Authors Note: So... I know everyone says "oh no this is my first story!11 don't be mean!1" but really... This is my first creative story, like, ever. Not fishing but just a little heads up that the plot flow and dialogue might not be up to the caliber you guys are used to haha since I have no idea where this is going. I saw Inception the other day and it BLEW MY MIND! and it completely impregnated my brain with ideas, perhaps a better name for the movie would be CONception LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL old joke is old. M for language.

It had been two months since Inception. Eames sat in a dingy bar off the side streets in Mombasa, slowly working his way through a box of Cuban cigars, courtesy of Saito's payment. It wouldn't long before he would find himself in debt to one or more of the casino sharks so he decided to splurge a little before it happened.

Taking another long drag from the smoking cigar, Eames eyed his surroundings with a small tinge of distaste. The patrons were the usual assortment of dirty, miserable business men, those wishing for a better life in the depth of a glass, and women who had given up on any such thoughts a long time ago. His kind of people, he thought to himself, but without the level of resentment one would expect from a person associated with such company.

It had been a very long time since Eames had judged a person solely on their company or surroundings. It wasn't because of some belief of the intrinsic goodness in people, if anything it was the opposite. Studying people was his job. When he was given his mark, there was not one dark, disgusting crevice of their personal life that left alone. He had since learned that even the best people only had farther to fall when their skeletons were found. And they all had a pile of bones kept somewhere in the deep storage of one's mind. There are some things you can never unlearn and forging, he had discovered through years of experience and then disappointment, should be the definition in the dictionary under 'unlearnable activities.'

Forging wasn't an occupation in the traditional sense of 9-5 work hours. It wasn't something Eames could just leave at the office and pick up the next day. No, it is much larger and much more complex than that. It's a lifestyle. If success is the ultimate goal, if you want to make any sort of real money, you need to be at the top, and the only way to reach that point is total immersion.

Cobb, Arthur, himself, anyone really, who had any sort of notoriety was so deeply involved in the business, all other paths of life were put on hold. If he were honest with himself, Eames would admit that any other life might as well be impossible after the experiences they had all gone through.

Reality, relationships, love, it all felt sort of… bland after witnessing the birth and destruction of entire civilizations in a few hours of sleep. It didn't help him much either that anyone who actually knew him, obviously knew about his talents. While he was much appreciated for them in the field, that he could read a person and, within a relatively small amount of time be able to pinpoint their weaknesses and manipulate them, tended to set others on edge. To say the least.

Eames shifted his weight on the back legs of his chair, slowly lifting the dirty glass to his lips. He paused right as the amber liquid reached his mouth, the small ice cubes slid together. It had been awhile since he had thought of the old team. Eames was most comfortable working on his own, forging tended to be mostly solo work anyway. But… if he ever were to work with a set group of people for the rest of his career, it would be them.

Their dedication to completing the job was relentless almost to the point of stupidity. In retrospect it could be considered a little bit more severe than stupid. The stakes of what happened if they failed. The fact that one stray, or rather well aimed, bullet could have stranded him in limbo still caused a small shiver up his spine. Eames knew Cobb had children to get back to… but risking that much… That's probably why he wasn't a father, he chuckled to himself lightly.

Ah yes, Cobb. Interesting bloke, probably the single most talented and devoted extractor Eames had worked with. Shame about his family too, Mal had be an exquisite specimen of woman. How he had snagged a delightful little number like her with that gloomy personality of his was a wonder, but he supposed Cobb hadn't always been the delightful bucket of sunshine he was on the last mission.

The old Cobb was like a distant, faded memory. The only way he could remember him was with that look of raw pain and guilt etched across his face at all times. Except when he got through customs… The disbelief, the sheer astonishment of the situation was almost comical. Almost. He probably thought it was still a dream, poor man.

Eames remembered walking up to the concourse and collecting his luggage, still a little shell-shocked that it had actually worked. They had performed Inception, of all the bloody difficult things to do to someone's mind, he never thought he would have succeeded at Inception, let alone have the opportunity to try a second time.

Time seemed to go from intensely slow to hyper speed. People's faces blurred, his surroundings were barely noticed, and to be honest, it was disconcerting. In many instances, his life depended on noticing the details that were consciously being overlooked. He collected his luggage and pulled out his phone to call his contact in Los Angeles.

A shifting in his peripheral caught his attention. Arthur had heaved his suitcase a little too far off and had to compensate its weight causing him to stumble slightly. Eames couldn't help but smirk as Arthur righted himself, smoothing his vest, and casting a covert glance to see if anyone had witnessed the little mishap. It was at that point Eames would have made a snide comment but the whole pretend like we don't know each other thing kind of nipped that plan in the bud.

Arthur met his eyes for a moment and noticed the smirk. He answered with a slight scowl and a minute narrowing of his eyes to which Eames winked in reply. He could of sworn a vein was throbbing from the effort of not saying anything to criticize his clothing choice, work ethic, or general nature, as were all common points Arthur liked to nag him about, which delighted him all the more.

Arthur, darling Arthur. Now there was an entertaining fellow. Not because he was particularly witty or did outlandish things, quite the opposite in fact. Arthur could be described as possibly the most boring man alive. If it weren't for his job, which involved daring heists and making guns go bang, he would definitely be the most boring man ever.

Everything about him was immaculate. His clothing, his hair, his research, his personal life, being that there wasn't one, were all perfect, which was exactly why Eames liked teasing him as much as he could. Each chink in that armor, each feather that got ruffled, was another small victory in his eyes. Arthur could be interesting; in fact Eames was fairly sure he was deep, deep down.

But that hostility that greeted him every time he interacted with Arthur kept him on the other side of the proverbial fence. Like that one time when Ariadne asked what a kick was. 'Heh,' that was a particular spot of genius that Eames continued to congratulate himself on apparently months after it happened. 'That wasn't sad was it? No, of course not' he reassured himself.

Smirking into the glass, the cold liquid jogged him back to reality. The bar had gotten slightly more crowded.

"Something I say is humorous to you, yes?" An accented voice slid into his ears. Eames slowly looked over to his right where a very tanned, very uh, clothing challenged woman was apparently having a conversation with him.

"Sorry, darling I wasn't paying attention," Eames said shortly, not in the mood to indulge, "Now if you don't mind, I'm a bit busy here."

"But there are no other persons here but us… Unless you are, how do you say, seeing the ghosts, Mr. Eames?" She flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder and slid her hand up his thigh.

"Listen love, I don't want to be rude here, but I really don't want company," Eames picked her hand up and moved it onto the table. "And would you care to inform me how a delightful young woman such as yourself happens to know my name? I know I've never seen you before and I'm sure I would remember…" His eyes narrowed eyes slid down her face to her chest, "those…"

She let out a throaty laugh, "Mr. Eames, you flatter me," She slid closer into his space, "A mutual friend has sent me with message." Reaching into the front of her dress she pulled out a small slip of paper and put it into the breast pocket of his coat. She slid forward until her lips were level with his ear, "Make sure you have the speedy response."

Eames sat there for a minute contemplating his guest. Reaching into his pocket for the note, he slid it out and unfolded it onto the table.

Mr. Eames,

Time to wake up.

Well shit.

Critiques welcome! I won't do that whole "please tell me whats wrong!" and then bitch about it later. Seriously, if its constructive give me a shout! I'm always looking to improve! :D