Part X. Eames
Eames racked his brain for a new plan as he continued to slide through the alley systems, already in his new form to match the Extractor's projections. It had been difficult to make the forgery since the fog and clouds had mostly covered the sky, making the atmosphere as bright as twilight at best and as dark as midnight on a new moon after a power outage at worst. It was even worse considering the fact that large portions of the urban cityscape had been destroyed, disrupting power circuits and leaving many of the unbroken streetlamps unlit.
He had eventually managed to find a streetlight near the opening of one of the alleys he was walking by, bulb flickering and letting out a warning buzz sound, but lasting long enough for the Forger to complete his transformation. Even though Amelina had both male and female projections under her control, Eames chose to forge a female form. He was less likely to experience as much aggressive trouble in that form and he might be lucky enough for the enemy dream worker to assume he could only forge male personas; some forgers were trapped with forging their own gender.
His form was slim, Amelina's projections generally following her basic body shape, which was somewhat uncommon. It would have looked odder if Eames had forged a male though, while his prominent hourglass shape suited him now. The Forger was not unfamiliar with the female form and enjoyed the change from time to time. The clothing he had been forced to wear in order to match the projections was less than comfortable though. Eames assumed that Amelina had been involved in the military at some point in her life before dream working in order to influence her projection's wardrobe so completely.
Black combat boots were on his feet while the rest of his skin was covered in a dark, fitted material he knew was preferred for many military uniforms. The cloth was already uncomfortably hot as it clung to his skin, but he couldn't complain; between the outfit and his tied back dark hair, he was a shadow swallowed up in the darkness of the alleys as he moved into the northern end of the dreamscape.
The Extractor's territory of the city was surprisingly full of projections, many more than Eames would have expected to see out on the streets. He had assumed that Amelina would have had more projections with her in her base rather than out on the streets fighting the last few remaining projections of Arthur's. Her base was actually a large glass spire that looked like it was from some futuristic city; it was the only building he could see that still had all of its glass intact. All of the lights still seemed to be on inside the building, giving the entire spire an eerie, orange glow. It seemed rather arrogant and foolish for a dream worker to create such a beacon in an enemy's subconscious, and Eames could only guess she was aware that the Point Man was too weak to retaliate offensively.
Eames dodged back into the alleys when he saw some projections headed his way, one of Arthur's being mercilessly chased by three of Amelina's. The Forger felt guilty as he slid back into the shadows, doing nothing to save the projection as the young woman rushed by the alley mouth, gasping for breath and tears streaming down her cheeks in the passing wind. He wished he could manifest his own projections to aid in the fight against the two remaining enemy dream workers, but he was terrified about what it might do to Arthur's stability. Eames had never even considered how badly shifting the architecture of the dream might affect Arthur until he had heard the Point Man over the phone. Now he was petrified of hurting Arthur further by bringing new projections into the dreamscape for him to struggle to sustain.
He was forced to return into the alleys and purposefully ignore the sound of a woman tripping, crying out, and then silence. Eames was concerned to note that Amelina did not seem to be taking any prisoners back to her base in order to torture and interrogate. He knew the Extractor should be working hard to draw the information from Arthur's subconscious – she would be the most likely of the three enemies to succeed - but any projection of the Point Man was dealt a swift death. Though Eames felt horrible at the thought, it was a relief to know that Arthur would not experience more prolonged suffering.
Every moment that Eames headed further away from the central part of the city, he felt an insistent urge tugging him back towards Arthur's base of operations. When he had seen Arthur – the real Arthur, at last – down in the dream for the first time since Inception and yet after nearly a year of dreams and fantasies, Eames had barely been able to contain himself. The only thing that had kept him focused was the seriousness of the situation, the fact that Arthur's life was hanging in the balance, and that the Point Man had asked for his help specifically. However, that did not mean that Eames had not been sorely tempted to drag Arthur over to the couch and kiss the man's breath away.
It had torn at Eames to leave Arthur alone in his building in order to go after Nikolas, knowing it was vital for both of their survival but also knowing that he might never see the man he loved again – never get the opportunity to speak his mind and heart. He had managed to leave and focus on his job, motivated with the knowledge that Arthur was depending on him. But now that he knew how greatly his Point Man was suffering, it felt as though each step away from Arthur was tearing Eames's soul to pieces.
Nonetheless, he pushed himself forward at the fastest pace he could manage without tripping or stumbling in the darkness. It was treacherous, making his way through the city in this state. It looked as though a bomb had struck nearby, shattering everything fragile and burning away everything living. Eames was thankful that he was able to move throughout the alleyways while Amelina's projections still kept a cautious distance. The high and narrow walls left less open air for debris to fall through as buildings collapsed around him.
Once on his sneak through enemy territory he had been forced to backtrack and follow a new route from what had been drawn for him. His first warning had been an ominous moan of metal straining against gravity. After that had been a rain shower of glass shards – the remainder of broken windows falling from quite a far distance. It was only then that he realized he was standing underneath a skyscraper that was bent at an unnatural angle, metal screeching in the quieting streets by that point as the metal hinges began to skid and break. Eames had barely managed to run back a few blocks of alleyway before the metal frame of the building had finally toppled with a low, pained groan.
Metal, wiring and glass all rained down and filled up the narrow alleys like a violent storm and Eames barely managed to get around a corner in time to avoid the rush of debris that had been pushed further away with the force of impact. The Forger had covered his face and head with a coat he had forged into existence in a panic, though he was forced to continue breathing through the fabric for another few minutes before he thought it might be safe to breathe normally. When he did finally venture back up the alley slightly, he saw that the metal framing had carved out a deep groove in the top floors of the buildings lining the alleys, but that the building had come to a rest.
Eames had attempted to maintain his route, wanting to take the quickest route to Amelina possible, but the sparks trailing down like dying fireworks from the electrical systems in the skeleton of a building had deterred him. He had been forced to rush away as electrical wirings continued to crack and spark, finding a more stable light source in the form of a rare working traffic light that tinted his map red. As soon as he had his new route memorized, Eames slipped back into the alley. Even though he knew he had not been down in the dreamscape long, it felt like this war had been dragging on forever.
He felt impatient as he neared Amelina's hideaway, like every step, every breath, every second was taking too long to pass. It almost felt like it had when he was in his apartment in Mombasa, waiting for the day when things finally started to improve. He was ready for all of this to be over, for Eames to open his eyes and watch Arthur open his own beautiful ones in the hospital again. Before all of this began, Eames had thought that there would be no bigger challenge than to track Arthur down and convince the Point Man that there was some value in taking a chance. Now that challenge was all he could hope and look forward to; admitting his feelings to Arthur – no matter the response – seemed like a reward now, rather than a moment to dread.
As if to answer his plea for this to come to a close, Eames turned a corner and came face to face with the mouth of an alley looking directly at the entrance of Amelina's glimmering spire. He stumbled back around a corner for a moment, blinking furiously as his eyes burned from the sudden appearance of bright lights. He had become so adjusted to relying on touch rather than his sight now, fingers gliding over brick walls as he made his way through the alleys, that it hurt his eyes to be forced to adjust to light again. Even worse was the fact that the light coming from the Extractor's spire was enough to light up an entire downtown area of a normal urban centre.
Once the spots on his vision had faded away and his eyes had stopped streaming with tears, Eames swiped away the remaining tear tracks with the sleeve of his jacket before heading for the mouth of the alley. The Forger did not see many projections entering or leaving the main doors at the base of the building, but he could think of no other method of sneaking into Amelina's hideaway. He knew that this enemy dream worker was not a novice so Eames would not have the same leeway as he had had when forging one of Nikolas's projections. If he acted incorrectly as a projection, he would be noticed.
He had spent all of his time while crossing the large expanse of city from the east end up to the north trying to think of some solution to this issue. But in the end he could not think of any alternative other than to rush the building. He would draw attention to himself quite quickly and he would just have to work with that; it was unlikely that he would manage to sneak all of the way to Amelina in person without being caught. So he would just have to be prepared for a violent greeting.
The courtyard of cobblestone and long-since burned potted plants surrounding the building left the whole area open and visible. There were a few groups of projections patrolling the area and Eames remained in the shadows of the alley as he watched the routine carefully. Each passing minute was another minute where Arthur was suffering, but rushing in with guns blazing would do nothing but get him killed and leave the Point Man alone.
It was worth the wait to watch the routine when he finally noticed the pattern and identified the precise moment he would have an opportunity to slip through safely. It was understandable that even someone as skilled as Amelina would get caught in maintaining a routine when down in a dreamscape this long. She was forced to keep control of her building and her projections while attempting to stay alive and extract information from the Point Man. There was only so much someone's subconscious was capable of when put under stress, and those shortcuts and routines that resulted were what Eames had been hoping for.
He confirmed his forgery quickly before slipping out of the alley behind one group of projections that had just walked by but far enough away from the next patrol that he would not stand out. Then he stepped forward, matching the pace he had been watching, and joined the end of the line of the next projections swinging around the courtyard. He had seen Amelina's other projections join and leave the patrol groups as they entered the courtyard or returned back out onto the streets to continue causing damage.
Eames followed the patrol's path, even as it circled away from his goal before doubling around towards the base and entrance of the large glass spire. None of the projections looked over at him as he joined and then left the group, seemingly content with his forgery and seeing no reason to regard him with suspicion. He peeled away from the end of the line as quietly as he could, re-joining the few rare shadows on the ground surrounding the base of the building – caused by the outlining support beams. Again, no one looked his way as he deviated from the norm and carefully slipped in through the metal and glass entrance double doors.
The moment Eames was inside Amelina's base of operations and the door slid closed behind him, he paused. He slid out of view behind another support beam, this one made of metal but made to look like white marble. His outfit was suddenly like a beacon now, all-consuming black on a white background. Amelina had been smart to dress her projections like this; they could easily hide in the darkness of the city but would never be able to hide in her hideaway, making any deviance obvious. The projections kept to their routine on the courtyard, only visible in the ruined city because of the glow from the spire. There was also no one in the blindingly white lobby with Eames, leaving an eerie silence that set the Forger on edge.
Too easy, his mind screamed. Trap.
He recognized it for what it was, but that did not mean he could make a run for it now. Leaving would only increase the distance between himself and the enemy dream worker he had to dispose of as soon as possible. That was why he forced himself to remain still when he heard the distinct sound of high heels clicking on the shiny tiling of the floor. The sound echoed around the circular room, beginning as a soft pace before growing louder and steadier as his heart rate began to race.
From what he could guess, the high heels stopped a short distance away from the pillar he was hiding behind, an ominous click, click, silence. "I know you are there, Mr. Eames. Playing the hero today, are we? It would be better if you just came out."
Eames raised an eyebrow for his own benefit, wondering how the Extractor knew his name. The fact sent a streak of fear through him, worried that her knowledge of his name might be an indication that she had managed to extract her desired information from the Point Man. If she knew his name, what else did she know about him? What had she learned about Arthur? Had she torn the information her team had come for from Arthur's subconscious?
Deciding to hide his fear and concern for Arthur with a show of bravado, Eames circled around the pillar while still forged, eyes focusing on Amelina the moment she came into view. "I'm sure I have no idea to what you are speaking about," he returned in a soft, feminine voice as he mimicked the dreamer's accent. English accents were always the easiest for him to forge, the subtle differences easily mastered.
"I'm sure you don't," Amelina smiled back in amusement, watching him like a well-trained hawk from across the empty space of lobby, neither of them making a move towards each other. "My," she whispered appraisingly when he came into full view, "You are quite a skilled forger, aren't you? If I hadn't been smart enough to plan for an intrusion like this," the Extractor boasted confidently, "I might not have been able to pick you out of a crowd of my projections. I'm impressed."
"Joy," Eames bit out, teeth bared behind his lips, "My life's goal, complete."
Amelina giggled then, voice like high pitched wind chimes. It was a startlingly beautiful sound to hear, but it was also sharp and deadly, like the warning rattle before a snake struck. "Sarcastically witty and gorgeous, no wonder you're so prominent in Arthur's thoughts," the Extractor taunted, falling silent while watching him knowingly – knowing he could not resist a hook like that.
The Forger forced himself not to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue at the woman's words, but it was hard. Instead, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and straightened his back, realizing that this encounter would be a battle of wit and words rather than a physical chase. "A little overdressed for the occasion, aren't you?" he asked, tone curious and mocking.
The Extractor gave a pleased smile, taking a moment to look over herself arrogantly. She was dressed in an emerald green evening gown, the fabric clinging to every curve and reflecting the light in the room so that it shimmered. The high heels Eames had heard approaching earlier were barely visible under the trail of her dress, the white satin tips just poking out in front. Her rich brown hair framed her face and fell down the back of her neck in ringlets, a few thicker strands pinned back with a jewelled hair clip. She had a matching necklace that caught the light and white satin gloves that covered her forearms.
"You look quite attractive in my form as well," she teased lightly, finally looking back up at him again. "As for my outfit…" she smirked mischievously, "I do not enjoy getting my hands dirty." Then she held her hands out in front of her and flipped them over so that they were facing palm-up. Eames could see the stain of old blood on the white palms and fingers of her gloves, being shown off like a trophy. He took one menacing step forward but forced himself to stop when she matched him and took an equal step backwards. Eames had to keep this woman in sight; he couldn't afford to change the architecture around to trap her as he had with Nikolas. Amelina gave another surprised giggle and allowed her hands to drop to her sides again. "You have more self-control than I was expecting."
"I'm full of surprises," he warned, mentally reviewing where his two guns were hidden on his form and how many seconds it would take for him to get the gun in hand, aim and shoot. Seeing the blood of Arthur's projections – there was no other explanation – on the enemy dream worker's hands had sent him into a poorly contained fury. He had felt bad for killing Nikolas on some level because the Architect had not looked for this; he had merely been swept up in the situation. Amelina was different – she was relishing this.
"As am I," Amelina smirked, "As you have already come to realize. Tell me, are you wondering how I know your name, how I know you are a forger? It is certainly not information I would have known on my own."
"I'm pretty sure I have a good idea," he shrugged the questions aside, unwilling to fall into her trap as she attempted to capture him within his own curiosity and fear. All the while he was busy trying to estimate how close he would have to get before he could safely confirm he would hit the Extractor on his first shot. His odds for dealing a fatal blow on his fist shot – before she could run away – were not good. He also had to remember the projections lining the streets outside of the building because if Eames only managed a superficial shot, he would have swarms of projections coming in to murder him while Amelina got away.
"Good," the woman nodded in approval, "then you are intelligent as well. However," she took a measured step backwards without looking over her shoulder, headed towards the centre of the room. Eames matched her step. "With intelligence comes curiosity, and I will bet that you are quite curious about what else I have come to learn during my time down here in the dreamscape."
"Not really," he blatantly lied, taking a moment to survey the rest of the room in order to distract himself from Amelina's advances. It was disconcerting how persuasive she could be, definitely skilled at what she did.
The room around them was large and circular at the base of the spire, glass and metal framing surrounding the entire outer wall. Eames was surprised to see that there were no floors above him, but that the entire spire was hollow and glass all the way from the base up to its glass tip. He could see the city around him as well as the sky, though it looked as though someone had turned off the moon and stars, leaving the world in darkness. The only thing breaking the monotonous whiteness that was the entire building was a set of metal double doors in the centre of the lobby. The Forger could see that the doors led to a tiny circular, glass elevator, which no doubt took its path up the centre of the spire.
"Really?" the Architect hummed thoughtfully, taking another step back towards the elevator doors. Eames matched her again, growing impatient. Battles of words and wit were enjoyable when he was in reality and was not under the pressure of keeping himself and Arthur alive. He looked forward to matches like this when he got to see Arthur frown in thought or distaste before he produced a brilliant comeback, never one to leave Eames disappointed. But this was not enjoyable for Eames to endure, and not just because it was not the Point Man squaring off against him. "You seemed to react quite strongly to me telling you that Arthur thought of you often."
"Nothing you could ever say or tell me would make me believe a single word you said," Eames reminded her, taking another calculated step forward. His heart raced in anticipation and confusion when Amelina did not match his step backwards. "So it really doesn't matter what secrets you say you have uncovered."
"It's a shame that you feel that way," the Extractor sounded genuinely sad as she plucked at the dry blood on her glove idly. "Because there is so much that I have come to learn down here about your precious dream worker. Secrets that, and this you can believe, you will never learn from Arthur himself."
"Arthur is allowed his secrets," Eames proclaimed, taking yet another step closer, closing the gap between himself and the enemy dream worker. Just a few more large steps and he would be close enough to draw his gun and feel relatively confident in his ability to land a fatal blow. The fact that Amelina was not stepping away had him on guard though, unsure of what her intentions were.
The woman scoffed disbelievingly and dropped her hands to her hips. "You don't honestly expect me to believe that, do you?" she taunted, painted red lips curled in a dangerous smile. Eames felt unnerved as he watched that smile grow, wondering if he had made a mistake without knowing it. "Your very nature is to learn absolutely everything there is to know about an individual – every mannerism, every expression, and every thought and memory behind those."
"You don't know me," the Forger argued, standing still. He was terrified of making the wrong decision and scaring away the Extractor. He was also petrified of waiting too long and wasting his wonderful opportunity.
"Don't sound so proud," Amelina chided him snidely. "Every forger is the same. You are far from unique." She took another step backwards, now only one or two steps from the elevator door. Eames followed her anxiously, unwilling to lose her in the mess of reflecting glass that was her spire. "You are entirely too predictable, Mr. Eames. It is almost dull. I knew enough to prepare for your invasion the moment I knew of your existence, and it has clearly left me with the upper hand. I know your moves before you even consider them."
"Boasting is unbecoming in a woman," Eames baited her. "And if I am so predictable, I suppose my next move will come as no shock," he added as he slowly slid his hand down and around the handle of his gun, pulling it out and aiming it precisely.
"I'm afraid not," the Extractor giggled again; this time the sound grated on Eames's nerves, like fingernails scraped down a chalkboard. She seemed entirely unperturbed to have the barrel of a gun pointed directly at her forehead – in fact, she looked pleased. Eames felt dread develop heavily in his stomach. "Which is also why I know that you will follow me into this elevator without shooting me," Amelina betted with a smile on her face as she stepped backwards again and pressed the 'up' button.
Eames cocked his gun, took another two steps forward, and adjusted his aim on the woman's forehead again. "Sadly, you might be mistake this time."
Amelina shook her head and grinned childishly. "Tell me, Mr. Eames. How much do you really know about Arthur? Has he ever told you about his parents? How about Tyson?" she spoke the name like a dagger, and Eames couldn't stop the curiosity and jealousy from welling up inside of him. "Diane?" Amelina said the name precisely, lips caressing the name like a delicate secret. "No?" the Extractor asked him, faking disappointment. "I guess you don't mean as much to him as I thought if he hasn't trusted you enough to share those important people with you."
Eames did not recognize either of the names spoken and knew nothing of Arthur's parents. It was impossible for the Forger to determine if the woman was lying through her teeth and just making things up to get Eames to react, or whether she really had broken into the Point Man's subconscious and begun working through his memories. She seemed too smug to be lying, but it hurt that Arthur truly hadn't trusted him enough to share his past in order for Eames to figure out Amelina's plan.
"Everyone has their secrets," he tried to defend Arthur's choices, remembering that Eames himself had not told Arthur his life story either. They were both dream workers involved in an illegal profession where keeping secrets kept you alive. It was unfair for him to assume that the Point Man would just tell him everything there was to know, especially since they had just started to reconnect while in the middle of a war. And it wasn't like Arthur had entrusted his secrets to the Extractor – she had stolen them. But he couldn't stop the small sting of hurt and disappointment in his chest – Amelina had struck a nerve.
"Of course they do," the woman agreed, smoothing out a few invisible creases on her dress. "And I can show you Arthur's if you follow me," she offered as the elevator chimed and the two metal doors slid open.
She stepped backwards into the elevator, watching him expectantly. This time, Eames did not match the woman's step as he remained stationary on the white tiling of the lobby. Despite the fact that he had a large room of empty space behind him, the Forger suddenly felt cornered. "I'd rather Arthur tell me himself," he countered, refocusing his aim on the Extractor when he realized that the barrel had slipped down towards the floor.
"That's a fair enough desire," Amelina nodded, doors of the elevator remaining open without any interference. "But I can assure you that if you allow me to escape from your sight now, or if you kill me, you will never know any of Arthur's secrets. After all," she shrugged, dress and jewellery somewhat shadowed now that she was out of the direct light of the lobby, "he could have called you anytime during the last year. There was nothing stopping him, but Arthur never called you, did he?"
Eames swallowed hard and bit his lip, trying to block the Extractor's voice out. It was so difficult though as her words swam around him teasingly, voice as soft as silk and as tempting as honey. It didn't matter if Arthur didn't want to tell Eames everything about his past and how he had ended up as the most skilled Point Man in the profession of dream working. It didn't matter if Eames didn't know about all of the important people in the man's past. He could live with that, or at least he thought he could. But…But Eames had thought that Arthur had been more affectionate to him when the Forger had entered the dream so why…why had Arthur never called?
"There is no reason for you to want to help me and answer my questions," Eames hedged angrily, frustrated with himself as he felt his resolve crumbling beneath his feet. "Why would you agree to sate my curiosity, especially since I'll be at point blank range to shoot if I choose?"
"Because, Mr. Eames," Amelina crossed her hands in front of her so that just the edges of her fingers and the blood caked onto the white fabric there was visible. "I enjoy watching people suffer, and I never promised you that knowing Arthur's memories would make you happy."
The Forger hesitated for a long moment, though Amelina never commented or pushed him – she probably knew that he was already lost. The thought of betraying Arthur's trust like this and taking advantage of the knowledge already stolen from his subconscious had his stomach roiling with guilt. But at the same time, even though he knew it was wrong, he felt an unbelievable sense of morbid curiosity. He fought himself as he slowly stepped towards the elevator, lowering his gun but not putting the safety back on. However, Eames could do nothing but continue taking measured steps forward – he felt bewitched.
It seemed like no time at all before he was in the small glass elevator with Amelina and the doors were sliding closed behind him despite the fact that he had been dragging his feet the entire time. "I'm glad you decided to join me, Mr. Eames," the Extractor raised one blood-stained glove and rested it on the crook of the Forger's arm tauntingly. Eames found himself unable to move or shake her off, even as he felt vomit rise in the back of his throat. "Even though free will and choice really had nothing to do with it."
Amelina smiled up at him evilly, still a few inches shorter than him despite the aid of the high heels, before the elevator slid into motion without any physical intervention. As he had suspected, the elevator rose straight up through the centre of the spire, giving him a perfect view of the entire building from the inside with everything made of glass. The elevator rose slowly enough that he was able to watch each passing floor, though he also felt the pressure in his ears build as their altitude continued to increase.
His attention was caught when he noticed movement on the large panels of glass that served as the outer wall of the building. It was like an entire wall of large screen tellies, and he would have sworn that's what it was if he had not stood outside the building and seen that he could look right through the material into the lobby. On each slab of glass they passed, there seemed to be a video playing on a loop. There were too many for Eames to focus on all of them as they continued upwards at an undisturbed pace, but he could see Arthur at various stages of his life in all of the videos.
The Forger watched with mounting curiosity and guilt as the apparent memories continued to flash by his eyes, wondering if this was still causing Arthur to suffer as the memories kept repeating. There were flashes of scenes Eames could barely make sense of, the Point Man's age fluctuating each time. He was keeping a close eye for these so called 'important people' in Arthur's life, but he just kept seeing images of Arthur and nobody else. "Arthur has always been alone," the Extractor stated simply, softly. "And he has always been fine. Why would he suddenly decide to give everything up and trust someone like you?"
He felt Amelina's nails dig into his arm through the fabric of her glove and his jacket – only then did he realize that his forgery had fallen and he was back to his normal form. Eames attempted to pull his arm away from the stinging pain, or to lift his other hand to aim his gun and bring this to an end, but he found himself still paralyzed and unable to retaliate in any way. The elevator's pace sped up as they headed towards the top of the spire and Eames became dizzy with a sense of vertigo when he glanced down and noticed that the bottom of the elevator was glass as well.
"No one could love you, Mr. Eames. You know this well enough from your own past, don't you?" she asked, feigning innocent curiosity. The outer glass walls of the spire had begun to close in around them as the building narrowed towards the ceiling. This put all of the glass panels replaying memories closer and closer to the elevator and Eames's eyes as they began flashing with images of the Forger's own suppressed past.
Eames clenched his eyes shut but found himself unable to keep them closed, either forced to stare down at the glass bottom of the elevator and the entire building below him or his looping memories. Neither option was pleasant and both left him feeling unbalanced. Images of bullies at school, the sound of beer bottles shattering against the wall, the feeling of a hand hitting him – hard – to the ground, the gleam of a knife streaked with blood. The Forger gasped, finding it hard to breathe, and attempted to close his eyes again as he felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes.
"Your father hated you, didn't he? And your mother hated you by the end as well, I'm sure. She would have been able to leave and live a happy life if it wasn't for you," Amelina spoke as if reading the script of his life, his thoughts, his deepest fears. He was amazed at how quickly the Extractor had managed to tap into his memories and place them on the screen to increase his horror, but wondered if it had something to do with her design of the building and elevator. He had no doubt that his weariness from fighting and uncertainty when it came to the Point Man was not helping him keep his defences up. "Is this really what you're offering Arthur? The obligation to stay with you until it ends up killing him? You aren't capable of giving anything else to a relationship. It's no wonder he avoided your advances."
"It wasn't my fault," he chanted, something he had spent years dealing with after his father had murdered his mother. He thought he had gotten past this, had managed to put it in his past and move on; apparently he was wrong. "I've changed. I can give Arthur everything he deserves and more."
"Really?" Amelina dug her nails in harder, sounding pleased at the pain he knew was in his tone. "You consider a history of failed relationships and one night stands to be a good indication that you can give Arthur a proper relationship? I kind of feel bad for him, knowing you're the one trying to gain his affections," the Extractor taunted.
The images of Eames's past faded away into a blur before the Forger's memories of his time during Inception began skidding across the glass at a disorienting place. "You're wrong," he whispered weakly, unable to look away from those flashes of annoyance and glares he had always received from the Point Man when attempting to tease and flirt with the man. Each look of hatred had his eyes burning and his heart clenching painfully.
"Am I?" Amelina crooned in his ear, teeth sharp and white as she grinned again. "It certainly doesn't look like I'm wrong with these memories. And this wasn't that long ago, was it? This was your last job with Arthur before he never called you again despite your best efforts. I'm surprised, Mr. Eames; I thought you were intelligent enough to understand a refusal that obvious."
Eames opened his mouth and then closed it again without speaking a word, unable to think of any argument to refute the woman who was still hanging on his arm. Had he really just been a hopeless romantic, allowing his infatuation to drive him despite Arthur's obvious refusals? Had Eames mistakenly seen affection in the Point Man's words and actions when he arrived down in the dream due to his own hopes and desires, projecting his feelings onto the other man? Was he really such a fool to think that it was possible for Arthur to suddenly have a change of heart – to suddenly care for Eames the way he had always wanted? Why would he? Why would anyone?
"Tell me, Mr. Eames," Amelina's lips were by his ear again, voice so soft and comforting as he felt his heart and hope shatter. "What was it you were doing on that last job with Arthur? Who were you working for? Who were you working with?"
Eames saw familiar faces flicker across the passing glass, panels nearly scraping the edges of the elevator at this height. He wondered towards the sudden change in topic and the Extractor's interest, and then he felt his mind fog again. The Forger slumped against the glass wall of the elevator, only kept from falling completely by Amelina's insistent grip on his arm. He realized idly that this was probably what the enemy dream workers had come down here to learn in the first place, to steal all of the Point Man's knowledge about the Inception job. But if the Extractor was asking him now, that must mean that Arthur had still managed to fight her off.
He felt a mix of pride and shame at that thought, astounded by Arthur's abilities and embarrassed by his own. All it had taken was a day and a half in the dreamscape, one fight with an enemy dream worker, and a few key insinuations towards Eames's blindness to Arthur's disinterest for him to crack. The Forger couldn't think of any reason to fight though, to hold out on the information Amelina was looking for. After all, what would it really change at this point?
The elevator was slowing down as they neared the peak of the spire, the web of metal framing joining above them quite close. "Just tell me," Amelina persuaded him, running her gloved fingers up and down his forearm – it would have been comforting if not for the blood. "If you tell me then this can all be over. You won't have to feel this pain any longer. Arthur won't matter any longer and you'll finally be free."
The Extractor's words were somewhat hazy now as they swam around Eames, confusing him. "Arthur…" he whispered, trying to focus his mind past the insistent string of questions from the beautiful woman beside him. Past the pain in his heart at the thought that he had been imagining Arthur's affection towards him, making it hard for him to draw in breath as his chest constricted. What would he do with himself if he woke up in reality and Arthur pushed him aside, disappeared and never spoke to Eames again? He had barely survived the last rejection.
"Yes, Arthur," Amelina repeated. "Would you like to forget him, Mr. Eames? I can do that for you if you tell me what it is I want."
"Forget Arthur…?" he asked blearily as he slumped more completely against the elevator wall. The thought was tempting; he would never have to suffer through this heartbreak and unrequited love again, if only he forgot that the Point Man existed. The elevator slid smoothly to a stop at the top of the spire, the glass around them mere inches away from the walls. Eames blinked his eyes open at the tiny jolt as they stopped, and what he saw on the panels in front of him took his breath away.
It was Arthur, sitting at his desk when Eames had first found the man in the dreamscape. Those beautiful, sharp eyes were alight with relief and genuine happiness. Those thin lips were curled into a welcoming smile. Arthur's face and body was suddenly relaxed, and that photo of Eames with his arm around Arthur was behind the man, telling more than the Point Man ever would. I need someone I can trust. He was not sure if the words were spoken aloud with the memories or if his mind was just remembering them, but it didn't matter; they rang out loudly in his mind.
He could tell that Amelina was aware of a change immediately, but the Extractor no longer had any hope of winning this battle. Eames's mind was clear now, free of the dream worker's persuasion. His memories of Arthur reminded him why he was down here risking his life, and why he could never give up. Arthur was relying on him – trusted him – over anyone else. Whether that came along with other feelings for the Forger or not didn't matter; he had to get Arthur back to reality safely.
Amelina let go of his arm as if burned, taking a step back and reaching for a gun the Forger honestly couldn't guess where she had been hiding. Eames was faster though, lifting the hand that had been loosely holding his gun before that moment. He levelled the barrel and aimed even as the Extractor fumbled to reach her own. "Thanks for the memories, Amelina," he spoke his farewell as he confirmed his aim and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot was deafening in the small confinement of the elevator and the glass walls shook dangerously with the aftershock. Eames's ears rang as he watched Amelina's form crumple to the glass floor of the elevator, blood pooling quickly to surround the soles of the Forger's shoes. He grimaced uncomfortably at the sight of the dead Extractor, wiping his blood-speckled hands on his pant legs grimly. Eames still felt horrible – he always did when he was forced to look down on a dead body that he was responsible for – but he did not feel guilty over the fact that she would be waking up with no memory.
He was grateful that the elevator and building had not collapse around him, just as the dreamer had. Unfortunately, he seemed stuck without some intervention and was forced to manipulate the architecture just enough to get him back down to the ground despite knowing it was probably draining Arthur. He made his descent as quickly has he could manage, making his ears pop with the pressure.
The Forger stumbled out of the elevator when it reached the ground floor, knees weak with nausea and relief. Amelina's body had faded away by that point, but the blood had not. Eames forced himself not to look back as he crossed the lobby purposefully, knowing that there would be footprints of blood following him but unable to bear seeing such a thing. Instead, he pushed himself through the large entrance doors and out into the deserted courtyard. The shadowed darkness of Arthur's dreamscape was suddenly more comforting than the bright lights of the spire, which were slowly flickering out of life, dropping him into a slow darkness.
There was no one in the courtyard as he crossed the open area towards the welcoming mouth of the alley – it seemed safer knowing that Arthur was the one who had created the alley system. He wanted to be away from the sterile brightness and the empty, vulnerable areas that had been abandoned. It was relieving to know that all of Amelina's projections had faded along with her, leaving him no enemies to be concerned about in this part of the city. He only had to deal with one more enemy dream worker, Louis, in the west side of the city and then this would all be over.
Eames settled on the ground once he was a few feet into the alley, tucking his knees against his chest as he pulled out his mobile phone. He prayed that the Point Man was not suffering too badly from Eames's manipulation of the architecture as he chose the man's number and brought the phone to his ear. He wasn't sure whether he should head directly to the west to deal with Louis or if he should head back to the centre of down and check in on Arthur.
As he waited for the Point Man to pick up the phone, his whole body anxious as the rings passed once again, he noticed that the fog was already swarming the area. The tip of the spire had already been swallowed up and Eames could see through the glass walls that the opposite side of the building also had fog swirling against it. He couldn't physically see where Arthur's barriers were, but he knew for sure that he had to get out of there quickly. He picked himself up off the pavement and rushed out onto the main city streets, knowing he would not have the time to manoeuvre through the alley system while outrunning the oncoming fog as Arthur's barriers collapsed.
Just as he began a light jog back towards the centre of town, the phone connected and Arthur breathed across the phone. "Eames."
"Arthur, love," he greeted warmly, relieved to hear that the man did not sound like he had been throwing up at all from Eames's slight architecture manipulation. "Amelina is dead," he promised. "I was wondering if I should go after Louis immediately or if I should come back and regroup briefly."
"Come back," Arthur insisted immediately. "I have new information for you."
Eames raised an eyebrow in confusion, glancing back over his shoulder to consider the fog's advancement. He was safe as he was, but he would need to continue moving at a quick pace until he made it out of the northern end of the dreamscape before he could relax. "What sort of information?"
"I can't say over the phone," the Point Man answered, sounding distant and forced.
"Arthur, are you alright?" Eames questioned in concern. He may not know everything there was to know about the Point Man, as Amelina had pointed out, but he knew the man well enough to recognize when his tone was off. "You sound strained."
"I just wanted to say…" Arthur fell silent for a moment, confusion and nerves sparking up in the Forger. "I love you."
Eames blinked at the words and felt his heart jump before it promptly plummeted into the pavement below his moving feet. But before he could respond, Eames heard the phone disconnect on Arthur's end. The Forger pulled the phone away from his ear and considered it for a moment in disbelief, the Point Man's words still echoing in his ears. If Arthur had just said that, then it must mean that things were really bad and that the Point Man was in serious trouble. If Arthur had said it and meant it, which Eames wouldn't allow himself to hope for right then, it meant that Arthur thought he was going to be dead within hours and Eames had to get there immediately.
With this realization, the Forger paused in his jog for a moment. He listened for any indication of what was going on and realized with horror that the west side of the cityscape had fallen silent. Eames cursed loudly, his voice echoing off the concrete and catching on the wind – Louis must have abandoned his hideaway in the western end of the dreamscape and attacked the Point Man while he was weak from Nikolas's attack and Eames was away fighting Amelina.
If Eames had not gotten caught up in the Extractor's persuasion and disposed of her sooner, he might have realized Louis's plan and been able to get to Arthur before the enemy dream worker had gotten there. He forced himself to remember that Arthur was still alive though, conscious enough to speak and warn Eames away from danger. The Forger knew that the Point Man was trying to subtly tell him to run for it, Louis no doubt listening in on the conversation, but Eames was not about to give up on Arthur at this stage in the game.
There was still a chance that he could get to Arthur in time to save him before Louis did any more damage. He might even manage to get them both back to safety after dispatching the enemy dream worker. But by this point, Eames just wanted to make sure that Arthur's suffering ended, whether that resolution came from waking up or death. He also wanted one last, selfish moment to tell Arthur that he loved the man too, uncaring of whether the Point Man had only spoken it as a warning or whether it had been his final farewell.
And with that motivation in mind, Arthur's words still ringing in his ears, Eames pocketed his phone and began sprinting towards the centre of town.