That Which We Call a Rose
Ideas are like resilient parasites, and for the first time in his life, Eames knows exactly what Cobb meant.
"You're staring again." Arthur stated nonchalantly, not looking up from Yusuf's chemical compounds. Eames finds it unnerving because Arthur is facing his back toward him.
"Sorry, darling." Eames smiled quickly. "But can you blame me?" Eames could tell that Arthur was rolling his eyes by the slight shake of his head that always accompanied the action. "How did you know I was staring, anyway?" he questioned.
Arthur turned around and leaned his hip back against the table he was working at to look at the forger. "First of all," Arthur began, "I could feel your gaze on the back of my neck." Eames looked sheepish. "Second, you've been unnaturally quiet for some time now. And I'm not naive enough to hope that it's the sedatives that have caught your studious attention." Eames shrugged his shoulders. Guilty. "Third, you've been acting this way since our conversation about names, leading me to believe that you're curious to know my name."
Eames chuckled nervously like a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Well, you're quite the detective." he said sarcastically, just a little bit upset at being found out.
"And he should be." Cobb broke into the conversation. "You were quite good at your job, too." The extractor deadpanned, but by the way Arthur's expression suddenly brightened, Eames could tell that the man was telling some kind of inside joke between the two.
"Hold on a tick!" Eames cut them off. "Arthur told me he was ex-military."
"And Mal told you that she and Cobb recruited me fresh out of college." Arthur smiled sympathetically at the confused forger.
"So, what's going on?" Eames demanded childishly.
"Arthur's a jack-of-all-trades." Cobb smiled. "It was easier to just lie to people about how he knows certain things, or got things done, than explain."
"'Arthur was once a police investigator!' 'Arthur is an ex-IT!' 'Arthur once worked for FBI!'" Arthur snickered. "It's amazing, what people would believe."
"The Bridges job." Cobb reminded him with a smirk.
"Ex-safari zookeeper, that time." Arthur laughed. "I remember."
Eames gaped at him. "Safari zookeeper?" he wondered in amazement.
"Sounds impossible." Yusuf agreed, walking into the conversation. "I just hope he didn't try to handle animals in that smart suit of his."
"But you could imagine him trying." Eames laughed.
Arthur frowned at them. "I'm not allergic to normal clothing, Eames." he almost whined.
"Could've fooled me!" Eames shot back.
"I wore normal khaki pants and shirt, just like all the other zookeepers in the dream!" Arthur insisted.
"Kind of a wild image, huh?" Ariadne joined the conversation, curious as to what the commotion was about.
"Kind of a sexy image." Eames added distractedly, causing Arthur to flush.
"Eames..." Cobb sighed. "...we talked about this." He said, referring to the whole 'flirting in the office' topic.
"He did talk about it." Yusuf agreed scoldingly.
"We all talk about it." Ariadne chimed in.
"Oh God, you people do little else, don't you?" Arthur groaned in despair and stalked off to make a much-needed cup of coffee.
"Arthur's got a point there." Eames mused. "But, I'm just glad Saito isn't here today. That man is the only man on the planet who is more uptight than Arthur!"
But still, several nights later, Eames's curiosity persisted. He let out a tired sigh and gathered his things from his desk to get home. Only, on his way out, he passed by Arthur, who was hooked up to a PASIV in a side room. Eames swiveled his head around, on immediate lookout for any of the others. Silence, everybody was already home.
Eames nudged the room door open and slipped in, making his way over to the sleeping pointman silently. He knew that Arthur would be mad, or worse, disappointed in him if he found out that Eames was poking around in his dream. Eames chewed his lip. Curiosity killed the cat, and he knew it. But still, he slid into a reclining chair opposite the PASIV and hooked himself up.
With a final hope that Arthur wouldn't kill him if he found out what he was doing, Eames lay back and closed his eyes.
When he opened them, he found himself standing in the middle of a street. He blinked and looked around, familiarizing himself with Arthur's dream style. There was hardly any sun, Eames was quick to note, alot of black and whites too. He was surrounded by tall, glass buildings with tinted windows. He could also see several skyscrapers peeping over the buildings. Then, the next thing to strike Eames was the lack of projections milling about.
Eames was used to seeing hundreds, thousands of projections walking about in people's dreams when they wern't dreaming of a certain 'something'. There were a few people walking around importantly, only about twelve people. And Eames could count the amount of cars with his fingers. Everything was so simple, so easy to understand.
Then he felt, more than saw, the piercing look one of Arthur's projections was sending him. Arthur was always so sharp, it was only natural that his projections would be so as well. Eames just sent the projection a charming smile and ducked into the nearest building.
Inside the building was just as quiet as outside it, there was a pretty lady at the front desk and four men sitting in the lounge, one was reading a newspaper. Eames blinked, of course, he's seen many projections reading things in other people's dreams, but he never thought to care about what they were reading. The man was reading something about the advances in technology in the last decade. Eames smiled, just so Arthur.
Eames was distracted by a sharp 'ping' that signalled an elevator arriving to this floor. Eames ducked behind a large pillar and watched it. A moment later, the doors opened and Arthur walked out, still quite oblivious to Eames's presence. Once Arthur had left the building, Eames was running for the elevator, curious to see what Arthur was observing in his dream.
He punched the button that would send him to the basement three floors down, why Arthur had come from a basement in a skyscraper, Eames didn't know. The elevator bell chimed and the doors opened up to what resembled an evidence room. Police investigator? FBI? The place looked official enough, it wasn't hard to believe that Arthur had worked for some kind of government office at some time.
Hey, there was even an evidence guy sitting around there. Just as the thought formed in Eames's head, the salt-and-pepper haired man looked up from his desk. He looked Eames up and down once, and then nodded to himself. "You must be the man called 'Eames'." Eames stared, startled, at the elderly man. "You've been expected for at least three days." The man chuckled at Eames's astonished look.
"Okay..." Eames said, unsurely. "...you are...?"
The man stood from behind his desk. "I am simply the evidence handler, Sir, there is no need for names here." he smiled cordially.
"Arthur never gave you a name?" Eames thought to himself. "I'd have thought that he'd name and classify all of his projections, or something."
The man chuckled in amusement. "For someone with an appreciation for detail, His creativity has much to be desired." Eames furrowed his eyebrows at the stressed pronoun. "No names, remember?" The man reminded.
"That goes for Arthur too?" Eames asked, shocked.
"Arthur, David, James... He has many names." The old man shook his head sadly. "He is simply referred to as 'Him' here."
"Okay," Eames breathed. "then, explain to me, what this place is?" He motioned around to the room full of files.
"Ah, this, this is his complete research archives." The Old Man smiled proudly, spreading his arms out. "The extent of his self-taught knowledge."
Eames blinked in confusion. "The extent of his... Sorry, not quite following you."
The Old Man smiled cryptically. "'Arthur was once a police investigator!' 'Arthur is an ex-IT!' 'Arthur once worked for FBI!' Ring a bell?" Then the man walked off, expecting Eames to follow. "Of course, ... Arthur has not worked in so many fields, but he does have a gift for studying, and a good memory. He stores all of his research here as to not forget, in case the knowledge is needed for a future job." The Old Man opened a case file and flipped through it. "For example; James Doyle, twenty-seven year old ex-British military. Served for eight years in Afghanistan before getting shot and honourably discharged." He looked Eames straight in the eye. "How do you think he became so good at handling guns?"
The Old Man scoffed and tossed the file back in it's rightful place. "Although, in reality, He has never entered the military. Total rubbish, anyway." he scowled. "Would you like to see the zookeeper file? Mind you, He's never been to Africa in his life."
Eames took a moment to let the information soak in. "So, what you're saying is..."
"He is good at his job as a pointman because of his knowledge and... long list of ultimately fictional contacts." The Old Man shrugged his shoulders. "As far as I know, INTERPOL is still waiting for undercover Agent Greenway's report."
Eames shook his head in amazement. "A boeing 747, figures how he'd known that."
The Old Man picked out another file. "Forged his licence in '07."
"A man of many talents." Eames laughed, defeated.
"And a keen observation, don't forget." Eames jumped a foot in the air at Arthur's cool voice behind him.
Eames spun around to find Arthur leaning against the elevator doors, keeping them open. He had an icy look that was downright terrifying. "Uh..." Eames floundered.
"You can start with an 'I'm sorry'." Arthur intoned, glaring.
"I am sorry, darling." Eames apologized quickly, shivering at Arthur's cold fury.
"Don't think that's enough placate me." Arthur pressed his lips into a thin line. "I trusted you, Eames." He looked terribly like he was about to burst into tears.
Eames's heart fell into his stomache. "Look, darling, I'm sorry! Tell me how to make it up to you."
Arthur just rolled his eyes with a huff and shook his head in disappointment. He pushed his weight off the elevator doors, stepping back to let them close.
Eames stared at the elevator doors for a few minutes in miserable despair, repeating a mantra of 'Oh God, I'm dead. Arthur will never forgive me.' Then, The Old Man cleared his throat behind him with a file in his hand and began reading it aloud. "Reynard Eames; professional actor and con-man." He snapped the file shut with a sigh. "Lacking creativity with the name, as I mentioned previously. He did so love the Reynard Cycle as a child. I suppose he's upstairs, now, leaving you to flounder in your regret for a while. Although, I think he's gone a little too harsh with this guilt trip."
Eames blinked at the projection in confusion just a moment before The Old Man's desk phone rang. The Old Man picked the reciever up and handed it to Eames. "You're forgiven, Eames." It was Arthur's slightly amused voice on the other end. "But, don't try to sneak into my dreams again. If you wanted to accompany me, you had but to ask. I'm waiting in the lobby." Then, there was a titter of embarrassed laughter and Arthur hung up.
Eames stared at the dead receiver, slowly realizing that Arthur had been feigning anger. It was Arthur, of course he knew Eames would try to infiltrate his dreams, Arthur knew everything. 'You've been acting this way since our conversation about names, leading me to believe that you're curious to know my name.' Arthur had said to him. Then, Eames remembered something else. 'You've been expected for at least three days.' Three days since they had the conversation.
Then he dropped the reciever and lunged for the elevator. "That manipulating little...!" And he was gone.
"Well, I hope you've lost your insane obsession with finding out my identity." Arthur smirked down at Eames when the forger woke up.
"Are you going to get mad every time I try?" Eames grumbled. Arthur tilted his head but didn't answer. "You scared me! I really thought you were mad! I'll get you back for that!"
Arthur just shrugged his shoulders, unaffected by the threat. "Anyway, it's late, get home. See you tomorrow." Arthur turned with a wave and walked off.
But not before Eames caught a glimpse of a gunshot scar decorating a spot just above Arthur's wrist. The scar was quite large, most likely shot from point blank. Meaning, close combat. Was that wound from time in the military? Or did that come with the job of pointman? Eames then had a bright idea, if he just searched hospital records for... Eames paled, his thought process grinding into a halt. Oh no. No, no, no, not again! Eames cursed his curiosity.
Bad idea!
The End