Disclaimer: I own no part of Inception and no part of this story makes me any money.
Notes: Guns referenced on wikipedia. Guns featured here are the Colt Peacemaker and the Smith and Wesson Schofield.
Also, please be aware that this is written in the spirit of self-indulgent fun and only "published" with the idea that a few other people might enjoy it.
Eames stared down his Peacemaker's seven inch barrel at Arthur, who stood motionless before him in the nearly empty saloon. The fingers of the other man's hand danced in the air, apparently itching to reach for the Schofield at his hip.
"I wouldn't try it, darling," he drawled, enjoying the infinitesimal twitch of that dark brow at the endearment, despite their situation. "I know you're a fast draw, but I've already got your heart in my sights." The double meaning might actually have drawn a smile from the taciturn point man in better days. Today, it got him stony silence. "Where's Cobb?" he asked when the silence between them grew brittle as salt flats.
"Eames," Arthur finally spoke as a hint of expression crept into his eyes. "You know Cobb. You know he'd never hurt Mal, let alone kill her."
"That's not my concern. He's got a price on his head and I'm a bounty hunter. That is my concern." That earned him a glare with more spines than a saguaro. "I don't want to hurt you to get to him, but..."
"He's your friend, Eames."
"No one's got friends in the Wild West, Arthur. Just a list of people who aren't enemies."
"And are you really prepared to cross me off that list? You'll regret it."
I already do... "Trust me, I'm the one you want taking Cobb in. When a bounty is 'dead or alive,' not many of us aim for the latter."
"No one is taking him in. Least of all, you!" As Arthur half-shouted the last word, he jammed a booted foot down onto the floor, pushing down on the end of a long floorboard. It was loose, apparently, and the other end whipped up and hit Eames' gun hand, sending his Colt flying. Keeping his eyes on the other man as best he could, the bounty hunter dived for his fallen weapon. By the time he had it back in hand, though, Arthur had already drawn. The Smith and Wesson glittered in a dusty shaft of sunlight, in deadly harmony with the glimmer in the point man's eyes.
Christ, he's breathtaking. Looking up at Arthur from the floor, Eames could fully appreciate the elegant length of his limbs and the enticing contrast of grace and danger in his movement as he backed towards the door.
"You wouldn't shoot me," he told the other man, only half knowing what he was saying.
"Not to kill," was the flat reply as Arthur reached the door.
"I'll be seeing you, Arthur. And soon."
"You might see my back as I ride away from you. Again."
"My favorite view, darling," he responded with a wink.
Arthur did smile then: a small, sad curve of his lips with as much regret as humor and anticipation. "Adios," he whispered, slipping quickly and smoothly out the door. Eames jumped up to follow him, but, of course, he'd already disappeared, leaving the bounty hunter with only an image of that last smile, bittersweet as sarsasparilla.
I know how you feel. With quarry like Arthur and Cobb, the chase would be an exhilarating challenge. The thought of Arthur as quick-witted mouse to his cunning cat was far from displeasing.
But that didn't stop uneasiness from dancing in his gut to the fiddle of "can we go back after this?"
"I'm sorry, Arthur," he whispered the apology he wasn't prepared to give in person, "but I have to be the one to bring Cobb in."
He looked around, searching for signs of the departed man. A scuff on the hitching post in front of the saloon caught his eye. He looked up. The saloon's sign was more crooked than it had been when he'd gone in. Eames dashed back into the saloon and out the back door, not caring that he'd be too late to catch even Arthur's shadow.
He did catch the deep imprint of booted feet in the mud from where the other man had jumped down from the roof and the tracks of the horse he'd had waiting there. Eames crouched down and traced the outline of a horseshoe in the dirt as he gazed in the direction the horse had gone.
"Hasta mañana," he belatedly replied to Arthur's farewell. See you tomorrow.
~to be continued~
*A saguaro is a type of cactus. You know, the usually triple topped one that is an image of the American Southwest.