A.N: I'm not having the best time of it lately (I mean really, two bad days in a row?) but I'd like to think that things will get better. I mean today started with a lovely dream about singing a duet with Brendon Urie in a parking lot. That's got to count as sort of positive!

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or Codex Alera.

What happened when they entered the dreamscape was best described like so:

In scene thirteen of Space Bugs from Beyond Pluto's Fifth Moon, the intergalactic space team landed on the strange planet that played host to the space bugs that liked to devour, kill, and mimic those they encountered (usually in very graphic ways with lots of blood, guts, and screaming).

What Eames saw in Cobb's dream was about as bad.

The first thing that Eames became aware of was the environment- a squishy, sort of marshy area covered in vegetation- trees, moss, and grasses. But that most of the vegetation was covered in this kind of wax that sort of glowed. It glowed green, giving the whole dreamscape a weird, alien appearance.

It was humid and strange and as Eames perceived his new environment, he really only could see one similarity between this dream and the movies- the strange bug creatures that dotted the landscape.

The only difference was that these bugs were spider shaped, while the movie's bug monsters were like cockroaches with massive teeth.

Eames watched as a line of the strange spiders moved, fluidly, gracefully, towards what could only be a hive in the distance. The eight-legged creatures moved with a single-minded purpose.

"Don't move."

Eames froze on the spot, recognizing Cobb's voice, but not willing to move another inch so he could look in the other man's direction.

"Hey," he said instead, "do you normally watch this parade of spiders and feel a little disturbed, or do you manifest with a gigantic can of bug spray and wipe them out?"

"The only thing that works is to obliterate them completely, Eames. Fire, crushing, whatever you can manage."

Eames chanced looking to his left where Cobb stood, saying "So you really do fight them in your dreams?"

Cobb nodded. "I may die horrifically at the end, but I still take dozens of the little fuckers with me when I do go, Eames."

Eames would have said something about how he was impressed, but that was a little too close to one of his and Arthur's things. They had few things that they could claim as a couple- all the darlings, jabs about needing more specificity, and the bantering! Whether they were impressed or condescending, whether they had advised each other to dream a little bigger. There were things they said without truly saying because it wasn't for the rest to hear; when merry chases and requests to be back before the kick really meant 'Please come back to me safely, okay?'. No, those were private and special and belonged to them.

So, instead of saying he was impressed, Eames decided to acknowledge the work Cobb had already done in discovering the vulnerabilities of these creatures.

"Good for you, Cobb."


They didn't stand there and watch the bugs for long; after taking a few precautions to hide their presence, they began to run, using their earthcrafting to move with speed and swiftness, dampening the sounds of their footfalls with some woodcrafting when possible. They followed the path of the bugs and chatted as they went.

"Did you know that they're calling me the next Dom Cobb," Eames asked in a conversational undertone, staying close to Cobb as they ran, following the bugs to a certain point and then stopping- choosing the relative cover of a large, wax covered, green-glowing tree. They watched as the spiders continued moving towards a large tree, the size of a California Redwood, that was covered in glowing green stuff. Definitely the hive.

Cobb was silent, watching the bizarre creatures make their pilgrimage to the hive, to the nest, to the home base.

"The dreamshare community, I mean," Eames needlessly clarified for Cobb. "They're praising me up one side and down the other."

"Why are you telling me this," Cobb said, not distracted by this line of conversation. "I wouldn't think you'd care about who you're compared to…unless this is leading into another conversation about how crazy you think I am."

"While I'm flattered that the dreamshare community thinks I'm the next big thing in extraction, I don't want to earn your reputation for being stark, raving mad.'

Cobb chanced a quick glance in Eames's direction, the alien green glow of the substance coating the ground casting light on his features well enough that Eames could see the other man's disapproval.

"I'm not crazy."

"Sure."

"Really, I'm not. I experienced catharsis. I'm not grief stricken or feeling guilty."

"Yes," Eames allowed, briefly nodding his agreement, "but you still dragged Arthur back into one of your messes and he's going to help you because he's loyal to a fault. And that's why you called him up above."

"Phillipa needed her flying lessons…" Cobb's slightly evasive tone hinted that he knew how weak his claim was, but wasn't going to budge.

"It was a convenient way of getting him to come to your house. Because you needed him to be here in person to work your pitch." Eames's eyes narrowed. "And if you tried to manipulate the way he still worries over the safety of you and your children, how he still thinks of you for Mal's sake, I'll craft you into ribbons."

"…I don't know how to respond to that threat," Cobb whispered back. "Is that really a threat? Were you trying to threaten me?"

"I have five out of the six types of furycrafting- use your imagination, Cobb."

"Duly noted," Cobb whispered.

For a moment they observed the spiders in silence. Then they didn't.

"This has got to be the most boring mission in an alien dreamscape."

"You want to liven it up, Eames?"

"If only to see what else will happen, yes."

"Stop trying to hide your warmth- increase your temperature."

Before, Cobb had instructed Eames to do what he could to not raise his internal body temperature.

Without any firecrafting, Eames wouldn't be able to move heat and warmth like Cobb could- if it was cold, like it had been on the third level of the Fischer job, Cobb would have used internal crafting to not allow much heat to leave his body, keeping himself warm. Now, Cobb was using the same theory, but in reverse, allowing retention of his warmth to slip further and further, not bleeding warmth, but slowly siphoning an excess amount off so it was just enough to survive without.

Eames usually used his watercrafting to regulate temperature, using his water fury to increase blood flow to his extremities, to make it flow more easily. But that was to keep warm.

It wasn't as good as Cobb's firecrafting, so Eames did the only thing he could think of- he'd found the nearest body of water in this humid, marshy environment and jumped in. Though the air was humid, the water was cool, soaking Eames's shirt, pants, and shoes. Then, he used his watercrafting to encourage the heat to leave the water permeating his clothing, turning the water from a liquid to a solid. He changed the water into ice.

It was an uncomfortable run and an uncomfortable stakeout of the alien creatures- so when he was encouraged to release the crafting, Eames did so with a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and calling on his water fury.

Eames allowed the ice to become water which beaded off his clothes in heavy, fat droplets. The water fell from his clothing, making them merely damp rather than soaked. Then he made his blood flow strongly, increasing it till he could feel himself getting warmer. His icy fingers began to regain their pink color as warmth returned.

Then there was a piercing shriek from the line of spiders. Eames opened his eyes and saw something shocking. The nearest of the spiders had stopped dead. It then swiveled on the spot, turning till it's many eyes were facing in the dreamsharer's direction; the pale eyes turned a bright, alarming orange. The translucent white spider bobbed up and down on the spot, its eight spindly legs moving up and down in a jerky motion.

And as it continued its warning cry, other spiders in the line turned and did the same exact thing.

Eames manifested a gun and prepared to pick them off one by one. He had barely lined up his first shot when as a horde, as a murderous herd, the creatures swarmed towards them, focusing on Eames.

The ear-splitting alarm continued, carried from one spider to another. If Eames cared to look towards the tree, that hive adorned in that green waxy substance, he'd see that more of the creatures were spilling out, accompanied by larger, more dangerous looking bugs. But no, Eames was far too busy gaping at the oncoming attackers to notice that, finally forgoing his newly dreamed up weapon to call on his earthcrafting… which didn't work so well as the ground was covered, completely coated in that strange substance; it had some give to it, but Eames could see where his feet had made depressions too deep in the green stuff that it wouldn't spring back again- there was a jagged gouge mark from where he'd dug one heel into the ground. From this gouge mark, this wound, issued a (you guessed it) green fluid that Eames didn't dare touch. Eames watched with all the mystification of the horror movie victim who should be running away from the monster, not watching as it gets closer and closer. He watched first the ground and its leak of strange fluid, then he noticed the spiders quickly swimming their way through the stuff, blending in so well that Eames never would have known that he and Cobb had been crouching on top of them, watching the line of spiders from under a wax covered tree. Which was also now boiling with more spiders, eyes glowing orange.

Eames took his last few seconds before the attack to look at Cobb and say, "You couldn't have said anything about that, could you?"

The spiders hit them both like a wave; dropped down from the tree like overripe eight-legged fruit; surged from beneath the ground the only way horrifying alien creatures could. In a word, horrifyingly.

Eames was bitten across his arms and back, his legs and face, any bit of exposed skin or unprotected spot on his body was subject to the sharp piercing fangs and the poison that came with it.

Cobb was treated to the same. Before the former extractor's breaths were cut short, before he succumbed to the hallucinations, delusions, or convulsions, he said, "That was for saying I'm crazy."

But Eames was collapsing, either due to the poison working its way through his system or because of the weight of the spiders, each the size of a medium sized dog, latching onto him and biting and biting and biting.

Eames blacked out or died, waking up in Cobb's office with a lurch and an instinctive need to swat at the phantom prickling of spider legs, of piercing venomous fangs, briefly smacking at his shoulders, his neck, dislodging the IV from the PASIV and wincing at the stinging sensation. He glared at Cobb, who was already awake and carefully removing his IV.


"But why?" James asked. He was the picture of a morose little boy.

Arthur sighed and tried to explain one more time. "It's how it works. Sometimes it takes a little longer to come into your furies. Do you know how long it took me?"

James narrowed his eyes in a squint and pouted, Dom Cobb in miniature. "But that's different. Daddy says you were always capable, you just didn't know."

Now it was Arthur's turn to frown. First, James's father should know better. He couldn't just point to Arthur and say that before the military experiment he had no idea, that none of them did. The experiment gave them awareness, if they hadn't known already (like Eames had). Sure, Arthur hadn't known he was capable of furycraft before Project PASIV, but afterwards he came to realize that maybe he had claimed a fury all on his own long before his joining the military.

Arthur wasn't sure. It was just a feeling, but he couldn't ignore it entirely- he often wondered if maybe his first fury was Spot, who was nameless until a very young Phillipa had taken it upon herself to bestow a name on her uncle Arthur's air fury.

The wind wolf, Spot, was Arthur's strongest fury, his most loyal. Arthur couldn't help but think of bonding with his air fury when he was fairly young, maybe Phillipa's age even. When he was about her age he'd taken gymnastics, mostly after nixing every other idea for an extracurricular activity suggested by his parents who proposed this or that after-school activity, saying that it might be fun or that he might finally make some friends (though they were careful to never, ever say that out loud or to his face) presenting him with flyers and pamphlets, like they were offerings to appease an angry god.

Finding gymnastics to be the least objectionable, Arthur finally learned that he was good at something. That he had great balance, that he wasn't afraid of hard work and practice, that he liked the challenge of learning complicated routines. He learned to tumble, cartwheel, do a series of flips that would make the spectators clutch their heads in sympathy- but Arthur never faltered and rarely fell. He, a gangly guy just getting into his first growth spurt, making him feel a bit pressed thin, rolled flat, all skinny ankles and prominent wrists, with the puppyish large hands and feet which promised that he would become a great specimen, a big dog.

He felt awkward. Stuck in the middle of the change, more ugly duckling than swan, constantly tripping over his own feet. But when he practiced, when he competed, he felt graceful. When he was in the air, he was unstoppable.

He'd never know for sure if that was when he'd bonded with his air fury- it may have just been skill that kept from falling off the parallel bars, practice that helped him stick all of his landings.

But even now when he'd practice to stay limber and agile, Arthur could swear that Spot was helping him, even if it was just a careful, unseen adjustment to a landing, a little more air-time to complete a particular trick.

On a whim, Arthur took the kids outside, patiently abiding James's whining. This was just a difficult time for him, but it would be okay- he'd find his fury and then he'd take lessons for crafting, too.

Arthur was already dressed comfortably in a t-shirt and jeans, so he led the kids in a familiar game he thought might lift James's sour mood.

"Give me something hard, okay?" Arthur called after stretching.

Then the game started.

"You have to spell," Phillipa said, thinking for a moment longer before grinning, "Cantaloupe!"

Arthur mock rolled his eyes. "Just ten letters and only three syllables? I could spell that in my sleep!"

So after the kids backed away, Arthur ran forwards, hopping on one foot and sending himself flying end-over-end, first doing a somersault while calling out, "C!"

Then Arthur did a chart-wheel, finishing with, "A!" And so on and so on.

Arthur finished with a flourish, out of breath but pleased.

"Now it's your turn," Arthur said to James.


When Cobb and Eames came looking for Arthur, what they found was Arthur in the yard, helping James keep his balance while the boy focused on standing on his head. Uncle Arthur kept on hand close, pressing against James's back, ready to catch the boy if he had to.

"Okay, this is a hard one, but I know you can do it."

James, a little red in the face from being upside down, nodded shallowly so as not to fall by accident.

"Can you spell supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?"

"That's not a real word," James said with a grunt. And then he spelled it anyway, just really fast. "S- U- P- E- R- C- A- L- I- F- R- A- G- I- L- I- S- T- I- C- E- X- P- I- A- L- I- D- O- C- I- O- U- S."

"Very good!" Arthur praised James, giving the boy a little nudge forwards. It was something that James was clearly prepared for because the little boy fell forwards using the momentum of his fall to help him get to his feet.

Both Arthur and Cobb clapped for James.

"Good job, James," Cobb said to his son, as if he hadn't just woken up from a dream featuring disturbing alien bugs! "I bet you'll be able to do a full somersault next, all by yourself!"

Eames avoided saying anything. He wasn't in the right setting to say what he wanted to.

What Eames wanted to say was Fuck you, Cobb. Attack me with alien bugs in your damned dream? You'll love the traps I set for you the next time you need to go under…

Arthur noticed the flaring of annoyance and anger from Eames, unable to stop turning in his direction once he caught the emotions with his watercrafting. He simply raised his eyebrows in question, saying nothing when Eames quietly shook his head. Arthur decided it was time for a discussion about what they may or may not have found.

"Kids, why don't you play outside for a little while me, Mr. Eames, and your father have a chat?"

Phillipa, naturally curious, asked what the talk was supposed to be about. Before Cobb could send Eames a narrow-eyed glare that almost screamed don't you dare, the forger had already muttered, "Spiders. We're going to talk about spiders."

Eager to start the conversation without the children listening in, Arthur encouraged the kids to find their books or toys. They did as he asked, but they weren't dumb, they could tell that something was off. But they agreed to keep to the yard, to not practice any crafting without an adult present, that lunch would be in an hour and to behave because Arthur would know if they'd been up to something.

With that done, Arthur turned to the other men and gestured that they head back inside.


Arthur corralled the other two dreamworkers inside the house, closing the screen-door behind him and leveling them with a stare that most of dreamshare talked about- they called Arthur's irritated, demanding scowl a thing of beauty and terror. That it was possible to cry before him…

Neither Eames nor Cobb cried, but they did share a brief glance and then told him.

"Monsters."

"No," Eames said sharply, arguing with Cobb. "Not just monsters! They are weird, terrifying creatures and I can't believe I let you let them into my head!"

"I told you that people who share dreams with the afflicted have the same dreams afterwards!"

"Then you better be fucking glad you didn't get Arthur to come down into the dream with you instead!"

"Arthur wouldn't hurt me. He'd logically find a way to solve the problem!" Cobb said this defiantly, turning to Arthur for confirmation. "Right?"

Arthur still had that particular look on his face- the look that promised others that yes, he could totally read their every thought and no, there was no hope.

"Abandon all hope ye who enter here," Arthur drawled, taking just a little bit of pleasure as Cobb's face fell. "Come on, I know that something bad happened in the dream. If you just told me about it, I could have come up with a reason or an idea for why it was happening or what the fuck it is. But, since you've been so kind as to talk about what was in the dream, I've got a pretty good feeling I know what people are having nightmares about. It's the Vord."

Cobb's face fell and Eames, briefly, looked triumphant. He turned to Cobb and pointed at the man, "See? You see now that you didn't need him to go into the dream to learn about what the problem is? Because Arthur is brilliant! Arthur is wonderful! And if you sent him into that dream I would have made you pay!"

"By crafting me into ribbons?" Cobb asked, a little mocking as he remembered that part of the dream. "I still don't see that as threatening."

"I never said that you weren't a smart man, Dom. I usually say that you're crazy."

"I still don't like it when you tell me that," Cobb said, having the gall to sound a little hurt.

"And I still don't think that I deserved to be attacked by Vord. Because that's what they were. The Vord are infecting our dreams."

"I still don't know what it's supposed to mean," Cobb said. "None of us have figured it out so far, so I decided to bring the problem to you guys."

"Because we're the best or because you wanted to inflict your troubles on us?"

Arthur rolled his eyes at Eames. "No need to be over-dramatic, Eames. You will be fine, he will be fine, we'll come up with a solution to this problem. I'm beginning to think that we'll have to find that team and discover what in the hell they were working on, obviously."

Eames shot Cobb a dark look. "You knew that from the start."

"So you'll help? Its not just for me; this is much, much bigger!"

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Cobb," Arthur advised. "We'll look into it, but first, let's marshal our forces and do some research."

"I love it when you get into point man mode, darling." Eames couldn't help but be reassured by Arthur's straightforward answer, his immediate desire to research the issue, to plan rather than panic. It soothed Eames's slightly frazzled nerves and from the way Arthur smiled at him, the forger was certain that Arthur was well aware.

"Why thank you, Mr. Eames."


It started with Arthur attempting to rule out the simplest of explanations: the first being the Somnacin used by Cobb.

It led to him calling Yusuf, who didn't answer his phone. Instead, Ariadne answered for him.

"Yusuf's phone," the young architect answered.

"Hello Ariadne," Arthur replied, leaning against the hallway wall of Cobb's home, crossing his legs at the ankle and keeping one ear open for the noise of Eames and Cobb getting ready to murder each other (which he doubted would truly happen but didn't want to rule out just yet).

There was a half-a-beat of silence as Arthur tried to come up with the proper segue from polite greetings to a question about Somnacin which may or may not convince users that they see creepy, scary, alien creatures which want to kill them. So Arthur decided to jump into the water with his shoes on, so to speak.

"I need to talk to Yusuf about something really screwed up."

"Don't we all? The man could have become a therapist if he wanted to. He's stepped out for a second, but will be back pretty soon."

"Not really what I meant," Arthur said, referring to Yusuf's previously untapped potential as a therapist. "Have you heard?"

It turned out that she hadn't, so Arthur gave her the short version; basically, a more colorful version of 'it's something really screwed up' just with alien creatures known as Vord sprinkled on top.

And once Ariadne had made a note about it (in big capital letters, on a whiteboard affixed to Yusuf's fridge with magnets) they began to shoot the breeze about other stuff.

"So how are things with you and Eames?"

Arthur couldn't stop his smile; he always felt proud, so fucking happy, when someone he knew asked after him and Eames. They were having a great relationship, they hardly fought, and they continued to work together, making tons of money and an excellent name for themselves.

"We're doing great."

"I heard that Eames is being compared to Dom Cobb, that he's the next Dom Cobb."

"We know. Eames is obviously flattered."

Ariadne snorted. "I can tell. Yusuf tells me that you guys are lighting up dreamshare as the best extraction team."

It was definitely true. Arthur and Eames were making a name for themselves as the point man and forger (the forger who was also a very good extractor) to go to if you wanted an inception or an extraction. Because, as Eames had reasoned at the beginning, it was best to diversify and offer what few dreamsharers could.

"And how are you and Yusuf doing?"

Ariadne hemmed and hawed, kind of dancing around the issue before finally saying, "I'm almost suspicious, you know? Its going too well."

"I didn't think there was such a thing as 'too well'."

"Well there is. He's so sweet! He's so nice!"

Arthur was patient and cast his gaze up to the ceiling, totally able to imagine the look on Ariadne's face as she said this. "I'd take it that that apology went over very well."

"That was a year ago. He doesn't have to apologize to me for anything!"

But, call it instinct, Arthur was willing to call her on it.

"Really?"

"Well, I wouldn't say apologize."

Arthur could picture Ariadne taking a similar pose as him, maybe lingering around Yusuf's lab. She was probably biting her lower lip as she said this.

"It's been a year and we're great. I think we've got the foundations for something nice…but I think it kind of confuses him sometimes."

"The relationship, or being happy, or how not to accidentally piss you off?" Arthur offered up several reasons, giving Ariadne a chance to pick one or finally spit out the one that bothered her.

"We're together, but sometimes I don't think he understands what it entails."

Arthur sighed. "Do I have to sit him down and give him a talk- if you earthcrafted his brains out, it will be difficult, but if you really need to know I could-"

"No, no!" Ariadne quickly interrupted Arthur, stopping him mid-sentence. "I can understand what the problem is. Don't take this the wrong way, but I think he thinks that there's some standard he's not quite reaching in our relationship. He's comparing our relationship to others."

Arthur understood. "Me and Eames or Cobb and Mal?"

"To be honest, maybe a little bit of both. Sometimes I think he worries that our relationship isn't the end-all-be-all, let's court madness kind of love that Cobb and Mal shared, or even as enduring as yours and Eames's relationship."

Arthur was about to say something in response to that, but was interrupted by the presence of Eames at his side. The forger was quiet, holding up a pad of paper which said, "Can I murder Cobb, please?" And, just below that, "Did you want potato chips with your tuna sandwich?"

Not wanting to let Ariadne know he was talking to Eames, Arthur pointed to the first message and solemnly shook his head. He pointed to the second message and nodded.

Eames gestured for him to wait, flipping the page over and taking out a pen so he could write another question on a fresh page. When he was done, there was a new question. It said, "Barbecue or sour cream and onion?" And then, after a moment thinking about it, Eames quickly scribbled, "But are you certain that I can't murder Cobb, darling?"

Arthur shook his head again and made a waving motion with one hand, urging Eames to go back into the kitchen.

The point man continued his phone conversation, finding it hard to do. Arthur couldn't give relationship advice without sounding like a walking talking cliché; the friend (because Arthur really did consider the young architect to be a friend and thought that she might consider him the same way) who finally found that special someone who loved him completely. That if love were truly a battlefield, he'd made it through not exactly unscathed, but victorious with his lover at his side.

"You could actually talk about it," Arthur advised, thinking to himself 'with Yusuf and not me, with your boyfriend not your friend.'

As if his thoughts called the chemist to the lab, like the intensity of Arthur's repetitions made the star of the conversation appear.

"Hey!" Ariadne said to Yusuf, at least Arthur presumed that it was Yusuf rather than a burglar who she greeted so warmly. The phone was then pressed against Ariadne's chest, most likely, dampening the noise of the conversation she had with her significant other.

On his end of the phone connection, all Arthur could hear was the rhythm of their conversation; the ebb and flow of Ariadne's voice, which was a higher pitch than Yusuf's, along with Yusuf's replies which were no more than muted rumbles Arthur was only able to catch every other word.

Eames hadn't left. He touched Arthur's elbow and dropped his pad of paper to the floor so he could make a gesture with one hand, using his air fury to give them a little bubble of privacy so that their conversation wouldn't be overheard by Cobb, who probably still puttered away in the kitchen. Arthur felt the telltale pressure of the air against his ears, smiling in approval for Eames managing it so smoothly.

"Barbecue or sour cream, love? And are you absolutely, positively certain that I can't murder Cobb?"

"Barbecue is fine," Arthur said before addressing the other issue that had nothing to do with the flavor of the potato chips served with his tuna sandwich. "And, no, you can't murder Cobb."

Eames was close, but slid closer to Arthur, moving with one shoulder pressed against the wall till he was flush against Arthur's side. And since that wasn't good enough, he decided to move away from the wall and step in front of the point man, leaning forwards and blocking him in. Not that Arthur minded.

"I can't wound him?" asked Eames as he braced his forearms against the wall, neatly framing Arthur's face, neck, and shoulders.

"No," Arthur said, doing what Ariadne had probably done- he pressed the phone against his chest, to muffle the sounds of their already muffled conversation. He briefly wondered if the phone was close enough to his heart, would the listener on the other end be able to hear the way his heartbeat had begun to speed-up as Eames drew himself closer?

"I can't incapacitate him?"

"Sorry, no."

"Are you certain? Not even if I changed incapacitate to enthusiastically harass?"

"You get points for creativity," Arthur allowed, but stuck with his previous answer. "But no enthusiastically harassing Cobb. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars."

"You know I dislike Monopoly. Why don't we play a different game?" Eames had pressed his body closer to Arthur's and they fit like puzzle pieces, like silverware in a drawer. "Like Seven Minutes in Heaven."

"We'd need a closet," Arthur said, smiling as Eames pressed a kiss against his cheek then took the opportunity to press another against the side of the point man's neck as he continued his pitch.

"We'll start a new version, then. We'll call it Seven Minutes in Heaven- the Hallway edition."

Arthur nudged Eames with one hand, pushing him away slightly with one hand against the forger's chest.

"Making out with me isn't going to change my mind," Arthur reminded him after he double checked his phone. He hadn't been hung up on and he hadn't hung up on them, so that was good. When he put the phone to his ear, he could still hear them talking, and when he checked his phone he noticed that less than a minute had gone by.

Eames snorted, moving to Arthur's side, back against the wall and ready to behave himself, but slanting a smirk Arthur's way.

"Making out is for high school students, darling. I was trying to seduce you."

Arthur glanced at his phone again and then pressed the speakerphone button.

"I didn't need to hear that," Yusuf groused. "I really, truly didn't need to hear that."

"And why is that?" Eames asked, perfectly conversational.

"Because it's bad enough that I have to deal with how perfectly in love you both are. I don't want to know the details about you seducing Arthur."

"Got it," Eames said.

"That doesn't mean 'Tell me more, Eames'. I want you to understand that, okay?"

"Don't I know it," Arthur agreed. "Even I get bored of the constant plans I hear for seducing me- he's already got me, I'm a safe bet!"

Yusuf cleared his throat. "She's…she's not in the room, I'm not on speakerphone, so let me have it."

The chemist sounded so defeated that Arthur shot Eames a look, gently shaking his head. Because he knew that Yusuf wasn't really referring to the purpose of the call so much as the problem that presented itself during the conversation. Probably best to get this taken care of first...

"Am I a bad boyfriend?" the chemist asked.

"Define bad boyfriend," Eames asked.

"He needs some specificity," Arthur added in, nodding to himself as if the world would be a better place if there were more specificity, period.

"I love her a lot."

"That sounds terrible," Eames said in a shocked tone of voice. "How dare you be so mean to your girlfriend, who also loves you!"

"I think I'm missing something. There's something I'm not doing, but every time I ask, she says nothing's wrong. We're comfortable with each other, we're attracted to each other- she visits in Mombasa and I go to Paris. We call, we text, we email, and we Skype. But I still think that I'm not doing something right…"

"Have you spoken to her about it?" Arthur asked, feeling like he was having the same conversation as before, just with a different person. "Relationships are hard. It takes a lot of work, compromise, but most of all, you can't have unrealistic expectations of yourself or others."

"It's better if you just talk it out, get your worries out into the open," Eames added before commenting. "Darling, do you think that if dreamshare suddenly loses its appeal, we should become relationship counselors?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, holding up his phone so both he and Eames could hear Yusuf and so the chemist would be able to hear them, too, even if most of what he was hearing right now was just ridiculous.

"No."

"But we'd be perfect at that sort of thing! We could take calls from lovelorn people who listen to our radio show-"

"Now we have a radio show? I thought our hypothetical relationship counseling would take place at some sort of center or office? We could have comfortable chairs, a couch if the person is the type to lay back and bitch about life-"

"Rule one of our relationship counseling enterprise is we don't describe our customers talking about relationships or other life problems as bitching."

Over the phone, Yusuf sighed. "We don't argue like that. Ever."

"Holy crap," Arthur said in false amazement. "You're in a mature, well-adjusted relationship, Yusuf. I don't know what you think you're missing!"

"He wants fairytales; he wants to be the hero who rides in on the white horse, saves fair damsel, and then rides off into the sunset while the credits roll. Hollywood has ruined our ideas about romance and love and in what order it should all occur in," Eames said with a shrug. "Cobb and Mal had the romantic tragedy- true love, happy family, successful business, which was cut short by disaster and ended their marriage and her life. You and I, we separated but continued to love each other, but eventually got back together."

"Before, I couldn't even bring myself to date anyone new, though I was told that moving on would be easier if I had a new boyfriend."

Eames, still apologetic for that ugly time in their relationship, said, "I'm glad you didn't. I'm sorry I left you waiting."

Arthur spoke to Yusuf for a moment, warning him. "I'm gonna put you down now so I can kiss Eames a bit."

"More than a bit, I hope?"

"Of course- and you'll be so busy kissing me that you won't keep apologizing for things I've already forgiven you for."

Arthur had already but the phone down, so he could grasp Eames by the shirtfront and yank him closer, planting one on him that lasted for more than a minute, wasn't chaste, and included much of what Arthur avoided displaying in front of the children for the sake of delaying any sort of talks concerning the birds and the bees, the flowers and the trees, or Uncle Arthur and Mr. Eames. Needless to say, the kiss involved judicious use of tongue.

From somewhere near their feet, the peevish voice of Yusuf called, "Eww, you're doing something disgusting, aren't you?"

Eames pulled away from Arthur for just a minute, "Arthur's just putting his words into my mouth."

"That was a lot dirtier than it sounded."

"But you love it, Arthur!"

"Ugh, why did I try to talk to you guys about this?"

"Because we are the only couple with a reasonably healthy relationship that you know of or because I happened to call you about something important. Now, I'm gonna have to call you back about that important thing."

"Why?!" the chemist squawked in indignation.

The reason was furiously mouthing things at them because the windcrafting Eames put in place was obviously distorting Dom's voice as Eames had the means to give them a private conversation where what they said couldn't be heard by others and what others said didn't particularly matter.

Arthur looked at Cobb briefly and said to Eames, "I think lunch is ready."

Eames released the crafting with a wave of his hand, unable to stop the smug look from appearing on his face.

"We'll give you a call back, Yusuf."

When Arthur got his phone off the floor and ended his call, he had to face the disapproving look on Cobb's face, the way that Eames couldn't help sniggering in response to the look on Cobb's face, or the fact that the situation was getting more ridiculous by the second!

"Are you going to explain to me what you're doing?"

"No."

After a moment passed with Cobb squinting at the pair of dreamworkers, waiting to see if one or the other would say anything, he gave up.

"I'm giving you lunch, not because I'm happy with you two making out in my hallway. I'm giving you lunch because I went to the trouble of making it and don't want it to go to waste."

"I'd check for ground up glass," was what Eames whispered into Arthur's ear as they went towards the kitchen, one arm looped around his darling's waist, one hand slipped into the back pocket of the point man's jean, keeping him close.

"I doubt he had much time to do that," Arthur answered quietly. "I mean, he's got the earthcrafting to do it, I'm sure. But unless he made separate bowls and mixed everything very carefully, he'd risk hurting himself or his kids. That's if he ground up glass at all."

"Want to truthfind him? A nice handshake or a brotherly hug followed with specifically worded questions and clever watercrafting?"

Arthur thought about it, but shook his head.

"Remember, we're worth more to him alive than dead."

"I'm not saying it would kill us, especially if we got to some water for healing purposes in enough time."

Cobb, who had entered the kitchen first, stuck his head out and narrowed his eyes at them, squinting in what could have been a wounded way.

"I'd appreciate it if you stopped talking about how I'm going to kill you by tampering with the food. I've only just gotten James to start eating tuna again, only without onions. The last thing I need is for him to ask about ground up glass!"

Arthur shrugged at Eames's skeptical frown.

"Sounds safe enough."

"Well, you didn't get attacked by the alien spiders in his subconscious. I have every right to be suspicious!"

But they went into the kitchen anyways.


It turns out that Cobb developed a theme to their lunch that revolved around their problem.

"This tuna," Arthur said, taking a fork and poking the insides of his sandwich (sourdough bread, lightly toasted, sliced tomato and onion separated from the bread with a leaf of red leaf lettuce, still crunchy, acting as a barrier to keep the bread dry), "is green."

It was true. The children happily chomped down on their own sandwiches, which had been cut into triangles for Phillipa because she liked her sandwiches to be cut along the diagonal line and cut straight down the middle for James because he liked things simple.

They didn't seem to be worried about the color of their food, just eager to eat it and move on to their next activity. Cobb had clearly used food coloring to tint the tuna fish filling of their sandwiches green.

Eames looked over Arthur's shoulder, peeked at his own sandwich and found it to be the same.

"I might have preferred the ground glass, to be honest. I'm not too happy about the color green at the moment."

Cobb sat down at the head of the kitchen table and moved to eat his own lunch.

"I thought we needed to get back on track, so I give you an example of the stuff from the dream."

He waved at his sandwich and produced a flash drive, placing it next to his plate.

"We can talk about it like adults once lunch is over. I've got some stuff I'd like to show you, Arthur."

The point man nodded shortly, sat, and picked up his sandwich. When he took a bite, Arthur didn't need to look up at him to know where the quick in-drawn hiss of air came from.

"Do me a favor," Arthur said to Eames.

"Anything."

"Sit down with me, have lunch, and help me work through this problem. Because we're partners."

Eames inched closer to the chair, eyed his food as if it were capable of biting back, and then gingerly sat down.

"Thank you, Eames," Arthur dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin and then asked Eames to pass the chips.

After a moment, Eames did so and then, with reservations and worries to his personal health and safety, took a bite of his own sandwich.

And what annoyed him most was that it was still a pretty damned good sandwich considering it was just tuna, and it was Cobb who made it and decided to tint it green.


Afterwards, after everything, after the visit was over, Arthur and Eames had a whole new job to plan for. Arthur began putting off other engagements- not because Cobb seemed to think that this thing was going to be a major threat to dreamers, but because it was interesting, challenging, and something he wanted to see to the end.

At the start of the visit, Arthur had made a note about the dark circles under Cobb's eyes, had made several jokes about the lack of sleep the other man may or may not be getting as a busy single-father. But he hadn't pushed the point because there was a lingering worry about how it was only a year after the inception and the catharsis that Cobb said had happened.

He worried to himself over a reappearance of Mal, maybe Cobb's descent into PASIV-addiction, dream chasing, or an eventual return to the work he'd sworn off.

And now he was learning that he had begun to do that anyway- using a PASIV to build dream levels to create like he used to, before Mal would appear and ruin everything Cobb tried to create without her there, without her alive.

After lunch was over, Cobb did exactly as he said he would once he'd gently shooed the children away, allowing them to watch television. He presented Arthur with the flash drive, passing it off as if it was a great weight, a burden, and then giving another explanation.

Before this was to happen, Eames pulled Arthur aside and said, "If he offers to take you under, don't do it."

Arthur rankled at that. If he wanted to see what Cobb was dreaming of, he'd do it.

"If you don't want me sharing dreams with him, why don't I share a dream with you and see if the idea is as contagious as he thinks it is?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Arthur's eyes had widened. "You're quarantining yourself."

"That's what Cobb should have done as soon as he found out- none of this stuff about wanting us to see, or more accurately, wanting me to see. I'm telling you, he's never liked me and now he's punishing me for taking you away."

"No."

"Then he's punishing me for hurting you in the past."

"Once again, no."

"Well then why did he call you up to only avoid exposing you to it?"

"Maybe he wanted access to the next big thing in dreamshare?"

"I refuse to be flattered."

But it sort of worked anyway and Eames stopped being so annoyed by everything to do with their latest job.

"Are you going to show us more green tuna?" Eames had asked once they were alone again in the kitchen. Cobb had apparently prepared a larger visual aid made of green tuna.

"This," he said as they stood around the table eyeing a rather large platter of something covered in green tuna, "is an example of the croach." The former extractor looked at Arthur for confirmation, and when he nodded his agreement, Cobb continued. "It's a sort of gelatinous green waxy substance that covers an area experiencing an infestation of these monsters."

"The Vord," Arthur obediently supplied.

"You could have used actual wax from a green candle," Eames suggested, poking at the green tuna with a toothpick. "You could have covered this…wait, what is this stuff your substitute croach is sitting on?"

"Cream Of Wheat," Cobb answered with pride.

"This is officially a disgusting meal," Eames couldn't stop himself from commenting. "It's also a wasteful visual aid, too."

"I could just drag you both back into the dream now and show you both what this stuff looks like- we could all get attacked by the damned spiders so you could be satisfied by the authenticity of the croach!"

Arthur put his hand on Cobb's arm, eyes narrowed as he caught onto something strange, noticing that something was missing from the man's story.

"You haven't mentioned projections. In your dreams, do you have any normal projections that are human?"

Cobb shook his head. "It's all spiders and those bizarre warrior Vord. The ones that look like dragonflies," the former extractor clarified for Arthur.

"You could have used green gelatin for the croach," Eames added, not joining in the conversation about projections, still stuck on the consistency of the weird substance coating the interior of Cobb's subconscious, lining the ground of his dreamscape.

Arthur didn't have to say anything to Eames; he just looked at the man and very briefly shook his head. That they would talk more later, of course. Eames could complain then, make comments about Cobb's process later. Make jokes about the green tinted tuna covering the plate of Cream of Wheat. About how there were children starving in China, how could Cobb be so wasteful?

But Eames didn't. He bit his tongue and nodded to Arthur. Message received.

"-my projections, they just stopped." Cobb was saying to Arthur. "The first time the creatures began to appear in my dreams, they would be bitten by the spiders, sicken and die…and be used for food."

"How?"

Standing in front of his example of croach, Cobb crossed his arms and began to explain the process of entombing.

"I saw it in the subconscious of the man who came to me for help, thinking that what was happening in his head was a persistent dreamscape that needed to be dismantled like a carnival. He still had a few projections; the usual, men and women and children. The areas with croach had grown and grown and whenever his projections would get stuck in these places, they'd be bitten, poisoned by the spider bites. They'd be too weak to stop the spiders from opening up the croach and putting them inside."

Cobb demonstrated. He took a spoon and began to dig a small hole in the green tinted tuna, digging till he hit the Cream of Wheat, which had taken on a mushy consistency, the green food coloring bleeding into it. He took a small toy, a Lego man with a firefighter hat affixed to its head, and placed it into the little hole he had dug into the food.

"The Lego man is a projection that has been poisoned. Too weak to move, the spider or spiders which found it move it into the liquid portion of the croach." As he spoke, Cobb began to bury the Lego man. "The spiders push their prize into this green liquid and seal the croach back up again."

"The man who asked me to help him watched many of his projections meet this fate, and at the time, I wasn't sure what it meant. I didn't know the green substance was croach, what the poison did, what any of it meant…that's why I needed you."

Eames stared at the Lego man, concerned. "And now you've exposed me to the same fate. All of your projections are gone now, replaced with spiders and Vord and croach."

Cobb laughed, humorless and sad. "Oh, they're not gone. This is the sick part, the part that keeps me up at night. In the beginning I kept creating more projections, trying to fight them off. But you know how it is with any infestation. If you can't stop them from reproducing, if you don't destroy the nest, you'll never get rid of the things. My projections were taken, bitten, and entombed," Cobb's mouth twisted and he dropped the spoon he was using as a shovel. "They're still alive in there. Sort of alive, at least. I just don't know anymore. But I can't stop thinking about it."

"What does this liquid in the croach do?"

"In the beginning, I tried to dig my security projections out. I mean, they weren't buried so deep- I could see some of them under the wax. I would break the croach and that liquid would touch my skin, warm as blood but so, so strange. I'd attempt to pull them out, pulling at their clothes tugging them out…" Cobb swallowed hard. "It was like a pressure cooker in that gunk, so when I tugged the first guy out, his skin sort of sloughed off like it would off of a chicken breast. The bodies are turned into food. The liquid digests the bodies, clothes, weapons, and turns it into this highly nutritious food source."

Eames looked a little disgusted but was already thinking about what that delightful image was going to be like when he experienced it in his dreams later.

It was disgusting, horrifying, and scary.

Arthur nodded, lost in thought for a moment but turning to look at Eames, no doubt sensing his horror. Standing nearer to Cobb, Arthur reached out over the table, wordlessly asking for contact with Eames.

Eames wasn't able to deny him. He reached for Arthur's hand like a man drowning. Their fingers touched, palms pressing together, and then Eames clung to Arthur's hand and waiting to get some sort of equilibrium back.

Arthur didn't say Everything will be fine. Arthur was a realist. So instead, he said to Cobb, "We'll take care of it. We'll get the team together and get to the bottom of things."

To Eames, Arthur said, "I'll play sentinel while you sleep and if you have these dreams I'll wake you."

"I don't want you to have to do that," Eames began, rethinking it and saying, "I don't want to be any trouble. I'm a grown man and can sleep through nightmares."

"Not every night. Not to something so disturbing. When I told you that I'd have your back, I meant it. This is what being a team entails and I know that if our positions were reversed, you would do the same for me."

Cobb was about to say something but abruptly buttoned his lip, looking down at the mess he'd made on the table. He tried to extract the Lego man and reconsidered it.

Arthur turned his head sharply, as if he'd heard someone call his name. "If you say it, Cobb, I'll hit you."

Cobb raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not saying anything."

The point man's eyes narrowed. "Yes, but I could sense what you were feeling. I could probably feel it from a mile away. I get it, you're feeling guilty for pulling us into this, you feel bad for getting Eames to share the dream with you, but I'd like you to remember that we're professionals. That we'll try and fix this and get down to the bottom of the situation."

Arthur let go of Eames's hand to turn to face Cobb, unencumbered. "Get over your guilt the old fashioned way. You'll help us out by giving us all the information you have. I want the flash drive, I want your resources, and then, I want to you stop sticking your nose into dreamshare. All it's doing is getting you into trouble!"

Cobb didn't cower before Arthur, but he did very briefly nod and say, "I'm sure we'll talk about it later."

Later wasn't well defined and it could have meant when the issue was resolved or when they'd all gone mad or when Arthur came back seeking vengeance if Eames suffered.

"I'm gonna say goodbye to the kids," Arthur said, moving around the table so he could press a kiss against Eames's temple and leave the room.

When they were alone, Eames sighed and pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat heavily.

"I'm sorry, Eames."

Eames hummed. "It's hard to lie to a watercrafter, Cobb."

The former extractor sputtered, going a little red in the face.

"It's not that you're lying, Cobb. I do believe that you're actually sorry, but the emotion behind that has many levels. You're worried, you're scared, but now, you're also not alone." Eames spread his arms. "You've inducted me into the look at the fucked up situation I'm in club. So you're also kind of happy."

Cobb didn't look like he knew what to say. He looked flustered and unsure, and finally he dropped down into his chair and put his head into his hands. "Arthur's going to hate me."

Eames didn't say anything at first. Sighing, he did what he really didn't want to do now that he'd learned this new information, but tried to be the better person. "No, Cobb. You've forgotten Arthur's major character flaw, what could possibly make him a tragic hero. He's loyal to a fault. He's still your friend after what happened during the inception of Robert Fischer. He's probably just out there telling the kids that he loves them but he has to take care of something. But that he'll be back."

Cobb looked up at Eames and asked, "You're sure?"

The forger shrugged. "Its my personal opinion that despite anything I could ever say, Arthur will still stand by you because you and Mal helped him through a very difficult part of his life. You gave him purpose and goals to fight for. He had a job as long as he worked with you guys. He could go anywhere and do anything he wants now, but he still cares for you."

"It's the kids," Cobb muttered, "He's always had a soft spot for James and Phillipa. Did you know that the kids first words weren't Mommy or Daddy but a shortened, adorable version of Arthur's name?"

Eames snorted. "No."

"Yes," Cobb said, nodding quickly. "We have home movies where they follow him around like ducklings, calling his name. They called him Awtha until they learned how to pronounce it correctly."

Uncle Awtha reappeared at that moment, catching the last bit of what Cobb was saying. "Oh god, not that again. If you say that name in front of them, they'll start calling me that just because I worked so hard to teach them how to say it the right way."

"Arthur, they were babies!"

"That's not a great argument for speaking in baby talk when you're almost seven and ten years of age."

"They'll only do it because you think its annoying."

"If they do," Arthur warned, "I'm going to make them walk on their hands and recite the alphabet backwards. Don't think I won't, Cobb."

Eames looked from Arthur to Cobb and back again. He said, "I don't think I know what's happening anymore."

"Don't worry about it," Arthur said, "Since they were toddlers I taught them how to spell and count."

"While teaching them how to tumble and do flips," Cobb added.

"Like it's a bad thing?"

"When their teachers tell me that they're teaching other kids how to do gymnastics and spell words like 'dandelion' while standing on their heads, it's given me a weird reputation, okay?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "They want to argue with results? With my methods, your kids learned math and spelling faster than their classmates. And they kept studying!"

"You made my children little gymnasts."

"Gymnastics isn't that bad a skill. It helped me kick ass in zero-gravity."

"And this seems like a good point to end on- we're all happy and making jokes," Eames said, getting to his feet and pointedly ignoring the disgusting plate of food still sitting on the table.

Cobb came to his feet as well, ready to see them out. Cobb had already given Arthur the flash drive and sort of lingered there awkwardly at the front door.

Arthur sighed and pulled the man forwards into a hug. "You're a lot of work, Cobb. But you're still my friend."

"Thanks," Cobb said softly.

"I'm not saying that I'm happy about this situation, though, okay? I want that to be clear."

"Got it," Cobb said, still hugging his former point man.

"Because, I agreed with Eames that we would work together, just us. This doesn't count as a job where I'm your point man. You are my client, got it?"

"Of course," Cobb said as they separated, trying to restore some sense of professionalism that had been lost after the hugging.

"Good," Arthur said, the smile dropping off of his face and shifting to the familiar mask he wore when working with clients. "I need this to be clear; any action you take that even slightly endangers yourself, me, or my partner, will lead to my terminating your contract and quitting this job. Immediately."

Cobb's eyes widened. "But-"

"No, Cobb. I have rules. I have precautions that I shoved aside when you asked us over. You may be my friend, I may even love you like a brother, but this sort of bug-fuckery stops right now. So if you pull another stunt like you did with Eames today, we're both walking away while we're still sane."

Cobb nodded, maybe too intimidated by Arthur to challenge him.

Arthur accepted this and moved to Eames's side, "Let's go to the hotel, we've got some work to do."