A/N: Every kind of feedback are lovely, but reviews are really special for me. Sorry, for this delay but I was away for a couple of days, without the Internet or even my laptop around. Anyway- (hopefully) enjoy!
People tend to make a lot of noise in emergency situations, like it could somehow help instead of making everything even harder.
Luckily, this time isn't different and Natalie makes sure that the situation won't be normalized any time soon. As good as she is in helping people to calm down, she's also able to raise the panic.
She doesn't hesitate to make use of her abilities.
She can see a bewildered look on Bourzat's face, like he can't believe their prisoners are escaping, threatening to kill one of the most famous Dream specialists in this country.
"They got into the car!" one of the guys reports, looking out through the window. "And left Cobb! Come on!" he adds.
Natalie doesn't hesitate for even a second; they need more time.
The fake faint she does deserves an Oscar.
"Stop," Arthur half-pleads, half-demands in choked voice. Eames obeys without a pause, turning onto the roadside, for the fourth time in last fifteen minutes. Arthur barely manages to get out of the car, before the sickness wins him over.
Eames holds his breath for a moment, listening to this terrible choking sounds Arthur makes. He meets Ariadne's worried gaze in the back mirror. She's pale, as if she is fighting with own nausea.
"We can't drive further," she says firmly and Eames doesn't find the strength to protest.
He's perfectly aware that none of them is able to drive any longer without a proper brake. Luckily they are in Mexico right now, which makes things easier, but still doesn't give them perfect safety. The place of destination is Guatemala and Eames really hoped they would be able to get there without long pauses, even for the price of complete exhaustion.
One glance at Arthur, who tries to calm down his stomach by breathing deeply, crosses out this plans.
"It'll be worse, won't it?" Ariadne investigates, noticing who Eames is looking at. Her voice is soft and worried, full of sympathy, the anger completely gone. The forger wishes for a moment that they could be furious at Arthur; have a chance to show him how painful his betrayal was, no matter the circumstances.
It's bloody hard when Arthur is showing symptoms of withdrawal; it's not everything, Eames is sure of this, he saw many drug and alcohol addicts in his life and knows perfectly well what the lack of chemical substance can make from even the strongest man.
"Probably yes," he admits quietly, his mind working really hard to find a solution. "Get him to the car, Ari," he adds a moment later.
He hopes they'll get through the next 210 miles without any bigger problems.
The suburbs of Hermosillo welcome them with a fast darkening sky and lightning up street lamps. Ariadne takes a short glance to Arthur, who's occupying the whole backseat; even in the twilight of the evening she can see how bad he looks, his face pale and sweaty, breathing shallow and uneven. Now and then he shakes uncontrollably.
At least he stopped vomiting, Ariadne muses, although she's not sure if it's because of the fact that there's nothing left in his stomach. She doesn't really want to think about it.
With qualms she taps Eames's shoulder to wake him up. He's been asleep no more than ten minutes. The expression on his face is finally slightly relaxed, but Ariadne has no idea where they are going.
He wakes up with a jolt, grabbing her wrist strongly, for a moment unsure what's happening. Then a realization appears in his eyes, quickly replaced by anxiety.
He lets her go and looks at Arthur; Ariadne can see how he relaxes seeing that Arthur's state seems to be somewhat stable.
"Drive straight right now," he eventually orders, his voice hoarse. They drive ten minutes more until finally Eames says a quiet "Here."
Ariadne looks at small, semi-detached house, painted bright yellow, with flowers standing on window sills. The forger doesn't give her the chance to ask any questions though, getting out of the car as soon as she has parked.
The sound of door bell is exactly the same as three years ago, the same is also a reluctant answer.
"¿Quién está ahí"
"Eames," he answers firmly and for a moment there's silence on the other side of the door. Eventually it's opened slowly, revealing a middle-aged woman, one you could describe as pretty.
"So you're alive," she states unenthusiastically in accented English.
Eames shrugs. "As you can see."
The woman leans on the door frame, her dark eyes scanning the forger carefully. "You're here because...?"
"Because you're my debtor," Eames finishes. "And we don't want anybody to see the man from this car," he gestures at their bright red Chevrolet.
The woman freezes for a moment. "Drive into the garage, it's empty," she orders and disappears in the corridor.
It's not easy to wake up Arthur: he's inert and practically unresponsive, so Eames has no choice but to carry him to the closest room.
Arthur's suit is soaked with sweat, his skin is pale and wet, emitting an unpleasant smell. Eames finds it hard to believe that this man is the same person as the famous always-oh-so-amazing point man.
But he is and Eames can't help but brush his cheek in gentle caress. The Mexican woman shoves him out of her way unceremoniously and takes a careful look at Arthur.
"He's not shot or stabbed," she states, slightly surprised. "What's wrong?"
"Withdrawal," Eames answers shortly.
"What substance?" she inquires further, checking his pupil's reaction.
"We don't really know," Ariadne says hesitantly. "Nothing common and well known."
"Fine. Was he vomiting?"
"A lot," Ariadne almost whispers. The woman takes a short glance at her and leaves the room, to appear again a couple of minutes later, with the drip in her hand.
"And you're lucky I have such things in my home," she says drily, piercing the skin of Arthur's forearm with the needle. "And you can take a shower," she adds looking at Ariadne. "Clean towels are in the cabinet and a clean bathrobe is too. Later I'll give you something to wear."
Ariadne slowly nods her head and goes to indicated direction. As soon as she disappears, the woman turns rapidly to Eames.
"I know I have a debt, but this is more than I can stand. Who they are? A drug addict and a scared girl? Eames!"
The forger sighs and closes his eyes. "Maria, please don't shout, my head is killing me without your help."
Maria shakes her head in irritation, but when she speaks again her voice is quieter. "What kind of shit did you bring here, Eames?"
"IFAD, above all," he admits and Maria's eyes go wide.
"Me cago en la hostia," escapes her mouth in disbelief. "Are you crazy? What are you doing here, you should be at least in Guatemala!"
"I can't leave them."
It sounds firmer than Eames expected it would and somehow it makes him feel more confident. He looks at Maria, who shakes her head, the expression in her eyes unreadable for even Eames.
"I can't cure him," she says quietly, looking at Arthur, who is laying motionless, his breathing still alarmingly shallow. "And you can't stay here more than two, three days, I won't risk my freedom."
Her voice is dry and firm and maybe if things were different Eames would argue. But things aren't different and he's too fucking exhausted to fight with anybody.
"Get some sleep," Maria adds, sounding softer and the forger simply nods his head and goes upstairs, still remembering the house layout from three years ago.
Marias sighs and sits beside the bed Arthur is laying on; despite what her house may say about her, she has seen in her life many things, some of them would make most people sick. Still, seeing a young and handsome man like this, destroyed by some sort of chemical substation, makes her feel sad.
She touches his cheek, the gentlest brush of fingers. He's feverish and Maria silently thanks God he's unconscious, as she really can't help him in any proper way, not without knowing what kind of substation he's addicted to. He moves under her hand and his eyes snap open.
The beauty of his chocolate brown irises hurts Maria.
"Where..." he whispers, clearly confused. Something flitters in those beautiful eyes and Maria instinctively reaches to stroke his hair, which is surprisingly soft.
At first he flinches, but then slowly relaxes, his eyelids slowly fall down to finally cover eyes completely. Marias sighs quietly.
She knows it'll be a long night.
Ariadne is looking through the window, but she doesn't really see the garden behind it, the only thing that catches her attention is a sign of movement.
Eames left the house in the early morning to, as he said, "arrange some transport". It's been five hours now and Ariadne can't sit calmly any longer, her heart beating too loud and too uneven. A sudden touch of warm hand of her shoulder makes her jump a little.
"Stay for a moment with him," Maria says quietly, her dark eyes filled with silent understanding. "I don't know what he did, but things that have happened to him and are happening now… That's punishment enough."
Ariadne looks at her for a moment, the desire to tell her that her absence can't actually hurt Arthur in any way is almost too strong to stifle. Finally she just nods her head.
Arthur is laying curled on his side, his hair falling freely on his forehead and covering his eyes. It makes him look unbelievably young, even younger than Ariadne herself.
Somehow it feels unfair; the betrayer shouldn't have the ability to make her feel sympathy toward him.
She forces herself to take few quick and firm steps toward the bed, so that he could hear her.
"Arthur!" her voice is strong, thank God. He uncurls himself a little and takes a short glance at her. The emotionless of this gaze takes away all her strength and the stifled tears force their way down on her cheeks.
She sits heavily on the bed, beside him.
"Give me a hug," she asks quietly, choking on the sob.
He hesitantly puts his arm around her and she sinks into his touch, the intimacy of this gesture so different and yet so similar to those their shared on the second level of Fisher job.
After a moment his hand wanders to her hair, his long fingers stroke the curls of them and Ariadne sighs with her eyes closed.
"Eames went somewhere this morning," she speaks a moment later, her anxiety too big to disappear so soon. Movements of Arthur's hand are still, there's not even the slightest amount of hesitation in them. Ariadne's heart breaks a little more, her hopes that maybe, maybe, there's an improvement, are shattered.
If Arthur felt, he would notice that even through her own sorrow, he was always a little more emotional about Eames than anybody else.
They fall asleep together, limbs tangled together, not even an inch of empty space between their bodies. Ariadne wakes up two hours later, confused at first, unable to say where and with whom she is. When the realization comes she burrows her face deeper into the place where his neck connects with shoulder. He murmurs something incoherently and puts his arm around her.
"In any other situation I would be jealous," an amused voice tears her from the half-asleep state.
"Eames!" before she even thinks, she's embracing him tightly, a quiet confession, "I was afraid for you," escaping her throat almost without her permission.
"I think I found a transport to Guatemala," Eames announces when she finally lets him free. His grey eyes meet Arthur's brown ones.
"When are we leaving?" Arthur asks without hesitation.
"In the evening," Eames replies, which Arthur acknowledges with a quick nod of head.
"So we have plenty of time," he says, making Ariadne instantly curious.
"Plenty of time for what?" she demands.
"For an explanation of what happened."