Fic: Janus, Inception, Arthur/Eames, R - Part 5

[wayoffbase]

And Eames looks perfect, still like himself, anybody could tell that it was him, but still feminine and womanly (still like himself, just the more private part, the part he doesn’t share with everyone, only those who he trusts). And it’s a contrast, such a contrast, between his head and face and the rest of him, still in male civilians clothes, slacks and a shirt and a blazer. He really looks something. And it is him, it’s him so perfectly. And then Arthur pulls him around again, having seen Eames smile and the look in his eyes that shows he approves, he really does, and then he kisses him, softly at first and then more firmly, with intent. And that’s so typical of Arthur, just like him, and Eames knows him so well now, knows exactly what he’ll do, and it’s reassuring and it works for them, working through things, going along like this. Eames has never been happier. And then Arthur pulls him close, and Eames goes with it, goes with him, gives in to him, because Arthur has some interesting ideas about gender roles, and he often wants to be in control like this, and to completely give in and give up all control at other times, when Eames appears to be male. And it’s not perfect, and they should probably talk about it, but it works for them for now, at least. It’s just fine. So Eames lets Arthur pull him into his lap, slowly and carefully, and waits until they’ve both settled. And then they kiss, slowly at first, slowly and gently and then faster, and faster, and then Arthur breaks away, and starts sucking on Eames neck, just below the makeup line, and it’s always been a particular quirk of his, that he can’t stand the feeling of make up on his tongue, and so he has to work himself up to tasting it, and is so careful around Eames’ mouth. He’s fine with lipstick, a lot of the time, and that comes off easily anyway, smearing everywhere and becoming tasteless and useless very fast, but he can’t stand the powdery feeling of foundation or blush or bronzer on his tongue. It’s so odd, because he loves applying it, loves the way it looks, and is good at applying it too, but when Eames offered to forgo wearing it, in order to save Arthur’s taste buds, he refused vehemently, wouldn’t even hear of it. So instead he kisses around the makeup, at least until he loses his inhibitions, through alcohol (although not this time, because they don’t have any, either right at this current moment in this current place or at all, in this flat, because it isn’t safe to drink on the job, not really. Not when they are on the run, when they need their wits about them at all times. And they don’t not really, not when they are together like this, so they’ve been forgoing alcohol instead) or just lots of sex (an infinitely more likely possibility. Eames gives him a few minutes before he’s so distracted he just doesn’t care anymore). Either that, or Eames will sweat enough of it off that it doesn’t matter.

Eames drives his hips down, now, pushing their pelvises together. Arthur gasps into the skin of his neck, biting down slightly. This is going to leave a mark, Eames knows, but in dreams when they are working it doesn’t matter, and in real life, well, Eames has make up and can wear it. Both of them know how to skilfully apply concealer. They often have to cover a lot more than a hickey, in order to make Eames look as feminine as he wants to look. They’ve gotten good at what they do, in every aspect.

This particular aspect, what they’re doing right now, Eames has always been good at. People always laugh, because he just looks like one of those guys who would be good at this, would be talented in bed, and, stereotypically, he is. He’s even better in dreams, of course, but then again, so is everybody else. Everything is better in dreams, closer to fantasy than reality. And fantasies are always better, at least until you wake up and realise that it wasn’t real, that it’s all an illusion, in the end, and that illusions never measure up unless you’re inside them. Eames much prefers reality, this reality, no matter how unsatisfactory it might be sometimes. At least it’s real.

It’s real, and it’s here and now, and so Eames drives his hips down again, no too hard, with just enough pressure, or maybe just slightly too lightly, teasing. Arthur squeezes his hips, tightly, warning and yet amused. And this is one of those things Eames can tell, now, can tell what it means when Arthur squeezes his hips just so, when he moves just like that. It’s one of the things Eames loves about this, about being with someone in general. But more about being with Arthur specifically. Because, as cliché as it is, as it sounds, it wasn’t like this with Charlotte, and with all the other people he’s been with, casually, because there was something that just didn’t click with Charlotte, and she or everyone else never stuck around long enough to make it click, to make it work. But with Arthur it’s worked from the start, they’ve always worked, even when they didn’t want to, didn’t like each other at all. They could just click.

So Eames kisses him again, harder, bites his lip, sucks on it slowly. And then he slips his hands under Arthur’s shirt, eases it up and over his head. And his arms get tangled in the sleeves, in the jacket and the shirt, and he struggles for a bit, but Eames doesn’t help him. He likes him like this, likes watching him struggle a little, but only because he knows Arthur will escape eventually, knows he’ll fight his way out. So he pushes him back on the couch, shifts them around until he’s pressing Arthur down, pressing him in to the cushions. Kissing him softly, gently, lightly. And he can feel Arthur moving, working his way out of the restraints, but slowly. Carefully. They know how this works, how they want it to go. Eames takes the opportunity, now, to slip out of his shirt, carefully and slowly, button by button. And then he slides it off his shoulders. And this is something he isn’t quite used to, not yet - the precise intricacies of civilian clothing, to not being trapped in military uniform, trying to get out. It’s easier, this way. They have more freedom, more fun.

And Arthur’s free now, and he grabs Eames, flips them neatly. And Eames doesn’t hate everything about their military training, in the end. He doesn’t hate this.

Arthur proceeds to attack his clothes. And Eames just laughs, because Arthur hates his clothes, he really does. Eames, as he always has, has again begun dressing in rather obnoxious patterns and colours, bright and fun. Arthur, as could probably have been predicted, is a rather, not boring exactly, but classic dresser. And even though, with the money they’ve been making, most of what they’re wearing now is fairly high quality, mostly designer, Arthur still hates Eames’ things. But Eames has no problem with him tearing them off, really. They haven’t had these things long enough for them to truly become Eames’ clothing, and they can always buy more. His real clothes, his real things, are all still back at the apartment (although he hopes Mal saved some of them).

He snuck back, once, to look at their old house. And they’d only been gone three weeks, then, almost, but it already looked abandoned and sad and old. It was still all locked up, but there were signs that someone had been there. The spare key isn’t that hard to find - anyone could have found it, really, anyone could have been there. Eames hasn’t heard from Dom or Mal, even though they have Dom’s phone and thus can be contacted (although it probably isn’t safe), so he has no way of knowing if it was them. It probably wasn’t though, because they have enough military sense to know they’d be followed, and they wouldn’t be able to shake a tail, not easily. So Eames’ things are probably still there, and the military has probably found them by now, and they probably know. He doesn’t know what they’d do with them, though. He doesn’t like to think about it.

So he’ll stick with what they’ve got now, clothes both designer and close to, stylish and fashionable but not theirs yet. And he’ll let Arthur tear them away. And he knows Arthur knows what he’s doing, what’s going on. But he doesn’t say anything, just does what he needs to do. And Arthur, in the end, has something against truly destroying clothes, so he pulls them off roughly instead, and then smoothes his hands up Eames’ legs, slowly. His mouth follows, licking and sucking and biting.

He crawls into Eames’s lap, again. And Eames takes the hint, unbuttons and unzips his pants, slides them over his hips. And Arthur lifts up, and then he kicks them off, and this part is always more glamorous in dreams and movies, but here it’s awkward and sweet and Eames grins at him.

And they’re both naked now, and moving together, and Eames knows Arthur is prepared, is always prepared, but he seems content to move together like this for a while, just enjoying the friction. And so they move together, and they kiss and pant and gasp, and then Eames licks his palm, wraps his hand around both of them, brings them both off.

And it’s still cold now (this room is cold, this part of the city, even though it’s moving into the warmer seasons now), and they begin to feel it, after a while. But they won’t move, don’t want to move, but they have to, soon. They have a new client, one who is willing to pay whatever it takes to employ their services as soon as he gets into the country.

So they lie there, together, getting cold, feeling sticky and sleepy, and then they move, together, into the shower and out on to the street.

The man they’re meeting is called Jones. He didn’t give a first name, just an address and a phone number. So of course Arthur immediately went on to find out everything about him. He could just be cocky, but often, in this world, this line of work, people test them, even when all they want is a threesome with blonde Swedish twins. They want to make sure they’re the best. This guy seems like the type, but even if he isn’t, it’s always good to be prepared. They have to know these people to know what they want. Because Jones hasn’t given them any clue, just said he’d tell them when he met them. But they’ll know, if they need to, before they get there.

And they might be getting cocky, too, but this guy has given them no reason not to be (aside from the fact that it’s stupid and foolish to get cocky, even now, after months and months of success). He’ll want some sort of fantasy, they always do. They always have. It seems an odd phrase to apply to the dream world, but people have no imagination, not really. All they want is sex, one way or another. No one even seems to have considered the other implications of this technology, despite the sort of things they were getting up to at the University. Which is good, it means there isn’t a security breach (no matter the money some of these people possess, it’s a relief to know they haven’t yet found the right price to get past security, if they even know where this technology originated, yet, because it’s all been kept tightly under wraps, no publication or anything, not yet), and if Dom is stupid enough to have continued with his work, he at least isn’t telling people anything he shouldn’t. So people stick to thinking about what they always think about - how can this new invention best get me off?

So Arthur researches this man. And he seems like a typical business man at first, just like all the others - plenty of money, companies all over the world, bored and full of free time as CEO with money to burn and burn and burn. Jones is his real name, surprisingly. He has no family, although he does have a dead ex-wife. No suspicious circumstances, but that doesn’t mean anything. He benefited from her will, in the end. Inherited a good portion of her company, because she had no one else to give it to, and apparently she still trusted him, even though the marriage didn’t work out. She had a son with another man, though, who she apparently also trusted, because he holds majority shares in her company. Which won’t be helpful, most likely, if this man wants a fantasy, but it’s still good to know.

They meet him at a high class hotel near the river. And Eames hates these places, usually, because they’re so incredibly, completely stuck up, and they remind him of his childhood. And the clients don’t usually favour them, either, because being rich tends to cultivate an inherent distrust of other rich people. Also, they seem to feel more badass (and like they know what they’re doing, criminal wise) meeting in dodgy places, which is fine for Arthur and Eames, because it usually gives them the upper hand. But now, with this guy, they’re meeting here, which, judging by his finances, means he’s very sure of himself. He knows exactly what he wants, and they won’t be able to play him like they can most of the others. That won’t make the job harder (it might even be easier), it’ll just be different. Eames is glad that they’re dressed in designer, today. They fit in. They look the part - impressive.

Eames feels a little like a high class hooker, though. Dressed to the nines, striding past the reception desk like they know where they’re going, stepping in to the elevator and coolly pressing the button for the top floor. Their client wants to meet in the penthouse (of course) but they have to get out and then take a separate elevator in order to get there. And it requires a key.

This turns out not to be a problem, because as soon as they reach the top floor, a bellhop slides them one, subtly. Arthur tips him generously. And Eames will admit there are some advantages (although it could just as easily be a disadvantage, and Eames is not letting go of that key) to working in places like this, like privacy and good service and a slim-to-none chance of being disturbed. It also feels very movie-esque, which is somewhat fun if also a little terrifying. People who think they can bend reality this way are often a little difficult to deal with.

When they get into the penthouse, most of the lights are off. The only light is by the window, next to a figure sitting in a chair. And this is getting more Hollywood by the second.

And then something happens that would never happen in a Hollywood movie, or won’t, not yet.

Jones turns around in his chair. And this is fairly ordinary, but then he says, “Tell me about extraction.”



*

They don’t have to take the job.

Eames knows this. They both know this. They could walk away, right now. Nobody else has access to this technology except the researchers, not yet, despite several attempts by other criminals (who obviously had some idea of the other uses of this technology, or else just wanted some of the cash they were earning) to steal the PASIV. Jones would have to give up, or wait until other people got hold of the technology. But there is always the question of how he even heard about extraction, and about what else he might be able to get hold of, with his money and access to information. It would only be a few more, relatively easy steps until he got access to the research project. The only reason they don’t have a security leak at the project yet is because no one has approached them about buying the information or their services. They haven’t had to, because they’ve had Arthur and Eames working outside, and because they were very careful not to let anyone know where they got their technology or training. But the instant someone approached them, a good portion of the workers would sell out straight away, just for the money and the chance to apply some of their work. And then they’d be eaten alive.

And Eames would much prefer to keep an eye on this sort of work, even if he’s not involved. But because there’s no one else, and because Eames doesn’t want anyone else to get involved, he knows they do, in the end, have to take the job.

He can see Arthur, out of the corner of his eye, coming to the same conclusions. He’s probably going through a similar thought process, even. And he can see Jones watching them, can see he knows just what’s going on, knows how this will end. And this really feels like a Hollywood movie, now.

So they turn to Jones, and they say, Arthur says, Eames leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, casual as you please, “We’ll take the job.”

Jones doesn’t smile. But he is happy, he is.

He begins to lay out his plans.

*

As it happens, their extensive research on Jones’ ex-wife and son comes in very handy. And it seems fairly likely that Jones wanted them to find this information, and Eames has never been manipulated in quite this way, like a puppet on a string. He can’t say he likes the feeling all that much. Jones has no humanity, really. But they can’t help it.

Jones, of course, wants to extract his ex-wife’s son’s business secrets. He then wants to blackmail him with something into giving up his shares, so that Jones holds the majority. And Jones doesn’t want the shares, or at least not all of them. He just wants this boy to sell his shares, so he holds no power anymore.

It’s going to be a long term project, and they tell Jones as much. Neither of them has done this before (although they of course don’t tell Jones that, although he probably already knows), and they need to do research, plan and build a dream, set up a time to go under with the target. He doesn’t seem too upset, just tells them to take as long as they need. And that patience worries Eames, because this man has waited a long time, and to still have that kind of patience takes a certain kind of mind set.

But they take him at his word. They have all the time they need, which they cautiously project will be a few months or so. Three months, they tell Jones initially.

Jones sets them up in a warehouse on the outskirts of town. He initially offers them a place near the University, and then another in a nearby neighbourhood, but they express a preference for somewhere a little further away (and not in those particular neighbourhoods, although they don’t tell Jones that), and he accommodates them. Chances are, this was just another test, probably double checking just how sensible they are. It probably also confirmed information Jones has procured on them. He’s obviously done his own research (although they can’t prove anything, because it becomes almost immediately obvious that Jones is only letting them see the information he wants them to see, and his research activities (which they can, at least, tell are happening) are not part of that), and they probably aren’t too difficult to find basic information on, especially now the military is out for their blood.

They haven’t been caught yet. Which might be surprising, but Paris is a big city. And they have friends in the research group, still, who wouldn’t ever sell them out, even if they did see them. They avoid their old, regular haunts for the most part. But the military isn’t really searching in the city, anyway. Despite information they’ve no doubt received on the use of the PASIV in Paris, they seem to think Arthur and Eames have fled the country, and are either coming back occasionally for work, or spreading rumours that they are in Paris in order to throw off the trail. Nobody would actually be so stupid as to stay in the one city they’d be the least safe. It’s a surprisingly effective ruse.

Besides, the last time the military saw them, they looked, well, like military. People would have to look twice, now, in order to see the men they once were.

Which works well, for their purposes. They can’t be easily found, and they look, if not trustworthy, exactly, like the sort of people who are very good at what they do. At being criminals. And at getting along with the rich.

Jones likes them, a lot, insofar as someone like him can like anybody. He gives them more and more access as time goes on, or they learn how to get past his guard. Probably a bit of both. Either way, they get what they need, research wise. They find their way into his ex-wife’s son’s (called David, apparently) life, finding out everything they can about him. They’ve decided to create a dream scenario in which David is confronted with the exposure of his deepest secret. In real life, it seems, he doesn’t have any. He has a lovely wife and a child, a little girl. He doesn’t appear to be a cheater, or to have embezzled any finances, or any such thing. But he does have a liking for privacy, and a fear of secrets being exposed. His security is extreme, and they spend several weeks just trying to get through to anything useful. But they do, eventually. And they find hints, here and there, of a past that, while not sordid or particularly career destroying, is obviously embarrassing to David, or else he wouldn’t have hidden it. And he hides things so well, won’t tell anyone a thing, that anything he has hidden (like his business secrets) will have to be forced out of him through a trade-off between something he wants to be exposed even less. And it’s far too messy to do anything like that in real life, and much easier for Jones to be implicated, so the dream world it is. And, even though they could probably pull it off in the real world (or someone could), it’s up to Jones, in the end. Besides, nightmares are always worse than anything in the real world.

They find out that, when he was fifteen, David had a rather sordid affair. With someone who was not only older, but was also one of his teachers. And David sold him out, so he didn’t lose his scholarship position at the school. And David thinks he knows his wife won’t approve, and is worried about what she will do. Arthur can’t find anything to suggest his wife would care enough to leave him, but that’s only another reason to do this in the dream world. There, it only matters what David believes.

Eames opts to forge the wife. She won’t play a key part, but her constant presence while Arthur is feeding David with hints of just what might be exposed about him will reinforce the link between his fears and his wife. And then he’ll see Arthur and Eames-as-his-wife talking, and he’ll get scared, and spill whatever they want to know. Which is, in this case, all his business plans. That way, Jones can counter them all, and then, when David is completely fucked over, will offer to buy his shares and sort everything out for him. The company board will back him, of course. And this isn’t about the company, not really, despite what Jones might have told them. Jones doesn’t need this company. He just wants to humiliate the boy who took any chance he might have had at gaining more power.

So they make a plan, dream wise. They still haven’t yet figured out exactly how they’re going to isolate David and put him under, but they still have a month and a half to think of something.

And then, Mal shows up.

She is heavily pregnant now, due any day. And Eames hadn’t even known she was pregnant, but she was, apparently. It’s a girl. And she and Dom are getting married. Because Mal is traditional at heart, and she wants her baby’s parents to be married. So she’ll have the baby, first, because she also wants to look thin in the wedding photos, and then, in three months, they’ll get married.

Eames is mad at her, a bit. He wants to know how she found them, why she came (although it’s obvious that she just wanted to see them, catch them up on her life) when it’s so dangerous.

Also, apparently, the University and the army are sending them to America to expand on their research. They’ll be out of the country, soon. The day after their wedding, in fact.

Mal tells them, in her usual way, that they are expected at the wedding, and at the birth. The wedding, of course, has a set date. It’s going to be a small affair, just their friends from the University and Miles. They have no other family, and top secret research tends to make you lose contact with the outside world. They tell her they’ll try to make it. The birth, of course, does not have a set date. The little girl (who they are apparently calling Phillipa), is due in a month or so. But she could arrive any time. Mal says she’ll contact them. Eames has no doubt she will.

And then she disappears, with remarkable skill for someone so heavily pregnant. She has a look about her now, like she knows about things like that, knows how to disappear. She looks older, and for the first time Eames thinks about what it must have been like for them, for Mal, especially, trying to deal with pregnancy and marriage and the disappearance of her friends. And she’s worried about them, it’s clear. She also seems furious at Dom, still, because she must know the complete story by now. She would have demanded it. But she loves him, and they’re having a baby together, which means she’s forgiving him a lot. She always will. Everyone always will.

Jones arrives at that moment, conveniently, drawing Eames out of his reverie. And he looks like the cat that got the canary, which is (or will be) a disturbingly accurate comparison, once they complete this job. Because despite their insistence, despite their usual methods of working, Jones has insisted on being involved in every aspect of this job. He won’t be going under with them, because he can’t afford to be seen in the dream and possibly ruin it or associate himself with the crime, but other than that he’s been heavily involved. And he is paying them, he can do whatever he wants, really.

Like find a way to isolate David, and put him under. They’ll need maybe a few weeks in the dream, and ideally a long flight or a surgery, or just a long period alone, in his home or abroad on business would work.

Conveniently, again (and Eames is beginning to think Jones is a god or something (he certainly has the power of one)), David is, in fact, coming to Paris in three weeks’ time. He will be staying for a week. It is a pleasure trip, a long awaited break from home and business, and he will be alone. He will also not have any commitments, so if he doesn’t leave his hotel room for some time, no one will know. They might get a little suspicious, but that’s what the Do Not Disturb sign is for. They won’t be around long enough to rouse suspicion. A few hours, tops.

He will also be staying in a hotel that the company owns, which will make accessing it a lot easier. And this job is going so well, almost too well, but that way lies paranoia, and this job is bad enough in that regard already.

And they both know that Mal could be having her baby any moment, could be giving birth at that time, but of course they have to do the job.

So they do the job. And it goes well. Jones gets what he wants. They get their money, and their sense of being utterly morally bankrupt. They wake up to ten messages on their cell phones.

All of them are from Mal or Dom, all in various stages of panic, Dom more than Mal, as always. And it feels like they live in movies, sometimes, because isn’t this like every cliché ever, the calm expectant mother, and the hysterical first time father, hysterical for nothing, in the end, because, as the last vaguely annoyed message tells them, Mal and the baby are just fine, resting in the hospital. They will be home tomorrow, Dom tells them, and they should try and visit if they can.

Mal and Dom live in a small house in the same district they lived in (that Mal’s apartment was in) before she got pregnant. It isn’t the house they’ve always dreamed of, but it’s lovely just the same. It’s only a rental property, Dom tells them as he lets them inside, because of the imminent move to America.

Mal is upstairs in bed. And she looks radiant, as they’d always imagined she would. A complete mess, exhausted still, but smiling and serene. She is holding her baby in her arms, and she beckons them closer, hands the little girl, Phillipa, over to Eames to hold.

Dom is hovering in the corner, anxious. And Eames has never held a baby before, but he thinks he’s doing okay. And then Mal looks up, her attention mostly focussed on her baby, but still always aware of Dom, and sees him.

“Go downstairs,” she tells him. It’s an order, but she’s still smiling. “Eames and I will be just fine.”

And he goes, and, taking the hint, Arthur follows him downstairs. Arthur has always been fairly good at dealing with Dom’s meltdowns, anyway. And for all that’s happened, Mal and Eames were friends first.

Mal pats the bed next to her, and Eames sits down. He hands Phillipa back to her mother. For a while they just sit there, Eames doesn’t know how long for, and just watch each other. Mal is looking for something. She seems to find it, in the end.

“You look good,” she tells him, “better than I was expecting.”

Eames has to laugh. Both at her comment, at the fact that it’s such a Mal thing to say, the fact that he doesn’t feel good, not really, about what they’re doing, most of the time, and the fact that he looks ridiculous, in the plain, unfitted clothes and loose brown wig Arthur found him. They’d decided to wear some sort of disguise, in the end, so as to avoid getting caught. Fortunately, it doesn’t seem as though Mal and Dom are being closely watched.

“So do you,” he tells her, “you look wonderful.”

And he still feels rattled, having come straight off a job (almost) to here, still slightly disconnected, but Mal’s presence is soothing. And she does look wonderful.

And then she laughs, soft and delighted, and leans forward. She is careful, of course, but she still reaches out, rubbing her thumb along his lower lash line. It comes away black. And he thought he’d got most of it, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s Mal, of course.

She rubs her fingers together, smearing the eyeliner together.

“It’s good to see Arthur is taking care of you,” she tells him.

They don’t really say anything more.

Eventually, they have to leave, so as to avoid suspicion. It’s still light outside, so they still look like perfectly respectable visitors, and nobody catches them. And this luck has to run out someday.

They take a few small jobs, here and there, in the months before Mal and Dom’s wedding. They promise not to take anything bigger, and they wouldn’t have wanted to, anyway. Mal’s wrath at their missing her wedding is not something Arthur or Eames ever wants to see. And they don’t have the time to get into anything bigger, anyway. Mal, because she is apparently insane, has decided they will marry, in a small ceremony in a tiny church she found, in eight weeks time. And because Mal is just one of those people, she still looks fairly amazing even after giving birth, so she shouldn’t have any problems. They’ve already planned most of it, anyway. It’s just final fittings to go.

And they’d asked Arthur and Eames if they’d like to participate in the wedding, but both Mal and Dom had known, really, that it wouldn’t be possible. So they’ll slip in the back, watch from the shadows. And it isn’t the wedding they’d have wanted, but this is how it is, now.

The wedding is beautiful. It’s in a tiny church, and hardly anyone is there. Mal looks radiant, Dom looks scared out of his mind and also like he can’t believe his luck. They exchange vows in a short ceremony, and then they leave.

Later, Arthur and Eames sneak over to their apartment, and they have dinner together, the four of them, one last time.

It’s only later when they find out how true this statement is.

And then Mal and Dom leave, pack up all their things and move to California. It’s quite sudden, in the end. Everyone just leaves. The whole program packs up and disappears. There’s no doubt they’re still wanted, that people are still looking for them. But as far as the official project is concerned, only the military is involved now, and America, as the government contributing the most money to the project (amongst other things) gets to host them all in the USA.

All this will mean, in the end, is that Eames and Arthur will lose their monopoly. Someone in the project will sell out, decide there’s better money in doing things illegally (which there is), and the USA is too far away for them do to anything about it. Following the project there would be suicide.

So they stay in Paris. They work. They keep an eye on the situation in the USA, courtesy of Dom and Mal. Sure enough, they hear whispers of a developing extraction business. And their clients report to them too, with their experiences. Apparently no one is as good as they are. Eames doesn’t tell them that the only person better is Dominic Cobb. He doesn’t need the temptation, or the ego boost, should he find out. So for now, they are the best.

And then, maybe a year, eighteen months (it’s hard to tell, to keep track of time in the real world) after Mal and Dom move stateside, Jones comes back to them. Tracks them down to their current location, which is more than a little worrisome.

“Gentlemen,” he tells them, still like every movie villain ever, “I have a proposal for you.”

Eames has often wondered if Jones acts like this with other people, but they haven’t been able to find any evidence either way. He has always been a good client, though.

“Go on,” Arthur says, slowly. Because they’re still wary, even now.

Jones brings a man forth, “This is Peter,” he tells them, “He requires your help.”

The job is fairly simple. Peter has business rivals, and he wants Arthur and Eames to extract their secrets. It’s nothing they haven’t done before. So they agree to take the job, and Jones and Peter leave.

“I don’t like this,” says Arthur, watching them leave, walk away down the street.

Eames doesn’t like it either. Neither man was acting particularly suspicious, but there was still something.

“There’s something they’re not telling us,” Arthur goes on to say. He’s already at the laptop, searching for something. Eames goes over to join him.

“Peter doesn’t act like a business man,” Eames says.

Arthur turns away from the laptop, so Eames can see the screen. There he is, Peter Poste, business man. Apparently.

“There’s nothing here,” Arthur tells him, clearly frustrated. And there really isn’t. Further research turns up absolutely nothing either.

So they go ahead with the job. And it is simple, and, whatever they might feel, remains simple. It’s almost too easy. But they have no proof.

And then they get to the job. Everything goes smoothly, perfectly. They grab the man they need to grab, put him under, go under with him. It’s the easiest job they’ve ever done.

Eames takes one look at the dreamscape, and shoots them both out of there.

They wake up just in time.

“Shit,” Arthur says.

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