"This is ridiculous, we should put our tails between our legs and get as far from this mess as possible." It's the fifth time Eames has started in on this same line of conversation. Arthur mumbles to show he is paying attention, even though he is not, they've set him up with some opiate tea, that while numbing the pain, is also keeping him coherent enough to focus on his files. He is in his zen-state, and Eames is not cutting his way in now, not with the same dull line of conversation. "Are you even listening pet, this is bloody ridiculous!" the accent is becoming more pronounced, it draws Arthur's attention from the files before him. "I'm listening, you are repeating yourself." This draws a snort of laughter from Ariadne, whom is other-wise fully focused on her sketchpad.
Eames paces a few feet before them, he does it in a way that forces Arthur to look up. The worry in each harsh line is clear, Eames is all sharp edges a wild animal set in a cage. He had studied their new mark, captured and heavily sedated, Arthur had not been there but he'd heard Eames' angry diatribe after. Information gleaned from drugged up captives was no good, Arthur gives him that much, but it was what they had to go on. As well as the personal affects found on the man. Photographs could go far, but could also be faked. "If you would sit and be still, I could find us more to go on." Arthur is far from loosing his patience, working with Eames forced one to have an abundance of it.
Eames slides into the chair beside him, still on edge, but letting Arthur focus. There isn't much there to focus on though, after a few hours of pouring through records, he had little more than they'd taken the job knowing. They were going up against the business front of a government centered project, some cloak and dagger outfit in South Africa. There were too many power-struggles and government uprisings in that part of the world for anyone to stay truly informed on the movers and shakers at any given moment.
"Ariadne, would you go see if they've got any tea without opiates in it?" Eames waits a few minutes before breaking the silence this time. Ariadne accepts, even though she is deep in creation, photographs and notes strewn around her. When she shuts the door behind her Arthur is prepared for the yelling, but it never comes. Turning his attention from the computer, he is surprised by the emotion that is impossible to deny. Eames is worried, more than his words and actions could display. "You need a doctor Arthur." Eames' voice is low, further compounding the worry. Arthur isn't sure when this thing between them started changing. He should have noticed, he notices everything else.
It's a testament to Eames' art, that they are this far down, before Arthur notices at all. To pretend that there was nothing would be denial, and so Arthur takes it in stride. "I'll be well enough till we get out of here." He breaks the cool facade to smile, but knows it's a weak thing. When Eames leans in, to press lips against Arthur's it is an experience unlike all the ones before it. Hanging on the rafters of barely felt pain, it's surreal, and he can almost swear he tastes love, a foreign, forbidden, concept. When Eames pulls away, Arthur moves forward, resting his cheek against the other man's own. "You're alright darling?" Eames' voice is rough, and Arthur revels in it for a moment. Eames uses pet-names for everyone, and really Arthur had thought it teasing till now.
"Just need a bit of quiet." Arthur whispers, and welcomes the soft press of Eames' fingers through his hair. "When we get out of this mess I'll give you all the quiet you need." Arthur wonders if Eames is aware he will be held to his promise. He is given a few blessed moments of silence, Eames holding him, gently working fingers through his hair which needs badly to be styled. He would be embarrassed at the disheveled state of his appearance if not for the fact that he has seen Ariadne and Eames in worse condition.
When Ariadne returns with tea and cardboard, Eames delves into helping the architect create a model of her design. Watching them banter about, working on the floor, Arthur is comforted in the knowledge that Eames was through fighting him on that particular subject. With a sinking feeling Arthur is afraid perhaps this is one time he should have let Eames win.
Coming up with a broad plan is hard for him, as it always is, too quick to focus on the details, the fruition of the broader spectrum. That is why Cobb is so important to Arthur, he's the detail man here, not the master-planner. But of course Cobb has a family to take care of, and the one he left behind was for Arthur to lead now it seemed. Of course Ariadne would come, any chance to see them again, she was lost in this world. Eames would come and now Arthur knew why it was Eames would come, despite knowing it was a trap, despite knowing the dangers. Because Arthur was there, and so Arthur owed it to them to focus, and plan, and get them out of this.
Sighing, he takes a deep sip of the spiked tea, sets himself back to work, coming up with a broader plan, as on the floor a facsimile of their dreamscape is being brought to existence by Ariadne's talented hands.
They work together for what seems like hours, there is no easy way to tell time here. Arthur listens as Eames takes on one persona after another, builds them a working network of personalities based on telephone conversations that are sometimes too quickly aborted. Eames knows more languages than a linguist professor, and Arthur can only follow along half the time, picking out words. Eames is able to twist his voice like an expert, which Arthur knows him to be. One minute he is an elderly man, trying to find contact information, the next a young woman with a throaty purr, despite the vocal tricks, it is only in the dreamscape that Eames can twist his true appearance.
The vocal is enough in this instance, Arthur listens as a psychological profile is built upon their mark, groans a little inwardly when they receive confirmation that the man is high enough in this scheme to have been given training against extractors. Of course they have dealt with this, and as a team before, the man probably has not been given training to the extent of Ariadne's first mark for instance.
They are given full reign of the facility, but Arthur has not moved from his chair since setting himself into it, merely scribbles his notes and builds a plan, cross-referencing and directing Ariadne. His own dreamscape was a beautiful if delicate Escher-esque mesh of office buildings, but he was no architect. Not like Ariadne, he lacked the true art, merely had an understanding of the concepts. Once he'd given her direction she had taken true flight, and did so now. Moving and sculpting with paper what their dreamscape would become. He tries not to study too closely till the finished concept, too many drafts to muddle it up later. His photographic memory sometimes burdened him with too many different variations, time a concept you find hard to grasp in the dream.
He studies internal infrastructure, gives Eames telephone numbers, takes down names, orchestrates each tiny detail till it adds up. They are past the grand scheme now, and into the details, and this is what Arthur does, takes charge, gets things to run smooth. He is in his element, blinders on against most everything else, including the pain. They are working on a deadline now, one he can feel ticking down as he finds out more and more. Two warring government factions, locked in a civil-war and it's obvious they've just chosen a side. Of course it was chosen for them before they'd even known about the war at all, Arthur was not likely to side with those who shoot before knowing the whole story. Especially when he is the target.
It is morning when Ariadne is finished with the model, if the clock on the computer they provided him with is correct. Each curve is exactly to scale, and crafted with the precision of one who knows details matter. Arthur memorizes the scale model, takes account of each staircase, balcony, hallway. It is a small enough playground, but too much space would give a feeling of freedom they cannot afford their mark. "I know you have every intention to accompany us into the dream, but I would rather you stay awake Ariadne." Arthur has prepared his argument well, and braces himself for her side of the debate.
She does not disappoint. "Oh no, don't think you can leave me out now, you've been shot Arthur! That's sure to affect the dream, and Eames cant host it, he has to focus on interaction and that leaves me to host." She is passionate, if she was not, her art would be useless to them. "It is something we will have to risk, you have to stay awake to make sure nothing goes wrong out here." Arthur's voice is level and cool, he's been told often enough by a wide variety of people that it is infuriating. Ariadne looks infuriated enough at the moment at least. "Please, we need you out here. You are the only person I trust in this other than Eames, I do not plan to go under without someone I know on the outside." The words hold enough inflection to appease her.
He does not expect the kiss, soft from chap-stick. It lingers even less than the first, but is pleasant and hopeful. "For luck." Ariadne grins, teasing, grabbing Eames and doing the same. Eames laughs, but Arthur can hear the tension there from confusion.
