Disclaimer: I own no part of inception. This is all in good fun.
Arthur's eyes snapped open. Though he recognized the ceiling above him, his chest rose with panicked breaths. He could still feel the bullet. It was difficult to recover when he couldn't remember going under.
"Arthur!" he heard Ariadne yell.
"Shut up!" another voice ordered.
Arthur looked around, quickly taking in the two men holding Ariadne by the door and the two more standing over him. He was laying on the floor for some reason… he lifted his wrist. The PASIV Device. A glance to his left confirmed that Eames had gone under with him, along with another thug Arthur didn't recognize. That would explain his death in the alley.
Eames jolted awake, bolting upright. His back was streaked with dirt and grime.
He groaned and clutched his chest, reminding Arthur of the gash he'd suffered back at the apartment.
"Are you all right?" Arthur reached out and touched his arm. Eames slowly nodded, eyes closed, but his jaw was flexing with obvious pain. The contracting muscles were cast in shadow.
"Rise and shine," one of the men beside them droned. His voice was low and dangerous.
Arthur unstrapped the cuff around his wrist as another man entered the room. The man threw clothing at them, clearly wanting them to get dressed. When Arthur slipped a shirt over his head, it was oversized to a fault. It was also speckled with blood and still warm from whoever had been wearing it mere seconds ago. He swallowed.
The thug who had slipped into the dream with them opened his eyes and got to his feet. His movements were deliberate and smooth. From the way he was dressed – a black suit much nicer than any Arthur owned – he must have been the one in charge.
Sure enough, he lazily held out his wrist for another man to free him from the cuff.
"You two gentlemen have caused quite the headache for a number of people," he drawled. Shooting a disdainful look in Ariadne's direction, he continued, "The girl too. If she hadn't been such a lousy shot, I'd have killed her on sight. But I like to think of myself as old-fashioned. Why shoot harmless little thing like her?"
Ariadne struggled against the men holding her at his insult, but to her credit, she stayed silent. The palm print on her cheek might have had something to do with it. Her eyes were hot with anger, and Arthur felt his own blood begin to boil at the thought of anyone hurting her. But they had to keep it together until they found a way out of this.
Eames let out a muffled cry, drawing their attention. His arms were through the shirt sleeves, but he was unable to lift it over his head.
The thug sighed with impatience. "We don't have all day, Mr. Eames. Yusuf is mighty anxious to see both of you. If our gesture of courtesy is slowing you down, perhaps you would be more comfortable going without."
Arthur had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from scoffing. It had nothing to do with courtesy. Two half-naked men walking to what was sure to be an unmarked van had a habit of drawing attention, even in the city. The last thing Yusuf's men needed was to draw suspicion after going through the trouble of tracking them down.
He glanced at the thug for permission to help Eames. When he received a nod so slight that he wasn't certain if he imagined it, Arthur slid over and carefully raised Eames' arms for him. The man's torso twisted in pain and his fists clenched, but he didn't try to resist. Arthur murmured an apology in a soothing tone, eying the bandage that was now tinged with blood. A stitch or two must have ripped.
He grabbed the hem of the garment with his fingertips and pulled it down as Eames' arms lowered. There was a glistening layer of sweat on the man's forehead.
"Pants too," the thug ordered. Arthur tried to help Eames to his feet. They needed to lean on one another after what they'd been through. Arthur grimly acknowledged that he'd died at least once in the last several hours, while Eames was clearly suffering from his wound.
When they were steady enough to stand on their own and begin sliding on pants, the thug turned to the men holding Ariadne. "Lock her in the room with the others. Yusuf never said anything about bringing back an architect."
Arthur slid on his pants in a hurry. He didn't bother with the buttons before leaping forward as they dragged her to the door. She began to panic, kicking and biting and scratching, but she was no match for them. In a desperate attempt to avoid being taken away, she clung to the doorframe. Arthur held her gaze for the briefest instant before a fierce yank that must have strained her elbows pulled her into the hall.
"No!" he yelled. An intense fear that he would never see her again gripped his heart in a vise.
One of the remaining men stepped forward and delivered a hard blow to his stomach. His muscles spasmed as he fell to the floor at Eames' feet. Eames knelt down and grabbed his shoulders, probably with the intention of holding him back. But he couldn't move. His lungs refused to breathe with him.
"Now, now," the thug scolded his associate. "You should be saving your best punches for when we return to base. He's dead weight, otherwise."
Arthur blinked against the black spots flooding his vision. A warm hand gripped the back of his neck to keep him from passing out. It hurt like hell, but he was able to stay conscious long enough to take a deep breath. Needles pricked his side, making him wonder if a rib had cracked. He nodded when he could see again and Eames released his neck.
"Stand him up and let's go," the thug ordered. "We have quite the drive ahead of us."
Eames gripped his arms and pulled him to his feet. Arthur's pants almost fell down in the process, and he took care to button them. They were still much too big, but he couldn't have cared less. His only concern was where Ariadne had been taken and if she would break free before she died of thirst.
Lock her in the room with the others, the thug had ordered. That must mean she was with men who could help her. The very men who had saved his life.
Anger was beginning to build at his very core. Unlike the anger he'd felt when he noticed someone had slapped Ariadne, this anger was calm and collected. It was organized and patient. After everything he'd been through, after dying because of his addiction to Yusuf's compound… men had broken into – well, wherever they were – and had imprisoned his healers and Ariadne. They were now taking him and Eames prisoner. And they probably planned to kill them.
Compound #1084 would never see the underground market. It was going to bite the dust hard, and he was going to be there when it happened.
These thoughts gave Arthur the strength to move when the thug motioned for him to step into the hallway. He didn't have shoes, probably a deliberate hindrance to keep him from running too fast or far if he had the chance. When he saw the pools of blood on the concrete, it was difficult to keep his mask of defiance in place.
He could feel Eames directly behind him when he hesitated. The man gave him a soft push to keep him moving.
The thug directed them as they moved down the hallway. His position behind them was likely intentional. If he had been in the lead, Arthur would have snapped his neck.
They continued walking until they were forced to climb a narrow staircase. Arthur glanced behind him for permission to open the door at the top, but Eames nodded firmly, apparently having been there before. When the door swung open, a draft pushed him back. It was caused by cars speeding past them in a wide tunnel. Orange lights glinted off two black vans on the shoulder.
Arthur memorized the license plate as they walked to the first van's side door, though he doubted the information would be of much use. These men were professionals.
A split second after he and Eames reached the side door, they were roughly pushed against it and handcuffed. Eames grunted in pain when his hands were yanked behind him. Arthur opened his mouth to ask if he was all right, but before he could, the van door slid open and a hood covered his head. Hands shoved him into the van.
Arthur landed hard on his left shoulder, his head bouncing off the van floor. Eames fell partially on top of him, stealing his breath for a moment.
"Sorry, darling." The man's body rolled once in attempt to move off of him. "Not hurting you, am I?"
"You are," Arthur grimaced, "But that's all right. We have bigger problems."
"I'll say."
"Just get off me, will you?"
"Working on it."
One grinding roll later, Eames' weight had left him. The van's engine started and Arthur felt the driver pull into traffic with unnecessary enthusiasm.
There was a thump and a soft curse from Eames.
"All right?" Arthur asked.
"Lovely."
Having a hood over his head made Arthur feel entirely helpless. Things could have been worse, however. They were conscious, free to talk, and had been left alone. Aside from the handcuffs and hoods, they hadn't been restrained in any way that would hinder planning to escape. It was a bit unsettling.
The sound of clicking metal caught his attention.
"What are you doing?" he asked, trying to balance enough to sit up. The result was cracking his chin on the floor when the van took a hard turn. He bit his tongue on impact and let out a frustrated groan. The taste of blood was like copper.
"I'm getting out of these handcuffs. Stay still. You'll hurt yourself."
"Who's being condescending now?" Arthur shot back. He spit blood on the inside of his hood to avoid swallowing it.
The hood was ripped off his head not a moment later. Eames scanned his face, apparently looking for the source of the blood.
"I bit my tongue," he explained.
"And even that couldn't shut you up, hmm?" Eames looked relieved as he slid behind Arthur to free him from the handcuffs.
"Asshole."
He grimaced as the metal around his wrists clamped down harder, then jumped when he felt a sharp pinch.
"Hold still," Eames muttered.
"You're not making it easy."
The handcuffs slipped off his wrists. He wasted no time massaging each wrist to be rid of the pins and needles that had started to plague his fingers.
"Someday, you need to teach me how to do that," he sighed. "What's the plan? Wait until we reach the city and hit the ground running?"
Eames shook his head as he found a comfortable sitting position. "I'm afraid that it doesn't end here, darling."
"Meaning?"
"We want to stop Yusuf, don't we? This van is taking us directly to him."
"What the hell did you unhandcuff us for then?"
"I could put them back on you if you prefer," Eames offered. He winced as he felt his chest. "What with the suggested length of the drive, I thought we'd be more comfortable out of handcuffs. We may not be free for a while."
"This is a bad idea."
Eames raised an eyebrow. "You have a better one?"
