Fic: Janus, Inception, Arthur/Eames, R - Part 3

[wayoffbase]

Mal answers it, still sleepy, and grumbles a little. And then she goes quiet, and becomes instantly alert.

Mere seconds later, Eames’ cell begins to chime. And he answers and, like Mal, becomes instantly aware of his surroundings, instantly tuned in to what’s happening.

Mal’s call is a courtesy notification of next of kin. In case of injury or death, each member on the base has both actual family and someone in the immediate vicinity listed as an emergency contact. Mal, of course, is listed for her father. She is also listed for Dom.

Mal slips into French when she is upset, and this is no exception. So, while his superior officer is trying to brief him, Eames can hear Mal’s frantic French in the background. Fortunately, it seems, whoever has called her understands French, and can keep up.

About the time Eames and Mal were exploring the shopping complex just down the road from the university, trying on expensive gowns and having the time of their lives, Elizabeth Hart woke up, and didn’t realise she was awake. She shot and killed three people, injured another four (Dom included in this count, and not seriously, thank God, Miles not included at all), before shooting herself. They need help with clean up, and with soothing distraught researchers.

Eames is up and moving in a second. Mal, still in shock, is taking a little longer, so Eames helps her to her feet, directs her towards the door, finds her some shoes, a coat. He drives her to the University hospital, where they’ve sent the wounded (and the dead), drops her off, and then heads for the research headquarters.

They are in chaos. Everyone is upset, shocked, or angry, or some combination of the three. A few people are trying to instil some sense of order, but it isn’t working.

Miles spots Eames through the chaos, approaches him. He alone is calm, although he does look slightly shaken, worried for Dom. He explains, quietly, what has happened.

Meanwhile, the noise in the room only gets louder. It increases and increases, getting louder and louder, until this little bit, a tiny brunette American (and the only reason Eames knows this is because of the uniform), clambers up onto a table, and yells, voice carrying clear and strong across the room, “Everybody, shut the fuck up!”



They do. And this kid is no one, is clearly brand new to the army, but his voice has power and authority. He is also extremely attractive. Eames notes this in an abstract kind of way - it really isn’t the time, and he’s been focussed on female beauty for most of his evening, so this is a slight adjustment.

His superior officers do not seem amused with this upstart little shit taking control, but they can’t deny that it’s working. And the kid notices this, and he steps back, allows the others to take over. And they can, now, now that everyone is quiet.

They begin the work of shepherding out everyone who has already been briefed and questioned, letting them go home. They separate the civilians from the military - most of that part of the project are at home anyway, and will be briefed in the morning, and those who are here already know what happened. And then, it’s just the military left, and it gets louder, again, briefly, before Miles steps up onto a table and clears his throat.

And it’s just as effective as the yelling, because Miles is respected here, by everybody. Although the yelling had probably paved his way somewhat.

He explains to everyone what they know now. About how Hart and Dom were under, forging, monitored by a collection of civilians and military. About how they’d woken before the timer had gone off, about how Hart’s forgery had triggered Dom’s projections, tearing them to pieces and throwing them out of the dream. About how they’d both been using real places to shape their environment and forging real people, and about how they’d also been experimenting with levels in the dream, and how forgeries worked on different levels. And it’s just like Dom, really, to push like this, and Eames knows that Dom was the instigator, because he always is, and he always knew that one day something would go wrong. He’d just never thought it would be this. None of them had expected this. Because it’s easy, or it should be, to tell reality from a dream, especially when you’ve been forging. And Eames has always had no trouble telling levels apart, either. Most people don’t. Except Elizabeth, who for some reason believed her world was not real, and now people are dead. Or at least they can assume this to be the cause, judging by Elizabeth’s ramblings, although it turns out that her attempt to ‘shoot herself out of the dream’ failed, her gun having run out of bullets, and she is currently sedated in a private room at the hospital. Nobody knows what to do with her. Nobody really knows what to do about anything, anymore.

The program goes in to shut down for a few days, enough time to notify next of kin, organize funeral arrangements, and clean up. One more person dies of their injuries, and a fresh wave of grief sweeps the base. Elizabeth, after repeated attempts to reason with her, gets hold of a scalpel (and no one wants to know how, no one will look too closely) and commits suicide, convinced to the end that this is not reality. And that shakes a fair few people up. They have several resignations, requests for transfers, dropouts in that week. The whole university exists under a halo of held breath.

The one bright spot, at least for Eames, Mal, and Miles, is Dom’s release from the hospital. His injuries were minor, and he’s going to be just fine. And the one positive thing about sleeping for a profession is that is doesn’t involve moving, which would only aggravate Dom’s gunshot wounds. It means that Dom can go back to work, which he wants more than anything, and Mal can refrain from having a coronary about this.

She instead throws herself into work, and, in the end, it’s her who comes up with the idea, with the safety procedure that just might save their lives in the future.

She calls them totems. It doesn’t exactly describe what they are, but Mal likes it, and it seems appropriate. She decides, after experimenting, that the best way to tell reality from a dream is to have something that behaves differently in reality than in the dream. And it works, quite successfully, although Eames is uncertain - the mind can make anything happen in a dream, could fool you into thinking your totem was working and showing reality. He floats the idea of more than one totem, just in case. Also, they can’t become too dependent on an object. But no one else seems to be concerned with this. Everyone takes to carrying totems. And they can’t tell each other how they work, either, because then someone could manipulate them. And on a research project already full of secrets, this only heightens the tension.

It is under this atmosphere that Eames first meets Arthur (Cadet Arthur Gordon) properly for the first time.

They don’t really talk much the first few times. A lot of it is simply them being too busy. Eames is busy dealing with the fallout from Elizabeth Hart’s wake-up, and trying to come up with a solution, testing totems and the like, while Arthur, being brand new to the military and the dream share program (but so so talented and promising) is busy learning the ropes, all the basic procedures and techniques everyone has to learn when they enter the program. He’s come over with the American contingent, who have of course decided at this late date that they wish to be involved in the program, once all the kinks have been worked out and it’s no longer particularly dangerous. They are reaping all the benefits, and also, to be fair, contributing a lot of money to the cause. However, they do have to learn lucid dreaming from the beginning, and as a result have a lot to do with Mal (for the chemistry and sedation aspect, and about totem theory), Dom (for the architecture aspect), and Eames (to learn forgery). And they are usually involved in the simulations and test runs, although the civilians are becoming less and less involved with the military simulations.

Arthur, on the other hand, is involved in almost every simulation. As is Eames, both because he’s SAS and because he’s one of the best and oldest members of the project. However, being shot at and killed, interrogated within an inch of your life (and so on) doesn’t leave much time for talking. They work well together, though, when they get the chance.

This is the only time they associate with each other, however. Arthur is usually working with his fellow Americans, and even when he isn’t, he’s never working with Eames, because he has absolutely zero talent for forgery. He spends most of his time with Dom, because despite an apparent lack of imagination in other areas, he is quite talented when it comes to architecture, especially dream architecture. He’s apparently an engineering student in real life, the military paying for his training. So he builds a lot of dreams for them, his clean, practical lines being suitable for military dreams, which need low levels of distraction from the environment. Sometimes, of course, they want something complicated and elaborate, and for that they get Mal, but Arthur apparently has a wicked sense of humour, and a predilection for paradoxes not able to be created in real life, creating deceptively complicated dreams. As a result, he also spends a lot of time with Mal, creating increasingly complicated and frustrating dream environments.

Mal loves him. He’s polite, and attractive, and he speaks French. He has a wicked streak running beneath the surface. He has an endless thirst for knowledge. In many ways, he’s a lot like Mal.

Dom seems to notice this, too, and this causes him equal amounts of delight and confusion. He spends nearly even amounts of time with each of them, and Eames can see the desperate, devoted feelings he has for Mal swaying and stretching a little towards Arthur. Eames can understand the urge. Arthur is fairly wonderful, from what Eames has gathered, what he’s seen, what he knows. And Mal is absolutely and constantly loveable, and someone who is like her is obviously going to be attractive to Dom. Eames wants Arthur too, but for different reasons. He wants him for the intensity he sees in dreams, the way he works perfectly with Eames, with others. His beauty is definitely a plus, too. But as absolutely cliché as it is, there’s something about him that Eames doesn’t think Dom can see or appreciate.

But Arthur and Dom spend more and more time together. Dom is something of a mentor for Arthur, and they become an incredible team. Arthur develops an extraordinary talent for research, and he spends less and less time in dreams as a result, researching and leaving the dreaming to others.

He never seems to associate with anyone outside of work, however. Not even Mal or Dom. At least, not until one night, when Eames stays late, working with one of the new Americans, a promising woman named, of all things, Emily, and Dom stays, working on architecture with Miles, developing larger dream environments that are also stable. As far as Eames knows, Arthur goes home alone each night. He often takes a PASIV with him, although nobody knows what he does with it. But that one night, when he’s been working late with Emily, he decides to head for Mal’s place afterward. He needs to relax, maybe do some shopping in Paris or Milan. Also, something he’s been finding, is that he dreams naturally less and less now that he works in dreaming, and he needs the PASIV to get a full night’s sleep. And the sorts of dreams they have during the day are not remotely soothing or restful. So he goes to Mal’s, despite the fact that it’s after midnight by now. She’ll probably still be up, fucked up sleep schedule that they all have, or she’ll be hooked up to the PASIV, in which case he can just plug in to the PASIV and go under with her.

When he gets there, however, Mal is under, but she is not alone. Arthur is here with her, and they are both dreaming. And Eames doesn’t appreciate it when he’s under at work, because people are constantly monitoring everything he does while he’s under, and when he’s here, he’s usually under, and Mal and Dom can usually distract him. But now, watching these two, perhaps the people he loves most in the world, under alone, he realises just how dangerous it is, and how worrying. His not so sudden and unexpected worry for the two of them wars with his desire to know just what the two of them are up to, whether this is the first time they’ve been under together, just what exactly they’ve been doing. In the end, curiosity wins out, and he’s just glad he isn’t a cat, because he doesn’t know what he’ll find.

So he goes under, plugs himself in, and turns up somewhere that smacks of Mal, is obviously Mal’s dream. It’s a hotel, and it has something of one of the old hotels near the University, and something of the Parisian buildings Mal loves to create. Eames is in an upper corridor, a dimly lit baroque style hallway, stretching out in either direction. One way blurs into nothing, and the other leads to a set of stairs. Eames takes the stairs.

About halfway down the stairs switch seamlessly into wide ballroom stairs, just after turning an abrupt corner. Eames walks around the corner first, blindly, and gets a perfect view of a massive ballroom, packed with people in elegant high fashion. At the centre are Mal and Arthur, waltzing gracefully around the floor to the strains of something classical. They both look amazing, beautiful and elegant, Mal in a full length black gown, Arthur in a flawlessly fitted black and white tuxedo. Arthur has longer hair in this dream, slicked back, and he looks older now than he does in real life. Mal’s hair is swept back off her face into a French roll. They haven’t spotted him yet, and the projections haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. Eames decides to try something.

He goes back around the corner, back into the ordinary stairwell. He debates on changing there, but then decides to go back upstairs, into one of the hotel rooms. Knowing Mal, there’ll be full length mirrors in there he can use.

Sure enough, there are. The rooms are beautiful, in the same style as the hallway. In reflection of the style of the dream, they’re more like dressing rooms than hotel rooms, classy. There is a dresser, a closet, a mirror, some chairs, and a mini bar.

Eames goes to the closet, wondering. He opens it, and inside are rows of dresses. But not in the style Mal would wear. They’re definitely something Eames would wear. And he has to laugh, because of course Mal, observant Mal, noticed his presence and altered things accordingly, guessing what he would want to do.

So he goes right ahead. He picks out a green dress, with a plunging neckline and halter neck, because it’s his signature, really. It looks a lot like one he’d purchased in a previous dream, and he has to admire Mal’s efforts at continuity. And then he fits himself into that female body, although this time he leaves the glasses behind. He makes his hair long and curly, but still the same. He creates a face full of make-up, and this is one thing the dream world will always have over the real world - the ability to create this look without help, without the endless curling tongs and mascara wands and bags full of make-up and dry cleaning and shaving and the list goes on and on, everything Mal has around her house, that he’s ever seen her use. As she is so fond of telling him, beauty is pain, and she follows that adage to the letter. In this world, however, it doesn’t matter. It’s also a lot less time consuming. Within a matter of minutes, he’s ready.

And he knows Mal will recognise him right away, because she’s already seen this form before and because that’s just how she is, but he wonders how Arthur will react. He’ll figure it out eventually, no doubt, because he’s no idiot - he wouldn’t be here if he was. But his reaction should be interesting.

He descends the stairs again, and Mal, because she obviously thinks she’s hilarious, has altered them so they match his dress, so they highlight his appearance. The lights draw attention to him as he descends.

Arthur hasn’t noticed his appearance yet, both in the sense of noticing his literal presence and his change in appearance. He has no reason to, really, no reason to think anyone would be joining them, or at least to think perhaps Dom would join them, but not Eames, and not like this. And he’s never seen Eames like this; no one has, except Dom and Mal. They’ve seen him forge women before, but they’ve been impressions of other people in the project, or of made up amalgamations of people, never this. He wouldn’t show this to just anybody. And Mal will know what it means, that he’s showed up like this, even if Arthur won’t, at least not immediately. He might not even recognise him.

He slips through the crowd, heading towards Arthur and Mal. He’ll cut in, and confuse everybody. It helps that the projections don’t react to him, that he can approach quietly and unnoticed. His forgeries have gotten so good that he can move amongst anyone’s projections without making a ripple. Nobody else has reached that stage yet, although some of the more promising students will soon. There’s a certain unique approach to forging that most people have had to learn, but that comes naturally to Eames.

He comes up behind Arthur, so that Mal can see him, but of course Arthur cannot. And then he says, keeping his voice the same, only moving it into a higher register and adding a hint of huskiness, “Can I cut in?”

Mal has the wickedest smile on her face, and Eames is sure that, for now, Arthur will think this is one of Mal’s projections, that she is just being saucy. And so he takes her place as Mal moves away, sliding into Arthur’s arms. And he knows it’s a little bit cruel, playing him like this, but it’s also so enjoyable. Besides, Arthur is, much to Eames’ surprise, a hell of a dancer, at least in the dream scape.

Arthur just goes with it, barely blinking, adjusting to his new partner. And Mal’s projection of Dom comes up and takes her into his arms, giving her a partner, and so Arthur turns his attention to the woman currently in his arms. And then he starts to look confused. He’s looking intently at Eames, now, obviously recognising something in him, but not quite sure exactly what it is.

And he’s stopped moving now, although the music is continuing around them. And the rest of the projections are still dancing, soothed by Mal’s non-reaction to the two of them. They’re still holding each other, and the music is still playing, and Arthur just keeps watching him. And Eames can see it, see how close he is to figuring it all out, and then see the moment when it clicks. He’s been able to predict his reaction, every bit of it, right down to this moment. What happens after that, however, he wasn’t expecting.

After one final probing stare, Arthur seems to dismiss his discovery. He doesn’t say anything, and his face returns to normal, just as it had looked when he first came upon Mal and Arthur dancing. And then, Arthur adjusts his grip, waits for a beat, and then begins to move with the music again. Eames, startled and a little unsure, is a moment behind, but he soon catches up, and falls in to step with Arthur. And Arthur is a fantastic dancer, and Eames, who of course was trained for this (although probably with the expectation that he would lead), finds it so easy to fall into step with him. Arthur leads, and Eames follows, and they never once fall out of step.

They move into some more complicated manoeuvres after a while, and those go just as smoothly. The dress Eames has chosen is perfect, flaring around his legs as Arthur spins him, setting gently when they come back together. Eames loses track of how long they dance for, although he does notice that Mal has disappeared, at one point. He wonders if that projection of Dom was perhaps the real thing, or if she’s gone off with the projection (because that seems the most likely course of action) but it isn’t his place to question their arrangement. Mal and Dom are deliriously happy, after all, and whatever they’ve got going clearly works for them. So he keeps dancing, comfortable where he is.

And he’d thought this would be a joke, an amusing trick to play on the army grunt from America, that he would be offended, appalled, and they would laugh, and count on him not to say anything (not that it would matter if he did, both because of his low ranking and Eames generally known talent at forging and character). He never thought it would turn out like this.

The music changes, then, from classical ballroom to something slow, with faint French lyrics. It’s seductive and smooth, and Eames wonders whether it’s spilling over from Mal’s current activities, or whether she’s trying to either play a trick on them or tell them something. Either way, neither of them falter, moving easily into the new style of dance, finding the beat. They move closer together, because it’s appropriate for the song, really. Eames arms slip around Arthur’s neck (and they are the same height, here, with Eames in heels, although by rights he should be taller), and Arthur’s slide around his waist, resting low on his hips. They are both breathing a little quicker now. And then, just faintly, Eames feels the press of lips (Arthur’s lips) just faintly on the side of his neck.



He doesn’t react, doesn’t move for a moment. And then the pressure is back, firmer this time, and then it is repeated, over and over, inching its way up Eames’ neck. And then he reaches the underside of Eames’ jaw, and sucks on it, just lightly.

Eames goes weak in the knees. That’s something he’s always liked, and even though it feels different in the dream, it still feels good. Arthur holds him tighter, holds him up, and then tilts his head ever so slightly, ever so slowly, and presses his lips to Eames’. Again, it’s just a light, soft kiss, and then he pulls away.

They haven’t stopped moving, not through all this. But they’re very close now, looking into each other’s eyes, like every romantic cliché ever, and so it seems only natural that Eames’ should lean up, press his lips to Arthur’s and kiss him back. And then he deepens the kiss, tilting his head a little more and swiping his tongue across the seam of Arthur’s lips, encouraging him to open his mouth. And he does, and they kiss, deeper now, for long moments.

And then one of Arthur’s hands moves, slides up his body, resting just under one of Eames’ breasts. And he can feel it there, is so aware of it, but more than that, he is aware that he is a woman. And this can’t go anywhere good, because Eames’ isn’t like this, not in real life. And the confusion that results from anger, something Arthur will inevitably experience once they wake up, once he realises he was in fact embracing another man, is something neither of them needs.

So Eames breaks away. He runs off, in fact, darting through the other dancers. He runs back up the stairs, because it seems to be the only exit. On the way, he loses a shoe, because he can’t quite help it, can’t quite hope that maybe, despite this, Arthur will still come after him, and that they can work this out in the real world. And Arthur has come after him, is trying to make his way through the press of people, and the shoe is just the distraction Eames needs. Arthur stops to pick it up, just briefly, and it’s enough for Eames to run up the stairs, to choose a door and a room and a balcony to throw himself off.

By the time Arthur wakes up, Eames is long gone.

*

Because it’s just how the universe works, Eames runs straight into Arthur first thing the next morning.

And it’s literally, too, because of course the universe wouldn’t be satisfied with run of the mill awkwardness, and instead has to go for full on humiliation.

Arthur is carrying coffee. Two cups, even, and actually, one smells suspiciously like tea. He drops one, the coffee cup of course, and it splatters everywhere. Most of it gets on the ground, luckily, but both of them walk into the project office with faint splatters of coffee over both their clothes. The tea is just fine, only a tiny bit spilled. And as he’s looking horrified, a bit, Arthur looks up from surveying the damage, mouth open as if to say something. And then he sees the expression on Eames’ face, and whatever he reads into it, it makes him shut up fairly quickly. His mouth snaps closed, and he darts ahead of Eames, slipping through the doors to their building and disappearing up the stairs (because of course he would never take the elevator), presumably to Dom’s office, as he always does. He tosses the tea in the rubbish bin next to the elevators, though, on his way past, and Eames’ can’t help but think what a terrible waste.

Eames doesn’t see him for the rest of the day, which is slightly odd but not unusual. That is, until Eames goes to find Mal, to see if she doesn’t want to take a lunch break with him. He goes up to her office, and Arthur is there.

They (or rather Arthur) is talking quietly and apparently fiercely, gesturing at Mal frantically. She is obviously trying to calm him, to provide an explanation, but it doesn’t seem to be working, and Arthur looks nothing if not frustrated and upset. And then he sees Eames, approaching the door of Mal’s office. Abruptly he stops talking, appears to make his excuses or mumble some sort of hasty goodbye, and high tails it out of Mal’s (and Eames’, more likely) presence.

He approaches Mal cautiously, because she is looking most put out. Eames knows, because he can just tell with these things, that she is looking that way because of him, and not Arthur. He wonders just what Arthur was saying to her.

Mal is not forthcoming. Instead, she merely looks up, and when she sees that it is him, she tells him, “Eames, you are an idiot.” She refuses to elaborate any further, despite Eames’ subtle (and not so subtle) probing and pushing throughout the rest of the day. She does deign to have lunch with him, however.

And then, at the end of the day, Arthur corners him. And Eames had been hoping to avoid this, hoping they could just let it slide, forget about it until the awkwardness passed, but of course not. It wouldn’t be at all like Arthur to let something go.

Of course, as seems to constantly be the case when it comes to Arthur, Eames has severely underestimated him.

Eames is heading down one of the back corridors, making his way to one of the more remote dream labs to run one final simulation before he leaves, when Arthur honest to God appears out of nowhere, coming out of a doorway Eames didn’t even know was there, and dragging him into a tiny broom closet masquerading as a room.

“What was that?” he asks. And he doesn’t even sound accusing, not really, he mostly just sounds confused.

And Eames decides to play it dumb (although not too dumb), even though it probably isn’t the best idea, “I believe they call it a forgery, Arthur, darling” (and this is the first time he calls him darling) he says.

Arthur looks completely unimpressed. He doesn’t even say anything, just waits, and finally Eames relents, “That was a particular forgery of mine that’s quite personal,” he says, still hedging a little.

“It was you,” Arthur says. Eames nods. There’s no point in trying to deny it, Arthur’s observational skills are some of the best. “And what exactly were you doing with that particular forgery?” He isn’t giving anything away.

Eames debates his answer, briefly, and then he tells him. Explains everything, properly and fully. He even explains his avoidance of Arthur, although he’d thought that self-evident.

Arthur still looks a little puzzled. “Why run off?” he says.

And Eames explains, again. And Arthur is still looking at him like he’s speaking another language, but there’s something else there, under that expression. And it takes Eames a little while to click, to understand, because he never said that observation was his strong point (except when it is, when he needs to, but it’s always different showing how you see somebody, or how they see somebody else, than seeing how somebody sees you), but he’s seen that look before, but not in years, and not directed at him like this. It’s lust. Desire. And Dom gets it, sometimes, when Eames is a woman in dreams, and Charlotte used to look at him like that, but again, usually when he was in a dress. Not like this. And nobody has ever looked at him like this consistently. And it’s a seriously bad idea, and it probably always will be, Eames can see it always being a bad idea with Arthur. But being wanted just exactly as you are is quite a strong lure, and so Eames kisses him, just lightly. They can’t do this here, though.

It’s at that point the projections break down the door, sweeping in and sweeping them up, and Eames feels them pull him apart, and then he wakes up, abruptly, panting. Being torn apart is awful. And he’s angry now, so angry, because of course it was a dream, he should have realised, that door doesn’t exist and he couldn’t remember how he got there and then he looks around and blinks, and there is Mal and Arthur, and even waking up Arthur looks terrible. Mal doesn’t though. She just looks unrepentant as always. “You needed to talk,” she says, “I hope you have worked everything out.” And then she leaves, the cow, just leaves them there, lying on the floor of her living room, still trying to wake up fully. And it’s still hard at this point, when they’re still messing about with sedatives, trying to find the one that works best, and Mal is a chemist, and who knows what she might’ve mixed up. And it’s a good thing Eames loves her so much, because she can be fairly morally bankrupt sometimes, if she thinks it will help get her what she wants more easily. And, in this case, of course what she wants is for her friends to be happy, and so Eames can’t be angry at her, not really. She can get away with a lot.

And Arthur is looking at him again, and he still looks as he did, in the dream. He’s still got that look behind his eyes, that interested look. He looks annoyed, too, and vaguely guilty, but mostly, his eyes look both a little soft, with caring, and a little hard, sharp with desire. And even though he’s army, his face is still expressive, and he’ll grow out of it, later, start showing people only what he wants them to see, but Eames will always, always be able to see through him, see exactly what he feels, especially how he feels about Eames. And Arthur will always be able to do the same, even though his strength lies in research, there will always be those people who he’ll be able to read, and Eames will always be at the top of that list.

And of course there’s something else Eames has to show him. Because that couldn’t be all, they couldn’t just go with this, because they will, even though it’s a colossally bad idea. Because in the limited free time they’ve had, Eames and Mal have been doing some shopping in the real world. Mal has quite a bit of money behind her, and she’s been enjoying the feminine company. She’s bought Eames a lot of things, beautiful clothes for both male and female. Because even though he has the dream world, that isn’t real, and he has to be himself in the real world, too. So he has the clothes. And it’s one thing to be a woman in dreams, because that could be curiosity or kinkiness, because you get all sorts in dreams, but Eames needs to be sure (although he doesn’t think it will be a problem, not really), he has to know that Arthur really knows what he’s getting into.

So he helps Arthur up off the floor, and takes him in to the spare bedroom. And they go in, and Arthur looks to the bed, and Eames wants that, of course he does, but first there’s the other thing. The closet in here is stuffed full of clothes. Some are Mal’s, old ones that she doesn’t wear but is too fond of to let go of, and some are Dom’s, overflow from the things he’s left in Mal’s room. But most of them are Eames’. There are a range of things here, clothes for both male and female, mostly high fashion, expensive things that Mal has bought for him, or the few things Eames has been able to afford on his own from his limited salary. The dresses are exactly fitted to his size, and they’re styled in such a way that they hide the broad shoulders he’s developed from the military, emphasising his good features. There’s a wide range here, suits and dresses and skirts and jeans, underwear and shoes. And the shoes were the worst part, because women’s shoes are not meant to hold men’s weight. But they sourced some, from a place in England, and they work well enough.

When Eames opens the doors, several things fall out. Some of them are men’s clothes, obviously Eames’ size and style (easy enough to tell, even when he spends most of his time in military uniform). The other few things consist of one stiletto, huge, obviously too big for most women, and some lingerie and a skirt, half of a business suit for a woman. And it’s just like Mal to have a closet like this, stuffed full of clothes, haphazard even with her treatment of hideously expensive designer clothes, that for a moment Arthur just looks confused, doesn’t click. And then he picks up the shoe, and looks closely at it. Eames can see the exact moment he understands. But, as always, as has been the theme of their interactions, Arthur looks at first surprised, then confused, but always, behind his eyes, the hint of lust. He goes rummaging around in the closet, still holding the one stiletto, until he finds another one, the matching one, and pulls them both out.

They’re blood red pumps, simple and classic, made of satin, lined with leather. They’re one of the more comfortable, practical pairs. Arthur holds them out, considering, and then he hands them to Eames, diving back into the pile of clothes, searching through them. He comes back out with a lacy red shift and matching panties, the same colour as the shoes. And the look on his face now is of unmistakable lust, as he holds out the clothes to Eames. Eames takes the hint, and takes them from him, going in to the adjacent bathroom to change.

He takes his time. He puts on the clothes, the shoes, and then he pulls out the make-up kit from under the sink, applies some light touches. He considers some of the other things in here - a few pieces of jewellery, a few wigs that Mal bought him out of interest, but ultimately discards them, choosing to stay as he is for now.

When he emerges, Arthur is perched on the edge of the bed. He is still fully dressed, but he’s taken off his jacket, and he looks less militaristic. Eames appreciates the effort.

Eames leans in the doorway, cocks his hip a little. The movement is enough to draw Arthur’s eye. He looks up, and then he breathes in really deeply. Eames walks over to him, swaying his hips a little, enjoying the feeling, both of the clothes and Arthur’s eyes on him. Arthur reaches up, rests his hands on Eames’ hips. He tugs a little, and Eames goes down, perching just lightly on Arthur’s lap. Arthur runs his hands up Eames’ sides, resting them on his waist. And it’s nice, because Arthur looks tiny, but he’s military, he can hold Eames’ weight without trouble. And then he leans up slightly, presses his lips gently to Eames’. Eames deepens the kiss, tilts his head. He presses his torso against Arthur’s, and they fall back against the bed.

*

When he wakes up, later, it’s well after dark. The curtains are still open, and the moonlight is shining in. It’s nice though, not blinding. Arthur is standing by the window, looking out at Mal’s tiny back yard garden. He’s wearing pants, but nothing else. They’re Eames’ pants, actually, a really old pair of sweat pants that he’s had since he was a teenager, which don’t really fit him anymore, but are the perfect size for Arthur. And it’s really something, to see Arthur in his clothes.

Eames’ clothes, both the things he was wearing before and the lingerie, are scattered across the floor. One of the shoes has made its way almost to the door. Even the covers are scattered everywhere, except one of the sheets, which is tangled around Eames’ legs, and one of the pillows, which Eames is lying half off, his arm curled around it loosely.

Eames doesn’t make a sound, just watches Arthur from the bed. He looks very young in the moonlight. He must know Eames is awake, would have sensed his movement when he initially woke, despite his efforts to keep quiet since then, but he doesn’t move, just keeps looking out the window. Eames gets up, wraps the sheet around his waist, and goes over to him. He waits just behind him, uncertain as to what Arthur will do, unsure even now about whether he’ll stick around, freak out, be okay with all this. It’s getting a bit late for denial and excuses at this stage, but Eames has to go through everything, just to make sure.

Arthur is standing a little stiffly, but he’s mostly relaxed. The alert posture is probably just army residue, Eames supposes. Arthur doesn’t actually appear to be concerned that Eames in particular is behind him. So he moves closer, slides his arms loosely around Arthur’s waist. And, after a moment, Arthur relaxes into his hold, leaning back against his chest. Eames holds him a little tighter. They don’t say anything. Eventually Eames draws him away from the window, and they go back to bed, first collecting all the covers, drawing them back up and putting them in some semblance of order. Eames doesn’t usually sleep here, he has his own place (and they’ll notice if he doesn’t come back, because it’s controlled by the SAS, lots of apartments all in one building in an effort to both protect and, in Eames’ case, keep an eye on them, but he’s never been missed before and right now he doesn’t really care all that much) but Mal won’t mind, not this once, not when this was what she was angling for in the first place. And Mal or Dom will wake them, when they have to head in. Nobody will be any the wiser.

So they go back to the bed, and they, after a moments awkward shuffling, curl around each other, Eames on his back and Arthur resting on his chest, arms around each other. And the bed isn’t particularly comfortable, is still Mal’s spare bed in a room she never uses, a place she never really has guests, but it’s big enough for the two of them, and it has covers and pillows and all the essentials. It’ll do. So they drift off, and there’s still that doubt, of course, when your standard is the only other girl you’ve ever dated, but for now, everything is going right. Eames isn’t going to jinx it, or obsess over what could go wrong. It’s the middle of the night, and he’s comfortable and sleepy, and Arthur has proven himself more than trustworthy. So they’ll sleep for now, and see how things are in the morning. Besides, if one or the other of them fucks up, Mal will just shoot them in the kneecaps, and possibly not in a dream, which should be deterrent enough.

When Eames wakes up again, it’s morning. Early morning, by the looks of it, the sun just beginning to shine through the window. It’s about the time Eames would usually get up, maybe slightly later, having been trained into it, of course, by years with the army. And Arthur is awake, too, with the same training, and he looks alert, which could mean he’s been awake for a while. There’s a difference between that instinctive alertness when you just wake up, and the calm alertness and awareness of your surroundings achieved after having been awake and having surveyed your surroundings sufficiently. Arthur has the second look about him, and Eames has to do the same, instinctively, survey the room, even though he’s sure it’s fine. He’s more occupied with the fact that Arthur is clearly awake, has been so for a decent amount of time, and he hasn’t moved or gone anywhere or even looks like he wants to. And he might have had a little trouble moving, because they’ve only moved a little in the night, and they’re lying down, now, fully, curled up face to face, and Eames probably would have felt him move, but he could have done it, could have moved or left, and even if Eames had noticed he wouldn’t have stopped him, would have let him leave. And then Arthur would have realised, of course, and it would have made things horrendously awkward, but they would have had to deal with it. Maybe shot each other in the kneecaps a few times, in the dreamscape of course. Or Mal would have dealt with them, either at work or when either of them tried to leave, because she’s determined like that, even to the point of irritation and frustration. But it’s all irrelevant, at least for now, because neither of them have left, they’re both still here, although they will have to get up soon. Go in to the project, the University, and pretend like nothing happened, because it’s unprofessional and Arthur is a member of the American military, who would frown on their behaviour, even more so if they knew the exact details of what they’d been doing. Although they will be able to spend time together, maybe find out if there really are any deserted tiny rooms in the back corridors, because they are colleagues and everyone knows how beautiful French Mal has adopted the tiny, efficient American grunt and how Eames and Mal are friends, too. It won’t be suspicious if they all spend time together, and it could in fact be for the good if they see Arthur and Eames trying to get along better.

And this is what happens, in the end. The two of them get up, shower, get dressed. They emerge into the kitchen to find a sleepy but smug Mal (because she of course would have heard everything) and a completely exhausted looking Dom standing about, sipping half-heartedly at coffee and watching them come through the door. Dom glares, a little, and Eames feels a little sorry for him, because he’s always been a light sleeper, awakened by the slightest noise, and although Eames doesn’t think he was there initially, his late arrival home would have meant he was getting to sleep just as they were waking up for the first time, and his tossing and turning would have woken Mal, who would have smugly filled him in on every detail, and then he would have been kept awake by thinking about it all and not slept very well, in the end. Arthur’s problems can often be attributed to a limited imagination, but Dom’s can almost always be attributed to having too much imagination, and for thinking things over too much. That’s partly Mal’s influence, making him think more, but because it’s Dom, he always has to take her advice completely to heart and to every extreme.

But Dom doesn’t say anything to them, and Mal just smiles smugly and hands them each a cup of coffee, which is one of the few things Mal is very, very good at in the kitchen. A lot of the rest of the time, they don’t have the time to spend in the kitchen, so they either don’t develop the skills necessary or simply don’t get the chance to practice them. Eames takes the opportunity to cook whenever he can, though, because he of course was not allowed to, growing up, and he still can’t quite help but feel the vaguest hint of satisfaction at this rebellion against his parents. Even though of course neither of them have any idea about it at all, and Eames hasn’t spoken to either of them except through a few brief emails since he joined the army. They just aren’t a big part of his life anymore. His father doesn’t need to be, now that he’s eighteen, and doesn’t really want to be, not since he remarried two years ago and gained a far more, in his opinion, suitable son from his new wife’s first marriage. His mother has just faded out. She has another child now, too, a baby girl called Anna. Eames has never met her. She probably won’t be allowed to cook either.

They certainly won’t have time to cook this morning. They very rarely do, which is why breakfast these days is usually coffee and whatever they can grab that’s quick and filling. They try to eat, because they rarely get the chance (or they forget) during the day. And although it’s rushed, although they have to leave soon, and they’ll have to split up, not arrive together, this is still nice, could still become an easy morning ritual. And it’s comfortable, for a while, and then they have to leave, and go back to the project, to the University.

They split up (well, Eames and Arthur split off from the group, and then from each other), just a few blocks away from Mal’s place. Several people from the dream research project live around here, because it’s relatively close to the University, and they don’t want to be spotted, even by civilians. So they split up.

Before they do, though, before they switch into work mode, Eames, taking a risk, pulls Arthur into a tiny side street, letting Mal and Dom go on ahead. And Arthur just smiles at him, unguarded at this moment, and sometimes it really just is this easy. So Eames, who’d pulled him aside just to say goodbye, kisses him. It’s a bad idea, he knows it’s a bad idea, but for once, all those little doubtful nagging voices that so often sound like Charlotte are silenced, and he just kisses Arthur, just softly, gently. And Arthur gives, relaxes into the kiss and then returns it, the brief press of lips against lips, the faint smacking noise of lips parting. And then they split up.

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