i_reversebang art prompt 159 - Can't Stop Feeling
It wasn’t that Eames got a kick (pun unintended) out of being in danger; that would be stupid and Arthur would have left him to choke on his own bile in a ditch if that were the case. No, it was worse than that. He revelled not in the danger itself, but in running circles around it, confounding it and rendering it impotent. Eames was, at the very core, a narcissist. All forgers were, in a way, in love with themselves. You had to be, if you didn’t want to forget who you were, what you were; if you wanted to keep a grip on reality amongst the myriads of shifting, jostling personalities in your head. Arthur supposed it was an instinct that had developed out of sheer necessity; he himself confessed to a deep self-hatred.
The point was. It was becoming a problem. Not to mention, it was also getting on his nerves. It was Arthur’s job to make sure the job went off without a hitch. He neutralised threats, pacified Dom, eradicated uncertainties, waded in chaos and sealed off loose ends, tucking them away so nothing went wrong. And Eames - well, Eames charged right in and destroyed everything. He was a variable, and a notoriously unpredictable one. There was nothing wrong with uncertainty and disorder in general - Arthur, unlike the rumours, was neither anal-retentive nor a perfectionist, thank you very much - but Eames took it to the extreme. And he enjoyed it a little too much for Arthur’s liking. Every job they took on with the irrepressible Brit, he’d had to factor in grey areas, and then be prepared to do a shitload of running, dodging and swearing - whether in dreams or in reality. And it was really starting to piss him off.
His cut just wasn’t enough to make it all worth it. Which was why he’d told Dom he was ill and wouldn’t be available for at least a month, packed his bag, and flown to Vienna on Saito’s request. A simple extraction, Saito had said. Nothing too complicated. Arthur could only hope so.
“Well, yes, you could, but I don’t know, it’s a tad risky - “ Arthur blinked, slowly, and automatically reached for his totem. That voice sounded horribly familiar. Loud, British and - No. It couldn’t be. It was just his imagination and jet lag. The die clattered on the table with terrible finality. Six. Fuck.
The speaker appeared to have reached a similar conclusion,” Arthur, in the flesh? And here I was thinking you had the ‘flu!”
Arthur ignored him, instead shooting Saito an accusatory glare, “You said it was a solo assignment.”
Saito, curse him, merely raised a placatory hand, “There have been developments. You see, Mr. Stokes, the job in hand requires an extractor and a point man. And Mr. Eames is quite the career criminal.”
Career criminal my ass, Arthur thought furiously. The real reason he’d come all the way to Vienna was to get away from that infuriating man, and here he was, as large as life and twice as loud, beaming that annoying smirk at him from across the room.
He scowled. He was damned if he was going to get clobbered again, “Find someone else.”
Saito spoke over him, as though he hadn’t heard his protests, “Please, have some tea.”
The words were polite, but his tone was not. Arthur knew a threat when he heard one, and sat back down, accepting the cup with as much ill grace as his professionalism would allow. The sneaky bastard.
Saito leaned forward, fingers laced and elbows on his knees, “Helios Corp.”
It was the second-largest energy conglomerate after Proclus Global, and Saito’s new rival after they’d disposed of Fischer-Morrow.
“My sources tell me they have pioneered new nuclear engineering technologies. Exactly what, I’m not sure, but apparently they’ve invented a radiation-dampening system.” Saito looked at them sharply, “This is something that will revolutionise the energy sector. But it must not happen. Helios Corp’s business is nuclear energy, so if their plans succeed, Proclus will be out of the running.”
“This is where you come in. I want you to wipe out their ideas. Renumeration will not be a problem, of course.”
That last bit was unnecessary. Saito paid, and paid well. Inception had been worth several fortunes and if Arthur had so desired, he would never have needed to work again.
Huh. Once again, Saito was proving how much of a corporate bastard he could be, but it was hardly surprising. Proclus promoted clean energy - Saito’s empire was built on a veritable barrage of hydroelectric power, solar energy and wind turbine generators. Helios’ innovation would render them obsolete. Everyone knew that going nuclear was cheaper and more dependable than relying on the elements, and with the added bonus of safe reactors, Proclus was going to be edged out by its competitor.
Saito’s request was a particularly underhanded one, but he was merely protecting his investments. Businessmen had little room for conscience. Theirs was a dog-eat-dog world, where the way to the top of the cash heap involved negotiating tricky legal loopholes and outsmarting the competition. Which raised the question of potential repercussions, for a trade secret like this was likely to be fiercely guarded. Arthur had learnt never to underestimate companies like this. Pissed-off CEOs tended to lash out vindictively, and they never fought fair.
He shrugged. It wasn’t exactly like he had any say in this, after all. Saito always got what he wanted, one way or another. “Alright.”
Eames grinned, “I knew you couldn’t say no, darling.”
Arthur ignored him pointedly. “When we do we start, Mr. Saito?”
Eames had commandeered the entire board. And taken much of the space in the sprawling conference room Saito had loaned them. Which was something, given that the room must have taken up half a floor of his office block. Arthur frowned at the haphazard piles of paper and office supplies that littered the floor. He was sure that Eames didn’t actually need all that shit. Previously, Dom, Yusuf, or Ariadne, or all three at once had served as buffers, but this time it was just him and Eames, and if Eames was intent on being as irritating as possible, it was up to Arthur to just be professional. The faster they finished the job, the sooner he could be on a jet bound for the Caribbean.
He gritted his teeth, biting back his annoyance. Eames was one of the most intelligent people he knew; but it seemed that his intellectual capacity came with the downside of an obnoxious personality. Or maybe it was just Arthur he hated. With Eames, it was hard to tell. Arthur certainly never saw him being this much of a bully to Ariadne. Or even Cobb, who he treated with a long-suffering patience bordering on mild annoyance.
No matter. He dropped the folders on Eames’ table with a thud. “Knock yourself out. The mark is Abel Schmidt, CEO. He’s sixty-five, divorced, childless and his subconscious is heavily militarised. He’s not going to be easy to crack.”
Eames barely looked up from his magazine, “Everyone breaks, Arthur. You just have to find the catalyst that brings everything crashing down. The divorce - we can start with that. Work on his motivations. There’s bound to be some residual guilt or anger or grudges that we can use.”
Arthur waited for him to stop reading about the Arsenal versus Barcelona match, but Eames merely flipped to the next page, gave an interested “mmm”, and then proceeded to ignore him. He ground his teeth. Clearly, he was going to be doing all of the work.
He glared and stalked over to his desk, which had been relegated in favour of Eames’ junk.
Abel Schmidt was a formidable force in the industry. He’d founded his first company at twenty-five, and though it’d gone bust, he’d slogged it out, going through the food, entertainment and electronics sectors before he found his first big break - harnessing energy. Within five years, Helios Corp. had started snagging multi-million dollar deals and raking in giant profits. In seven, it had expanded, branching out from America into Europe. Now, it had operations spanning five continents, and dealt in everything from fast cars to pharmaceuticals. No wonder Saito was so worried, Arthur mused, chewing on his pen thoughtfully.
Robert Fischer had been an easy target. Sure, his mind had been militarised, but growing up under an overbearing father and the weight of so many expectations on his shoulders had left him shying away from decisions and responsibilities. Schmidt, on the other hand, was no Robert Fischer. He was hard-headed, foul-mouthed, and single -mindedly profit-oriented. He’d even financed a sizeable portion of the President’s electoral campaign. He had his fingers everywhere they mattered, and he wouldn’t give up his power easily.
His personal life, though, was another matter altogether. Schmidt’s wife had divorced him on the grounds of physical abuse and he’d never remarried since. The court files were telling; verbal expletives, bodily harm; it looked like the wife had almost been on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Schmidt hadn’t had the easiest of childhoods, either. The youngest son to immigrant parents, Schmidt had gone to America when he was seven. His father, too, had been abusive. He’d been bullied unmercifully at school as a result of his thick accent and hand-me-down clothes, and he’d dropped out shortly after, choosing entrepreneurship over the paper chase.
“Alright. Driven, decidedly uncharismatic, used to getting his own way...” Eames reclined, stretching out his legs, “Schmidt likes to be in control, so we’ll threaten him. The information’s going to be very well hidden, and we won’t have enough time to drop him down a level. If he feels on edge, he’ll protect what he values most - the blueprints. That’ll be a definite cue.”
“I’ll head down to Schmidt’s office tomorrow; Saito’s got me a job as - “ Eames made a face, “copy boy.” He snapped the folder shut and stood, pulling on his jacket, “Been a long day, Arthur. Care for dinner?”
No, Arthur wanted to snap. Eames made it look all so effortless, made him literally slog while he read football magazines and tweeted inane stuff. He acted stupid, Arthur knew, played the part of the eccentric bumbling Englishman to the hilt whilst underneath it all a sharp mind was analysing and watching everything, breaking it down and running things through. And he shouldn’t be attracted, but he was. For all the man got on his nerves, he drew Arthur, inexplicably and inexorably; and all Arthur could do was - follow.
“I guess.” He turned to grab his trench coat. “Do you have any place in mind?”
Eames was silent, and out of the corner of his eye Arthur saw the forger give him a slow, appraising stare, as if re-evaluating him. He felt irrationally smug. Caught you there, didn’t I? I’m not one of your marks, Eames, I can’t be broken down and boxed up and labelled, and if you want a game, I’ll give you a run for your money.
Arthur was feeling light-headed and reckless. It was his eighth glass of Tokay, and he wasn’t a lightweight, no, not really, but it was hard to concentrate when Eames’ leg was pressed against his own and the forger’s arm slung over the back of his chair, wrapping round the curve of his back.
Eames said something and he laughed, not because it was amusing but because the alcohol had softened the world, swathing it in a warm gold haze that made everything seem soft and far away. Eames could have been talking about the stock indices in Prague and it would still have been funny anyway - Arthur blinked, realising that Eames had fallen silent and was watching him intently, a smile playing about his lips.
“You’re a lightweight, aren’t you,” Eames commented, “Look at you. No wonder Cobb keeps you away from alcohol. You’re drunk.”
Arthur frowned, “ ‘M not.”
He batted ineffectively at Eames, who merely caught his wrists, “All right, that’s enough. No more drinking.”
Eames paid, and they walked out into the cool air. He hadn’t let out of Arthur’s wrist yet; but his grip was loose, his fingers warm against Arthur’s skin. Arthur made a left and Eames’ fingers tightened, reeling him back in, “Hotel’s that way, mate.”
He stumbled and Eames caught him, laughing, “You are really sloshed, aren’t you?”
Arthur buried his face in Eames’ garish paisley scarf. Earlier in the day, he’d thought it a monstrosity, but right now it was soft and smelt nice and Arthur didn’t want to let go.
Eames sighed, and his hands came to cup Arthur’s face, gently pushing him away, “What do I do with you, eh, Arthur?”
He brushed his fingers across Arthur’s cheekbones softly, cradling his face. “You don’t know how beautiful you look, do you, darling?”
Arthur gazed back at him dazedly. He should be going now, should keep his mind on the job, some niggling sense of duty barked, but with Eames looking at him like that it was difficult to think straight.
“Eames,” he tried, but the other man was leaning closer, his breath ghosting warm over Arthur’s cheek.
Then he was kissing him, his lips full and lush against Arthur’s, his mouth a slick velvet heat that threatened to consume Arthur utterly. All the point man could do was close his eyes and hold on, losing himself in the sensation of Eames ravaging his mouth.
Distantly, Arthur felt his jacket pocket vibrating. Apparently Eames must have felt it too, for he reluctantly disentangled himself from Arthur, gesturing at the offending pocket, “It’s probably Saito.”
Sighing, Arthur fumbled for his Blackberry. It was as if the kiss with Eames combined with the alcohol had rendered him stupid - his fingers were slow and clumsy, and it took him three tries just to hit the “Accept” button.
It was Saito, bearing bad news, “Arthur. You and Eames will have to act quickly. Helios will unveil their new prototype on Monday. The conference will be held here, in Vienna.”
Saito’s tone was grim with worry, slicing through the daze of alcohol and leaving Arthur cold. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He wasn’t ready for this yet. Monday. That left four days. It wasn’t nearly enough, but Arthur never disappointed, “I understand. Eames and I will deal with it.”
“We’ve got to be quick. Schmidt’s going to go public with the prototype on Monday.” Arthur pulled himself together with some effort. He could still taste Eames in his mouth, liquor-sweet and sharp, and it was distracting him.
“Arthur,” Eames started forward, “About just now - “
“It’s - it was a mistake,” Arthur countered levelly, wiping his mouth with his cuff, “I don’t - not with co-workers, Eames.”
Eames looked away, shrugging carelessly, “Yeah, alright.” But not before Arthur noticed his expression harden, becoming closed-off, “Goodbye.”
“Eames, wait!” Arthur yelled, but the Brit was already walking off. Eames gave no sign that he’d even heard Arthur. Fuck. His shoulders slumped defeatedly. Just what had he done now?
In the morning, the conference room was quiet. “Eames?” Arthur ventured cautiously, but when there was no answer he realised Eames was doing recon work at Schmidt’s office.
He sighed, more out of relief than anything, and settled down to work at his desk. The last thing he needed to deal with right now was a moody, sullen Eames. I’ll clear it with him once this job is over.
Part 2