"Yo, dude, this is bullshit!"

Eames calmly picked up the drivers license that had been thrown back at him. "Which part of this, exactly, is bullshit? And don't call me 'dude'." He set the license on the desk, carefully.

"You were supposed to make a fake ID, not re-use someone's!" Johnny fumed. Eames felt a smug smile steal over his face and he sat back in his chair. Souji cocked his head.

"Can I see that?" he asked, already reaching for the ID. He ran his fingers over the worn edges, noticing the nicks and scratches, turning it to catch the light glinting off the reflective lettering. "Wow," he said softly, turning it over and examining it again. "This is incredible."

"Thank you," Eames grunted.

"Can you do more?" Souji looked impressed.

Johnny looked confused. "More?! What are you talking about?" He ripped the card out of Souji's hands. "It's just some dirty old drivers license."

Eames smirked. "Pretty good when what I started out with was a blank piece of plastic." He stood and excused himself.

"Wait," Souji stopped him. "Just...just wait. Can you do more?"

Eames considered, studying first Souji, then Johnny. "I can do better than more."

Johnny seemed to be catching on to the fact that Eames had created this license that looked no more remarkable than the one in his own wallet. No one would look twice at it. A slow smile broke over his face. "You could make these and we could sell the shit out of them!" He practically had dollar signs in his eyes, it was like a cartoon come to life.

"Yes. We could," Eames mused. He looked sideways at Souji. "And with the proceeds I recommend we give Souji a raise. What is your take right now?"

"What?" Johnny looked back and forth between the two of them.

"Eight percent," Souji said calmly.

Eames pursed his lips. "What would you say to 50?"

"Wait, WHAT? Fifty percent of what, exactly?" Johnny sat up in his chair.

"I'd be more comfortable with 35," Souji declared.

"You'll take 40 and not a penny less. I insist," Eames pressed. He buttoned his jacket and moved toward the door. Souji turned to follow him.

"EXCUSE me!" Johnny yelled, waving his arms, the ID forgotten in his hand. "Aren't you forgetting something?!"

"Oh, right," Eames said at the same time Souji declared, "Yes, absolutely."

Souji plucked the ID from Johnny's outstretched fingers and Eames drew his handgun and shot Johnny in the head. Johnny's body slumped awkwardly in the chair and Eames's ears rang painfully. Maybe he should have thought that one through a little more. Souji pressed a finger into his ear gingerly and Eames knew he couldn't hear anything either. He gestured around the room with the gun and looked at him questioningly. Souji shook his head and held up his phone. Eames nodded, and together they left the blood spattered office.

Eames flagged down a cab the second they hit the street, and they recovered briefly in the back while their cab driver took corners too fast, cussing under his breath the whole time. When he could hear again, Souji leaned forward.

"You know Lord Saito isn't going to let this slide."

Eames hummed in acknowledgment. "I didn't, but I assumed. That's why I set up a meeting with him."

"For when?" Souji, surprisingly, looked slightly concerned.

"Now," Eames replied, one eyebrow raised. "You are hereby cordially invited to attend." Souji didn't comment, and they rode the rest of the trip in silence. When they pulled up to the immense tower on the far end of town, Eames paid the fare and they headed toward the lobby.

"Lord Saito, please. He's expecting us."

"Yes, sir. Lord Saito is in the board room."

When they entered the room, it was large and ornate, but with warm, golden lighting. The influence of Japanese and western culture could be seen in the architecture and Eames wondered at himself for noticing. Lord Saito sat at the far end of the overwhelming conference table, hands folded, eyes steady on them. A tall Japanese man in his late 60s, he wore a dark suit jacket over a nagajuban, and he looked menacing. Eames approached him and Souji followed. Saito did not rise and did not invite them to sit.

"Lord Saito. I'm Eames and this is Souji. We are here with some information and a proposition."

Saito glanced between them, eyes settling on Eames. "Eames," he said slowly. "Do I know you?"

"Not yet," Eames answered confidently. (Probably.)

"Hmm," Saito said, a crease forming between his eyebrows. He let the pause between them grow uncomfortably before finally asking, "What information?"

"We removed Johnny for you and we'll be taking over his business and expanding into the forgery market, as well as keeping up his current avenues of income."

"Johnny." It wasn't a question, but it was.

"Mr. Kellerman's son, sir," Souji supplied.

"Ah," Saito considered for a moment. "Kellerman's not going to be happy about that."

"Naturally," Eames inserted easily, "but it was in your best business interest. Which brings us to our next reason for visiting."

"Your proposition."

"Yes, sir."

There was a pause. Then, "I'm listening."

"We'll stay out of your way, you'll give us our space." Eames supplied calmly. "If I do my job correctly, this is the last meeting we'll ever need to have."

Saito regarded him coolly, his eyes intelligent and hard. "And what do I get out of this bargain?"

Eames opened his mouth to respond but Souji interrupted. "The same thing you get now: a percentage of our take, but now with less hassle and less waste. Ergo, a bigger take."

"Mr. Souji, was it? Mr. Souji, you have committed a crime in my fair city, which is punishable with varying degrees of severity, you've murdered the son of a friend of mine, and you've nominated yourselves capable of taking over the responsibilities I've entrusted to someone of my choosing. I can't decide it if was extremely brave or extremely stupid for you to come here today, but I'll thank you to not be condescending while you do it."

Eames felt himself gulp involuntarily, but Souji didn't bat an eye. "Lord Saito, my apologies for the condescension, and with all due respect, of which I have quite a lot, I'll include the fact that Johnny Kellerman was pissing away a large chunk of your profits, a fact of which I believe you were well aware. You were planning on replacing him anyway, but now you don't have to worry about angering the senior Mr. Kellerman in the process. By removing Johnny Kellerman completely and not just shuffling him around, as well as adding the additional revenue streams proposed by Mr. Eames, those profits can easily be doubled within the year. And all of this without costing you a single thing. You could have chosen a replacement for Mr. Kellerman yourself, but please understand me when I tell you that the earnings you have seen so far have not been a product of Mr. Kellerman. As an existing component of the successful portion of this infrastructure and from an on-the-ground perspective, I would recommend Mr. Eames as a replacement anyway, sir."

Holy shit. Souji was impressive as hell. Eames counted himself lucky that he was the focus of a positive tirade from Souji when he could very easily have edged Eames out altogether and installed himself in the sole place of power. From the look on Lord Saito's face, he knew it too.

"High praise, Mr. Eames. Do you believe you are worthy of the opportunity to live up to it?"

Eames faced him and poured conviction into his words. "Watch me."

Lord Saito narrowed his eyes at Eames, then nodded, once, curtly. "I will allow this, Mr. Eames, on the previously stipulated condition."

"It's just Eames," slipped out before he could stop it.

Saito raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"It's just Eames, sir, not Mr. Eames." (You don't know me that well.) He clenched his jaw shut against the crazy thought. "What was the previously stipulated condition?"

Saito drew out the pause long enough to let him grow uncomfortable before replying, "The condition that you do your job correctly, and this is the last time I'll have to meet with you." Eames nodded. "You remind me of someone, Eames. A young man filled with radical notions. Be very careful. It is easy to become an old man filled with regret. It is even easier to not get the chance."

"Sir," Eames bowed, Souji followed suit, and they exited, knowing full well they were bloody lucky to get to do so.

"Jesus Christ, you crazy bastard," Souji breathed, once they were back in a cab. He threw his head back against the seat. "I hope you understand how completely insane that was. 'It's just Eames.' Fuck. You have got some balls on you."

"You have no idea, darling," Eames said grimly.

Souji had the taxi drop Eames back at his shite hotel room, and he laid back on the faded duvet and contemplated the ceiling. A half-finished Kandinsky was drying in the corner, the desk shoved aside to make as much room as possible next to the light from the window. His closet was meagerly stocked with the clothes he'd purchased the previous day, minus the ones he was currently wearing, all varying articles in the same color: black. He didn't feel like thinking much about his wardrobe, and if fate was expecting him to be a hardened criminal, the least he could do was dress like it.

He still couldn't remember anything before the beach. He would get odd sensations, or thoughts from time to time, like the feeling that 'Mr. Eames' was an intimate term, which was asinine because what else would people call him? He'd previously thought about going to a doctor, but that option had flown out the window the moment he'd pulled the trigger. Thus far, he'd managed to cover his memory loss by glaring at people when they asked him something he didn't know until they backed down. It seemed like a short term solution, but thus far intimidation had been a fairly successful tactic. Eames wasn't terribly worried about it, honestly. He was a quick study, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it, and he would either remember or he wouldn't. He did feel like he was missing something, though. Which was also asinine, because of course he was. But maybe it wasn't so much missing something as someone. They both had a ring of truth to them, but he can't remember anyone, so why is he so sure there was someone? He'd kept an eye on missing persons reports, and no one had reported anyone missing matching his description, and no internet searches for "Eames" yielded any results. Any. As in, nothing at all. No Twitter accounts, no university records, no marriages, divorces, titles, deeds, vehicle registrations, or sixth form rugby trophies. In fact, the lack of results was somewhat puzzling, considering that was the only thing he'd been sure of when he'd woken up that day on the beach. A beach he'd since learned was directly outside Saito Tower.

It had been easy to use Eames as an identity, though, seeing as how it was already not tied to anything. So his birth certificate listed him as Frank Thomas Eames, born April 1st, 1979. April Fool's Day seemed appropriate and '79 just so he could say he'd been born in the 70's and not the 80's. Then he built himself a back story and slipped it on like a second skin. Easy as pie.

So he laid alone in his hotel room, staring at the ceiling, and trying to convince himself that in a world where he could literally be anyone he wanted, this was the person he wanted to be.

Arthur sat up with a gasp, body aching and his hand immediately scrambled for the port in his arm.

"Eames..." he gasped, clawing at the PASIV line, unseeing. "EAMES!"

"Arthur! Arthur, thank god. Let me help you," Ariadne brushed his hands away and Arthur looked up, his eyes trying to focus.

"Ariadne?" Arthur blinked, then blinked again, his vision slowly clearing.

"Yeah," she smiled softly. "Yeah, it's me. Good to see you."

He felt...heavy, slow. He had to get to someone, had to find someone... Then he heard a soft groan from the bed next to him.

"Dom!" Arthur launched himself out of the chair toward his friend. "Are you alright? Did you...are you...?"

Dom's eyes were closed, but he took a slow breath through his nose. He smiled slightly and nodded, and Arthur felt the band in his chest unclench slightly. He breathed out a sigh of relief. Then he walked toward the small table against the side of the wall, turned his back and rolled his die. Four. Then he rolled it one more time, just to be sure. Four. Arthur embarrassingly felt the hot pinprick of tears behind his eyes and he leaned his head back, hands on his hips and just breathed.

Then he turned to the next bed.

"Eames?" he said softly, but he knew. He'd known, deep down, before he'd turned around that Eames wasn't back yet. He couldn't feel his presence, his boundless energy, his infectious exuberance. Eames and Saito lay next to each other, Saito stretched out straight beneath the pristine and unblemished blanket, Eames a wrinkled mess slumped in the chair next to the bed. He'd originally arranged himself so that he'd appear to be a visitor who'd happened to nod off while sitting with a patient, but he'd slid down, his head lolling uncomfortably. Arthur went to him, unable to resist being near him, touching him, making sure he was real. He fussed with the PASIV line and the jacket covering it, rearranged Eames's head and brushing his fingers surreptitiously through the soft hairs on the back of his head. He rearranged Eames's hands, adjusted the large gold watch that Eames always wore on jobs, ever since he'd gotten it in Barcelona. Arthur remembered he'd gotten it from a street vendor who'd promised them it was a real Bvlgari chronograph, and when Arthur had snorted and told Eames that he could actually afford a real one if he wanted one that badly, Eames had laughed and told him they wouldn't be able to take bets on when it would stop working. As far as he knew, it hadn't ever stopped working, but he wouldn't put it past Eames to fix the damn thing. He checked the time anyway. Then the checked the window. Then he checked his own watch.

"Ariadne," he said, disapproval thick in his voice.

"I know, I know, Arthur, but visiting hours haven't been over long, and no one has been by yet, and I had a story ready in case someone came by, and I just couldn't...Ok? I just couldn't. I had to give you guys every chance, because I know that's what you do for me, and I know I should have, but I just COULDN'T." She wrung her hands helplessly, looking very nervous as Arthur approached. "Arthur, I-"

She broke off as Arthur swept her in a fierce hug.

"Thank you."

She hugged him back, hard, nodding and sniffling a little. "I knew you would be back. I just knew it. You're too smart to get stuck there."

Arthur let her go. "You did well, Ari. I'd say you have the makings of an excellent point man."

Ari blushed to the roots of her hair and stared at the toes of her tennis shoes. "Oh, well...I..." She shrugged.

Arthur forced a tight smile, then turned to Dom. He was still attached to an IV, although Ari had already helped him with his PASIV port, and Arthur found himself winding the lines back up without thinking, a longtime habit of being the one to clean up. Dom placed his hand on Arthur's arm, stilling his movements.

"Arthur. Thank you," he said, softly.

Arthur regarded him, a dangerous, dark feeling flooding his insides. "Dom. I want you to understand that if you were not planning on retiring from dreamshare, you are now. This is it, I'm done. I cannot work with you again. And if he doesn't wake up..." Arthur broke off the thought, unable to articulate what exactly might happen in any aspect of his life should Eames not wake up. He hadn't let himself consider the possibility that he would be the only one to make it back. He had expected Eames would already be here, sitting back in a chair with one knee crossed over the other, sipping a cup of tea and flirting with the nurses. He would tease Arthur about taking so long, and Arthur wouldn't be able to reply because he'd be working out the best way to get everyone out of the room so he could kiss him senseless. Or maybe it would happen that neither of them would get out of limbo, they'd both be stuck indefinitely. But not this. Anything but this. He looked away.

"Arthur," Dom said, shocked and hurt. "I don't-"

"No. Everyone told me that you were dangerous but I refused to listen. I just stood by while you got worse and worse, but I can't believe you told her you'd STAY down there! Are you insane!?"

"Well, I didn't, did I!" Dom said in a broken, angry voice. "She's gone! Alright? Glad I could do that for you!"

Arthur choked back the vitriol crowding behind his teeth. "Did you know?" he asked, stiffly. "Did you know it was limbo and stayed anyway?"

Dom didn't say anything and Arthur threw up his hands and stalked to the window, jaw set, hands on his hips.

Then, Dom said, "I didn't at first. I was sure it was real, and it felt like years. I mean, if I'm being honest, I'd had my doubts, even before you came along. But then again, I'd promised myself that I was done, out, I couldn't do it anymore and I wasn't going to waste the time I had wondering if it was real or not. Because what does it matter? What does "real" even mean? You're just as much you in a dream, you can see the consequences of your decisions, you can have hopes and fears, make goals, overcome obstacles. Just like "real" life."

Arthur's fingers clenched hard, his nails biting into his palms. Because he knew why it mattered what was real. Arthur had memories of kissing Eames countless times in limbo. He had felt so lucky, had basked in his presence and his affection, and he'd taken for granted the casual touches, the comfortable, everyday, side-by-side life they'd built. Then he remembered kissing Eames in real life, and he would trade ten thousand limbo kisses for one more real one. He wanted the real Eames who wanted him back, it was all he'd ever wanted when it came to Eames.

Dom continued after a moment. "Anyway, once you got there, I knew something was off. I kept trying not to think about it, but I knew. You were different."

Arthur turned minutely. "Me?"

Dom smiled sadly. "You didn't wear a suit the whole time. And, I don't know, you were with Eames, and you guys seemed so happy together..."

"Don't." Arthur spun, his face a mask of anger. Eames was the reason he had eventually realized it wasn't real. Eames had been different too. Eames hadn't been real. And it was killing Arthur that it might be all he gets.

Ari looked at the floor, Dom studied the blanket.

"I want to go in after him."

"No!" Ari and Dom said at the same time.

Dom glanced at Ari. "You can't Arthur, we don't know what will happen. Your head's a mess right now from the Somnacin burnoff, you don't know that you'll remember anything when you go down there. You might not even get into the same constructed dreamspace and you might not even find him, ever."

Arthur looked at him blankly then walked deliberately to the PASIV next to Dom's bed. Ari grabbed to stop him.

"Arthur! Stop," she said, tugging on his arm. "At least give him time. Just give him some more time! You got there. He will too. Ok?"

"If you think I'm going to sit here playing fucking solitaire while he's lost in there-"

"Of course we don't think that," Dom said gently. Arthur glared at him, but he continued, "but you've got work to do and we need you to do it."

Arthur waited, and when Dom didn't explain he finally sighed, "Fine, what."

"We're going to get me out of this bed. Between the three of us we should be able to get that oaf in here instead. Then you," he pointed at Arthur, "need to fix the patient records so that he's always been here. That'll buy us at least a little time."

"Damn it, Dom, it's been so long since I hacked into medical databases, I-" Arthur paused. "Fuck." He plowed both hands through his hair and scrubbed his face. "This is fucking with my head. Alright, yeah. Yeah. Can you walk?"

"Yeah, just give me a sec."

They worked together to maneuver Eames from the chair to the bed while keeping him connected to the PASIV. They worked on swapping his clothing for Dom's hospital gown and Arthur felt sick. He hated that he was seeing Eames's naked skin like this. He wanted to turn his head. He wanted to kick Ari and Dom out, and wanted to do it all himself, but he couldn't lift Eames's dead weight alone. When they were done, though, he slowly and methodically removed Eames's shoes, first one, then the other. Then his socks, rolling them and placing them inside his shoes. He folded his slacks and shirt neatly, tucking the poker chip and watch safely in the front pocket. He ran his thumb over the small groove on Eames's ankle, the indention of his sock, then felt like a peeping tom and stopped. He wrestled the blankets over his still form, tucking him in gently. Then he sat in the chair next to the bed, elbows on his knees, and tried to think. He tried to consider logistics, exit routes, getaway plans. He was trying to remember the layout of the hospital when he suddenly all he could see were the pictures he and Eames had hung in the hallway of their house. He had all these memories, they kept crowding him, pushing. He shook his head and tried to calculate dream time compared to time topside, and how Eames and Saito's body composition and Somnacin levels compared to his and Dom's, but the equations kept sliding away from him and all he could see was Eames kissing his hip and looking up at him through dark hooded eyes. Then he could see their lumpy couch and the glow of the TV, the warmth of Eames's arm across his shoulders, his hands running idly through his hair. Then they were slow dancing in their living room, Eames smirking at how sappy he was being. "It's our anniversary, asshole," Arthur had said, scowling. "Ah, spoken like someone truly besotted," Eames had laughed, then kissed the wrinkle between his eyebrows.

"Fuck." Arthur pressed his thumbs into his eyebrows, hard. He had to get out of here.

"Arthur?" Ari asked tentatively. He looked up. She was holding his laptop under her arm, his keys dangling from her fingers. "You ok?"

"Yeah," he said grimly. He took the computer from her, re-pocketed his keys. He'd forgotten he gave them to her. "Just let me work." He checked his watch, then the Somnacin levels on the PASIV. He contemplated Saito's face, smooth and unlined, and hated him a little. He knew it was irrational, that Saito was a decent man (as long as you didn't have something he wanted). He just hated everyone a little right now. He unfolded his laptop and dove in. He had work to do.