The War is Over

Author: SpottableMouse

Rating: T (I suppose this is appropriate given the war-like situation and the implied Arthur Eames relationship)

Author's Note:

This is more of a blurb than anything, since it doesn't cover nearly as much as I wanted it too, it's very brief, and doesn't go into as much detail. I don't consider this to be an actual fiction...those will have to come later. Despite all this I hope you enjoy reading anyways! :)

With one sleeve rolled up, Eames walked over to the PASIV and pulled out an infusion line for his partner, the only other team member he would be going under with this time.

Arthur sat in the chair beside the hospital bed, occupied by their mark, taking a deep breath and holding his arm up for Eames. "You'll have my back and I'll have yours."

Eames nodded and gave him a comforting smile. "Most definitely." With the care and precision of a surgeon, the Forger stuck the IV needle into Arthur's arm and taped it down.

Arthur let out a relaxed breath and slouched down in the chair. "See you after the kick." It seemed like all he did was blink, and when he opened his eyes, everything was dark. The Point Man could hear the muffled sound of explosions in the distance and caught the smell of burning wood in his nostrils. "Hello? Hello?" He yelled, but his voice didn't carry very far. He sat up and opened his eyes to the darkness. He felt around with gloved hands, brushing his fingers against two walls of rough, cold dirt. Arthur started feeling his way down a tight tunnel, still in the pitch darkness and and fighting back panic. As he continued to crawl, he started to become more and more nervous. It was like being buried alive. Finally, after what seemed like a mile (but was only a dozen feet or so) he saw a few beams of sunlight peeking through the dirt. "Hey!"

Suddenly, the burlap tarp that had been blocking out Arthur's sunlight was lifted, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut in the intense new sunlight, and instinctively bring his arm up to block the sun. A voice spoke to him, though it did not belong to Eames.

"It's safe to come out now. Come on."

Arthur reached his free hand out and let this stranger pull him from the foxhole. One particular peeve he had with taking this job was that he had no idea where he was or what this place was going to look like. Their mark, whose name was Greg Kinnier, had returned from his tour of duty no more than six months ago when he started to display severe symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Eames, always up for a dangerous challenge, somehow talked Arthur into partnering up and taking the job. This job was different. For one, there was the absence of the usual architech. This was because this world was already in their subject's mind. This is where his subconscience was trapped. Eames was more in touch with the gritty emotional aspect of it all, which made Arthur feel like he was more or less just "along for the ride", to help Eames find where Greg kept everything locked up. You plant the idea, Darling, Eames said a number of times before they went under. Make sure he knows that his world isn't real, and the fighting is over. Time for peace. It was a heavy burden to carry, especially if Arthur failed, but Arthur was not known for failure.

When he opened his eyes enough and adjusted to the sunlight, he began to realize how much equipment and clothing he was wearing, and it was not only weighing him down, but making him incredibly warm. Geologically, he had no idea where they were, and there were no landmarks to really tell. One structure looked like it could be the Sankore Mosque in Timbuktu, but there wasn't enough detail for Arthur to really tell. Most of the place was just stretches of duned sand, dried stringy plants, and brown stone buildings that lined the dusty streets. Perhaps this place did not exist on the map, and was simply some imaginary place that seemed so real to Greg he could not pry his mind from it. Just as Arthur turned his head to notice Eames standing with a few other soldiers, Greg started smacking the dirt off of Arthur's desert camoflage.

"You're alright," he said.

Arthur didn't answer him, and instead watched as a large jeep drove by, several armed soliders loaded in the back.

Eames stared at the jeep and walked over to Arthur. "You okay?"

Arthur nodded, blinking his burning eyes. "I guess I was down there longer than I thought."

"You two stay here a sec," Greg said, walking over to one of the parked jeeps and yelling instructions to the other men in the platoon.

Arthur watched and waited until Greg was out of earshot before turning to Eames. It was hard for him to admit he was wrong, but in the past few years the two of them had been working a bit more closely, he found it easier to ask for help when he needed it the most and was out of all other options. "I don't know where to start looking. I thought we would be someplace more personal."

"I did too," Eames admitted, adjusting his helmet and looking around at thier hopeless surroundings.

Arthur watched as a cloud of smoke formed off in the distance over the dry hills. "Come on, it's got to be around here somewhere." Knowing he was disobeying orders (though it wouldn't quite matter since Arthur was almost positive this place wasn't actually real), he headed over to Greg and the jeep with Eames at his side. The cloud of smoke turned into dust over the hill and was preceeded by a low, deep rumble. He had an idea, and hoped desperately it would work. Making himself seem like he had always been there was going to be the easy part, but whether or not Greg would go along with it was another story. "They're going to be here soon," Arthur said. "We need to know where you keep everything of value before they get here."

Greg looked at Arthur, confused, and the Point Man was almost positive the charade was over at that point. However, he didn't drop his facade, knowing the importance of making himself and Eames seem perfectly natural. As the other man stood there, Arthur's eyes dropped to Greg's dogtag dangling around his neck. Engraved on the silver tag was his full name, and a number. Judging by the number of digits, there was no way it could be his service number, since the Army discontinued using those almost forty years ago. It was also too short to be his social security number, but Arthur made it a point to remember in case he would need it later. Finally, Greg nodded. "Yeah. Over there. He pointed down the hill, at a bunker door that led into a hill that Arthur swore was not there a minute ago.

Arthur turned and looked at Eames, who had an almost identical look of surprise at the sudden appearance of the bunker, and nodded a little. He gave him a subtle nod, but enough of one that Eames knew what he was up to, as several more soliders ran up to pile into the jeep and head off across town.

Eames knew that he was not going to be staying behind with Arthur, and that scared him a little. They hadn't been seperated on a mission since the Fischer job, and to say the idea of leaving Arthur behind scared him would be an understatement. He wasn't going to be by his partner's side for this fight, and Arthur knew it too. Doing his best to reassure Eames, Arthur nodded, a small smile appearing on his dirt-smudged face, and Eames relaxed a little. Unfortunately he wasn't relaxed enough to let Arthur wander off into the unknown, but knew he couldn't go with him. He had to make sure a kick happened.

"Alright, are we ready?" Greg asked as he climbed into the back of the jeep while Eames got in behind the wheel. He caught sight of Arthur heading off over the hill and looked at Eames. "Where's he going?"

Eames started up the jeep. "Just to make sure everything is locked down. He'll join up with us afterwards."

Before Arthur could even blink again, he was at the doorway to the bunker, looking around for any hostile projections before making his way inside. Just as he closed the door, the ground began to shake, and the bunker walls vibrating. Something was happening outside and he knew he had to act fast. He rushed down the steps into the darkness, and hurried down the tight, stuffy corridor, praying it didn't collapse before the kick.

Meanwhile, Eames was trying to keep the jeep from rolling as it drove over the ground, which was trembling from the impact of enemy fire not far from their location. There was something eerie about this world Greg was trapped in, like the enemy was always there but could never be seen. Eames could not see where they were, but Greg was so alert and seemed to know exactly what was going on and how to deal with it. He held onto the steering wheel as tight as he could while driving, the jeep bouncing over the rough terrain and shaking ground. He wondered briefly how anyone could choose to live this way, just before realizing Greg did not choose this. No one would.

Arthur stumbled into the bunker, tripping over himself breathing hard as he found it hard to move and keep his balance with all the equipment he was carrying. He wanted to take it off, but there was no time. He continued on, the old lights on the ceiling few and far between. Old blankets and a few pieces of paper lined the corridor, as if there had been soliders sleeping here as they hid from the enemy. Finally, he found what he was looking for: a door at the end of the corridor. He slowly opened it and stepped into the room. Inside were more blankets on the floor, some discarded weapons, and the one thing Arthur had been looking for. As sad-looking as it was, this was the personal place he had been looking for, and thankfully Greg made it easy to find. Against one of the walls was a black strongbox. As he headed to the box, Arthur removed his gloves and fell to his knees in front of this seemingly unimportant piece of equipment that he was sure held the key to this man's inner workings. He knew this was where he had to plant the idea, but the box was locked. The only way it could open was with a numeric passcode. A satisfied smirk formed over the Point Man's face as he started punching in the number he was sure he remembered from Greg's dogtag earlier. It was as if that number was placed there for anyone coming in to help his mind escape this torture. It was as if Greg was asking for help without vocalizing it, or without even realizing it himself.

Finally, Arthur opened the strongbox, and inside found a simple revolver, very out of place in their location. Arthur knew this was causing the other man's subconscious wartime catastrope, so he removed it. After setting it aside, Arthur reached in and started feeling around in his pockets for something he knew he had: a piece of paper with the words written on it he hoped would bring Greg back to reality. After unfastening his jacket and reaching into one of the inside pockets, Arthur finally found the paper and pulled it out. He unfolded it to read the words he'd written, to make sure they were still there, and smiled a little as he read the words aloud to himself. "Memories of the past are nothing more than mere constructions, or recreations, of your mind." It was very straightforward, and very much Arthur's style. He left the paper open and set it face-up in the strong box before closing and locking it again.

There was a loud knock at the door that made Arthur leap to his feet (and made his heart leep into his throat). He was just beginning to wonder how to react before the door opened, and the face of the one person Arthur wanted to see more than anything in the world appeared.

"Let's go, Darling," said Eames, a smile forming on his face despite their situation. Arthur smiled as well and started making his way over, struggling again with all the weight he was carrying, though now that the idea had been successfully planted, Arthur felt a little lighter. Eames lead him down the corridor, which was still shaking, and Arthur could hear yelling coming from the bunker entrance. "I'm sorry I couldn't have been here," he said.

Arthur shook his head, walking with a lean as his back grew tired and sore. He didn't want to say it aloud and risk being attacked by projections, but there was a reason they had to seperate before. Neither of them belonged there, and if Greg or some other face familiar to him saw them working together, they would look far too suspicious.

"It's alright," Eames said, smiling down at his partner. He wanted to take his hand, lace his gloved fingers through Arthur's and lead him to the kick, but that wasn't possible here. He would simply have to wait until later to show Arthur how grateful he was that their minds worked so well together.

Arthur looked down with a small smile as well as the two of them climbed out of the bunker. He knew Eames would initiate the kick, when all of them would pile into the jeep and Eames would drive it off a cliff. He knew there was going to be that familiar weightlessness just before they crashed and burned, but Eames leaned down and spoke quietly in his ear to reassure him that everything was okay before they got in the jeep.

"We fought this war together, Darling," he said. "In our heads, and in our hearts."