Disclaimer:Don't own anything. The song Eames is singing is Leaving on a Jet Plane by John Denver.
Author's Note: I won a trip to Madrid with three coworkers. Still spazzing and still trying to wrap my head around the idea.
The first book in my brother and I's original alternate history/fantasy series is up on authonomy. I would appreciate it if you guys would head over there, take a look.
authonomy / books / 47917 / sanctum - files - the - dragon - scroll /
"Sometimes, Ms. Lane, one must break with one's past to embrace one's future. It is never an easy thing to do. It is one of the distinguishing characteristics between survivors and victims. Letting go of what was to survive what is."
-Jericho Barrons (Darkfever by Karen Marie Moning)
Eames hates Titanic.
"You actually like it?" Eames asked, gesturing at the screen. Titanic was one of those movies that came on every once in a while and Arthur liked the cinematics of it, even if the actual romance of it, he found rather weak.
"It's not a movie I'll go buy, but I don't have the absolute loathing that you seem to have," Arthur said, flipping a page in his book. Titanic was the kind of movie that you didn't really have to pay attention to after you'd seen it the first time. In truth, he'd just wanted some background noise. "Which, why is that? You're the romantic one; I thought you'd've liked this movie."
"You confuse romantic for ridiculous, darling. That's no way to make a love story believable."
Arthur closed the book, keeping his place with his finger. He had a feeling that this discussion would get interesting. "And why isn't it believable?" Not that he disagreed, but he wanted to know Eames' reasoning behind it.
"It's like bloody Romeo and Juliet. They're kids who, if Jack had lived, they would've either ended up hating each other or falling apart. That was lust, not love."
"So if this isn't the supposed 'ultimate romance movie'," Eames heard the air quotes without Arthur having to use his fingers. "Then what is?"
Eames lifted Arthur's feet to sit on the other end of the couch, placing them in his lap. "Romance movie?"
"Mmhm. And if you say The Notebook, I'll shoot you."
Eames laughed. "Not a fan of it?"
"Of any of the Nicholas Sparks movies. They're all so predictable and they end too perfectly. Life doesn't work that way."
"True enough…Well, as far as chemistry goes, Silence of the Lambs is up there."
"Silence of the Lambs?" Arthur repeated.
"Well, yes." Eames looked like he didn't know why Arthur was surprised. "Clarice and Hannibal Lector had fantastic chemistry, despite limited screen time. It's why the director wanted the movie to come out on Valentine's Day. He thought it was the perfect date movie."
Arthur shouldn't be surprised that Eames knew that sort of random information. "Did you watch it on a date?"
Eames smiled a little and it was touched with fondness. "Yes, actually. It was Sheral's idea. It's still one of her favorites."
(Sometimes, Arthur wonders if Eames and Sheral had been their own kind of Romeo and Juliet, their own Jack and Rose. Kids who thought they were in love and ended up falling apart)
"…You still haven't answered my question. You said that Silence of the Lambs had good chemistry, but not romance."
"Romance…perhaps not the most romantic movie ever, but Fiddler on the Roof." Arthur arched an eyebrow, but settled himself more comfortably against the arm of the sofa to hear the argument. Eames' fingers ran almost absent-mindedly along his calves, tracing designs only he could see. "Tevye and Golde. That song where they realize they've been married for twenty-five years and they'd learned to love each other? I think that's how it works. Love doesn't just…happen."
Arthur had never actually seen Fiddler on the Roof all in one sitting. He tended to fall asleep, if only because of the pace of the movie and not because he disliked it. But he remembered the part that Eames talking about. "…I could see that. Doesn't change the fact that you're a romantic."
Eames flashed a smile. "You wouldn't like me otherwise. What about your romantic movie?"
"The first really romantic thing I remember watching was Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. When Robin is asked if Marian was worth it and he says 'worth dying for'."
"You would remember that," Eames said, leaning back to put his feet on the coffee table. Once, Arthur would have shoved them off or glared at him until he took them off, but the old table had seen enough years that Arthur did nothing more than glance between Eames and the table.
"And I loved to watch The Mask of Zorro as a kid. Used to think Catherine Zeta-Jones was one of the most beautiful women in the world. But I like the romantic aspect of that movie."
(Sometimes, Arthur thinks that it says a lot that the movie he used to watch so much that he nearly had it memorized by the time he was in third grade had a main character who was two very different people, a nobleman and the hero and that only his love interest seemed to notice that there was more to him)
"…I think as a real romance movie, it would have to be Shall We Dance?; Same principle, I suppose. That love takes work."
Eames snorted and Arthur caught the thought as it flashed across his face. Not a romantic bone in your body. And Arthur couldn't disagree.
Eames can be a bit of a sap.
Arthur was woken to a warmth against him and familiar lips on his. He stirred and leaned a little in to the kiss. It took a moment for his sleepy mind to notice that Eames was murmuring something.
"So kiss me and smile for me, tell me that you'll wait for me, hold me like you'll never let me go," Arthur opened his eyes at that, pulling back slightly. He noticed everything in an instant. Eames was dressed for the day and he had a duffel bag packed by the door. "'Cause I'm leavin' on a jet plane, I don't know when I'll be back again. Oh, babe, I hate to go."
Arthur leaned back into his pillow, one arm hooked around Eames' neck. "Feeling sappy this morning, Mr. Eames?"
Eames laughed a little and he was close enough that the sound vibrated against Arthur's chest. "Haven't you ever heard about variety and spices, darling?"
"And I thought you tried to avoid clichés."
"Like the plague," Eames agreed. "Phillip called."
"Morocco Phillip?"
"Mm. Said he needed my help for something."
A crease formed between Arthur's brows. "A job?"
"Not the dreaming kind. Good old fashioned thieving, who would've thought?"
"What's the target?"
A slow smirk crawled across Eames' lips. "Keep an eye out. I'm sure it'll make the papers in some countries."
"Subtlety never was your strong suit."
A last kiss, lingering a little before Arthur let his arm fall to allow Eames to push himself off the bed. He picked up the duffle bag and as he left the apartment, Arthur could hear his voice drifting back. "Every place I go, I'll think of you. Every song I sing, I'll sing for you. When I come back, I'll bring your wedding ring, so kiss me and smile for me…"
There is a place that Eames visits every summer he's in London.
Arthur had never questioned it. Most times, Eames elected to stay in the airport when they were in London, even if they had several hours between one flight and another. (He knows with an old instinct that it's to prevent the temptation of going to see the ex-wife and daughter that Arthur knows he misses) But in the summer, he would always say he'd be back in an hour or so and not to worry.
Arthur thought about following him. It wasn't as if Eames hadn't done much the same, following him to his brother's grave. But this was different. He wasn't sure how, but it felt that way. So he didn't do it.
But, as per their supposed new try at fewer secrets, he did ask.
Eames stared at him, as though he hadn't expected it. In truth, Arthur hadn't really expected himself to ask either. Eames didn't answer right away. But Arthur watched his right hand go to his left upper arm where Arthur knew the first tattoo was, the sun hooked with a moon.
"…Paying my respects." And Eames hadn't said much about Charlie Anderson, ever, but Arthur knew enough about brothers to recognize something close when he saw it. So he just nodded and told him that the plane left in two and half hours, to not be late.
Eames has two lives: the past and the present. They're not meant to mix.
They disappeared for a month and a half. No contact with the outside world. It wasn't hard from a tiny apartment in Poland. (It's quiet, in some ways. Arthur doesn't ask why Eames allowed himself to be caught and Eames doesn't offer explanations) Afterwards, they travelled back to the States by way of Mexico and dropped by to visit Cobb.
Arthur was the first to notice as they were going up the walkway. He could hear the kids playing in the backyard, but the front door opened before they got there (And Dom never does that because Arthur has a key, has always had a key and oh, Dom is going to murder them if they survive this).
Amara stepped out, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe and both Arthur and Eames froze. She smiled at them and it was an expression carved from ice. "Mr. Eames and Mr…Peterson, is it? Or do you go solely by Lumars now?"
"I don't know any Peterson," Arthur replied automatically, trying to give himself time to think. From the corner of his eye, he caught Eames' hand slipping in his pocket and he could imagine the poker chip clenched tightly in his hand right now.
"Of course you don't. My apologies. You just reminded me of someone I met."
"I've been told I have one of those faces."
"I'm sure."
"How'd you find this place?" Arthur wanted to know.
Her eyes—the same sharp gray as her father's—flicked between them. "…Dream-theft isn't a very wide field as of yet. Not in legal terms. And there was a certain name that was very big a few years back before it dropped from every law enforcement watchlist. Dominic Cobb, accused of murdering his wife on their anniversary by pushing her out a window."
(She sees their reactions, sees the minute flinch of the man she can't prove is Arthur and the tightening of her father's jaw, the flash of expression. It only solidifies her theory; they had known the Cobbs, which only makes sense as to why they're here)
"And why are you here, Agent Evans?" Eames still was silent beside him and Arthur had the urge to kick him, elbow him, something in order to jar a reaction.
(She doesn't know what to tell them. To make an arrest or to speak with her father)
So she didn't give them a straight answer. "…Explain to me more about dream-theft."
"Why?"
"I could arrest you now."
And they could run. But she had found this place, this touchstone. How much were they willing to give up for their work? (Their work, their lives, their passion, their addiction, their terrible, heartbreakingly beautiful dreams…)
"And if we answer your questions?"
Amara shrugged, a smooth, careless movement. "Then we'll see."
"Not good enough," Arthur told her bluntly.
"Depends on how much you tell me. As bruising to your ego as it may be, you two are not my biggest problems out there. If you can help me catch them, then—well, you guys are good at avoiding the law. Who's to say I'm not one of the other…I'm gonna go with dozens, of agents or military police who were just not good enough? You'll have slipped through my fingers once again."
The terrible part was that she was the only one good enough. Good enough to have found them, to have connected the dots into the complex pattern they'd woven over a little more than a decade now.
Arthur glanced at Eames who, for the first time since he'd ever known the man, seemed to have lost his words. (His worlds, his lives, the ones he had been so very careful to keep firmly separated, past and present, are here, in front of him and they are one and the same and he can't quite reconcile that in his mind. In his mind, his daughter does not belong anywhere near this house, with these children and with healing-but-still-broken Cobb. Does not belong with the memories of Mal welcoming them through the door, of the funeral where he'd hardly been able to keep himself together. This is a dream, he's sure of it, but his totem tells him otherwise)
"Where's your partner?" Arthur asked.
"Not here."
"He doesn't know, does he?" About the fact that the man the governments knew about, the man who they chased across continents, was her father.
"I told him I was following a hunch."
"And a hunch leads you halfway around the world?"
"It worked out in my favor, didn't it?" She pushed herself off the doorframe and stepped down, her movements too casual. She stopped in front of Arthur, unrelenting and subtly fierce. "And you're stalling."
"I would never do anything of the sort."
Amara snorted, sudden and un-ladylike. "I bet you say that to all the agents." Her eyes went flint-sharp and her mouth serious. "Do we have a deal?"