And as I promised, the inception verse starts here. When I first got the idea for this fic, this was actually supposed to be the second-last chapter. Somehow, Dark Knight Rises got injected into the story and it just ran off on its own. Enjoy everyone!


And when we go our separate ways
And become who we are
I'll still keep you in my heart


"Thomas Conlon, ex-marine sergeant," The suited, slender man in front of him said, "Do you remember Project SOMNACIN?"

Tommy sat before him in complete darkness except for the single desk before him illuminated by a hanging lamp. Project SOMNACIN, Tommy remembered it clearly. It was a military experiment where their dreams were turned into battlefields for training. His squadron was drafted into it. In the end, it was deemed a failure since no one could successfully recall what had happened after they went under even if they retained their memory before they fell asleep.

But for Tommy, it was different.

He retained all of his memory. He retained all the skill. He never told Manny who awoke with a foggy headache. Tommy kept it all to himself even how he learned to copy the enemy team's appearance and blend with them. It was easy like slipping into a new jacket just to warp his face and colours in his dreams. The first time he tried it, the enemy team was devastated with a betrayal. They never once suspected that Tommy had infiltrated their ranks. When they awoke, they could not remember a thing but an almost gleeful smile was in Tommy's eyes. Forging made him happy. Dreaming made him happy.

"Yeah," Tommy replied to the main, eyes lazily sweeping around the darkness of the room.

"In your entire squadron, you were the only one to retain your memories. And more," The man threw a file to the table, "From the observers, you began forging mere moments into the second trial. Forgeries were sloppy, we could tell you were a fake from a distance," Tommy snorted, offended, "But they were excellent for your very first time without instruction,"

"So what?" Tommy said, reclining in his chair.

"We are offering to clear your charges if you come with us and undergo dream-training," The slim man said, fixing his round glasses, "It will be an extensive 10-year training. We will forge you a new identity. You will start fresh as a dream professional and you shall work for us."

"Doing what?"

The slim man smiled almost cruelly, "Extraction, interrogation, simulations, and perhaps someday, inception," The man closed the folder, withdrawing it from the light, "It is your choice. Serve your sentence or come with us," The man folded his hands on the table, "And if you're the patriotic type, we promise that you'll be serving your country in either case."

Tommy scoffed. Either conclusion seemed unpleasant to him but only one would allow him to stay in contact with Brendan, Pilar, and Neil. Always Neil, "I'll take the job,"

After papers were signed and his belongings were brought to him by several guards, Tommy was brought to a waiting room. The room was slathered in grey: walls, floors, chairs. There could not have been a more bland design for any room than this. Tommy took a seat on one of the uncomfortable metal chairs with his suitcase sitting by his side. Guards were parked right at the door, watching him intensely.

A man came in next. He was blonde with a clean-shaven face and clean, blue eyes. He shot Tommy a quick nod and smile. Tommy ignored him, as usual, letting his aloofness be obvious. The man sat down beside him, shoving his suitcase in front of him.

"I think I recognize you," The man said, "Yeah, definitely recognize you. You're Tommy Riordan from the MMA tournament Sparta. I watched you a few days ago," The man held his hand out, "I'm Dominic Renning. Nice to meet you,"

Tommy shook the hand but didn't bother looking at him. Dom retracted slowly, letting the silence stew around them again until another person came in. This time it was a woman with fiery red hair and a matching fiery gaze. Immediately, Dom jumped to the chance of talking to her. She introduced herself to both of them, Mallorie Cottier. She was extremely friendly contrasting the sour Tommy who sat by himself with his gaze pinned to the walls.

The newcomers eventually began talking about how they had ended up here. Mallorie's story was simple. Her father helped developed PASIV, the machine used for dream-sharing, and she had been a common tester for the machine. To her, it was always just a game of constructing cities and nations with her mind. She never realized that it would have such powerful capabilities.

Dom's story was far less whimsical. He was just a graduate student when the PASIV fell into his possession. It had been presented during a seminar and the interns had accidentally left it unlocked in the storage room. Dom snuck in and stole it away, curious on what it could do. The first time he tried it on his girlfriend, he discovered that she had been cheating on him all along. The second time he tried it on his professor, he discovered the answer key for an upcoming exam. It was only after his seventh time did he get caught doing two years in jail before being bailed out by whatever this division was.

The two stopped talking when the slim man from before and several others entered the room.

"Congratulations, you three have been recruits into Project SOMNACIN," The slim man began, "We are the first ever dream division of the USA and you three will be the first trainees in the division. But firstly, Dominic Renning, Mallorie Cottier, and Thomas Conlon," The man threw three papers to them, "You three are officially dead,"

"What?" Dom shouted, scanning the papers. They were death certificates.

"You can't be serious," Mallorie said, "I still have family back home."

"Your old identities are now non-existent as are your past lives and family," A package was thrown to each of them containing passports, driver's license, anything that could have identified them, "From now on you are Dominic Cobb, Mallorie Fontaine, and Thomas Eames, trainees under the SOMNACIN division,"

The three were sent to their training facilities. Dom and Mal were sent to Manhattan to undergo 'extractor' training while Tommy was sent to London for 'Forger' training. Mal and Dom were fidgeting, teetering on the edge of regret and excitement. Tommy stood firmly on his decision. Either choice, serving his sentence or joining this dream division, seemed equally disagreeable so Tommy didn't bother thinking about it. Aboard the plane, he shut his eyes and thought about everything he would leave behind.

He couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering to Neil.

My first love, Tommy said in his mind before laughing hoarsely disregarding the company around him. Tommy never believed such words would ever enter his mind. They belonged in fairy tales and love stories, not his hectic life.

Tommy had expected a cement warehouse with lawn chairs and cheap tables scattered about as his training room. When he entered the five-star loft, he was completely blown away. The walls were pure white with expensive paintings in gold frames hanging upon them. The main room was a wooden table with Rococo details surrounded by comfy reclining couches. The only piece that stood out was the back wall where technological bits and pieces lay amongst piles of loose paper.

"Welcome, Thomas Eames. You can call me Henri," Henri, his new mentor, greeted, "You shall be staying with me for the time being. The rest of the team will be here later and we'll begin training then." Henri spoke with an impeccable British accent that drove Tommy mad from how uncultured it made his own voice sound.

"Team?"

"Yes, all extractions or training simulations must be done in teams," Henri explained, "The necessary roles are an extractor to retrieve the information, an architect to design the layout of a dream, and the point man to research the mark and provide design information. I am an architect."

"What about me?" None of the jobs seemed very appealing to him. He was not much of a conversationalist, he hated creative design even in high school, and research was plain boring.

Henri chuckled, looking to Tommy intently, "None of the above, dear Thomas. You have a natural gift. You are a forger," Henri retried a metal suitcase from beneath the couch, "We shall refine your natural gift. Someday, you'll be a priceless asset to this entire world,"

Tommy couldn't help but laugh. The term 'priceless asset' was not something he would ever had considered himself, "Whatever," He muttered quickly, taking a seat on the couch as Henri prepared the IV.

On the whiteboard against the back wall, a weekly schedule was drawn on. Tommy had never once seen Henri write upon the board but somehow it would always be updated the following week. The first week was merely simple drills testing Tommy's prowess in the dream landscape. His military training plus martial arts experience gave him and his projections and insane upper hand against his lesser combat-inclined team members. It wasn't long until Tommy militarized his own subconscious merely from running simulations with the team.

Elizabeth, the point man of their team, jerked up violently as she awoke, "Bloody hell, Thomas, you bloody lunatic!" She cried out, looking to see that Tommy was the only one still asleep. The other three had already been killed in the dream, "Seriously? You all died before me?"

"We thought we had the bank secured. We had rifles at every window," Elaine, their extractor explained, "Then Thomas blew us up with a goddamn rocket launcher,"

Henri laughed, detaching the IV from his arm, "I honestly wasn't expecting that." Henri watched the timer on the PASIV machine. His eyes fell onto Tommy who had the smallest ghost of a smile upon his lips while he slept. When he awoke, he burst out into quiet laughter, "Sweet dreams, eh Thomas?"

By the second week, Tommy began feeling out of place with his jeans and sweatshirts while his team was dressed in tailored suits that looked as if they had been fine-cut with lasers. He hadn't the money to buy any nice clothing so Tommy dug deep into his suitcase to find the fanciest piece of clothing he could find. He surprised even himself when he found a tweed blazer fitted with a pair of grey dress pants and a neon green T-shirt.

Elaine promised to go shopping with him right the moment she set her fashion-inclined eyes upon him. Sadly to say, Tommy's fashion sense wasn't much better even in the presence of fancy labels and well-cut suits. He ended up with a pile of pastel-coloured, paisley shirts and more ill-fitting tweed jackets. He also swung by a cosmetic store, picking up a bottle of hair gel. At first, he decided to slick all of his hair back but his memories with Neil compelled him to sweep his hair into a comb over. His hair ended up being the only part of his new appearance that the team highly approved of.

Merely a year into training, Tommy had nearly perfected forgery. The first time he tried it, he tried to forge Henri. Instantly, Elaine and Elizabeth picked him apart. The eyes were too dark, his gestures were too conservative, the expressions were too subtle, Henri was a very spontaneous and blatant man. Even if Tommy had forged his appearance close enough, his mannerisms revealed him instantly to any close acquaintance.

From then on, Tommy took informal acting lessons from a former extractor coming to visit. It took him six months in real time but years in dream time to perfect reading a person's movements, gestures, and habits. When presented with a target projection, Tommy copied all of its mannerisms, right down to a twitch in the eye whenever they smiled. For the next six months, Tommy worked on copying appearances. With his enhanced detail examination, Tommy copied Henri down to the wrinkles in his brow whenever he faked a smile and the dimples in his cheek when he smiled for real. Days later, Tommy copied Elizabeth perfectly right down to the subtle sway of her hips. Hours later, Elaine had a conversation with a carbon copy of herself, both giggling at the same funny inflections Elizabeth spoke with.

"Thomas," Henri said as he sat up from the couch, removing the IV, "You are a natural learner,"

A natural learner, Tommy snorted. Even with his entire self changed, the same words his father told him would continue to be echoed by other people.

For the remaining years, Tommy learned the even finer arts of forgery. Writing styles, eating patterns, laughter, things Tommy had taken for granted were broken down for him into a science. His physical forgery skills soon translated into another form of forging. He began replicating items, mostly poker chips since he and Henri had often swung by the casino during an off day. During a slow day when the PASIV had been malfunctioning and the team was busy fixing it, Tommy spent hours carving at red plastic and tinkering with metal bits. In his hand was a perfectly crafted red die. He tossed it several times into the table; it always landed a three. No matter how many he forged, Tommy was unable to make a rigged die which let the roller choose which number it wanted.

Three years past, the team finally trusted Tommy enough to let him use the PASIV without supervision. When everyone was asleep, Tommy would use the PASIV and practice his forgeries. Throughout his life, Tommy was told he was great at what he did whether it was martial arts or taking orders. No matter what anyone said, Tommy was never happy. He didn't understand the joy Brendan had when his father finally praised him for winning a tournament. Tommy assumed he was just so wrecked up by everything in his life that he couldn't feel normal happiness like others. There were only two aspects of his life that gave him true happiness: Dream-forgery and Neil McCormick. In his dreams, Tommy was in control of everything. Nothing forced him to do something he hated. Nothing forced him to be anyone he didn't want to be. In his dreams, he had total control; he had true freedom.

Just like Neil had given him, unconditional love and freedom. There was never a set of expectations and requirements Tommy had to fulfil to earn Neil's favour.

Tommy sat down onto a wooden stool he had conjured up in a replication of his New York apartment. He let his memories flash by him like a video on fast-forward: Abused by his father, forced into mixed martial arts because he showed promise, forced to leave with his mother to escape from his drunk father, forced to watch his brother's face wilt in shame as he refused to leave with Tommy, losing all his money after his mother died and having to join the marines since he had no other choice, forced to watch his brother in arms and comrades perish from friendly fire, forced to enter Sparta and leave his true love for the sake of his brother in arms. Forced to part again when the military arrested him. Forced. Forced. Always forced. Out of his control.

Not anymore, not in his dreams. Tommy looked up at his reflection in the window. He watched as it flickered from himself to Henri to Dominic Cobb to Brendan Conlon and then to everyone he ever knew. In seconds, he flawlessly forged hundreds. The flickering forgeries stopped when he had forged himself into Neil. Tommy stood in his new appearance, examining his walk through the reflection of the window. Neil had a lazy toss to his shoulders when he walked. His hips swayed almost like a woman's, seductively. Neil's actions were jerky, instead of merely taking a cigarette from his mouth, he'd whip it away lazily.

Tommy laughed at how well he had forged him. He corrected his laughter a second later, replacing it with Neil's throaty chortle. When the laughter died, Tommy approached the reflection on the window and pressed his forehead against it. His hands flat against the glass touching the reflection of Neil who copied his actions. His first love, his first unconditional lover, forever separated. This forgery was as close as he would ever get to him.

On his sixth year, Tommy had built up an English accent from all his time spent in London. With his gaudy clothes, new voice, and newfound happiness, Tommy was barely recognizable. He wondered about Brendan and Pilar; would they still recognise him?

"Here you are," Elizabeth broke him out of his daydream, tossing a file onto his table, "That's the info you wanted me to dig up about your family, right?"

"Thank you darling," Tommy replied with a friendly smile, taking the folder into his hands. He reclined in his swivel chair, resting his crossed legs onto the desk in his room as he examined the contents of the folder.

Brendan Conlon was still a physics teacher but also ran a mixed martial arts program in school. On the side, he had recently won a teaching award and he entered small scale tournaments with his trainer Frank Campana.

Pilar Fernandez had recently found a job as a daycare service. The pay isn't high but enough to keep up her mortgage. Frank Campana occasionally sends her money from the gym under Brendan's request to honour Tommy's promise.

This was the fifth folder he had requested that held absolutely no information about Neil. Elizabeth said that she had found absolutely nothing at all as if his personal records were wiped off the face of the planet. His last folder stated that Neil had joined the army. There was no mention of his death or disappearance. It was like his existence just ended.

He couldn't let himself be too upset. There was no proof of his death. Anything could have happened.

On the final day of his training, the team threw him a party at the loft. The finest champagne was tossed around along with the finest Indian cuisine they could find. It was Tommy's favourite cuisine, strong and flavourful. Elizabeth had also sprung a platter of pulled pork subs with honey mustard dressing. Being a point man and all, Elizabeth had studied him well enough to know his typical comfort food after a long day.

"Our Thomas is all grown up," Elaine said, sipping her champagne, "Do you remember when you first came here? Messy mop of hair, jeans, thick American accent,"

Tommy laughed, biting into his sub hungrily, "I take offense to that last one," He said to her with his American accent fully restored. Tommy took a sip of champagne to wash down the pulled pork, "I think my family wouldn't recognize me if I came to them now. I barely recognize me," He said in his English accent again.

The party ended early; Henri successfully enticed him into going to the casino and gambling the rest of the day away. Elaine and Elizabeth left soon after, having to return to their jobs outside of dream training. When the day ended, with Henri and Tommy far richer than when they had left thanks to Tommy's forged chips, Henri turned a folder over to him.

"Your first job, go get them, Mr. Eames," Henri said, patting him on the back as he retreated to his room.

The man who he came to see as a father figure christened him a new name. Eames the dream-forging, fashion-challenged Londoner, Tommy's finest forgery was complete. But even so, a forgery was still merely a forgery. Henri and his team were experienced and level-headed. His first job was filled with pretentious extractors who saw themselves as the next James Bond of the Dream industries.

"We will replicate his bachelor pad in Tokyo and interrogate him there, thinking that he has been kidnapped by his enemies," The young extractor explained, circling marks on the graph for no reason.

Eames shook his head, reclining in his chair, "Too risky," The extractor glared daggers at him, "First off, we only have a photograph of his bachelor's pad from the outside window. Given that he's in the yakuza, he'll likely have weapons hidden in the room. Once he reaches for them and sees them missing, he'll get the hint,"

"Then we pretend we hid them,"

"Hid them, and didn't use them against him?"

"Mr. Eames, you are a forger without any extractor or point man training. Your inexperienced contribution is unnecessary," The extractor turned from Eames, shutting down their argument. He continued as if not interrupted at all. Eames sulked as he reclined in his chair once more, glaring out the window.

For that entire day, Eames spent the briefing scoffing quietly and rolling his eyes. At the lunch break, the architect tried consulting Eames about the layout of the dream only to be rudely pushed aside as Eames headed to the bathroom.

No surprise, the job failed spectacularly fast. It only took the mark ten minutes to realize that the floors of his bachelor's pad were wooden and not carpeted as the poor resolution photo suggested. The projections tore them apart and the mark was transferred to another dream-extraction team.

"Told you," Eames hissed at the amateur extractor.

"Shut the fuck up, you're not an extractor. You're a forger, a tool in the big picture," The extractor hissed back, shoving at Eames roughly, unfortunately provoking him.

Eames threw a punch at him. And then another. And he held absolutely nothing back.

For the next job, the extractor for the case was replaced by an older, far more experience woman. The point man and the architect kept their distance from Eames and never spoke up against him, fearing his animalistic wrath. From this job, Eames realized that it wasn't just physical provocation that caused him to lash out.

In this job, they were tasked to extract an amnesiac's memory of a bombing. The extractor proposed remaking the scene and having the amnesiac fill in the attackers with projections of what he saw. Eames agreed with the plan and subsequently, so did the point man and architect. Everything was perfectly fine till the bombs started going off, Eames, forging the amnesiac's best friend, stood point blank from the explosions. Part of their script, Eames was to be knocked to the ground by the explosion and later shot when he tried to escape based on witness testimony.

The instant Eames was knocked to the ground by an explosion, the sounds of bombs dropping whistled through the air. The rubble beneath him was morphing into a trench. Eames's forgery fell. The instant he saw the assailant projections ready to shoot him down, Eames forged himself a gun and shot them down mercilessly. The extractor ran to Eames, hoping to calm him down, only to be shot up violently. The point man immediately turned the gun upon himself, collapsing the dream before Eames had the chance to kill their mark.

"Mr. Eames," The point man said, tearing the IV from his arms, "Goddamn you," The point man fled the scene immediately before Eames could beat him.

The extractor immediately left her chair and packed up her equipment, "I have never failed a job in my life," She hissed over her shoulder to Eames, "You've ruined my perfect record,"

Eames shrugged lazily, "It's just a job," He said, his English accent sounding far less pronounced.

"I suggest you find yourself some help, Mr. Eames, or perhaps a job change," She said, walking past him in a huff.

Eames steeled his heart and proceeded to his next jobs. Given his poor starting record, he was relocated to simple forgery missions involving domestic abuse or thievery. Needless to say, he had successfully completed some of the jobs. However, given the ease of such missions, anyone would've been expected to finish all of the jobs perfectly. His first failure in this new field came from a rowdy architect who refused to edit his landscape even to accommodate a backup fire escape. A few arguments later, Eames threw a punch and sent the poor architect to the hospital with broken ribs. Another job with Eames as the dreamer ended with Eames getting shot in the back while simulating a police chase. The pain of the bullet sent him into relapse and the world began morphing into a desolate war zone. His final case ended in the worst possible way. They failed their first extraction method: having the mark think that he was back home with his friends. This time, it was because the mark recognized the extractor from a report he had received from his right-hand. They went for the interrogation method with Eames threatening to snap his arm if he didn't talk. The man was prideful and stubborn, rather taking pain than ratting out his comrades. Even in excruciating pain, the man hissed horrible things to Eames, unaware of the beast he was slowly luring out.

Eames snapped his arm, then he snapped his ankle, his wrists, his fingers, his legs, and then finally, his neck. They hadn't gotten the information, Eames was completely out of control. When the dream ended, their architect threw up on the side of her chair. The point man stood from his lawn chair, pointed his gun at Eames and ushered him out as fast as he could.

"Thomas Eames," It was the slender, suited man, sitting before him again in a completely dark room with a single lamp with his face completely obscured, "We've gotten some... less than desirable results from your records,"

"I lost control. It won't happen again,"

"I'm sure it won't," The man's voice was slathered in sarcasm, "If you were any common point man or extractor, we'd have you fired by now. Unfortunately, you're a forger and forgers are a rare commodity," He talked of Eames as if he was an object, "We're giving you two weeks off from work. Have everything sorted out by then or else we'll be forced to eject you from your position,"

Eames's eyes scanned the slender man, "And what if you do?"

"Then you will go back to serve your sentence as a deserter," The slender man replied, "So for your sake, you better get it under control,"

The word 'control' slithered under Eames's skin. He didn't understand; he had everything under control. He'd built himself a new person to face the world. It was just that the old him was still leaking through his forgery. No, bursting through this forgery. The pressure of his past pushing against the barriers of his forgery like a bursting dam. He had to do something fast before his past burst through with no restraint whatsoever.

Eames was given a temporary flat in Mombasa where he had done his last job. He opted out from resting in the flat to go to a small casino down the street. Only there could he truly calm down and think. There was no way two weeks of therapy would fix him up. He needed to think a little bigger. He needed to dream a little bigger.

Using forgeries and notes he had stolen off Elizabeth back when he trained with Henri, Eames successfully acquired a PASIV device and found a powerful sedative from a skilled private chemist named Yusuf. According to the notes, this sedative had the ability to forge two levels of dreams using only a single dreamer for both.

He had the equipment ready, now he needed a plan.

"Symbolic extraction," Eames read a new article featured in the dream-professionals weekly post, "Treating the dream space less as a stage for extraction to happen and more as a fortress of the mark's mind. By using symbolism, guarded secrets can be represented using guarded structures like banks or safes. Likewise, intimate memories can be uncovered by crafting an intimate structure like a childhood toy box and having the mark fill the toy box with their projections,"

He flipped to the next article he had saved, "Memory repression," Eames began, "When suffering a traumatic experience or overwhelming stimulus, it is natural for the human mind to suppress such memories creating a blank space where the memory should have been. In some cases, the human mind will fill in this blank on its own with another memory. With enough persuasion, the subject might begin to accept this fabricated memory as the truth over the actual event. This has been known to lead to personality changes or in extreme cases, a split personality depending on the nature of the repression."

These were the keys to his recovery. He couldn't let his ill temperament and violent nature bleed through again. As Tommy, he didn't particularly care when his violent, animalistic nature appeared since he had such little to stand for. As Eames, the stakes were too high.

He prepared the PASIV device, inserting the new sedative into the machine. He stared at the IV for a while, watching the needle intensely. This would either give him exactly what he wanted or absolutely ruin him. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Eames swallowed his breath and inserted the needle, starting the machine.

He crafted the first level as a simple room without windows. His second level was a perfect replica of the trinket store he had worked at with Neil. The blinds were closed so Eames wouldn't have to craft the outside. This left the entire store pitch black with only a single bulb hanging in the back to illuminate the store. The store was as he remembered it, stupid little trinkets and toys which he spent his lunch hour playing around with them beside Neil.

Eames headed to the back. By the time he reached the light, his form was completely transformed back into Tommy Conlon dressed in a black hooded sweater with a black beanie on his head. He caught sight of himself on the reflective surface of a trinket. He sighed heavily, almost ashamed, as he headed past the light and into the dark corner of the store.

He probed through the darkness till his hands fell upon a box. It was cold as steel and decorated with steel hands gripping at the sides as if it were pulling the top apart. Eames remembered it clearly, the ugly metal hands constructed from tubing gripping at the lid. It was the only trinket that Neil never figured out how to open. Only Tommy, one tired day, knocked the box over lazily. One of the tubes popped open letting out a hiss of musty air. The box then popped open slowly. It was pressure sealed. Tommy never told Neil; it never crossed his mind.

To the man whom he told everything in his world to, this was the single secret he never gave him. This was the deepest, most buried object in his life. Eames popped open one tube, catching the dirt-smelling air that hissed out from the tube. The top opened slowly. It was empty, as he expected. From the pocket of his worn sweatpants, Eames retrieved three bottles of painkillers, the shameful fuel that Tommy had lived on just to get through his depressingly worthless life. He shoved the bottles inside the metal case, fumbling to squeeze them into the narrow opening. Eames reached again into his sweater pocket, retrieving a whiskey flask. How ironic that the alcoholic, furious father Tommy hated so much would end up reflecting in himself. Eames shoved the flask in and shut the case, sealing back the airtight tubes.

He shoved the case on the shelf far into the back so no light would ever reach it. Eames stepped away, shutting his eyes. His clothes felt lighter, he felt the stubble on his chin return. When he opened his eyes, the trinket store had crumbled away from him. His sedation had ended. He was back in his apartment in Mombasa.

From then on, his performance in dream-work was utterly flawless.

Eames went from a volatile problem case to the best forger in the business. People were literally lining up to get him on their team. His superiors never asked where the sudden change came from. Frankly, they didn't care. All that mattered was that one of their few forgers was back in the business. It made Eames feel like a pawn but hell if he cared. He might've been a pawn but it felt amazing to his ego.

His next job was another high-profile mission. They were to extract secrets from a war prisoner who was identified to be one of the high generals. The job took place in a rural district in Chicago. Low-profile, low-risk. They were given a warehouse hidden deep in the industrial district but fully equipped with PASIV, chemical lab, and other useful equipment.

Eames had flown all the way from Mombasa. He already missed the pleasant, dry heat of his home base. The chemist was already at the warehouse, working away diligently at new compounds. Eames attempted to flirt with her, "I'm married," Was the only thing she said to him, smiling sweetly before turning back to her chemicals.

Eames laughed, settling himself in a swivel chair as he examined the folder containing his team members, "What do you know about our team?" Eames asked the chemist. Her profile revealed her name to be Diane Li.

"I've worked with them before. Orlando Lackey, the architect, he's a real sweetheart under his neon highlights and eyeliner," Diane said. Eames smiled at the thought of the fashionable young man, "Arthur Riordan's a bit of a stick-in-the-mud and kind of detached but he's easily the best point man I've ever worked with. He really likes suits. Like, really, really likes them. The guy's so clean cut, makes me feel unworthy," Eames chuckled at the image in his head, "And Adrian Bacchus, that man, oh boy," She sighed dreamily.

"The extractor?" He'd had a fairly bad track record with extractors.

"He's great. Real professional, real handsome," Diane laughed, mixing a grey powder into the test tube in her hand, "He's quite old fashioned with his extraction techniques but he knows what he's doing."

Eames chortled to himself, imagining this oddball team in his head. The warehouse door creaked open, Diane immediately left her post to greet the rest of the team. Orlando rushed forward first, Eames recognized him by the red highlight and black eyeliner. His eyes only brushed over the dreamy blonde Adrian before they latched themselves onto Arthur Riordan. He was as Diane described: clean-cut suits, no-nonsense expression, professional disposition... and the face of Neil McCormick. Arthur's eyes fell upon Eames as well. Eames watched as Arthur reached into his pocket and began rolling something between his fingers.

A tiny red die.

Those were all the signals needed for Eames to act. Eames leapt from his chair, rushing over to Arthur with an almost gleeful expression, wrapped his arms firmly around the slim man, and kissed him passionately. One hand found itself firmly on the small of his back while the other pressed at the base of his neck playing with his gelled hair. He would've have deepened the kiss even further if arms dressed in peacock green hadn't came around Eames and jerked him back violently. Arthur followed suit, shoving his palms at Eames's chest.

"Mr. Eames," Arthur gasped breathlessly, wiping his mouth.

Adrian stepped between them, shielding Arthur, "Please refrain from such barbaric behaviour. We are in workplace. That is inappropriate, Thomas," The blonde man's glare was venomous.

Eames backed away, hands up in surrender, "Sorry, thought he was someone I knew," He said, pulling away and retreating to his chair with a look of dumb innocence.

Throughout the entire briefing, Eames kept trying to lock eyes with Arthur who kept his eyes firmly away from him. When staring at his eyes failed, Eames turned his attention to the tiny red die he kept rolling around his in palm. Arthur could feel the smirk coming from Eames as he played with the red die. Halfway through the briefing, Arthur pocketed the die and ignored it for the rest of the day.

"And so, the bottom line is that we'll be dealing with a language barrier so we have to keep communication at a minimum," Adrian explained, fixing his peacock green blazer. Diane was right, Eames thought, Adrian was absolutely gorgeous with an amazing head of blonde hair and smoldering gaze. His complete lack of colour coordination in his clothing was certainly a drawback, however, "Any question?"

Arthur raised his hand, politely waiting to be called. Eames merely spoke out, "Leave it to me for communication. I don't like to brag but I'm quite proficient when any sort of forgery, vocal or visual,"

"Your reputation precedes you," Adrian said, mockingly but with no malice, "As does your adoration with bragging," Eames smirked back to the man, "Very well. Arthur has information on al-Rawi's second in command. It'll be up to you to perfect the forge. Arthur, can you prepare this information for him by the end of the day?"

Arthur paused, his eyes firmly on Adrian and away from Eames, "Sure, I'll get it done,"

A day of fruitful planning passed. Eames easily considered Adrian to be the most stable extractor he's ever worked with, comfortable with practicing traditional extraction without dabbling with experimental techniques. Orlando, despite his outlandish appearance, was an absolute angel to everyone. Even when Eames accidentally stepped on one of his model structures, Orlando continued smiling on, rebuilding it without a hitch. Eames tried his best to keep his mind on his other associates or else his thoughts would uncontrollably return to Neil, or Arthur as he went by now.

Their meeting was unavoidable. Diane left first to take care of her family. Orlando left second, talking about online conferencing with some other point man named Harold. This left Adrian cleaning up in the main room and Arthur working away at his research desk in a separate room. Eames entered the room, watching as Arthur stood and sorted at the papers and photographs on his desk.

Eames took a single step towards him. Arthur said immediately, "I'm not done compiling the information yet, Mr. Eames. Please wait outside,"

"You're absolutely ravishing in that suit, you know," Eames says with a smirk, "Makes your arse look stunning,"

Arthur whipped around, indignant at his disrespectful words, "This is a professional environment." Eames lifted his hands up innocently, palms forward in a silent apology. Arthur turned back to his desk, shifting papers and photos around, hoping for Eames to leave the room.

As much as Eames didn't mind staring at Arthur's finely curved buttocks through his high-quality pants, his eyes eventually began wandering around the room. They eventually landed upon the red die sitting at the base of the table lamp, "So, you still have that?" He said, coming up close behind him and reaching for the die.

Arthur snatched the die away in a panic, backing away from Eames who had shortened the distance between them dramatically, "You're not supposed to touch it,"

"I wasn't going to steal it. I just wanted to know if this was the same die."

"It isn't," Arthur replied, "This is my totem. It's a constant used to check if I'm in a dream or reality. No one else is allowed to know how it feels or works except for me."

Eames leaned down, examining the tiny red die in Arthur's hands, "Clever. You come up with it?"

"No, Mal did. She was an architect I worked with back in Manhattan,"

"So, they're all dice?"

"No, I specifically picked this to be my totem. Mal has a top, for example,"

"And why'd you pick that?" Eames said in a low, almost seductive tone. He took a step towards Arthur, "Seems pretty specific, a red, loaded die," His voice got lower until it became a seductive growl he often used to seduce marks.

Arthur was backing away from Eames, hoping to make to the door but only managing to trap himself between the working desk and Eames, "It was convenient. That's all. Mr. Eames, you're out of line. I need to get back to my work,"

"Mr. Eames, Mr. Eames," Eames repeated, chuckling at each repetition, "If this is how it's going to be, why don't I call you Mr. Riordan?" He laughed, resting his hands upon the desk on either side of Arthur's hips, "Was 'Conlon' too foreign for you?" He leaned forward, lips hovering over Arthur's ear, stubble scratching at Arthur's smooth cheek, "Neil, darling, you missed me far more than you let on,"

"Eames!" Arthur shouted. He wanted to protest, fight the man off him, but he found himself completely silenced when Eames suddenly wrapped him in a tight embrace. His arms circled Arthur's thin body easily, his head nestled against Arthur's neck. Even after ten years, Arthur still melted at the natural cologne of Eames's body.

Eames crushed his body against Arthur's. He held him like he'd never hold him ever again, just like he had back in Sparta, "Neil, you have no idea how much I've missed you," He loosened his embrace, arms untwining as he looked into Arthur's eyes. Even though Arthur remained silent, his eyes reflected what he truly felt; mirroring Eames's words.

A folder stuffed with papers, photos, and tapes was pushed between them, "Eames, that should be sufficient for your forgery," Arthur said, fixing up his tie and waistcoat, "Please inform me as soon as possible if you need more information," Arthur watched as Eames's expression showed the slightest bit of melancholy, his eyes much softer than they were before. Arthur sighed, Eames's disappointment tugging ever so slightly at his heart, "I missed you too...Tommy,"

"Arthur, are you ready to go for dinner?" Adrian interrupted the two. Eames backed away immediately, folder clutched to his chest, "Thomas? You're still here?"

"Yes, just collecting the research from Arthur," Eames said, coolly as if nothing had happened at all, "Good day to you both," He headed to the door quickly, nearly shoving over a rickety shelf of spare notes Arthur kept by the door.

Adrian caught him by the shoulder with a firm grip, "Why don't you come to dinner with us? I like getting to know who's on my team," Eames sensed no malice in Adrian's words but he could never tell with that stoic expression.

"Sure, I'd love that," Eames said, shaking Adrian's hand firmly, exiting the room with the extractor in tow. Eames shot one glance back into the room, looking to Arthur, hoping to call him along. He stayed silent when he saw the guilt and shame building upon his face. Arthur, who kept up his poker face the entire day, looked like the guiltiest man in the world.

The three ate at a quaint diner just outside the rural district they worked in. Adrian and Eames spent time exchanging old stories about their previous jobs. Eames, of course, omitted all of his earlier jobs that ended in disaster. Eventually, they ran out of interesting stories and began talking about far more general topics. Every now on then, however, Eames noticed how Adrian's hand would glide over Arthur's hands, shoulders, and even his cheek. The contact would last no more than half a second but the gestures were intimate. Too intimate. It made Eames's heart sting with malice.

"So, this idea of using symbolism for extraction. Interesting idea, but it'll never work," Adrian said as he cut into his sirloin steak, "What is deemed 'important memories' to the mark might not be the same to an extractor. Let's say I'm extracting banking secrets. Sure, the banking secrets are important to me but the banker might see them as trivial."

"And you'll end up extracting his first date from the safe," Eames added with a chortle.

"Exactly!" Adrian said, laughing as he sipped his tea, "Arthur, sweetheart, are you feeling okay? You haven't said anything this entire time,"

Arthur nodded silently, poking at his garden salad, "It's been a long day. I'm just tired,"

Eames watched intently as Adrian looped an arm around Arthur's shoulders, pulling him close and planting a kiss on his forehead. If Eames were a lesser man, he would've spat out the beer he had just took a sip off, "Alright sweetheart, we'll just pack up our food to go and I'll get you to a bed as soon as I can," He nuzzled at Arthur's head lovingly.

Arthur's eyes met Eames as he was nuzzled. Eames, the perfect forger, maintained a cheerful disposition even though Arthur knew this tore at him. Arthur looked away, giving Adrian a small smile as he pulled back.

"Can we get these packed up please?" Adrian called to the waitress. He stood from his seat, holding Arthur's hand as he did, "Bathroom, be right back," He kissed the back of Arthur's hand gingerly, leaving to the bathroom afterwards. Arthur almost didn't want to let go; he didn't want to face Eames alone after what had just transpired.

Eames reclined in his chair, eyes scanning out the window, "So," He started, "You and Adrian,"

"Yes," Arthur replied, "We met during a job,"

"Figures,"

"I should've told you,"

"I should've known,"

Eames sprung out from his seat, gripping tightly onto the back of Arthur's head and crushing their lips together in a bruising kiss. At the intensity and spontaneity, Arthur struggled violently, eventually slapping Eames hard against his cheek to make him break away. Without words or eye contact, Eames tossed several bills onto the table and rushed out the door.

Everyone heard Eames as he entered the warehouse an hour late the next day. He casually slid into the main room, feigning puzzlement when he saw no one there, "Did I miss the briefing?" He said loudly, making sure his voice echoed to the private sections where his team worked.

"Thomas," Adrian called out, walking towards him. Today, he sported a wine coloured jacket with white turtleneck. Eames would have laughed at his gaudy tastes if he did not share in them, "What did you do to Arthur last night? When I got back to the table, you were gone and he was completely flustered."

"Is that the type of effect I have on him? Interesting, I'll take note," Eames pushed past Adrian, bumping his broad shoulder against Adrian's narrower shoulder, "Anyway, I've got work to do," Contrary to his words, Eames ended up wandering over to Orlando who had been describing his layout plan to Arthur. With a mischievous face, Eames reached forward and pinched Arthur's butt firmly. Arthur yelped, whipping around to see Eames walking off as if nothing happened.

Eames entered his private room which was specifically soundproof so people could not hear him practicing dialects and foreign languages. He sat upon the desk provided to him, playing over the tapes Arthur had scrounged up while reading his notes. He examined the photos, trying to copy the man's posture and poses. The man had a definite way of standing, slightly hunched over with his arms almost pinned to his sides. A knock to the door disrupted his practice.

Adrian opened the door, holding up a new folder, "Briefing in the afternoon, there was a hitch in our previous plan so we'll be reworking it after lunch,"

"I'm not surprised," Eames quipped, tossing the folder onto his desk.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, I'm not surprised," Eames said his words slower with a slightly malicious tone with each word, "I've worked high-level jobs before. This plan is absolute rubbish compared to them,"

"Well excuse me, Thomas, perhaps you'd prefer to take over as extractor," Adrian replied, coldness gathering in his glare, "I seem to recall that you were of those who supported my plan."

Eames shrugged, "I didn't want to hurt your feelings, darling. I'm sure Arthur felt the same way, seeing that he's your squeeze after all. How was he last night? Hot and bothered, most certainly?"

"Grow up," Adrian said, turning to the door, "Briefing in the afternoon, don't be late," He shut the door tightly.

The malice in his words were only a weak balm to the festering pain in his heart. Eames remained calm, remained in control. He wouldn't let his fits of rage take over, not anymore. He examined the new material, using his work to calm him down.

When lunch came, Arthur and Orlando offered to pick up food for everyone.

"So tandoori chicken for you," Orlando said, pointing to Diane, "With a diet coke?" Diane nodded quickly before turning back to her chemical lab, "What's Adrian getting?"

Arthur looked to Adrian, shooting a sly look his way with a smirk, "Don't worry about that. I've got it memorized." Adrian circled an arm around his waist, pecking him on the temple before returning to his desk.

"And what about Thomas?"

Arthur yelped as he felt fingers prodding at his sides. He whipped around, glaring at Eames who had his hands hovering above his waist, "Pulled pork sandwich please," Eames said.

"Don't do that!" Arthur shouted furiously, face flushed a soft pink.

"Don't be such a stick in the mud. I was just playing around," Eames replied, pocketing his hands, "You're absolutely precious when you blush, darling. I envy the man who beds you, that lucky dog,"

"Whoa, whoa, hey!" Orlando separated the two, "Arthur, let's go. Thomas, get back to work," He took Arthur's arm, pulling him towards the door. His glare, and flushed cheeks, remained locked onto Eames as he was dragged off.

"See you, darling," He winked after his words.

When the two returned, Arthur rushed into his office and shut the door firmly. He didn't even want to look at Eames at the moment. Unfortunately, that was exactly what Eames had been expecting. Arthur's heart nearly exploded at the sight of Eames leaning against the wall at an angle that would've just hidden him away from the door.

"You're looking eager to see me," He said, "Got my sandwich?" He shifted his position, putting the exit right behind his back so Arthur would need to push past him to get through.

Arthur placed his food onto his desk. From afar, Eames deduced that it was probably some sort of salad, "Eames, what do you want from me?"

"No more 'Mr. Eames'? Such a shame, I was beginning to like the superiority behind the honorific," Eames said. His smile faded slowly as he spoke, "I think you know exactly what I want," He pressed a hand to Arthur's chest, sliding it down slowly as he felt all the curves of his body.

Arthur slapped the hand away, pushing past Eames's bulk to reach the door, "Good day to you, Mr. Eames," He gasped as Eames reached down and slid his hand up his thigh, over his hips, and onto his lower back. He swallowed his cry and rushed to the door, leaving the room in a huff. Lazily, Eames looked to the meal sitting upon Arthur's desk. Figuring that Arthur wouldn't want it anymore, he opened it up and started eating. It was a dressing-less salad with chicken breast chunks, bland yet vaguely satisfying.

From then till the briefing, Arthur kept his distance from Eames. Anytime Eames would appear, Arthur would move to another member of the team usually leaving all his notes behind. Adrian caught onto the behaviour, several times he went to lecture Eames only to be given the cold shoulder or a rude shove away.

During the briefing, Orlando started the coffee machine and everyone got themselves a mug to drink. As Arthur settled onto his chair, Eames stretched a hand out over the seat smirking as Arthur settled down on the chair unknowingly. Arthur yelped at the feel of Eames's hand on his buttocks and flinched, spilling coffee over his coat, "Shit," Arthur grunted, getting up from his seat and glaring at Eames as he wiped his jacket. Eames merely smiled back like a child playing an innocent trick.

"Damn it Eames," Arthur hissed.

"Don't be such a stick in the mud," Eames said again, reclining in his chair. He almost retched at the sight of Adrian scrubbing at Arthur's jacket with a handkerchief, "I think I preferred it when you were a prostitute. At least you knew how to have fun then. Becoming a point man made you boring,"

Arthur froze, his face blanching at his words. Adrian growled at Eames, "Enough! How dare you slander him with your lies," Eames merely cocked an eyebrow at Adrian's statement. He didn't know Arthur used to be a sex hustler. Assumingly, he didn't know Neil, "Get out of my sight. You're suspended for the day,"

"Fine," Eames said, standing.

Arthur fled first though, almost in tears. Adrian called out to him but he didn't respond. Before the extractor could chase him, Orlando stopped him with a hand and followed Arthur quickly. Eames scoffed, "I'm honestly not surprised that he'd prefer crying into his architect's arms as opposed to your scrawny arms,"

"Get out of my fucking sight," Adrian hissed.

Eames left, smirk on his face but not in his heart.

Eames almost dreaded coming to work the next day. His heartbreak translated so poorly into anger. He knew Arthur would hate him soon. He knew Adrian hated him already. Even then, Eames could not resist spitting malice at them both. It was the only way he knew how to cope even back when he was just Tommy, putting as much hate and abuse in his words when he spoke to his father and brother even though all he truly wanted to say was how his brother's desertion and his father's abuse made him feel so lonely and hurt.

He stepped into the warehouse, early this time, hoping to miss everyone and head straight to his office.

"Thomas,"

Adrian was by the table, watching him, this time in a fine cut, pitch black suit, "Ah, Adrian," Eames greeted, walking towards him, "I miss the gaudy colours. Black is just not your thing."

"Thomas, don't play stupid. You know what I'm here for," Adrian said emotionlessly.

"Arthur, of course," Eames replied.

"Stop harassing him," Adrian hissed, "Whatever personal issues you have with Arthur, you need to put that aside,"

Eames chuckled coldly, "God, look at you. How desperate are you? Arthur can defend himself. He doesn't need some dog barking away for him," He couldn't tower over Adrian so he settled with merely closing in with a harsh glare, "Bet that's the only way you'll get laid. Running around like Arthur's little bitch,"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said. Christ, at least have some balls when you're trying to pick a fight. Talk about sex and you play deaf," Adrian's cheeks were flushed at his words. Eames smirked at the reaction, "I bet you dream about it all the time, fucking Arthur over a desk, giving head, jerking him off. Maybe if you work hard enough, you'll finally get your cock into his tight arse," Eames pulled away, walking to his office with a victory in his mind.

Adrian laughed, pulling Eames out from his victory, "Is this what it's about? You want to make love to Arthur?" Eames turned only his head, staring at him through the corner of his eye, "On the contrary, Thomas, Arthur and I have been coupling almost every other night," Eames flinched, "The first time was our fourth mission together six months ago, successful mission. It was only fitting we celebrated. You should have seen him, lying beneath me, thighs spread like a flower, moaning my name till his voice went hoarse," Adrian knew exactly how to push Eames over the edge.

"Shut up," Eames growled, turning to him.

Adrian approached, now the predator to his prey, "I've caressed, tasted every part of Arthur," Adrian leaned in, lips ghosting over Eames's, "And he's done exactly the same to me. That's what you want, isn't it? It's a shame you'll never get it," Adrian chuckled cruelly, backing away, "Every part of Arthur belongs to me. His body, his heart, there's nothing he'd ever give you."

"No, not everything," Eames said. He doesn't know Neil. He doesn't have that. He didn't say anything. He didn't want Adrian to have Neil as well.

He threw a punch at Adrian instead, knocking him right in the jaw. Despite his wiry frame, Adrian was able to take the recoil fairly well and retaliate with a punch into Eames's stomach.

Arthur's entrance into the warehouse distracted them from their fight. He'd come in holding donuts and fresh coffee for him and Adrian to share. His eyes fell onto Eames but turned away immediately, "Adrian, got breakfast," He placed the sustenance onto Orlando's desk.

Adrian, saying nothing more, slipped over to Arthur and embraced him tightly. He planted a passionate kiss onto him. Eames expected Arthur to fight just like how he had when Eames kissed him. Instead, Arthur melted into his arms, returning the kiss ravenously. Adrian's arm's caressed down his waist, smoothing the folds. He pinched Arthur's sides, tickling him. Instead of yelping or jerking away, Arthur smiled, pulling away temporarily with a light-hearted 'stop' as Adrian continued tickling him during their kiss.

When they finally pulled away, Eames watched the heartfelt smile Arthur gave to Adrian, eyes squinting as he smiled. He had dimples, Eames couldn't remember that. Adrian knew Eames could only talk big. Adrian knew exactly how to protect Arthur from Eames. Claim his property completely right in front of Eames. In some cynical part of Eames's brain which hadn't been completely broken from Adrian's actions, he couldn't help but think he and Adrian really were just like dogs.

Eames left the warehouse immediately not looking back at the two. He could already picture the two of them smiling lovingly at one another, too lost in each other to notice anyone around them. He took his car, driving away as fast as he could. Orlando caught sight of him leaving, no doubt going to tell Arthur and Adrian when he entered the warehouse. He drove for nearly half an hour, aimlessly looking for something to distract himself with. As luck would have it, he came across a small daytime casino.

With a pack of forged poker chips from the glove compartment in his car, Eames entered. He played the slots for a while but when that bore him, he switched to roulette. He wasn't in the mood for poker or blackjack or anything he had at least a smidge of control in. If Eames could win big in a uncontrollable game, perhaps he could win again in his uncontrollable life.

"Eames,"

Eames knew who it was. He knew Arthur was behind him, calling to him. Eames ignored it, snapping a poker chip down onto square 52 before the roulette started again.

"Don't ignore me. You know we have to sort this through," Arthur talked despite Eames's continued silence.

"If I win this next round, you go on a date with me," Eames said as he placed his last three chips onto a square.

" Are you even listening to me?"

The roulette spun. The marble bounced, caught in the whirling motions of the wheel before finally settling upon 5. Eames sighed, standing up from the table and pushing past Arthur rudely. Arthur followed after him, watching that tweed-clad back fervently.

"Eames!" Arthur grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to look at him, "I don't know what Adrian said to you but please, just leave him out of this. Hate me all you want. Harass me all you want. Hell, hit me if you want to. I'm the one that hurt you, not him," Eames slapped his hand away.

"He doesn't love you, you know," Eames said without looking at Arthur.

"What?"

"He doesn't love all of you. He only loves clean-suits, sophisticated, stick-in-the-mud Arthur," Eames turned, slowly, "You know he'd leave you if he knew you used to be a sex hustler,"

"That's not true."

"Then why haven't you told him yet?" Eames asked. Arthur didn't say anything, couldn't say anything that wouldn't confirm Eames's statement, "I wonder what he'd say if I told him about everything, told him about Neil, New York, Kansas,"

"Don't you dare say a thing about Neil to him," Arthur said, almost growling, "Neil is...gone,"

His rage came suddenly just like it always had, "Gone? You think you could just forget your past?" And forget me with it? Despite how much I cherished your existence in my life?, "Here, how about I help you out?" Eames withdrew a stack of poker chips from his jacket, stuffing them into Arthur's hands, "You can cash those in, buy more of your fancy, little suits and fancy hair gel so you can keep pretending that if you make yourself pretty enough, you can change the fact that you used to be a whore and you loved it," His glare was growing poisonous. Seeing Arthur's apathetic expression made him slap the poker chips out from under his hands, "Get the fuck out of here, you harlot!"

His burst of anger was followed by a sudden rush of regret. He had lost control again; this wasn't supposed to happen anymore. Eames sighed heavily, resting his forehead into his palm, "Shit, Arthur, I'm sorry," He muttered.

Arthur merely knelt to the ground, collecting the fallen poker chips in his hand. At closer examination, he noticed something off about the chips, "Casino is spelled with one n,"

Eames snorted, taking a chip into his hand, "Really now?" He swallowed his smile, pocketing that one poker chip, "I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I've been trying to keep all of that under control," He smoothed a hand over his hair, fixing his comb-over style.

"Just, let's go back to the warehouse," Arthur didn't say much, still mortified by Eames's anger directed at him. Years ago, Neil never believed Tommy's rage would be directed towards him. Arthur left first, he didn't want to talk anymore.

"I love you," Eames said. Arthur didn't stop, didn't hear true feelings remained unheard. Just like always, he never could voice his true feelings. His rage always scared everyone away first.

When the two had returned, Eames constantly tried to talk with Arthur, apologize for lashing out. Arthur wouldn't listen, wouldn't stay. He kept himself occupied with the others, locking his door whenever he went to his office. This led to Diane and Orlando awkwardly acting as unsuccessful liaisons between them. Adrian merely kept glaring at Eames anytime he passed him.

The day went by slowly, only picking up when the rest of the team was ready to run a simulation of their plan. Eames volunteered to be the dreamer, quickly taking Orlando's designs into his head. Adrian kept his eyes pinned on Eames, trying to read the tricks he knew Eames was planning in his mind.

"You better not try anything stupid," Adrian said, laying back in his lawn chair as he inserted the IV.

"Would never dream of it," Eames replied, sticking the IV into his arm. He watched as Arthur reluctantly pushed the IV into his flesh, keeping his eyes away from everyone in the team.

"Good luck everyone," Diane said, activating the PASIV.

The fruition of their work came to be and it was absolutely perfect. With Arthur's research and Orlando's design, they had created a flawless Iraq army base. Orlando was the mark, using his architectural abilities to craft his subconscious into soldiers.

"I will be extracting projections of memories in the deeper recesses of the base. Thomas, you do it the old-fashioned way, impersonating this second in command," Adrian briefly quickly, pulling on a quick disguise, "Arthur, you're on standby," The two nodded to Adrian, splitting up in three directions after.

As the point man, Arthur was used to playing standby. He had no particular skills unique to him during the dream. He stayed out of sight, his appearance would make him stand out immediately in the crowd of projections. While hiding in a deserted alley, a pitch black butterfly caught his eye. It was out of place, certainly not one of Orlando's design. On its wings, Arthur noticed thick black lines drawn upon them like tribal calligraphy.

"No way," He whispered, watching as the butterfly fluttered towards a door by the end of the alley. If it had been anything else, even Eames himself, Arthur would've never taken the bait. But that butterfly, it'd always have a special place in Neil's heart. Arthur followed the butterfly, pushing open the door and entering the building.

Leaving the harsh military base in Iraq, Arthur entered what appeared to be a fancy apartment. The decor was almost regal and everything was well ordered except for the far table in the back covered in bits and pieces. There was a whiteboard at the very back with a single word written on it: Darling. A trail of arrows led Arthur into a bedroom. Upon the desk was a half-eaten pulled pork sub and a red die. It must have been Eames's desk. He took a folder off the table, examining its contents. They were reports about how his family had been doing. At the very back was a report on Neil, tucked away, stating that he had enlisted into the military.

"Eames," He whispered, shutting the folder. The black butterfly appeared again, this time fluttering its way to the front door. Arthur followed it, opening the door and entering the trinket store.

Arthur was honestly surprised how well it was replicated right down to a thin layer of dust over the top shelves, "It's dangerous to reproduce dreams via memory," Arthur called out, wandering deeper into the store, "You might start confusing reality and fantasy," His eyes fell upon a box set of red dice, the set he had bought when the manager had caught the two playing like children. He picked it up, examining it before leaving it back on the shelf.

He was about to leave the store through the backdoor, which had a butterfly drawn upon the door, until he stumbled over a metal case. Arthur knelt and picked it up. He instantly recognized it as that awful looking metal box he and Tommy had never figured out how to open. The metallic hands constructed from tubes were interesting but everything else appeared rustic and unpleasant. Why would Eames want to show me this? He pried the box open a little, trying to peer inside in case Eames had sealed something he meant for Arthur to find. He gave up shortly after, dropping the box and leaving the trinket store.

He stood in Tommy's bedroom. Tommy's bed, with the covers all tossed around, still looked just as inviting as it had years ago. Arthur bent down, stroking the covers. They were warm just like that time when Tommy held him against his chest when he had cried himself to sleep. His eyes fell upon a metal garbage can in the corner with smoke rising from the opening. Arthur peered over the container, noticing a sleeve of fabric dotted with blood poking out from the ashes. The shirt Tommy burned...

Even though the intent was to rid the souvenir of his awful experience from the world, the sight of it still made Arthur queasy. He left the apartment quickly, not bothering to wait for the butterfly to guide him out. On his way out, Arthur noticed something peculiar. The apartment was too clean; there wasn't a single pill bottle or beer bottle laying around. He didn't think much of it and left anyway.

The final destination was the locker room, the place they had last met. Tommy sat on the bench, dressed only in his mixed martial arts regulation shorts. His hair was a messy flop just as it always had been before he became a forger. It would have been a perfect forgery of Tommy if he hadn't gave him that soft, sad smile only Eames was capable of giving.

"Arthur," 'Tommy' started, in an obvious English accent, "I'm sorry for giving you a hard time," He stood, walking over to Arthur. He felt almost silly from how contrasting the two looked at this moment, "It's just, god Arthur, you have no idea how important Neil was to me,"

Arthur looked away; the passion from Eames's voice was almost painful, "I forgive you. Just don't do it again and we'll get on with our lives," His voice was cold, clinical, "We need to get back to our job,"

"I couldn't move on," Eames ignored him and continued talking, "Neil, Arthur, you were the single person I could never let go of. The single person who loved me despite my flaws. My constant in this ever-changing, uncontrollable world. My totem," He brushed Arthur's cheek gently with the back of his knuckles, "I would've loved you forever,"

"I thought you were dead," Arthur said, cutting through Eames's passion, "Your brother said he received your death certificate. I thought I'd never see you again. What else was I supposed to do? I loved you, but I'm still a human being. I fell in love again. I moved on."

"If you knew I was still alive, would you have moved on?"

Arthur was silent. The softness in his expression made Eames feel weak. His second hand came up, stroking the other side of Arthur's face, "Adrian only loves one side of you. I love everything about you,"

"Yes,"

Eames cocked his head, confused.

"I would have moved on, even if I knew you were still alive," Arthur said. Eames's hands only pulled away briefly before pausing when Arthur pulled himself close and rested his forehead upon Eames's, "You were right. I can't cover up my filth with new suits or a new name. There's too much shit in Neil's life that I could never wash away. That's why I threw everything about Neil away, Neil's worthlessness, Neil's incompetence, even if that meant throwing Tommy away, as painful as that was to do," He choked the words out weakly but with complete sincerity. His eyes were sad, so unlike the clinical Arthur and so much more like Neil back at Boardwalk, "It's not you, it's me," Despite the seriousness of the moment, Eames and Arthur couldn't help chortling sadly at the generic line.

Arthur shut his eyes briefly, reopening them to see Eames in Tommy's place complete with gelled hair and poorly fitting suit, "Forgive me, Tommy,"

Eames's arms circled him. When Arthur didn't fight, Eames clasped onto him tightly, hugging him flush against his body, "Always," He released him slowly, running a hand through Arthur's gelled hair, ruffling it, "You can't just run away from your past," He said. Eames tried it firsthand. Even so, his malice and rage still leaked through.

Arthur's fingers pressed in between Eames's hair, messing it up just as Eames had down to his, "Maybe so,"

Music began echoing through the air. Their dream was ending.

The simulation was a failure. Eames claimed that he got distracted by some inconsistencies in the dream so he passed the job of the 'dreamer' to Arthur who was far more stable. Other than this, the job went off flawlessly. From then on, Eames kept his comments relevant and constructive as opposed to hate-filled. Arthur and Eames still avoided talking with each other but when they had to, their talk stayed professional. Adrian eventually stopped glaring at Eames, opting to just treat him with clinical professionalism. He still clung to Arthur lovingly, still trying to prove to Eames who Arthur had picked. Eames couldn't blame him; he would've done the same.

The job was complete. The team had a brief celebration with takeout food and cheap beer. With that, the team split up and began cleanup duty making sure they leave nothing traceable behind. All important documents were left to Arthur for government storage. Everything else, burned.

Eames sat in his room, windows wide open so he wouldn't suffocate. He tossed the papers into a flaming garbage can, coughing as a gust of wind threw smoke in his direction. He reached for the tapes next, nudging the can closer to the window with his foot.

"Thomas?" Orlando stepped in.

"Orlando, how was your day?" Eames greeted, tossing a tape into the fire followed by a sluice of gasoline when the fire began to die.

"Good, I was just wondering about something between you and Neil," Orlando said. Eames jerked his head up at his words, "You two, you've reconciled, right?"

Eames stood from his seat, closing the door behind them. He was glad his room was soundproof. Even if Arthur didn't love him, he'd respect his wishes of leaving Adrian ignorant to Neil, "How do you know of Neil?"

Orlando chuckled, taking a seat by the door, "Neil and I were friends since high school," He lifted a hand up, gesturing a handshake, "Eric Preston. And you, you're Tommy...Conlon?"

"Surprised you knew my real name,"

"Don't be. Neil was freaking obsessed with you," Orlando replied with a chuckle, "When we were in college, Wendy said you disappeared," Eames pondered, Wendy, that girl Neil had lived with back when he was in New York, "Neil freaked out when he heard that. You have no idea how badly he wanted to see you again,"

Eames smiled warmly; he couldn't hide his happiness, "So, is that why he got into the dream business?" He asked initially. Immediately, he retracted his question in his mind. Arthur thought Tommy had died till now.

"Kind of, I take it Neil never told you how he got into the dream business?"

"Never asked him. Figured he'd never tell me," Eames watched as Orlando checked the walls, scanning the door quickly, "Don't worry. I requested a soundproof room,"

"Figured, never heard you practicing," Orlando said, turning back to Eames, "Anyway, Neil wanted to see you really badly. He got into research, point man research. Back then, I just called him a crazy stalker. I figured he was just googling names or checking Facebook. My fiancée, a friend of Neil's, only told me the year he was arrested that he and Neil had been hacking government records to find information about you,"

Eames felt as if his stomach collapsed on him. Eyes wide and disbelieving, Eames's mouth twitched with words but was unable to make any come out.

"It happened when Neil joined the army. Hal was caught first and Neil was pulled in afterwards. But, Neil participated in something called Project SOMNACIN. That saved him and Hal. Some men took them away and that was it,"

"Thank god," Eames said, dragging his hands over his face in relief, "What about you? How'd you get here?"

Orlando shrugged, smirking, "Hanging with the wrong crowd, I guess. Hal and Neil became point men. They went looking for an 'architect' and somehow, I got hooked in. I guess that happens a lot." Orlando stood, brushing his clothes off, "Anyway, I just wanted you to know that Neil loved you for a very long time, more than anything in this entire world. Letting go of 'Neil' and becoming 'Arthur' was one of the most painful things he had to do because it meant leaving you behind."

"Don't hate him. Please,"

Eames nodded, sad smile on his face, "Okay,"

Orlando headed to the door, opening it and taking a deep breath, "You might want to take your burning outside. Your clothes are getting dirty,"

"Not a problem for me," Eames replied, giving him a nod as he left. Eames turned back to the weak fire burning in his trash can. Eames tossed the tapes in one at a time. His words gave him solace: Arthur truly loved him and it was his own conviction to start anew that made him relinquish that love. Somewhere, that abandoned part of Neil floating around in Arthur still burned with passion for Tommy Conlon.

And thanks to him, Neil found his gift in the point man business. Eames laughed, tossing the last tape into the fire.

Eames nudged the garbage can closer to the window; the smoke had gotten thicker from the tapes. Even though he'd do anything in the world to have Arthur for himself, Eames swore to protect Arthur from Neil, to free Arthur from the past he hated so much. It was Neil's final wish and he'd promise to guard it forever.

As he watched the smoke billow out the window, Eames reached a hand and traced the butterfly tattoo upon his neck. His fingers came away sooty but Eames didn't mind. He shut his eyes; A part of Neil would always be engraved into his body. Likewise, a part of Tommy would always be engraved in Arthur Riordan's name.

Eames was personally invited into his next job by the head extractor. While Eames read the briefing on the plane, he recognized the head extractor as 'Dominic Cobb', that man who extracted secrets from university professors. Apparently, he had gotten real big in 'symbolic extraction' using safes and banks so the mark will project guarded secrets into him. What do you know? It really would work out. Adrian would be furiously embarrassed.

Speak of the devil, Adrian was the second extractor on the job which meant Arthur wouldn't be far behind. Arthur Riordan, best point man in the industry. Eames laughed at the pretentious title Arthur had received. What caught his attention even more so was the notice pinned to his profile, his signature scribbled on with blue pen. It was Eames's recommendation signed personally from Arthur.

The final profile was the architect. Mallorie Cobb, Eames recognized her photo immediately. The new last name threw him off, making him laugh hoarsely. If the two hadn't dabbled in dreams, they would have never met. And now they were married too.

The absurd thought of marrying Arthur flashed in his mind but he quickly hushed it.

The next workplace was a spacious apartment in London. Unlike the warehouse in Chicago, this apartment was far roomier with fully furnished offices and fancy reclining chairs in the main room beside a multifunctional desk.

"Bloody hell," Eames said, entering the apartment. There was even a plant in the corner. A freaking plant.

"You must be Eames," Dom said, sitting up from the reclining chair, holding his hand out, "I am Dominic Cobb, the head extractor for this team,"

"Pleasure to meet you," Eames replied, shaking his hand coolly, "Been a long while, hasn't it," Eames said, examining the beard Dom had grown and his professionally slicked back hair.

"Sure has. Mal thought you'd never make it big. I rooted for you though," Cobb said, chuckling, "Anyway, Arthur told us a lot about you,"

Eames smirked, "Nothing but good news, I hope,"

"Oh the best, he said you were the best forger he's ever worked with," Cobb said, smiling, "Adrian said otherwise but heck, I trust Arthur far more than I trust Adrian. He was the one who recommended gelling my hair back."

"Most definitely," Eames said, the two men laughing together before heading to the chairs to wait, "Where are the others?"

Dom crossed his leg, peering over at the door, "Mal is resting at the moment in one of the side rooms. She's five months pregnant," Dom said, smiling cheekily, "This will be our second child," Eames gave him a tiny, playful applause, "Are you single, Eames?"

"Obviously," Eames replied, "Does a face like this look like it could stick to one man?"

Dom laughed again, smoothing back his hair, "I like you already Eames," Dom paused for a second, scanning over the profile, "Sorry, your given name is Thomas, right? My apologies, Arthur always calls you Eames."

"Eames is fine, I like Eames," Eames said.

"Speak of the devil and he will appear," Eames recognized that immediately to be Adrian. He turned his head, watching as Adrian entered with Arthur by his side, "We were just talking about you. I figured you'd be late again,"

"On the contrary, Adrian, I'm perfectly punctual when I need to be," Eames smirked to him.

"Now that the team's here, let's get started with briefing," Dom stood from his chair, walking into the side rooms, "Mal? They're here,"

The briefing was simple, by most standards. Their mark was a serial rapist-murderer who'd kidnap his targets, torture, and then kill them. From the police reports received, he'd lock them away in hideouts all along the countryside. During his arrest, the man swallowed a poison capsule. With resuscitation, the medics rendered him comatose. He had four hostages when he was arrested and no leads to where his secret hideout was. This was where extraction came in.

"So a simple extraction, we get in there and we find out where his hideout is," Dom said, writing the goal upon his whiteboard, "Because he is comatose, his subconscious will be accelerated so they'll be hypersensitive to any threats to the subconscious like an extraction. This is where two extractors come in," He turned to Adrian, pointing his marker briefly at him, "We have two simultaneous extractions."

"So which one will be the distraction?" Arthur asked.

"Adrian's, of course," Eames replied, swinging over on his swivel chair to face Arthur, "Memory projection extraction requires us to observe a set of projections reproducing a memory. Given the hypersensitive projections, our proximity in order to observe said projections will put us in far more danger than symbolic extraction,"

"Exactly, symbolic extractions doesn't require dealing with projections which reduces the risk," Dom finished. Eames turned to Adrian, shooting him a quick, smug smirk, "Mal will be sitting this one out since she's pregnant," He nodded to Mal who sat closest to him, "So I will be performing the symbolic extraction alone. Arthur, Eames, you two will be with Adrian to protect him when he performs the extraction,"

Adrian nodded, leaning forward in his chair, "Fair enough,"

Mal turned to Arthur, "Do you have the information ready for me to craft the dream?"

"Actually, that's something I'd like to bring up," Arthur said, picking up the thin folder provided to him, "The higher-ups only gave me a description of his crime and condition. I wasn't even given a name or a name to his victims,"

"Iffy," Eames added.

"I've tried to do research with that small bit of information. I found absolutely nothing. It's like his information is purposely being blotted out from us," Arthur explained, "Don't you think there's something strange about this case?" Eames and Adrian shrugged, simultaneously, then shot a glare at one another, "This isn't any particularly special case. There's no need for the best forger, the best architect, or the best extractor to be on this case."

"You forgot best point man," Eames, and Adrian, said at the exact same time. Only difference being Eames tacking 'darling' at the end of the statement. Once again, they shot glares at each other.

Mal took a cup of tea and sipped it slowly, "I've worked with extraction from a serial killer before. Generally, they want professionals to deal with these cases since the imagery can get jarring,"

"But this many top professionals for a single case? I'm sure there are plenty more available professionals for this,"

"Could be some really bad imagery," Adrian said, "Maybe that's why they gave us sparse information. If they gave us more, it could've turned us off." Adrian stood, stepping into Dom's place as the man took a seat, "In any case, it is still a job and we have to get on with it. Arthur, any information about the mark's location?"

Arthur flipped through the folder, "Kansas, in a small town," He looked up, "I used to live in Kansas. I can provide details for Mal," His eyes caught with Eames's briefly before he pulled away, "I'll get started on that with Mal,"

"Good, Adrian and I will be briefing each other on our extraction patterns. Eames, you're on standby for now. We'll only be able to tell if forgery is necessary after we enter the dream," Dom placed his marker down, "Briefing over, everyone to work,"

While the others worked, Eames found himself meandering around trying to distract himself. He eventually found himself stretched out on the couch, eyes trickling over the miscellaneous objects on the tables. His eyes fell upon a tiny top, so out of place amongst the practical items. He reached for it, only to have Mal take it off the table before he could even brush his fingertips to it.

"Sorry, you can't touch this or else it'd ruin it's function," Mal said, a small smile on her face, "This is my totem,"

She looked ready to explain the function before Eames cut in, "A constant, to check if this world is reality," She honestly looked surprised which made Eames smile cheekily.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Arthur told me. He has one too. A red die," Eames said. Mal giggled a bit at the mention of his totem, "What is it?"

"Oh, just thinking about how we came up with totems together. Dom and I took forever thinking ours up. Arthur knew what he wanted right away. He spent days making his totem, trying to get the weight just right," Mal laughed, sitting down beside Eames, "We told him to change it to something simple, he refused. He was like a kid back then."

Eames smiled, thinking of Neil sitting there crafting a die and failing over and over again, "And now he's a man," He said to himself, "Maybe I should come up with a totem. What are the rules to it?"

"Well, it has to have a 'function' that allows you to concretely check if you're in reality. For example, my top will spin forever in a dream but tumble in reality," She held the top up in her fingers, "You also must fix the weight so you can do a brief check for reality by feeling if the totem is of the correct weight."

"And no one must touch it, or else they could rig it to the right weight if they were the dreamer,"

"Exactly,"

"Mal?" Arthur called out, leaving his office with a folder in hand, "I've gotten some brief details about the setting. Would you like to go over them together?"

Mal patted Eames on the shoulder before leaving to debrief with Arthur. Even though Arthur spoke to Mal, Eames could notice his eyes always shifting over to him. Now, Eames had several hours to kill. He spotted mechanical tools in a storage room by the back hall. Forgery was always his speciality. It'd take him no time to craft a totem. Now he just needed a concept to forge. He dropped his hands into his pocket, withdrawing a red poker chip.

Get the fuck out of here, you Harlot!

Eames cringed, crushing the poker chip in his hands. He certainly would never forget this poker chip. It forever carried one of his most regretted moments in his life. He looked to the power tools, rubbing the chip between his fingers. He shut the door and began crafting his totem.

While in the middle of hollowing out his poker chip, a knock came from the door. He shut off his tools, turning to see Arthur entering the storage room, "We're grabbing lunch. What do you want to eat?"

Eames smirked, "Same thing I always eat,"

"Pulled pork sub, honey mustard, toasted," Arthur said.

A chortle came from Eames as he stood, placing the power tool aside and tossing his goggles to the table, "Arthur, this was a really bad idea," He reached backwards, closing the door behind Arthur.

"I don't understand what you mean,"

"You know exactly what I mean," He closed in on Arthur, backing him up onto the wall while he rested his weight upon his palm at the wall, "Why am I in here crafting a totem, Arthur? Why am I not out there busy with work?" Arthur said nothing, watching him intently, "Dom was right. My skill set is irrelevant in this situation. So why did you recommend me?"

Arthur paused, Eames picked it up immediately, "Should the occasion arise,"

"But it won't," Eames replied, "You recommended me because you wanted to see me again," He felt Arthur's breathing slow down. He felt his body heat rising. His body weakened, slumping against the wall. He could see the bliss in Arthur's expression. It took him everything not to pin Arthur to the wall and take him right there, "For the record, you're doing a very poor job at leaving your past behind."

"I'm trying," Arthur muttered, taking in a huge breath.

"What kept me going through that last mission we had," Eames said, backing away just a bit, "You said you loved Adrian. You said you had to throw Neil away and move on. But not once did you say you stopped loving me," He backed away from Arthur, turning back to the work desk, "That's why I can't be with you. You were doing so well in breaking away from Neil. I'm not going to ruin it for you,"

Arthur reached forward, brushing Eames's shoulder gently with his hand. Eames smiled but didn't look back, "Thank you," Arthur left the storage room. Eames returned to hollowing his poker chip, forging a new memory into the chip's existence.

By the afternoon, Eames had loaded the chip with metal so it was several times heavier than any normal chip. He sealed the chip with a soldering iron. When it cooled, he practiced flipping it through his fingers, rubbing it with his thumb. Like Mal's top, the totem's function was trivial in reality but in his dreams, he'd imagine multiple chips birthing from the one rolling in his fingers.

He left the storage room, noticing that Dom and Mal had already left. Adrian was half out the door, nodding to Eames before heading out with his briefcase. Eames let out a decidedly unmanly yelp when he felt something prod at his left side just below his ribs. He turned, watching as Arthur walked past him coolly, briefcase in hand.

"Oh you little minx," Eames grumbled under his breath as he reached out, pressing his fingers deep into Arthur's sides, brutally tickling him. Arthur yelped and struggled hard when he couldn't break free, "Thought you'd get away with that, hm?" Eames said with a smirk.

Arthur fought the urge to laugh, words coming out in half-laugh, half-yelps, "Eames! Stop!" He shoved Eames's hands, losing his grip on them as they skittered up and down his sides prodding at his ticklish spots. He dropped the briefcase, dragging Eames along with him as he tried to pull away and escape. In a hysterical desperation, Arthur reached forward and pinched at Eames's sides. In surprise, Eames flinched forward inadvertently pushing Arthur and himself over the edge of a couch. The two released each other, toppling over the couch and rolling till Arthur ended up on top.

Eames examined their position before turning his attention to Arthur breathless, flushed red, with clothes rumpled and loose, "To what do I owe this pleasure?" He said, drinking in this beautiful sight before him.

Arthur huffed, still smiling straight into Eames's pleasant grin, "Eames, you're such a troublemaker,"

"And you love me for it," Eames replied, patting at Arthur's chest, "Come on. Adrian's waiting for you,"

Arthur nodded, getting up slowly and fixing his clothes. Eames followed after, picking up Arthur's briefcase and handing it to him. The two shared a quick smile before Arthur left. Eames returned to the storage room, picking up his totem from the work desk and rubbing it between his fingers. Not a dream.

The mission began the next day. Mal was a fast architect, constructing mazes in seconds. The criminal was brought in. His hair was greying and balding at the very top. He had a scraggly mustache and large cheekbones. Eames and Adrian both noticed Arthur looking at the man, examining him a bit too often to be normal.

"Is something wrong?" Adrian, and Eames, said at the same time.

"Stop that already," Eames said quickly, folding his arms.

"It's nothing, I thought I recognized him from somewhere," Arthur said, shaking his head, "Is he hooked into the PASIV?" Arthur took an IV, plugging himself in and reclining in his chair. Dom, Eames, and Adrian followed suit.

Mal stood by the PASIV, preparing the machine, "Alright, good luck guys," She activated the PASIV.

Dom was the dreamer, perfectly replicating a dingy little town based on Arthur's own descriptions. As planned, Dom was elsewhere from the team, probably looking for a bank or safe. Adrian, Eames, and Arthur found themselves in a wretched looking park.

"It looked this rustic in Kansas?" Adrian asked, walking out of the park.

"Mostly, I didn't like it very much," Arthur replied. Eames kept his eyes scanning the environment, "Eames, is something wrong?" The three exited the park, heading into the neighbourhood.

The park had been filled with children playing. Eames disregarded that as a normality. However, when they were in the neighbourhood, all there was were children peeking out windows, playing in driveways, sitting by the porches.

"What the hell is going? The projections are all children,"

"I figured so," Adrian replied, turning to Eames, "Why they kept information hidden from us. This man was a serial killer and rapist to children. The higher ups must've been afraid that we'd turn down the job if they told us the truth,"

Arthur shook his head, "Come on, let's just get the job over with then. Dom needs a distract-" Arthur froze, his eyes falling upon a bungalow that was illuminated by a blue glow by a porch light despite it being daytime.

Adrian caught on immediately. That house was far more detailed than the other houses Dom had conjured, "This must be the mark's projection. Come on," Adrian headed to the bungalow, twisting the door knob slowly and walking in. Eames followed but hesitated when he saw a look of almost fear in Arthur's eyes.

To their absolute disgust, the entire house was decorated like a child's paradise. Video games sat by the television. The kitchen was packed with junk food. Adrian covered his mouth, threatening to throw up at the implications this house held.

"What's your name?"

It was a man's voice, the only adult voice they heard from a projection. Eames and Adrian kept their distance as they peered into the living room, watching the man, obviously a younger version of their mark, speaking to a little dark haired boy. The boy looked hesitant, taking the microphone in his hands and holding it to his lips.

"How disgusting," Eames hissed quietly.

The boy spoke, "Neil,"

Eames froze. There was no way. This couldn't have been the same Neil. His eyes fell upon the little league photo on the table, then to Arthur quivering in fear. His gaze fell back onto the adult, grooming the boy with disturbing excitement. This was the man who ruined Neil, raped him, stole away all his innocence. A small whimper from Arthur as the man pressed his finger into the boy's mouth was all it took to push Eames over. Rage burst from Eames's body. The burst was so sudden, so sporadic, it felt like some raging animal burst free inside his mind and rampaged his subconscious, tearing everything into fiery little bits.

Eames grabbed Adrian, tossing him back into Arthur before pulling out a gun, emptying the entire clip into the projections. The room was splattered with blood, marking all the tokens the man must've used to lure children into his trap. Adrian would've have berated Eames had he not caught sight of Arthur, cowering and crying.

"Arthur?" Adrian said, reached for him.

"No!" Arthur shouted, his voice tight and hysteric. He turned back to the front door, pushing it open only to end up in a bedroom, "No, no, no," He whimpered, struggling wildly when Adrian followed him in and grabbed his arm.

"Arthur, what's the matter?" He froze at the sight of the bed.

It was the serial killer again, slightly older, lying in the bed naked smoking a cigarette. A boy lay beside him, an older boy, at least in his preteens. The boy was naked, laying beneath the sheet smiling up at the older man. The smell of sweat and musk revealing exactly what had happened. The boy beside the man unmistakably was Arthur, at a younger age.

"Neil, my angel," The man said.

"My sex god," The boy replied.

Another man fell on the bed, bleeding from another memory, "Fuck me," The man looked over his shoulder, away from Arthur towards the projection of Neil heading towards the man with a lusty expression, "Fuck me with your hot teenage cock," Arthur nearly screamed as Neil took the man's hips, enjoying every part of it.

Bullets rang out again, shooting up the room. Adrian grabbed Arthur, hugging him close to the floor as Eames rid the projections from their presence. Eames, through his blind rage, noticed that shooting the man did not make the younger Neil disappear. These weren't the mark's projections. These were Arthur's. He swallowed his rage, looking to the sniveling Arthur, "Arthur, you have to get your projections under control,"

"I'm trying," He whimpered in Adrian's grip, "I..." His voice cut short at the sight of another man by the door, fat, burly, naked, spinning a knife in his hands. Arthur shrieked, shuffling away from Adrian. Even as Adrian reached to protect him, Arthur fought till he could stand and run out the door in the bedroom.

Ending up in a bathroom.

"Slut's going to take it whether it wants to or not!" The projection closed in on him, reaching to strike Arthur over the head. The projection fell before he could strike Arthur. As the body fell, Arthur could see both Eames and Adrian both with their guns pointed at the man shooting simultaneously.

Arthur still shivered in fear. He broke out into a cold sweat. He was crying all out, eyes puffy and nose dripping from his hysteric weeping. He backed away from the dead projection, stopping when his legs hit the tub. He turned, his intention to check where the tub was relative to himself. His eyes caught his reflection.

There was Neil, in his blood soaked shirt, pupils blown wide open from crack, head bleeding severely. He looked back to the doorway, watched as Adrian looked on in absolute mortification. Arthur buried his hands into his face and cried without restraint. Eames lifted his gun, a mercy kill, and placed a bullet into Arthur's head. The projections around him disappeared immediately.

"Thomas!" Adrian shouted, pulling Eames back.

Eames placed the gun to his own temple, "Finish the job without me or Arthur, alright?" He said quickly before shooting himself in the head.

The first thing Eames heard when he woke was Arthur crying hysterically on his reclining chair. Mal was by his side, hushing him, wiping his eyes. Eames tore the IV from his arm, rushed to Arthur's side, and embraced him as tightly as he could. He grabbed Arthur's head, tucking it firmly against his shoulder as he stroked his back slowly.

"Neil, darling, it's okay. I'm here. You're safe now,"

Arthur took a deep breath, his back shuddered violently with sobs, "Tommy," He whimpered, gripping his shirt tightly, "Tommy, Tommy," He continued to cry out as he sobbed harder.

Eames shut his eyes, "I'll always protect you, Neil," He murmured into his hair.

Adrian and Dom woke up soon after. Dom was successful with his job but was thrown into disarray at the sight of Arthur breaking down in Eames's arms. Mal pulled him aside, informing him of what had happened. Adrian merely watched on as Eames continued to embrace Arthur with all his strength, soothingly whispering to him while Arthur continued to sob 'Tommy' into his shoulder.

It took Arthur two hours to calm down, or tire himself out from crying. Eames handed him over to Adrian. The extractor took Arthur into his arms, holding him close and intimately as Arthur stewed in his own silence. Eames turned to the comatose man, "Dom, Mal, you got the information, correct?"

"Sent it to the higher ups two hours ago. They say it's consistent with some evidence they got," Mal replied, taking over Arthur's job for reports. Dom watched over her shoulder as a second message came in, "It was a success. They found all the hostages," She said with a bright smile.

Eames nodded, "Good," He took the gun from his belt and emptied a clip into the comatose man. Dom covered Mal instinctively, pulling her away. Adrian kept his arms tight around Arthur even as he screamed at Eames. Eames heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing except pure, burning hatred. That burst of rage from the dream, it hadn't run out. It wasn't going to run out for a while.

In any other case, Eames would've been arrested right away. His position as the best forger in the business and the moral reputation they had just received for extracting from a paedophilic-serial killer had saved him. Government officials came in and cleaned up the mess, already planning on how they'd cover the man's death. Arthur had fallen asleep, emotionally exhausted. Adrian tucked him in, stroking his head gently before he left the room. Eames stood across from the door, leaning on the wall with his eyes turned down.

"Is he sleeping alright?" Eames asked.

"Yeah," Adrian replied, "Look, Thomas, I don't blame you. Really," He said, putting a hand onto Eames's shoulder, "I would have done the same. I just didn't have a gun on me,"

"I try to keep it under control, you know. This time, it just slipped,"

"For a good reason," Adrian said, "I mean, murder is never a desirable but this man, he deserved it for what he did to...to Arthur, to all his victims," Adrian leaned on the wall beside Eames, "Did you know all about that?" Eames nodded, still staring at the wall, "I see."

"We knew each other, long ago, back before either of us even touched dream-professions. His past, my past, those were secrets we shared. No one else was to know about them," Eames said, "I loved him so much, even with his past, his shame. I love him, all of him," He looked to Adrian, seriousness on his face, "What about you? Do you still love him after seeing all that?"

Adrian was quiet, he merely stared at the door in front of him.

"Do you love 'Neil'?"

"Yes,"

The two were quiet, staring at the door in front of them. Firm eyes fell upon Eames as Adrian spoke, "I still love him. I'll always love him, all of him," He took off his crimson jacket, resting it over his elbows, "I just wish he told me, instead of burying it all away. I would've accepted it, accepted him,"

"Arthur was trying to run away from Neil. That's what he told me. He hates Neil, hates his past,"

"You can't run from your past forever,"

"That's what I told him," Eames said, leaving the wall, "Take good care of him. He needs someone like you in his life," He walked down the hall, leaving Adrian by himself.

Adrian moved from the wall, "Thomas!" He shouted, "Aren't you going to wait for Arthur to wake up?"

"No, Arthur wants to leave Neil behind. He can't do that with me there," Because Tommy was Neil's everything and as long as Tommy remains, Neil will never truly be gone. The truth so beautiful to Eames could only give him pain, "Tell Arthur I said goodbye."

Eames disappeared from Arthur's life, to protect him from himself.


No matter what our lives will be
At least we can be true
Loving you, is the only thing I can't do

FINAL NIGHT - Bentley Jones