized it was happening, I went out looking for you."
Eames doesn't look like he's buying any of it, so Arthur places a soothing hand on his arm. "Eames, it's okay. I trust him." He shares a long look with Eames, Paul still standing there with his hands in the air, but eventually Eames lowers his gun.
Arthur turns back to Paul. "Explain."
"So the thing is," and he makes the face he always makes before delivering bad news, "we kind of lied to you. Both of you, I'm assuming, since you're here," he says to Eames. "And by the way, who let you in? No one was supposed to wake up his memories, these projections wouldn't be doing this if you hadn't--"
"Paul," Arthur interrupts. "Focus."
"Right."
Through a series of tangents and wild hand gestures, Paul eventually manages to convey the whole story. Paul is a point man, a colleague of Yusuf's hired by Cobb because of his previous success in this particular role.
"And what role would that be?" Eames asks, still obviously skeptical.
"Protection," Paul says simply. "More specifically, protection for a dreamer who has no control of their dream."
Paul goes on to explain the dream. An hour and a half in the real world, timed to a year and a half down here on the third level. His explanation doesn't make sense at first, and it takes a while to understand exactly the goal in mind, but eventually Arthur begins to piece it together.
"A vacation," he says, shaking his head at Cobb's misguided attempt at helping him out.
"What?" Eames asks, and Paul looks a bit surprised.
"A while ago, or I guess, just a couple weeks ago, topside. I had a long conversation with Cobb, and he kept insisting that I needed a vacation. I told him I just went to the beach last month, but he said he had a different sort of vacation in mind. Something to give my mind a rest, he said."
"This is Cobb's idea of a vacation?" Eames says, gesturing around himself in disbelief.
"He wasn't supposed to be aware of his memories," Paul says a bit cuttingly, glaring at Eames. "I've never heard it described as a vacation before, but it's a fair enough description. The drug gives you a break from the real world, lets you live a separate life for a while, and when you wake up, it's just like you've had a really good night's sleep."
On further contemplation, Arthur supposes that makes sense. Natural dreams are so rare for him nowadays, the semblance of one might actually help him clear his mind.
"I should've known you were awake," Paul murmurs, self-deprecating. "Everything changed after he showed up."
"Oi," Eames says irritably, "it's not my fault. Yusuf fed me the same story you fed him, and to me it looked like I'd just found him down here defenseless."
"And look at you, coming to the rescue, his knight in shining armor." Arthur wants to protest that, but Paul continues before he gets a chance. "Did you not recognize me? There were three other men hooked in to Arthur, but what, I guess you assumed we were all incompetent and dropped him into the third level without any form of backup."
"I would've done the same," Arthur says before he can think about it. He's looking out the window at the projections milling about in the streets, but he can feel Paul and Eames both staring at him. He turns to face them, shrugging. "If Eames had been stuck down here and I found him like that, I would have done damage control first and asked questions later. It's never wise to be too trusting in our line of work." Never mind that he wouldn't interfere for just anyone. Never mind that he knows Cobb would only hire the most competent people he could find for this sort of thing.
Eames is looking at him, eyes soft, like maybe he understood Arthur's inner monologue. Paul looks exasperated.
"Listen, we've only got a couple of hours left, can we just agree to work together and make sure Arthur doesn't get killed at the last minute?" He shoots Arthur a knowing look that reminds him that they were best friends for a year and a half, and something of that remains. "No offense, man, I'm sure you can take care of yourself, but the projections are pretty vicious with this drug."
Arthur smiles, realizing that after this is all over, he and Paul could really become friends, provided that Paul stuck around and recounted the story upon waking.
"What about that mousy friend of yours? Don't tell me he's not a projection either?" Eames says with a scoff.
"No, McKenzie's just a projection. A prized one, though. I think Arthur may have dreamed him up just to annoy you."
Neither Arthur nor Eames appreciate that point, so Paul quickly changes the subject. "Anyway, we should be safe up here. The projections shouldn't know where to find you, unless, well..."
Arthur raises his eyebrows at the pause, and Eames says unhappily, "Out with it."
"Well, unless they've been invited in before."
“Are you saying Summer might show up to kill us?” Arthur says, feeling suddenly completely miserable.
Paul winces a bit, and that's answer enough.
“Oh great!” Eames says. “You not only managed to dream up the Super Mega Ultra-bitch, you gave her the one thing she needs to kill us all.”
“Would you shut up?" Arthur snaps. "What do you care, anyway; if you die, you just wake up.”
“Yeah, Eames,” Paul says, smirking. “Tell us, what's in it for you?” Arthur shoots him a warning look. Now is not the time.
Eames' mouth twists as he glares. “I knew there was something up with you. You were too... involved.”
“Oh, are we getting proprietary now?”
“Paul,” Arthur says loudly, and glares until his mouth snaps shut. Before Eames can jump in and get the last word, Arthur turns and says to him again, “Eames, shut up.”
Eames stares back hard at Arthur, who just looks back challengingly.
"I see you two have some things you may want to discuss," Paul says. "I'll just go visit the little boy's room, then."
The tension breaks when he leaves the room, and Arthur feels exhaustion seeping in. "Let's just get through this," he says, reaching for his glass and downing the rest of the champagne.
“It's a shame, I kind of wanted to go back to the Mill one last time,” Eames says. He stares down at the street with a wistful smile, fingers sliding over the safety on his gun.
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Even if the projections would let us try, we are not going to karaoke again.”
“You can tell you're about to wake up now; you're turning more into Arthur with every second.”
“Tom Hansen doesn't exist!” Arthur explodes. “He never did. So stop trying to make me more like him.”
Eames stands up fully from his slouch and clicks the safety off his gun as he approaches Arthur. “I'm not trying to make you into anyone,” he says, advancing on Arthur with his gun held snugly at his side. Arthur backs up a couple of steps.
“We've worked together on how many jobs now? Dozens. And I've never once told you what to do. Made plenty of suggestions, sure, but you've never listened to them before.” He continues to walk toward Arthur, gun pointing, and Arthur slowly backs away. “I wonder why this time is different. I wonder why you can't seem to let this one go.” He stops, smirking, then brings his gun up to Arthur's shoulder and steps forward one more time. “But I think I've figured out why.”
As Arthur's back hits the wall and he realizes Eames has cornered him, his defiance returns and he stands up straight to face Eames. “Why?” he challenges, tone biting.
Eames leans in, bridging the little distance left between them. He's so close that Arthur can feel his breath against his lips as he says, “Because I think, deep down, you want to have more fun. You wonder what it would be like.”
For a moment, Arthur is sure he's going to leave it there, lingering just long enough for Arthur to take the bait and be made a fool, and he refuses to give in. But then that moment passes and Eames presses forward, his lips a steady pressure against Arthur's, and after a moment of being torn, Arthur kisses back ferociously.
Eames barely gives him time to respond, pulling away quickly. Arthur blinks, and then Eames is several steps back, turning the gun on himself. “See you on the other side, love,” he says with a wink, and with a sharp bang that rings in Arthur's ears, he shoots himself in the chest.
He stares in horror at Eames' limp body. “My life would be a psychiatrist's field day,” he says to no one.
“What happened? I heard a gunshot!” Paul says, running out into the living room with his unbuckled pants falling down over his hips.
“Eames kissed me and then shot himself,” Arthur explains, pulling his own gun out of its holster.
“Oh,” Paul says, calming down and buckling his pants back up properly. “How was that?”
“The kissing or the suicide?”
“Either one.” Paul shrugs and sits on the couch, patting the spot next to him in invitation.
“Oh god,” Arthur says, realizing. “You actually know about--”
“--your big crush? Yeah.”
“Don't... tell him anything when you wake up.”
Paul laughs, slapping him on the back in a friendly gesture. “Dude. I don't have a death wish, thanks anyway.”
“And... don't tell me about the kiss,” he says, deciding on the spot. Eames will have one up on him, but it will be better if he just doesn't know. And Eames isn't likely to bring it up again, Arthur's sure. He only did it because he knew Arthur would forget.
Paul just looks confused. “I... think you probably know more about the kiss than I do.”
“No, I mean, after we wake up. It's better if I just don't know.”
Paul makes a noise of comprehension and tilts his head back. “You think you're going to forget,” he says. Arthur nods, and Paul shakes his head. “You brought back your identity in this dream; you're going to remember it. It'll be pretty fuzzy for you, due to the sedative, but with the right triggers, you'll remember quite a bit of it.”
Arthur gapes. “Eames didn't know that.”
“No he didn't,” Paul agrees, raising his eyebrows as if to add, ‘And what are we going to do about that?'
Arthur feels a smile spreading across his face, grateful Eames isn't there to comment on it. “I've got an idea.”
******
Part Three