Brick/Inception: Après Moi, le Deluge
Title: Après Moi, le Deluge (5/24)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Brick/Inception fusion
Word count: 3,908
Pairing: later Brendan(Arthur)xEames, mentions of BrendanxEmily and BrendanxLaura
Rating: R
Warnings: currently violence, language, mentions of character death
Summary: Brendan should have known better than to tug on loose threads. He should have known that one loose thread was all it took to make everything unravel, but he’d been tired and just wanted things to be done. He should have known well enough that things were never done.
Special thanks to wadebramwilson for betaing! <3
FIVE
The airport was bustling with people, but Brendan's mind was elsewhere. Even over the dull roar of the chatter, the announcements over the intercom systems, the clacking of heeled shoes on tile, Brendan was focused on what was coming. He really didn't know what to expect when he got to Paris-it was definitely possible he'd be ambushed, have the PASIV confiscated, and be thrown into prison all because Mal let him walk right into the trap. For some reason he didn't think that would happen though. If Mal had been determined enough to take the PASIV she would have done it before and saved the money on the plane tickets.
Brain was decidedly less at ease over it. While they waited to board, Brain sat with his leg bouncing and hands fidgeting. Brendan supposed he had a right to be nervous. After all, they were two teenage boys traveling with fake I.D.s and passports, hauling a device that they weren't legally allowed to have. They'd made it this far, but there was no guarantee they'd make it through customs in Paris, and even if they did there was no guarantee they wouldn't be taken down by some other force, criminal or otherwise. A lot of things were up in the air with no way to call. The two of them were teetering on a tightrope and had very little keeping them from toppling off. Brendan was so used to rolling with the punches that it didn't matter to him either way, but Brain's mind didn't quite work that way.
"This could be a bad play," Brain mumbled.
"It'll play however it plays," Brendan replied casually so as not to draw any attention to the two of them. "There's not much point in speculating."
"She said someone would be waiting for us. What if they want to off us and take the device?"
"It'll play how it plays, Brain," Brendan said again. "Besides, I doubt she'd go through this kind of trouble. You're with me so don't worry so much."
"I'm with you, and that's the exact reason why I'm worried. You've sort of got a reputation of being a bit of a punching bag."
"I can hold my own. If I have to get slugged in the face to get a TKO, then I'm going to do that. I didn't make it this far in life by looking good, that's for sure."
"Yeah, well, I'm no looker either but if it's all the same to you, I'd still like to not get my face bashed in."
"If it comes down to a brawl then you can always heel it. I can take the hit."
"Sometimes I wonder if you want to be left to die."
Brendan rolled his eyes. "You can still go back if you've changed your mind."
"I'm not saying that I want to bow out. I mean, can you really blame a guy for being apprehensive?"
Brendan had to give him that, he supposed. "Just try not to worry so much. If you recall I've got experience in turning a bad hand into a good one every once in a while."
"Yeah, well, one can't help but worry when that luck of yours is going to run out."
The artificial voice of the loudspeaker announced that their flight was now boarding, so Brendan got to his feet, hauling the PASIV along with him. "Come on, Sam," he said, smirking a little. Samuel Spade was the name Brain had put on his fake passport. Brendan had thought it was a little obvious, though not as obvious as his own.
When Brendan had scoffed at the name Arthur Doyle, Brain had assured him that Brendan was enough of a detective to live up to the name.
The flight was about twelve hours, so Brendan had a lot of time to sit and think. All of Brain's caffeine-fueled power cells had finally given out, so he was snoozing silently in the neighboring chair with Brendan's coat draped carefully over his body. As odd as Brain was during his nearly endless waking hours, Brendan found him much more bizarre in sleep. At rest Brain looked no different than any other kid Brendan had seen around school-innocent enough and not nearly so tortured with an overwhelming amount of intelligence. Brendan knew what Brain was capable of, but when he saw him like this he felt guilty for including him in the entire fiasco. He could handle it, sure, but it almost seemed unfair.
The last thing Brendan needed at the moment was more guilt, so he decided to focus on other things, mainly Mal Miles. He didn't trust her one bit, even if he did feel safe in the fact that she wouldn't be sending thugs after him (yet). He hated that his options were currently so limited, hated that the Miles family seemed to have a fairly good handle on what sort of information got out about them. Brendan never liked having holes in his stats, especially when it came to people he was working with, for, or against. He didn't know who else was involved in the dream studies, and that concerned him…
After all, just because the PASIV device was too important to Mal and her family to risk losing it in a shootout or attack, that didn't mean other members of their party would think it quite so valuable. Brendan would have to play his cards close to his chest and do his best not to piss anybody off unless it served some sort of purpose. It was the only way he wouldn't end up cut down.
He closed his eyes, a headache forming in the middle of his forehead. For some reason he thought of Laura. He wondered where she was, wondered if the bulls had caught her. Maybe she'd made it to New Orleans. Maybe she'd gone even further. She was smart, but more importantly she was crafty, so it was entirely possible she'd made it out of the country.
It didn't even matter now, but he still entertained the idea of getting off of the plane and seeing her walking down the streets of Paris in designer sunglasses, her heels clacking against the pavement and a cigarette dangling from her lips. He couldn't decide if the mental image made him sick or not.
He got out of his seat and made his way to the lavatory, closing himself inside and splashing water on his face. His eyes looked tired and listless even to him. The water had helped clear his head for a moment, but the glassiness was already settling in his eyes again, and all he could see was what was in front of him. His hair was a wreck, possibly worse than usual. The old bruises on his face were now a pale, sickly yellow-green while the fresher ones were still gray. He hadn't shaved, so there was a dusting of stubble on his face, and it was in that moment he realized he forgot his razor in his rush to get in and out of his house without being noticed by anyone. He figured he'd have to borrow Brain's again (though it wasn't like Brain needed it, given that he really didn't have the knack for growing facial hair). He made an attempt to tame his hair a bit, to try and make himself marginally more presentable, but it just reminded him of how Emily used to comb her fingers through his hair. It made him shiver, as if her ghost was standing right behind him. For a moment, he hallucinated that she was, but when he blinked she was gone.
Brendan knew he needed to get himself together, even though all he wanted to do was sleep.
With the PASIV device, however, it was hard to tell if he wasn't already.
"Hey," a voice reached Brendan's ears before he was fully aware of what was happening. He cracked open an eye at the jostling of his shoulder and found Brain watching him, as wide awake as he ever was. "We're touching down in a few minutes."
"Oh. Good," Brendan yawned, sitting up in his seat and buckling his seatbelt. His back ached from the awkward angle he'd slept in.
"I tried to wake you up to eat, but you wouldn't budge. I thought you were dead for a minute there."
"Nah, just tired," he yawned again, pulling his glasses off to rub at his eyes with the heels of his hands.
"I was ready to call the croaker before you started snoring. I thought someone might have given you a Mickey Finn, but then I remembered you hadn't had anything to drink."
"Relax," Brendan sighed. "Don't be so paranoid. We haven't been made just yet."
"Well, how am I supposed to know for sure?" Brain asked. "I made the mistake of falling asleep, and when I woke up you were already out. Considering the delicacy of our situation, I feel like I've sort of got the right to keep my specs on."
"Good to know you've still got your wits about you, Brain," Brendan said, smirking.
"A twelve-hour flight isn't going to destroy my wits. Don't you worry about that."
Brendan faced forward again, sliding his glasses back on. "You checked the overhead compartment when you woke up, right?"
"Of course I did. Everything's eggs in the coffee."
"Let's hope it stays that way."
When they got off the plane at Charles de Gaulle airport, it was safe to say that both of them were worried and exhausted. They'd already spent a half hour in line at Immigration, neither of them spoke French well, and they had no idea if they were going to make it through customs until they were already through. Brain's grip on the PASIV device's handle was white-knuckled, but at least he didn't appear obvious as he scanned the crowds for possible pursuers. Brendan was looking too, of course, but his thoughts were getting more jumbled and foggy the place was a little overwhelming.
Mal had said that she'd send someone to meet them, but the longer they stood there with the gray afternoon light making its way in through the glass ceiling to mingle with the artificial light inside, the more apprehensive Brendan felt. He still doubted Mal would send anyone to rub them out after bringing them all this way, but that didn't mean that someone couldn't have intercepted her man and taken his place. Brendan knew to remain guarded, but guarded only helped so much when looking down the barrel of a gat.
Brendan snagged the PASIV from Brain's hand, clutching it in his own instead as he nodded towards the doors leading to the street. "Come on. We'll wait outside."
There were more people out there and it would be easier to make a run for it if needed. Brendan seriously hoped it wouldn't be needed.
There was a dusting of slushy snow on the ground when they stepped outside, being that it was February. Brendan and Brain didn't exactly have heavy coats on hand considering they were native to the slightly warmer California, so the cold ripped right through their jackets and into their bones. Brendan hunkered down into his hooded sweatshirt and scanned the passers-by for anyone suspicious. There weren't all that many people around considering tourism was down during the winter months, so it didn't take long for Brendan to meet the gaze of a man staring straight back at them. Brendan knew immediately that they'd been found first.
They must have been obvious, standing out there in their windbreakers, Brendan holding onto the cold metal handle of the PASIV like a lifeline despite the fact that his fingers weren't gloved. Brendan momentarily entertained the idea that they weren't nearly as prepared for this as he originally thought, but he continued to grip the handle of the PASIV, ready to turn it into a weapon if necessary, as he watched the man approach.
He was in his twenties, white though tanned from recent exposure to the sun somewhere warmer. He had probably been in the military, judging by his buzzed hair and worn lace-up boots. Brendan knew that meant that he was probably tougher than he looked. This man was barely older than Brendan, thin and lean in the frame, but the muscle was more disciplined than Brendan's scrappy physique. His features were strong-brows naturally arched, nose straight and slightly pointed, cheekbones carved into his face like those on the bust of some Grecian or Roman warrior, and yet he had an entirely delicate looking mouth, lips plush and chapped from the cold and holding a cigarette. Had this man been described to Brendan in words, he wasn't sure he would have been able to picture him as anything but absolutely ridiculous, but somehow the odd pieces fit together in a way that worked, oddly enough.
The man sauntered up, casual and relaxed, but Brendan could tell he was watching their every move, waiting for them to make a wrong one. "Ah, hello," he said, voice distinctly English, "are you the blokes here for the class at the University? Professor Miles told me so much about you, said you were the best and brightest across the pond."
"We're your meat," Brendan replied, sizing the man up. He was about the same height as him and gave off an air of indifference that made him seem entirely harmless-a mere messenger. Brendan could see it in his eyes though, the kind of intelligence and distrust he'd seen in Laura's eyes and in the Pin's eyes. This man was a grifter, a con-man, and he was far from a nance. They would need to be careful around him. Like Mal, he was entirely dangerous. "I'm Arthur, and this is my friend Sam."
"Eames," Eames said, holding out one of his large hands to shake. Brendan took the hand with the one not holding the device and then Brain did the same. "I'm one of Miles' students. He asked me to come here and pick you up. Shall we be off then?"
Brendan glanced at Brain and then shrugged one shoulder. "Sure," he said.
Eames led them to a parked white Range Rover. By then Brendan and Brain were flushed and shivering, so the escape from the bitter wind was much appreciated. Eames stomped on his cigarette before climbing into the driver's seat and put the keys in the ignition. "I'm glad I found you so quickly," Eames informed them, turning on the heat. "The car's still warm."
Brendan finally relinquished his hold on the PASIV to set it between his legs and hold his hands up to the heating vent. Brain sat in the back with his hands pressed between his knees, clearly itching to dig his laptop out of his bag and do a search on this Eames fellow. Brain trusted him about as much as Brendan did.
Eames drove them out of the airport and made his way through the streets, slow and careful. "I bet you two are knackered from that flight, yeah? Twelve hours, man, Jesus. I bloody hate flying. I suppose it's tolerable if you're not in economy class though."
For a moment Brendan thought that maybe this guy was just the messenger, that he had no idea why they were actually here, but something about him kept Brendan on guard.
"Is Eames your real name?" he asked, narrowing his eyes a little.
Eames snorted before grinning a mouthful of crooked teeth. "No. Is Arthur yours?"
Brendan chose not to answer. "So, where are we really headed?"
"I'm really not at liberty to talk about it," Eames replied lightly. "I haven't blindfolded you though, so feel free to study landmarks just in case you feel like you need to run. I guarantee that you won't feel the need to. Mal already seems a bit fond of you, wants to help you."
"Yeah, well, beautiful girls have wanted to help me in the past and it didn't work out so well," Brendan replied flatly. "Forgive me if I'm a little apprehensive."
"Quite a hit with the ladies, are you?" Eames asked. "I don't think you've got much to worry about with Mal."
"The fact that you work with her and you're saying that makes me all the more inclined to believe she's dangerous."
"Do you find me dangerous?" Eames asked, sounding absolutely delighted.
"Entirely."
A moment of silence passed between them, the air sparking with tension, but then Eames's eyes were turning to the rearview mirror. "So, Sam-or so you say you are, you're staying warm back there, yeah?"
"Oh. Um. Yeah," Brain said. Brendan had almost forgotten how awkward Brain was when communicating with other people. They'd known each other so long that it had never been an issue, but there was a reason why Brain was a social pariah. He couldn't fake his way through it like Brendan could. He wasn't a smooth enough talker.
"Good, good," Eames said. "Wouldn't want you to be too cold. Don't you Americans have coats?"
Brendan sensed he was fishing for their home location, but neither of them bit. Odds were he'd get the rap from Mal later anyway.
"You don't mind if I smoke, do you?" Eames asked after a moment, driving the car with his knee while he fished the deck of cigarettes out of the inside pocket of his coat. Brendan saw Brain physically tense, but a minute later Eames had a cigarette between his teeth and a hand was back on the wheel while the other fished a lighter out of his pocket. "I just can't seem to quit these damned things. I've been trying but I suppose we've all got our vices."
"You don't have to fake pleasantries with us," Brendan said.
Eames tilted his head towards Brendan but didn't look at him directly. He tapped ash out of the cracked window and took another long drag on the cigarette before responding, "You don't take any shite."
"I'm not here for games, Mr. Eames," Brendan replied frankly.
Eames let smoke slither out from between his plump lips, tapped ash out the window again. "Now where in the process of getting hunted, shot at, and taken into a dream in the attempt to steal your secrets did you ever start to think anyone was playing a game, Mr. Frye?"
Brendan raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, sorry. Arthur," Eames corrected himself, toothy grin on his face. Brendan wasn't sure whether he wanted to slug him or not.
"Mal already told you all about me," Brendan said softly, fists clenching on his knees.
"You didn't think she'd send me in blindly, did you? You've already figured out I'm not the stupid messenger boy, after all. Don't know much about your mate though, but she didn't meet him, now did she?"
"Well, if it helps, there's nothing about me to know," Brain offered from the backseat.
"Oh, I'm sure that's a load of bollocks," Eames said delightedly, meeting Brain's eyes through the rearview mirror. "You wouldn't have been brought along otherwise."
Eames turned his gaze back to the road, but his confidence never faltered. "Now, now, there's no point in shooting daggers at me with those eyes of yours, Arthur. I promise that no harm will come to you provided that you cooperate well enough. We're well aware of your lack of interest in staying involved and that you're only trying to protect yourself. Mal genuinely wants to help you. We've just got to cover our own arses as well. You understand, right?"
Brendan adjusted his glasses and turned to look out the window. Paris was gloomy and dripping, snow drifts a brownish gray on the sidewalks. It was nothing like the photos he'd seen in the past. He remembered how Emily had mentioned once, back when they were together, when they were lying in bed and his hand was tangled in her long, blonde hair that she would have liked to see Paris. "It's got to be so much better than here, you know?" she had said. Brendan had hummed sleepily and pulled her to him and pretended he didn't feel the hesitance in her kiss.
Emily's hopes and dreams never had lived up to expectation.
He pressed his hand up to the glass, feeling the cold seep in through his palm. For a moment the world behind the glass faded away, and he only saw the misty reflection of himself. He looked like a ghost.
It felt like he blinked and suddenly the car was being shut off. His head was tilted against the glass of the window where his hand had been, and they were parked in front of a sprawling, white villa with steps leading up to the front door and bushes lining the sides. There were balconies with decorative black iron, a gate surrounding the property that matched, and all around it appeared a place that Brendan never thought he'd step foot in. Even in the dreary weather the place was absolutely incredible.
"Have a bit of a kip?" Eames asked, startling Brendan out of his thoughts. "I'm a bit surprised you managed it, considering how little you trust me."
"He can sleep without issue because he's got me to keep my specs on for him," Brain interrupted.
Brendan appreciated that Brain knew where to pick up the slack when he faltered. "So, this is Mal's place?"
"Indeed it is. Montrouge has a lot of beautiful places like this, but this one was her favorite. She has a bit of an eye for architecture… and architects too, I suppose. Come on, let's get you two inside and get you fed or you'll be absolutely useless."
Eames didn't bother helping them with their bags or even to stand around and wait on them. He just wandered off for the door with his hands in his pockets, and Brendan was perfectly fine with that. He didn't trust Eames to handle his things anyway.
"Well, at least you and Mr. Eames have a bit of a rapport going on," Brain mentioned as he hauled out one suitcase and handed it over.
"That's not exactly how I would have phrased it."
"He's kind of hard to read, isn't he?"
"That's what worries me."
"So, what's your plan to tip the scales in our favor?"
Brendan paused to think about it a moment. "Sit back and keep him at arm's length."
Brain scoffed as he started following Brendan up to the house. "You could do with a little more specificity."
"Yeah, well, I'll let you know when I have it. I don't even know what's waiting for us inside of this joint, so all we can do right now is keep being cautious. He might know my name and where I'm from, but that doesn't mean he's got the wire on us yet. Right now I don't have much choice but to tie one eye up watching him and Mal and anyone else whose hands are in this."
"There's not much chance of coming out of this one clean, is there?"
"Maybe, maybe not. It all depends on what we're up against… and there's only one way to find out about that," Brendan mumbled and made his way up the slick, icy steps and into the looming house before them.
also available on AO3
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Brick/Inception fusion
Word count: 3,908
Pairing: later Brendan(Arthur)xEames, mentions of BrendanxEmily and BrendanxLaura
Rating: R
Warnings: currently violence, language, mentions of character death
Summary: Brendan should have known better than to tug on loose threads. He should have known that one loose thread was all it took to make everything unravel, but he’d been tired and just wanted things to be done. He should have known well enough that things were never done.
Special thanks to wadebramwilson for betaing! <3
FIVE
The airport was bustling with people, but Brendan's mind was elsewhere. Even over the dull roar of the chatter, the announcements over the intercom systems, the clacking of heeled shoes on tile, Brendan was focused on what was coming. He really didn't know what to expect when he got to Paris-it was definitely possible he'd be ambushed, have the PASIV confiscated, and be thrown into prison all because Mal let him walk right into the trap. For some reason he didn't think that would happen though. If Mal had been determined enough to take the PASIV she would have done it before and saved the money on the plane tickets.
Brain was decidedly less at ease over it. While they waited to board, Brain sat with his leg bouncing and hands fidgeting. Brendan supposed he had a right to be nervous. After all, they were two teenage boys traveling with fake I.D.s and passports, hauling a device that they weren't legally allowed to have. They'd made it this far, but there was no guarantee they'd make it through customs in Paris, and even if they did there was no guarantee they wouldn't be taken down by some other force, criminal or otherwise. A lot of things were up in the air with no way to call. The two of them were teetering on a tightrope and had very little keeping them from toppling off. Brendan was so used to rolling with the punches that it didn't matter to him either way, but Brain's mind didn't quite work that way.
"This could be a bad play," Brain mumbled.
"It'll play however it plays," Brendan replied casually so as not to draw any attention to the two of them. "There's not much point in speculating."
"She said someone would be waiting for us. What if they want to off us and take the device?"
"It'll play how it plays, Brain," Brendan said again. "Besides, I doubt she'd go through this kind of trouble. You're with me so don't worry so much."
"I'm with you, and that's the exact reason why I'm worried. You've sort of got a reputation of being a bit of a punching bag."
"I can hold my own. If I have to get slugged in the face to get a TKO, then I'm going to do that. I didn't make it this far in life by looking good, that's for sure."
"Yeah, well, I'm no looker either but if it's all the same to you, I'd still like to not get my face bashed in."
"If it comes down to a brawl then you can always heel it. I can take the hit."
"Sometimes I wonder if you want to be left to die."
Brendan rolled his eyes. "You can still go back if you've changed your mind."
"I'm not saying that I want to bow out. I mean, can you really blame a guy for being apprehensive?"
Brendan had to give him that, he supposed. "Just try not to worry so much. If you recall I've got experience in turning a bad hand into a good one every once in a while."
"Yeah, well, one can't help but worry when that luck of yours is going to run out."
The artificial voice of the loudspeaker announced that their flight was now boarding, so Brendan got to his feet, hauling the PASIV along with him. "Come on, Sam," he said, smirking a little. Samuel Spade was the name Brain had put on his fake passport. Brendan had thought it was a little obvious, though not as obvious as his own.
When Brendan had scoffed at the name Arthur Doyle, Brain had assured him that Brendan was enough of a detective to live up to the name.
The flight was about twelve hours, so Brendan had a lot of time to sit and think. All of Brain's caffeine-fueled power cells had finally given out, so he was snoozing silently in the neighboring chair with Brendan's coat draped carefully over his body. As odd as Brain was during his nearly endless waking hours, Brendan found him much more bizarre in sleep. At rest Brain looked no different than any other kid Brendan had seen around school-innocent enough and not nearly so tortured with an overwhelming amount of intelligence. Brendan knew what Brain was capable of, but when he saw him like this he felt guilty for including him in the entire fiasco. He could handle it, sure, but it almost seemed unfair.
The last thing Brendan needed at the moment was more guilt, so he decided to focus on other things, mainly Mal Miles. He didn't trust her one bit, even if he did feel safe in the fact that she wouldn't be sending thugs after him (yet). He hated that his options were currently so limited, hated that the Miles family seemed to have a fairly good handle on what sort of information got out about them. Brendan never liked having holes in his stats, especially when it came to people he was working with, for, or against. He didn't know who else was involved in the dream studies, and that concerned him…
After all, just because the PASIV device was too important to Mal and her family to risk losing it in a shootout or attack, that didn't mean other members of their party would think it quite so valuable. Brendan would have to play his cards close to his chest and do his best not to piss anybody off unless it served some sort of purpose. It was the only way he wouldn't end up cut down.
He closed his eyes, a headache forming in the middle of his forehead. For some reason he thought of Laura. He wondered where she was, wondered if the bulls had caught her. Maybe she'd made it to New Orleans. Maybe she'd gone even further. She was smart, but more importantly she was crafty, so it was entirely possible she'd made it out of the country.
It didn't even matter now, but he still entertained the idea of getting off of the plane and seeing her walking down the streets of Paris in designer sunglasses, her heels clacking against the pavement and a cigarette dangling from her lips. He couldn't decide if the mental image made him sick or not.
He got out of his seat and made his way to the lavatory, closing himself inside and splashing water on his face. His eyes looked tired and listless even to him. The water had helped clear his head for a moment, but the glassiness was already settling in his eyes again, and all he could see was what was in front of him. His hair was a wreck, possibly worse than usual. The old bruises on his face were now a pale, sickly yellow-green while the fresher ones were still gray. He hadn't shaved, so there was a dusting of stubble on his face, and it was in that moment he realized he forgot his razor in his rush to get in and out of his house without being noticed by anyone. He figured he'd have to borrow Brain's again (though it wasn't like Brain needed it, given that he really didn't have the knack for growing facial hair). He made an attempt to tame his hair a bit, to try and make himself marginally more presentable, but it just reminded him of how Emily used to comb her fingers through his hair. It made him shiver, as if her ghost was standing right behind him. For a moment, he hallucinated that she was, but when he blinked she was gone.
Brendan knew he needed to get himself together, even though all he wanted to do was sleep.
With the PASIV device, however, it was hard to tell if he wasn't already.
"Hey," a voice reached Brendan's ears before he was fully aware of what was happening. He cracked open an eye at the jostling of his shoulder and found Brain watching him, as wide awake as he ever was. "We're touching down in a few minutes."
"Oh. Good," Brendan yawned, sitting up in his seat and buckling his seatbelt. His back ached from the awkward angle he'd slept in.
"I tried to wake you up to eat, but you wouldn't budge. I thought you were dead for a minute there."
"Nah, just tired," he yawned again, pulling his glasses off to rub at his eyes with the heels of his hands.
"I was ready to call the croaker before you started snoring. I thought someone might have given you a Mickey Finn, but then I remembered you hadn't had anything to drink."
"Relax," Brendan sighed. "Don't be so paranoid. We haven't been made just yet."
"Well, how am I supposed to know for sure?" Brain asked. "I made the mistake of falling asleep, and when I woke up you were already out. Considering the delicacy of our situation, I feel like I've sort of got the right to keep my specs on."
"Good to know you've still got your wits about you, Brain," Brendan said, smirking.
"A twelve-hour flight isn't going to destroy my wits. Don't you worry about that."
Brendan faced forward again, sliding his glasses back on. "You checked the overhead compartment when you woke up, right?"
"Of course I did. Everything's eggs in the coffee."
"Let's hope it stays that way."
When they got off the plane at Charles de Gaulle airport, it was safe to say that both of them were worried and exhausted. They'd already spent a half hour in line at Immigration, neither of them spoke French well, and they had no idea if they were going to make it through customs until they were already through. Brain's grip on the PASIV device's handle was white-knuckled, but at least he didn't appear obvious as he scanned the crowds for possible pursuers. Brendan was looking too, of course, but his thoughts were getting more jumbled and foggy the place was a little overwhelming.
Mal had said that she'd send someone to meet them, but the longer they stood there with the gray afternoon light making its way in through the glass ceiling to mingle with the artificial light inside, the more apprehensive Brendan felt. He still doubted Mal would send anyone to rub them out after bringing them all this way, but that didn't mean that someone couldn't have intercepted her man and taken his place. Brendan knew to remain guarded, but guarded only helped so much when looking down the barrel of a gat.
Brendan snagged the PASIV from Brain's hand, clutching it in his own instead as he nodded towards the doors leading to the street. "Come on. We'll wait outside."
There were more people out there and it would be easier to make a run for it if needed. Brendan seriously hoped it wouldn't be needed.
There was a dusting of slushy snow on the ground when they stepped outside, being that it was February. Brendan and Brain didn't exactly have heavy coats on hand considering they were native to the slightly warmer California, so the cold ripped right through their jackets and into their bones. Brendan hunkered down into his hooded sweatshirt and scanned the passers-by for anyone suspicious. There weren't all that many people around considering tourism was down during the winter months, so it didn't take long for Brendan to meet the gaze of a man staring straight back at them. Brendan knew immediately that they'd been found first.
They must have been obvious, standing out there in their windbreakers, Brendan holding onto the cold metal handle of the PASIV like a lifeline despite the fact that his fingers weren't gloved. Brendan momentarily entertained the idea that they weren't nearly as prepared for this as he originally thought, but he continued to grip the handle of the PASIV, ready to turn it into a weapon if necessary, as he watched the man approach.
He was in his twenties, white though tanned from recent exposure to the sun somewhere warmer. He had probably been in the military, judging by his buzzed hair and worn lace-up boots. Brendan knew that meant that he was probably tougher than he looked. This man was barely older than Brendan, thin and lean in the frame, but the muscle was more disciplined than Brendan's scrappy physique. His features were strong-brows naturally arched, nose straight and slightly pointed, cheekbones carved into his face like those on the bust of some Grecian or Roman warrior, and yet he had an entirely delicate looking mouth, lips plush and chapped from the cold and holding a cigarette. Had this man been described to Brendan in words, he wasn't sure he would have been able to picture him as anything but absolutely ridiculous, but somehow the odd pieces fit together in a way that worked, oddly enough.
The man sauntered up, casual and relaxed, but Brendan could tell he was watching their every move, waiting for them to make a wrong one. "Ah, hello," he said, voice distinctly English, "are you the blokes here for the class at the University? Professor Miles told me so much about you, said you were the best and brightest across the pond."
"We're your meat," Brendan replied, sizing the man up. He was about the same height as him and gave off an air of indifference that made him seem entirely harmless-a mere messenger. Brendan could see it in his eyes though, the kind of intelligence and distrust he'd seen in Laura's eyes and in the Pin's eyes. This man was a grifter, a con-man, and he was far from a nance. They would need to be careful around him. Like Mal, he was entirely dangerous. "I'm Arthur, and this is my friend Sam."
"Eames," Eames said, holding out one of his large hands to shake. Brendan took the hand with the one not holding the device and then Brain did the same. "I'm one of Miles' students. He asked me to come here and pick you up. Shall we be off then?"
Brendan glanced at Brain and then shrugged one shoulder. "Sure," he said.
Eames led them to a parked white Range Rover. By then Brendan and Brain were flushed and shivering, so the escape from the bitter wind was much appreciated. Eames stomped on his cigarette before climbing into the driver's seat and put the keys in the ignition. "I'm glad I found you so quickly," Eames informed them, turning on the heat. "The car's still warm."
Brendan finally relinquished his hold on the PASIV to set it between his legs and hold his hands up to the heating vent. Brain sat in the back with his hands pressed between his knees, clearly itching to dig his laptop out of his bag and do a search on this Eames fellow. Brain trusted him about as much as Brendan did.
Eames drove them out of the airport and made his way through the streets, slow and careful. "I bet you two are knackered from that flight, yeah? Twelve hours, man, Jesus. I bloody hate flying. I suppose it's tolerable if you're not in economy class though."
For a moment Brendan thought that maybe this guy was just the messenger, that he had no idea why they were actually here, but something about him kept Brendan on guard.
"Is Eames your real name?" he asked, narrowing his eyes a little.
Eames snorted before grinning a mouthful of crooked teeth. "No. Is Arthur yours?"
Brendan chose not to answer. "So, where are we really headed?"
"I'm really not at liberty to talk about it," Eames replied lightly. "I haven't blindfolded you though, so feel free to study landmarks just in case you feel like you need to run. I guarantee that you won't feel the need to. Mal already seems a bit fond of you, wants to help you."
"Yeah, well, beautiful girls have wanted to help me in the past and it didn't work out so well," Brendan replied flatly. "Forgive me if I'm a little apprehensive."
"Quite a hit with the ladies, are you?" Eames asked. "I don't think you've got much to worry about with Mal."
"The fact that you work with her and you're saying that makes me all the more inclined to believe she's dangerous."
"Do you find me dangerous?" Eames asked, sounding absolutely delighted.
"Entirely."
A moment of silence passed between them, the air sparking with tension, but then Eames's eyes were turning to the rearview mirror. "So, Sam-or so you say you are, you're staying warm back there, yeah?"
"Oh. Um. Yeah," Brain said. Brendan had almost forgotten how awkward Brain was when communicating with other people. They'd known each other so long that it had never been an issue, but there was a reason why Brain was a social pariah. He couldn't fake his way through it like Brendan could. He wasn't a smooth enough talker.
"Good, good," Eames said. "Wouldn't want you to be too cold. Don't you Americans have coats?"
Brendan sensed he was fishing for their home location, but neither of them bit. Odds were he'd get the rap from Mal later anyway.
"You don't mind if I smoke, do you?" Eames asked after a moment, driving the car with his knee while he fished the deck of cigarettes out of the inside pocket of his coat. Brendan saw Brain physically tense, but a minute later Eames had a cigarette between his teeth and a hand was back on the wheel while the other fished a lighter out of his pocket. "I just can't seem to quit these damned things. I've been trying but I suppose we've all got our vices."
"You don't have to fake pleasantries with us," Brendan said.
Eames tilted his head towards Brendan but didn't look at him directly. He tapped ash out of the cracked window and took another long drag on the cigarette before responding, "You don't take any shite."
"I'm not here for games, Mr. Eames," Brendan replied frankly.
Eames let smoke slither out from between his plump lips, tapped ash out the window again. "Now where in the process of getting hunted, shot at, and taken into a dream in the attempt to steal your secrets did you ever start to think anyone was playing a game, Mr. Frye?"
Brendan raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, sorry. Arthur," Eames corrected himself, toothy grin on his face. Brendan wasn't sure whether he wanted to slug him or not.
"Mal already told you all about me," Brendan said softly, fists clenching on his knees.
"You didn't think she'd send me in blindly, did you? You've already figured out I'm not the stupid messenger boy, after all. Don't know much about your mate though, but she didn't meet him, now did she?"
"Well, if it helps, there's nothing about me to know," Brain offered from the backseat.
"Oh, I'm sure that's a load of bollocks," Eames said delightedly, meeting Brain's eyes through the rearview mirror. "You wouldn't have been brought along otherwise."
Eames turned his gaze back to the road, but his confidence never faltered. "Now, now, there's no point in shooting daggers at me with those eyes of yours, Arthur. I promise that no harm will come to you provided that you cooperate well enough. We're well aware of your lack of interest in staying involved and that you're only trying to protect yourself. Mal genuinely wants to help you. We've just got to cover our own arses as well. You understand, right?"
Brendan adjusted his glasses and turned to look out the window. Paris was gloomy and dripping, snow drifts a brownish gray on the sidewalks. It was nothing like the photos he'd seen in the past. He remembered how Emily had mentioned once, back when they were together, when they were lying in bed and his hand was tangled in her long, blonde hair that she would have liked to see Paris. "It's got to be so much better than here, you know?" she had said. Brendan had hummed sleepily and pulled her to him and pretended he didn't feel the hesitance in her kiss.
Emily's hopes and dreams never had lived up to expectation.
He pressed his hand up to the glass, feeling the cold seep in through his palm. For a moment the world behind the glass faded away, and he only saw the misty reflection of himself. He looked like a ghost.
It felt like he blinked and suddenly the car was being shut off. His head was tilted against the glass of the window where his hand had been, and they were parked in front of a sprawling, white villa with steps leading up to the front door and bushes lining the sides. There were balconies with decorative black iron, a gate surrounding the property that matched, and all around it appeared a place that Brendan never thought he'd step foot in. Even in the dreary weather the place was absolutely incredible.
"Have a bit of a kip?" Eames asked, startling Brendan out of his thoughts. "I'm a bit surprised you managed it, considering how little you trust me."
"He can sleep without issue because he's got me to keep my specs on for him," Brain interrupted.
Brendan appreciated that Brain knew where to pick up the slack when he faltered. "So, this is Mal's place?"
"Indeed it is. Montrouge has a lot of beautiful places like this, but this one was her favorite. She has a bit of an eye for architecture… and architects too, I suppose. Come on, let's get you two inside and get you fed or you'll be absolutely useless."
Eames didn't bother helping them with their bags or even to stand around and wait on them. He just wandered off for the door with his hands in his pockets, and Brendan was perfectly fine with that. He didn't trust Eames to handle his things anyway.
"Well, at least you and Mr. Eames have a bit of a rapport going on," Brain mentioned as he hauled out one suitcase and handed it over.
"That's not exactly how I would have phrased it."
"He's kind of hard to read, isn't he?"
"That's what worries me."
"So, what's your plan to tip the scales in our favor?"
Brendan paused to think about it a moment. "Sit back and keep him at arm's length."
Brain scoffed as he started following Brendan up to the house. "You could do with a little more specificity."
"Yeah, well, I'll let you know when I have it. I don't even know what's waiting for us inside of this joint, so all we can do right now is keep being cautious. He might know my name and where I'm from, but that doesn't mean he's got the wire on us yet. Right now I don't have much choice but to tie one eye up watching him and Mal and anyone else whose hands are in this."
"There's not much chance of coming out of this one clean, is there?"
"Maybe, maybe not. It all depends on what we're up against… and there's only one way to find out about that," Brendan mumbled and made his way up the slick, icy steps and into the looming house before them.
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