"Robert is not going to like this," Arthur warned in a hushed voice as they carefully moved through the nightly garden. The lawn was wet with dew, causing his black shoes to shine as they were caught in the light emanating from one of the pretty stone lamps set up to illuminate the garden paths.

"So?" Eames asked. "Relax, darling. We already broke into his mind, and he forgave us, so breaking into his house really shouldn't be that much of an issue. Besides, it's for his own good."

"According to Saito, who would have had Robert's father shot, if he could have gotten away with it and who had no scruples about making him destroy the family business."

"Are you getting squeamish now, Arthur? What's done is done."

"Well, I just thought I'd mention it."

"Duly noted. " Eames peered around a large rhododendron. "All clear. Surprisingly enough, Robert did not get paranoid after having his mind invaded. No guards, no dogs… he's almost careless."

"Maybe he sleeps with a gun beneath his pillow."

"Like you do?" Eames teased.

"I like to be prepared."

Eames chuckled softly. "Arthur, darling, between the two of us, we're probably more dangerous than anything that could invade your bedroom at night. You shouldn't need the gun."

Arthur murmured something un-complementary that made Eames want to ruffle his feathers even more, but he resisted the urge. First things first. Cobb and Saito would not be pleased if Robert Fischer died prematurely, and for some reason, trying to make them both happy sounded way more pleasant than the alternative…

Robert woke up from a nightmare in which his godfather had been trying to asphyxiate him by pressing a gigantic pillow to his face. Once awake, he tried to catch his breath and realized that somebody – not necessarily his godfather - was indeed trying to kill him, because there was really no way that the pillow covering his face could be interpreted in any other way.

Panic gripped him as he almost instinctively started to struggle against the would-be murderer, who pressed down harder, realizing that his target was now awake and still very much alive. He – or she – held Roberts arms down with their knees, but his legs were free and kicking and he put all his remaining strength into breaking free.

The pillow slipped as his attacker momentarily became unbalanced and Robert seized the opportunity, lunging to the side. It was an awkward movement, but it served its purpose. The attacker toppled over with a startled oath and fell of the bed. Robert scrambled as far away as he possibly could, towards the door. He still didn't know who was trying to murder him here, but right now, escaping seemed more important than seeing the killer's face.

He rushed out of the bedroom, just in time to dodge a hand that had try to grip him and ran, not thinking or looking where he was going. On the stairs, he stumbled in his frenzy to escape, fell forward and collided headlong with a solid, warm mass.

Oh fuck…! So there were two of them, maybe even more. They tumbled down the stairs, the other person clinging to him, perhaps instinctively, but more likely in the intention to strangle him. They ended up on the wooden floor at the foot of the stairs with a horrible dull thump. Pain seared through Robert's body from his wrist upwards as his arm was twisted and crushed beneath the other's weight. Tears shot to his eyes, but his survival instinct had kicked in and was in full force, compelling him to move, to do something, to escape or fight back.

The other person was still on the floor. Apparently, he – for even in the twilit room Robert was sure it was a man - had hit his head or some other fragile body part, and judging from the low moan, it hurt pretty badly. Robert lost no time and pounced. Take this one out for good, then get the phone, call the cops and run. It seemed like a good plan, at least in his almost hysterical state of mind.

However, the other man apparently wasn't hurt as badly as Robert had thought, and he sure as hell moved fast. Instead of knocking him out, Robert wound up having to wrestle for his life for the second time that night, and even though he was slender, the other guy was at least an equal match in strength.

My life sucks, Robert though grimly.

"Goddammit, will you stop it…?" His opponent panted. The voice was startlingly familiar. In fact, Robert was surprised enough to let his hands drop to his sides and stare blankly.

"Arthur?" Of all the people he had not expected…!

"Yes," the point man confirmed, still out of breath and sounding supremely annoyed. "Now get off me."

Right. Arthur wasn't a fan of prolonged bodily contact with any life form, including Yusuf's cat.

… and his mind was acting oddly, spitting out thoughts like that. Brain damage from asphyxiation, anyone?

"But what are you doing here?"

"Trying to save your life." Arthur had gotten up now and was straightening his waistcoat.

"Oh." Well… now that was good to hear. "Let me turn on the light."

"No. The person trying to kill you is still in the house." He paused, apparently contemplating options, before making a decision. "You stay here. Or better yet, lock yourself into a room. Preferably one without a potential murderer in it."

Very funny, Arthur.

"Shall I call the police?"

"No. Too much noise. We'll take care of it."

So Arthur had not come alone. Robert idly wondered how many people he had brought along and how he had known in the first place that somebody was going to try and kill Robert that night. It would have been nice to know about that in advance, too.

But Arthur was already moving up the stairs, a gun in his raised hands. Robert decided that locking himself into a room was starting to sound pretty damn tempting if this was going to be a shootout. The nearest lockable room was the pantry next to the kitchen, and he just hoped that his housekeeper would have left the key in the lock. Carefully and as quietly as possible, he crossed the room and slinked into the hallway.

He had passed the doors to the dining room and a guest bathroom and come as far as the open doorway leading into the large sitting room that opened up to the flower-filled sunroom, when a shot rang through the house. Robert stopped dead in his tracks, before turning around to run back in the direction of the sound.

It was a stupid thing to do, really. He even knew that it was stupid while he did it, but for some reason, he was unable to stop himself. The thought of one of his friends getting shot because he was trying to catch the person who had tried to kill Robert was unbearable, and Arthur was a friend. Certainly not his best friend, but they got along well and made a point of sharing dinner or playing golf together whenever Arthur was in town.

In the parlor, not ten feet from where he had collided with Arthur on the stairs, Robert ran into the second person that night, only that this time, he landed on top of the man who might or might not have shot Arthur. In any case, he was a potential threat and Robert's survival instinct that had temporarily been smacked by his loyalty to a friend, flared up again. Remembering the self defense lessons his father had made him take as a boy, he was about to choke the other guy into unconsciousness, because no matter what happened, he did not want to wind up a murderer himself, when somebody pressed something hard and cold to his back. Metal. A weapon.

Fuck.

"Put your hands up, slowly, or I'll shoot you."

"Arthur?" Again? What the hell…? First you say that you're here to save me, now you threaten to kill me?

Judging from Arthur's voice and the gun pressed to his back, he was dead serious though. Robert complied and raised his hands.

"What the fuck, Arthur…! Are you trying to save me or trying to kill me?"

"I haven't quite made up my mind yet," Arthur deadpanned. "It would help if you got off my fiancé, though. I don't take kindly to half-naked men straddling him, you know."

"Are you crazy?" It was a rhetorical question.

"Get. Off. Him."

"Okay, fine, whatever. Just don't shoot me, okay?"

A spluttering sound rose from below him. The guy on the floor was laughing his ass off.

I'm surrounded by madmen, Robert realized as he slowly got up, every muscle in his body protesting. At least, Arthur had taken the gun away and now moved to stand beside him.

"Can I turn the light on?" Robert asked warily.

Arthur nodded. "Yes."

Well, great. Robert flipped the switch, then turned back and felt his chin drop at the sight of a seriously ruffled looking Arthur, who was staring down in obvious annoyance at the man who was lying on the floor, panting and nearly crying with laughter.

"You… are… unbelievable… darling," he gasped.

Robert was inclined to agree with that. "Hello Eames," he said instead.

"I shot your girlfriend," Arthur told him, still staring at Eames.

"You… what?" Just when he had thought it couldn't get any stranger. "But… why…?" Marisa hadn't exactly been his girlfriend, but that didn't make the news any less shocking.

"Because she tried to kill you, you dunce," Arthur huffed. "She ambushed me when I went looking for her upstairs, so I really didn't have much of a choice. I can't say I'm sorry, though. She was working for your dear godfather."

"Browning wants me dead?"

"Well, yeah. You ruined his career, his life, everything. Go figure." Arthur held out a hand to help Eames up, no that the forger had recovered from his laughing fit. Eames took it and got up, still grinning. "You just made my day with that," he said.

"Don't you mean night?" Robert replied, distractedly, still trying to sort things out. So Marisa, the pretty little blond secretary who had positively thrown herself at him had been working for his vengeful godfather and trying to kill him? Go figure, indeed!

"Well, that too." Eames walked towards him. Robert eyed the forger suspiciously. Considering that he had almost gotten killed two – no, three – times that night, you couldn't really blame him, could you? "What are you…?"

"I am going to kiss you."

Robert instantly backed off. "Um… no thanks…? I don't want Arthur to shoot me, really. Besides, what did I do to deserve that?"

"Do you have any idea how long I've been trying to get Arthur to say yes?"

"Oh." As he ran through the events of the past ten minutes, the possible meaning of both Eames' words and Arthur's odd behavior – or at least part of it – dawned upon him. "Oh. That. Er… why don't you go ahead and kiss Arthur instead?"

So now they all know ;) Poor Robert, though, I think he sheduled an appointment with his therapist after this...