Day One

Eames

He fidgeted in line impatiently, waiting for the young man with slicked back ebony hair to hurry up at the front desk and finish up. While he waited he leaned against his suitcase and looked around the hotel, astounded that people would put so much money into a building. It seemed like there were so many other things worth spending money on. Though he had to admit that it was rather beautiful, especially the rows of lights hanging from the upper balconies.

Finally the young man left and the line moved forward. There were only two more people in front of him and another hostess took a spot at the desk so it did not take long for his turn to arrive. He approached the black marble desk and smiled at the redhead across the counter, noticing the tiny blush on her cheeks as she returned the smile shyly. "Hi, I've made a reservation here."

"Can I see your reservation confirmation form, please?" the woman continued to smile a little hesitantly and Eames wondered if she was new.

"You most certainly may," he smirked and rummaged through his bag, setting the slightly bent forms onto the counter almost proudly. He wanted to cringe at the thought of how much this stay would cost him but he forced it away; he was here now so he should just enjoy it. And he might as well start off his fun by causing the cute girl across the counter to blush again.

"Alright, I found your reservation but there seems to have been some change…" Eames leaned against the counter curiously, trying to see the computer screen. "There's a note here saying that your employer called and upgraded you to a Balcony King Suite on our Regency floor with a message saying 'I hope this helps you complete your job.' Wow…" she looked up at him, eyes wide, "I wish I had a boss like that. You're very lucky."

Eames forced a light-hearted laugh, suddenly feeling very nervous. How the hell was he supposed to pay for that? He would have credit card debt for the rest of his life. "So do I give you my credit card now?"

"Oh, no he's already paid for your room," she smiled, already working on getting his key card made.

"Oh," Eames sighed in obvious relief, wondering who in their right mind would pay for someone else's room for a week when it cost $350 a night. "Then yes, I'm very lucky."

The girl giggled at his grin and slid the blue key card across the desk. He was quite sure it was obvious that he would not normally be able to consider staying in a place like this but he didn't let it bother him. It was amusing his hostess and he was looking forward to pretending to be rich for a week. Good practice. "So you'll be staying in room 1730 and to get up onto the Regency floor you'll need to put your key card in the elevator slot before you can select the floor. It is extra security since dignitaries normally stay on that floor."

Eames whistled, "Fancy. So am I all done?" he shoved his papers in a pocket with the key card while watching the girl read something on the computer screen curiously.

"Actually there's one more thing. I'll be right back," she smiled and disappeared into a back room. A moment later she returned, handing him a solid white envelope. "The note said your employer wanted this given to you when you arrived." Eames raised an eyebrow and looked it over before tucking it under one arm and returning his attention to the young woman. "Now you enjoy your stay in San Francisco. My name is Evelyn if you need anything."

Not knowing what else to do, Eames sent her an amused smirk, "Thanks Evelyn." He winked and pulled his bag away from the front desk towards the elevator. He held in his laugh until he was safely away in an empty elevator and slowly passing the floors. Half of the time he didn't realize he was flirting; it was just a fun way to interact with people that he had adopted. But even if he had been turning it up a notch for the hotel hostess he had not expected it to have that much of an effect. Oh well, it had been entertaining and he wouldn't have to worry about it again.

He found his room and slipped inside, shoving his PASIV device and other important documentation in the room's safe before allowing himself to walk over to the bed and collapse onto the mattress. He loved feeling himself sinking down, the duvet and mattress unbelievably soft, and he closed his eyes with a contented hum.

It was about an hour later when he blinked his eyes open blearily and realized he had fallen asleep. He turned on the wall lamp lazily, the sun beginning to set outside his balcony windows, and he grabbed the letter from his employer. He tore the envelope open and rolled onto his back to read what the letter said but a small photograph fluttered from his grasp and landed on his face.

He set the letter aside for one moment and picked up the photo inquisitively. He realized almost immediately that this must have been the man he saw at the front desk earlier while he was in line. And wow was this man stunning. That black hair was slicked back perfectly, just as he had seen earlier today, and it accentuated the man's strong cheekbones and jaw. That skin was pale but looked wonderful and soft to the touch. And those eyes…hooded chocolate brown with a flash of hazel in the light as they stared off to the right when the photo was taken.

The man was dressed impeccably, custom suit that hugged his form just enough to show off his body without being uncomfortable. His posture was rigid, but with independence rather than nerves. If he was honest with himself he would say that the other man looked a little boring, but that was something Eames could fix. Eames would guess that the man was his age or a little younger, eyes looking calculating but soft. He set the photo on his stomach carefully, not wanting to damage it as he reached for the letter again.

Eames,

A photograph of your mark is enclosed. His name is Arthur and he will be staying in room 1731 next to you; this should help you keep track of him. I want you to replicate this man's persona as best you can in your one week time period. This includes appearance, behaviour, mannerisms, and personality – everything you would need in order to use the role in a dream. When your week is up the hotel desk will have a plane ticket for you to come see me and share your results.

Best of luck.

Eames let out a sigh, blowing his hair off his forehead as he picked up the photo again and studied it. The man looked like a simple mark, straightforward and proper, but Eames knew better. Just like that flash of hazel that could so easily be missed or forgotten, Eames could tell that there was a lot hidden underneath this man's exterior that would influence his persona.

He pulled himself off the bed and began thinking about this job while he showered and got changed for dinner. The job would require more than simple observation; he would have to get close to this man – Arthur – and learn all of the small quirks that made up who he was. Not that he minded getting up close and personal with a mark, especially when they looked like that, but it was not always the professional choice. It was often the case that you could learn everything you would need to pull off a role through close – but impersonal – observation.

But this job was special and he had to do absolutely everything he could to impress his employer. He had to be able to pull this man's persona overtop his own so fluently and effortlessly that he practically was the other man. Eames had to take on his form in a dream and be so convincing that, if he and Arthur stood beside one another, his employer would not be able to tell them apart.

This was his one shot into the profession he had always wanted. Oh sure, he had done a few jobs in illegal dream work before, but he did not want to continue down that path with the same people. His previous employers had not been professional or properly prepared and that could be very dangerous. You had to remember that when you opened up your subconscious, everyone else in the dream was opening up theirs as well. And sometimes you found things down there that made you wish you had stayed in college and gone legal.

But this man, the man who had given him this test, he was professional. Calm, polite, confident, cautious, everything Eames was looking for in an employer and a team member. And, even better, the man had understood and appreciated Eames's talent. The previous people Eames had worked with just saw him as an actor – a common thief. But he wasn't. He was something much rarer. A Forger – or at least a forger in training, and that was exactly what his employer was looking for to add to his team.

Eames had always been rather skilled at mimicking people he observed, ever since he was a child. He was able to copy accents and forms of speech, duplicate mannerisms – little ticks and habits that made everyone unique – replicate emotions. He forged personas and some day he was going to be the best. Hell, he was already well on his way to being just that. All he needed was a proper team to work with, partners in crime he could trust while he honed and perfected his skills. And this was his one chance at that.

He slid his key into his pocket, glancing over his attire for just a moment in the mirror before heading out towards the elevators. He had decided to put on something a little classier than what he arrived in, hoping to match Arthur's tastes. But when it came to choking himself with a tie he decided he had done enough as it was and left the room with his collar undone.

When he reached the main lobby he dodged a few giggling children and made his way over to the hotel restaurant with a kitchen that smelled like heaven. He had not eaten in a while and figured that he would be able to see his surroundings just as effectively from a table on the edge of the restaurant as he would from the lounge of one of the couches by the front desk. The host sat him down on the edge of the lobby as he requested and Eames began skimming the menu hungrily, glancing around at other occupied tables for silent suggestions.

Once he had decided he set the menu down and glanced around the lobby, wondering idly how difficult it would be to find his mark. But then, as if there truly was some grand plan out there in the world, he did a double take and found Arthur sitting on a couch in the lounge. Wow, that had been easier than he had expected. And even better...Arthur was staring right back at him. The man had seemed relaxed while he was sipping a drink – a mojito from what Eames could see at this distance – but when Eames's eyes focused on him, he could see Arthur stiffen in surprise.

He noticed Arthur returning the stare insistently and that nearly caused Eames to push away from his table and walk over that minute. But then his mark looked away, distracting himself with his drink. Not wanting to scare his mark away and have to abandon his newly ordered dinner to chase after him, Eames dropped his gaze and occupied himself with the free bread.

He would occasionally shoot a glance at Arthur out of the corner of his eye just to make sure the man was still there, but otherwise he engrossed himself in his dinner and enjoyed himself. He was in no rush; he had a week and this wasn't a race. He didn't want to just become a nuisance to this man, bothering him as he tried to slowly learn about him. No, he wanted his mark – Arthur – to want to spend time with him. To like him. That was the only way he would ever be able to witness a full range of emotions from this man.

However, getting to that stage was difficult, no matter how charming Eames was – and he was quite charming. Judging by Arthur's immediate reaction to Eames's stare, as well as his general attire and posture, his mark was rather uptight and liked to remain aloof. That could be dangerous to work around and Eames would have to be very careful to not permanently ruin his opportunity.

If he acted aloof and uninterested in return there was a good chance they would part ways and never bother to talk again. But if he was too forward he could make the man uncomfortable and drive him away, which would be equally as disastrous. He would have to find some finicky balance between the two extremes; enough to catch Arthur's interest and draw him in while not scaring him away.

When he was finished eating he wrote down his room number on the bill and ordered a mojito and a small glass of scotch. Then, one glass in each hand, he strutted out of the restaurant and over to the lounge, calculating as he went. Arthur seemed very confident and self-assured so Eames easily met this with his own confidence as he walked right up to his mark. For the briefest of moments he considered where to sit, but then chose to sit down on the opposite end of the same couch. A separate couch would be too much distance and snuggled up close to the man's side would have been too close.

With an excited smirk he placed the newly ordered mojito on the table and slid it down so that it rested in front of Arthur. He saw Arthur consider the glass suspiciously for a moment while Eames leaned back on the couch to sip his own drink. Finally, he heard that voice for the first time, "I don't accept drinks from strangers."

Eames couldn't help but laugh at that, at the caution he could hear running through the man's precise voice. He was not disappointed by this revelation; he was looking for a challenge. "Then how do strangers have any hope of getting into those fancy pants of yours?" he teased, lips curling around the rim of his glass.

"They don't," Arthur told him quickly, glaring at Eames in such a way that clearly expressed that Eames, specifically, would not be getting into his pants. That was a shame, but Eames wasn't the type of person to give up easily.

Confidently he lifted a hand to catch the attention of a server. When the man arrived, looking just as dressed up and stoic as his mark, Eames decided to have a little fun. Teasing uptight people never got tiring, and because they were so accustomed to following rules and order, it was so easy to send them off-kilter. "Yes, another mojito for my friend, please? This time without the arsenic." He laughed almost immediately at the twin expressions of disbelief and horror he received, like they were at some murder mystery party or something. The server left, twitchy and nervous, and Eames saw Arthur send him a murderous glare. Oh, now this was getting fun. "The name is Eames, by the way. And what should I be calling you?"

"Leaving," Arthur spat and stood up from the couch quickly.

Shit, he had gone too far already. Damn, but this man was a challenge he had not quite been prepared for. He wrapped his fingers around Arthur's wrist hurriedly, before he lost his opportunity entirely, and gently stopped his mark's retreat. He stuck his lower lip out slightly and looked up to meet those eyes when they glanced back, "Forgive me, darling," he spoke honestly, "I was just having a little fun. Sit with me a while?"

He felt Arthur hover for a moment, muscles in his wrist twitching under his fingers. And then, much to Eames's relief, he heard Arthur sigh. That was all he needed and slowly coaxed the man back onto the couch, feeling butterflies in his stomach with nerves and relief. He allowed Arthur to pull his hand away and slip to the far end of the couch, practically molesting the armrest in an attempt to put distance between him and Eames. The server returned, looking like a storm cloud, and set the new drink on the table. Arthur immediately snatched it up and took a long drink before setting it back down properly. The man glanced over, "Arthur."

"Pleasure to meet you, Arthur," Eames toasted him before drinking. He had nearly messed it up, but after a rocky start he was finally finding smoother ground. Now he just needed to catch Arthur's interest and find an excuse to spend a week with him. "So what brings you to San Francisco?" he asked curiously, wondering what plans he would have to work around.

"Business," Arthur answered him. It was clear the man was trying to act casual but was still rather uncomfortable, judging by the fact that he was fidgeting with his glass while he sat.

Eames slid down the couch slightly and leaned closer, amused despite himself by his mark's way of speaking, "Do you always give one word answers?"

Arthur pressed himself further into the armrest; he might as well have been sitting on it rather than the couch cushions. "Yes."

Eames was not deterred. The opposite actually since he loved games. "It'll be like Twenty-Questions then. So what sort of business will you be doing?" He waited but his only response was a raised eyebrow while Arthur took another sip. Eames wanted to roll his eyes, "Oh, is that too open-ended? Alright, will you be in a lot of meetings?"

"No." Eames held back his sigh of relief, inching closer to Arthur. It would have been nearly impossible for him to find an excuse to spend time with the other man if he was in business meetings all day.

Now for the other tough question. "Are you here alone?" He was sure to wiggle an eyebrow suggestively at his mark; a little playful flirting never went amiss.

He heard Arthur sigh before he answered, "Yes."

"No co-workers? No girlfriend?"

"No," Arthur answered blandly. And Eames could not thank his luck enough. It would have been much more difficult to find a reason to trail along behind Arthur if he was here with someone else – co-workers or, god forbid, a girlfriend. They would not take too kindly to Eames shoving his way into Arthur's attention, especially a girlfriend.

A plan was formulating in Eames's mind; a plan that was selfish and cunning and brilliant. After all, Eames had never been to San Francisco before either, and he was more than willing to mix business with pleasure. Eames watched his mark for a moment before draining his glass confidently, hoping this would work. "Have you ever been to San Francisco before?"

"No, this is my first time here," Arthur spoke and Eames was excited to get more than a one word answer. This boosted his confidence even more as he slid down the couch to move closer to Arthur.

"Oh really?" he drawled, exaggerating his accent slightly as he felt the other man's heat radiating off that suit-clad form. But just as quickly as he felt that heat brush against him it was gone again, Arthur escaping to the opposite couch and leaving the table between them. He was momentarily frustrated by the retreat, but then he saw Arthur glaring at him across the table, blushing, and Eames couldn't help but think that it was almost…adorable. "Well…this is my first time here as well, so what do you say we do some sightseeing together?"

It was a risky move, so Eames was not surprised when Arthur immediately refused, "No."

"Come on, darling…" Eames fell into his best puppy-dog look he had in his arsenal. Bottom lip out, eyes wide and pleading, elbows resting on knees as he leaned forward, chin resting on his hands. "I'm all alone here for a week with absolutely nothing to do," he ducked his head slightly, a habit many people had when they were feeling alone or vulnerable.

And slowly, oh so slowly, he saw a spark in Arthur's eyes as he considered the offer. He was falling right into Eames's trap, years of practice making Eames an excellent forger of emotions and postures even without being in a dreamscape. Now, all he needed was a push. Eames began listing off reasons why Arthur should agree to his offer; listing things as reasonable as how handy it would be to have two people figuring out maps and transit, and as ridiculous as 'and what if I get mugged and sold into slavery?' He was so caught up in his persuasion that he almost missed Arthur's agreement, "Alright."

"Wait, really?" he stopped mid-sentence and watched with a grin as Arthur finished off his drink. "Excellent! We'll start bright and early tomorrow, darling!"

"Don't call me that," Arthur glared at him before setting his empty glass down on the table and standing up, "I'm going to bed."

Eames immediately stood up as well and followed Arthur across the lobby towards the elevators, unwilling to let this man out of his sight quite yet. He was pleased and excited about his plan being successful; now he would be able to see the city and observe and interact with his mark. But beyond that, Arthur was just incredibly fun and amusing to pester and Eames wasn't ready to sleep yet.

He began testing out some of his favourite pet names as they weaved through hotel guests heading out for the evening, slipping into a free elevator. He had not even noticed he had been using pet names on his mark until Arthur had snapped at him, but now he never wanted to stop. He watched as Arthur leaned his forehead against the elevator glass but Eames continued, "Kitten?"

Eames giggled then. He loved watching Arthur's shoulders and neck tense up just a tiny bit more at each pet name Eames spoke, fingernails probably digging into soft palms in frustration. It was nice to see that the man was not always capable of impersonal indifference. Of course, he also couldn't stop laughing at the mental image of Arthur walking around with a collar and bell around his neck. But then he had to clear his suddenly-dry throat and push that thought aside quickly, Arthur unintentionally helping him away from the very unprofessional thought by continuing the momentum, "No."

They were walking down the hallway now, Eames knowing that they would actually end up in rooms beside one another. "Sunshine?" Eames continued, having recovered from his momentary lapse in attention, "Wait no, your face looks too much like a thundercloud right now. How about 'love'?"

Arthur glanced back at him as they continued walking, raising an eyebrow in what Eames thought might be uncomfortable confusion, "Why would you call a stranger that?"

They were outside room 1731 now and they both stopped. Eames paused and then shrugged, realizing that he wouldn't say it to just any stranger. Sure, he had just met Arthur but it just felt natural to pester him with the pet names and terms of endearment. Besides, any way he could get a new reaction or expression out of his mark was considered worthwhile in his books for the job, though he couldn't explain that to Arthur. "It's just a term of endearment."

"But why would you use a term of endearment on a stranger?" Arthur pressed as he slipped his hand into his pocket to look for his key.

Unable to tell Arthur the full truth – which he wouldn't anyway because that would screw up the whole job – he just winked and went for the half-truth as he wandered away to his own room, "Just fun to watch you get riled up, love."

Eames slipped his key card in slowly and walked into his room. He was tired, especially after flying across multiple time zones, but he was at a weird mix between overtired and not tired enough to sleep. So he began to unpack haphazardly, unable to think of anything else he could do that would be productive. He had brought a little bit of everything, not knowing how casual or done-up he would have to dress, so he hung up the two suits he brought and shoved the rest of his clothes into drawers.

When that was done he changed into comfortable sleeping clothes and headed out onto the balcony for some fresh air, pulling on a hoodie to ward off the chill. He leaned over the railing slightly and could see part of Arthur's balcony to his right, just a wall and a seventeen-story drop stopping him. It looked possible to slip onto the other balcony if you were careful but Eames stayed put, not seeing a point in pissing off Arthur that much the first night.

He watched the edge of the city below, trolleys and cars rushing along the road that lined the edge of the shore. The piers along the bay were all lit up, a few boats coming in to dock, and the main ferry building was lit up beautifully. But even as he gazed around and took in the view, he wanted to be in Arthur's room. His mark was already proving to be an interesting challenge, turning Eames's 'test' job into an exciting and memorable one. But Arthur was also like a puzzle, a very complicated puzzle that Eames was dying to solve.

Of course, he couldn't just wander over there for no reason. There was a good chance doing that might just push Arthur into changing his mind about the sightseeing…and that's when the idea came to Eames. He rushed back into his room, closing the balcony behind him to avoid chilling his room, and found the complimentary pad of paper and pen on the writing desk. He began listing all of the sights in San Francisco he could think of, checking his laptop for a few other suggestions.

When he was done he was already halfway to the door before he realized that Arthur might not appreciate being bothered more after 'going to bed', whether he was actually in bed or not. So Eames decided to pull on a role of mild drunkenness, pinching his cheeks in the mirror to make them a little redder. He felt a little foolish but knew for a fact that people usually let you get away with more and forgave easier when they thought you were drunk.

With a mischievous grin for his own benefit, he set his key card on the dresser before slipping out into the hallway. It was a risk, and Arthur may just slam the door on his face, but he figured it was worth a shot. He stood outside Arthur's door and knocked, faking a slight lack of balance and an intoxicated smile. It took a moment, and Eames wondered briefly if Arthur was asleep, but then the door clicked open and his mark glanced at him in surprise and irritation, "What do you want, Eames? It's late."

Since Arthur already seemed annoyed by the unscheduled visit, Eames decided to play up the drunk a bit. "It's not late, pet. It's not even ten thirty yet," he held out his wrist obnoxiously, as if he wanted Arthur to check the watch himself.

Arthur just rolled his eyes and ignored him, "Yes, well some of us have jetlag."

Eames watched Arthur rub his temples, as if trying to force away a migraine. Eames filed away that flash of irritated pain in his memory, briefly wondering if he should just let the man get some rest. But he decided that this was for the good of the job – research – and scoffed loudly, "Jetlag? You want to talk about jetlag?" he pointed a wavering finger at Arthur, "I just flew here from London, and that's England mate, not Canada." He picked up the volume of his voice then, "But time zones hold no power over me!"

Arthur shushed him hurriedly, glancing out into the hallway cautiously before returning his attention to Eames. It seemed like Arthur was not used to staying in a place like this and was worried about getting kicked out. "Be quiet; you're in a fancy hotel here!" Eames pouted at the chiding tone and placed a hand on the wall beside him like he was close to losing balance. Arthur raised an eyebrow at this movement, "Are you drunk?"

"Only slightly, love," Eames smirked as the endearment rolled off his tone, slurring his words minutely. He pulled his list out of his pocket, folded and creased now, and took a step forward, "I came here with a purpose."

"Did you now?" Arthur asked him, sounding condescending and bored. But Eames noticed that he had his mark's attention as he waved the paper around.

"Yes. I came to give you this," he set the paper in Arthur's hands carefully, like in his drunken haze he thought this was the most precious thing in the world. "It's a list of all the sights we can see in San Francisco. Your job," he pointed a threatening finger at Arthur again, "is to rank them in order of what you want to see and slip it under my door so that I may plan our adventure. And I demand that the list be under my door before sunrise, you hear?"

He forced a giggle, always enjoying the feel of wearing a role and fooling his audience thoroughly. Arthur rolled his eyes and began to slowly close his door, "Alright, now go back to your own room."

This was the moment where Eames took a gamble, where he had to use his acting to pull a desired reaction from his (pissed off) mark. He slid his hands into his pockets slowly, and then began searching them more frantically as he 'realized' he forgot his key. "Bollocks! I forgot my bloody key in my room…" he paused in his movements and slowly tilted his eyes up to meet Arthur's eyes sadly through his lashes, "Could you call room service for me?"

For a moment Arthur looked like he was considering murdering Eames, his headache probably making the entire situation much worse for him. But then Eames saw those eyes soften ever so slightly, gazing at Eames with an almost protective look, "Fine."

"Thanks, darling," Eames smiled and slipped by Arthur into the room as his mark stepped back to give him room. He felt warm from that look he had received and allowed himself one brash decision when he slid his hand along Arthur's arm in passing. Eames just shrugged when Arthur glared and told him to keep his hands to himself, trailing behind him as the other man sat down on the bed and picked up the hotel phone. "Get some really fancy red wine," he felt required to reconfirm his intoxication after his brazen move as he sat down on the edge of the bed beside Arthur.

Arthur just glared at him, "You've already had enough to drink—oh, hello…" his mark's attention was dragged away from him as someone answered the phone and Eames reached for the menu, pointing at the penne alfredo when Arthur looked over at him for something to order. He wasn't quite sure why he wanted the pasta, but it seemed like as good a choice as any other.

While Arthur was distracted Eames slid closer to him on the bed, their thighs almost touching as he glanced around the room curiously. The room did not tell him much about the other man, besides the fact that his mark was clearly just as clean, organized and proper with his room as he was with his appearance. Nothing was left lying around to give Eames an idea of personal tastes or interests except for a laptop sitting at the login screen on the writing desk. He was pulled away from his thoughts as Arthur hung up and stood from the bed quickly, "So the food is on its way?"

"Yes," Arthur nodded, arms crossed, "so how about you head out to your door and wait for it to arrive?"

"But it'll take at least ten minutes!" Eames argued for the sake of arguing even as he pushed himself off the mattress. He had bothered the man enough for one night and, judging by the pained look Arthur was trying to hide from his face, Arthur needed to rest.

"That's not my problem," Arthur spoke tiredly, holding the door open for Eames.

He decided to take the message gracefully and smiled as he walked into the hallway, "Well thanks, Arthur. You've been a real doll." The pet name resulted in the door being slammed in his face and he laughed, "See you in the morning!" He wandered away to his own door, worrying that he had gone too far and Arthur would refuse to sightsee with him. He would like to think his visit had been worth it, but if it pushed Arthur away then he was screwed.

Eames waited outside his room for the food to arrive, leaning against his door and working through his new memories of his mark. He revisited mannerisms and postures, attempting to recreate a few expressions he had seen. This caused him to accidentally glower at the server who brought a trolley up to his door a few minutes later, nearly stopping the man in his tracks. "Oh, sorry mate, I wasn't glowering at you," he explained hurriedly as he stepped out of the way as the man swiped a card and pushed the door open to take the trolley in.

"That's alright," the man took a tray off the trolley and set it on the writing table before handing Eames the bill. "But it certainly looked like someone put in a damn good effort to piss you off tonight."

Eames paused in his writing, mid-signature, and looked up at the room service attendant. But there was nothing to be said so he finished charging the food to his room and bid the man farewell. When he was alone again he turned to the mirror and recreated the face again now that he could see it. It wasn't quite right, his eyes and jaw not holding the exact telltale signs of agitation, but the look still clearly depicted anger and aggravation.

He sighed in frustration and let the expression fall, trying instead for that flash of soft protectiveness he thought he had seen when Arthur realized Eames was stranded. He stood in front of the mirror for ten minutes, his pasta going cold, but he couldn't pull it off. Eames comforted himself with the thought that he would probably have better luck once he went under into a dream and was able to take on Arthur's appearance as well. But he was too tired for that tonight and wandered over to nibble at his food. He wasn't really hungry but it occupied his attention.

The hotel attendant's words wandered into his mind again and he groaned angrily, becoming surer and surer of the notion that Arthur would refuse to sightsee with him tomorrow. Not that he could blame Arthur; Eames had come down on his mark pretty forcefully. But what the hell was he supposed to do when Arthur rejected his offer? Observe him from afar? Stalk him? Yeah, that would go over wonderfully. Not only would he not get a close up experience of his mark's expressions and behaviours, he would probably end up in jail.

Eames was contemplating the possibility that he had fucked up his opportunity, that he would not be able to sufficiently integrate Arthur into a role, and he would therefore disappoint his employer and not get the job. But as he slowly considered slamming his head against the table he heard a rustling by his door.

Curious, Eames forgot about his pasta bowl and pushed away from the desk. When he turned a corner and the door came into view he saw that there was a small white sheet of crumpled paper half-pushed under his door. He knelt down and picked it up, stomach clenching with excited nerves as he unfolded it. The paper could say that Arthur refused to sightsee with Eames, or it could have the sights ranked off. Eames didn't know. And that caused hope and nervous tension to bloom inside him.

He took a steadying breath and unfolded the last crease, releasing his breathe in relief when he saw his list of sights with numbers scattered down the line. With a smile he grabbed his key card and headed down to the concierge desk. It had long since closed by this point, the lobby more or less deserted, but there were plenty of maps and sightseeing guides he could pull off shelves and smuggle back up to his room.

When he passed Arthur's room he could not see any light underneath the door and hoped that meant the man was asleep in bed. He was getting very tired himself so he dumped the maps and information booklets on his writing desk, setting aside what he would need for tomorrow's adventure, before crawling under his duvet. He clicked off the last lamp and snuggled under the pile of pillows that were unnecessary but oh so comfortable. He only managed one tired but content sigh before he slipped down into sleep.