Chasing Ghosts

Best laid plans of mice and men…

Something he read once in the academy and his life definitely feels that way.

He keeps moving. Chasing bruised skies, deserted roads, countless miles, inestimable footsteps, empty hotel rooms, sleeping under the stars, constantly looking over his shoulder, not sure where he'll end up from minute to minute. He carries the feelings of guilt and unpredictability around like suitcases. But he's adaptable. He blends into his soundings, making sure he isn't followed, keeps his head down and doesn't stay in one place before he's recognized.

He doesn't keep much in his head. He lives on instinct and adrenaline-his gun and the clothes on his back his only companions. When he does think, and he tries not to, it's almost always about getting to the States. But it isn't going to be easy. He doesn't have a passport and he doesn't have enough money to buy airline tickets. Even with thieving and conning it'll take a while.

And then there's the issue of what he'll exactly do once he gets there. Eames has never traveled outside the UK. He has no contacts whatsoever in the States. He doesn't have many now but he knows he has a couple lifelines in cases of emergencies. In the UK he feels like he can move around without being noticed. He knows where to slip in between the cracks and become invisible. If he were to up and leave to the States without any kind of a plan he didn't know how long he would make it on his own. And then there is the exceptionally tricky and complicated matter of him not knowing where his father is. He would be chasing ghosts.

He thinks of his sister too. By now she knows he was released from juvie and is rightfully pissed at him for not telling her. She probably feels abandoned and betrayed like Eames forgot his promise to her. But Eames hasn't forgotten he just chooses to not act on it right away putting his selfish desires before it.

He hates himself for it of course but if she knew the kind of life he was living, the kinds of things their step father, their uncle taught him she would be abhorred, running out of his life just like their father and uncle. He didn't need that.

If she knew that Eames was using the skills he taught him to do unspeakable, illegal, cruel things in order to survive, that he killed their uncle in cold blood…Eames can only imagine she would turn away from him for good and he would feel like the last man living on earth and he really didn't need to feel like that. But he already felt it as he was alone all the time and his thoughts were a dangerous place.

So he doesn't call her. Though he wants to. Wants so badly to feel that familiar human contact, the connection of two human beings on a certain level. Wants to tell her all about what he learned-their step father is really their uncle, their mum was caught in between the two brothers and the horrible long con that took her life and that their father is alive somewhere in the States. But again he knows he can't. He wants to find his father for a reason. He tries to tell himself it's to speak to the man he's never spoken to, to get his side of the story, to try to understand their disorder, maybe connect with him on that but really it's to kill him.

He was a part of the scheme to con his mum…to eventually take her life. He caused her pain and for that reason and reason alone he must pay.

He also thinks about what he's done and what he still has to do. There's blood on his hands that will never wash off. He doesn't regret killing him but he still feel some amount of guilt. He's taken his half brother's father away and he knows all too well the pain of losing a parent. He's lost both of his. He's also killed a blood relation. Killing a person that is in no way related to you doesn't seem so bad but when they're blood...it just sits too heavily on his chest.

He wonders when he can stop sleeping with a gun under his pillow. When he'll stop jerking awake when he hears the slightest of noises thinking it's the police or some of his uncle's cronies looking for blood.

Days, weeks, months pass through him and he's only vaguely aware. He's performing again but he isn't just a street urchin, a thief, a conman, a wanderer, a liar and a sneak this time- he's something else. He's hardened and morphed into someone he doesn't really know.

He researches all that he can find on his father when he can but most of what was left was set ablaze in his old house, now long turned to dust and ash. He finds little. He follows up with old contacts that are in the same dark arts as Eames. Everyone thinks that Charles or James Eames is dead.

Best laid plans of mice and men…

He's learning new skills and sharpening them every day. He knows in his heart that he is and will always be a better conman and thief than his uncle. But he still doesn't know everything and he's young and he's tired of constantly moving, barely resting. He can outrun them but he can't outrun himself. It all catches up with him.

He gets caught.

He's stolen a fair share of cars when the going got particularly rough and he either lost his hard earned money to petty thieves as he slept on park benches or a homeless shelters or just run of the mill muggers in dark alleys. He steals cars when he can't catch a train or a bus or when he really needs to feel the open road at his back.

The police trace the stolen car; find Eames sleeping in it on the side of the road. Eames didn't even know he had fallen asleep. Can barely remember where he was headed to, had felt he had lost track of everything, weariness taking over.

He's thrown back in prison. But it's serious this time in a maximum security prison. He's charged with grand theft auto and he could serve anywhere up to seven years. That's seven years he doesn't have to waste, his promises to himself and others slipping through his fingers.

It tougher this time around but not impossible. He uses all the skills he's learned from the academy and his uncle's training to blend in, to adapt, and to be who they wanted him to, to obey, to take charge, to fight to be on top, to be taken advantage of, to schmooze, sweet talk and be liked.

Things happen to him that he doesn't want to remember. He's forced to do things in order to survive. But that's what he was doing before and maybe his whole life and he knows he'll never forget those things that happened in prison. Maybe one day he'll want to remember so he can become a stronger person so he gets another tattoo when's inside. The words: "Born a Thief. Die a Thief" in Latin above his hip bone. He figures he should embrace it instead of running away from it. If it's on his person then he can't be afraid of it. He knows what his next tattoo will be. A large one on his chest but it's too intricate for prison ink and he figures he'll save it for when he gets out. If he ever gets out.

He still doesn't call her.

He's a long way from home and he figures she's none the wiser.

He's six months in and the lack of anything from his past life starts to get to him. He hasn't had any visitors and at times he thinks he'll go quite mad.

His resolves crumbles one miserable evening when the other inmates are being truly unbearable-him having to ignore it or grin through it all, not showing any weakness to them. His fingers are dialing the number she had given him so long ago. He's doing it without thinking. He's not even sure if she's still living with her mum's friends from the church anymore.

"How dare you."

"Sam…"

"Don't. Do you have any idea what I've been through? Oh, that's right. You don't!"

"Sam," he starts gently. "I'm sorry..."

"Get stuffed you bloody arsehole," she cuts him off.

He thinks he hears her sniffles and he's again reminded of how horrible he feels for putting her through this but he knows it would be worse if she knew all the truth.

"It's always been about you. You got all the attention when we were children. You got all the attention from Perry, going out together, leaving the house to go on those secret trips and never talking about it. You're bloody selfish, always thinking about yourself."

If she only knew it was the complete opposite. He didn't want that attention when he was younger but took it because he knew if he didn't that something bad would happen to his family.

"I'm almost afraid to ask where you are…"

"Then don't…"

"Wanker."

He smiles a little into the phone. Despite her animosity he's missed her immensely. Just hearing her voice gives him some hope and strength. He swallows hugely knowing the next part is going to be difficult.

"Sis, I'm in prison. Grand theft auto. And no I don't want anything from you. Just want to let you know I'm ok and that I miss you."

He hears her pause on the other end as she absorbs his words.

She unleashes another slew of curses and painfully foul yet adorable cuts against him.

"How long?"

"I don't know...Seven years maybe? Maybe five if I'm really lucky for good behavior and such…" He's always had pretty good luck when it came to gambling but when his life was on the line he could never bet high stakes. He's never had good luck when it came to his person.

"Dee knows a lawyer," she begins going into some half hairball scheme to get him out.

"Sam, it's ok. I don't need anything from you…"

"I don't bloody care what you want. You may be selfish and not care about what happens to yourself but others do. Did you ever think about that?"

He hadn't.

He lets her talk him into (maybe the sweet talking and convincing attitude just ran in the family?) hiring a lawyer. He's up for parole in six months. The lawyer may help talk down the sentence given some of the circumstances Eames had to deal with.

This means of course he has to tell her where he's at and he really doesn't want to do that. But he does.

"I don't want you visiting me. I don't deserve it…"

"Sod off."

So she visits him anyway.

The prison is far but she manages to visit at least once a month. It's heartbreaking and also invigorating to see her. He's reminded he's not completely alone in the world but at the same time it reminds him of all the things he's missing by being locked up. It reminds him of the things he should be doing, the people he should be tracking down and killing. His life is one big vicious cycle.

Six months comes around in a flash. Before he knows it he's up for parole. He's met with the lawyer his sister knows. She competent, knows the system well and deems Eames worthy of "saving". He could do without the religious preaching but she was a damn good lawyer all the same.

Eames is stunned when his sentence is reduced to a year and a half-his lawyer playing up all the right angles. "He was a scared, abandoned, misguided youth. Forced to live on his own, etc, etc." He could swear he heard small violins playing in the background when she was pleading their case.

Of course when he got out his sister wanted him to come home with her, wherever that was. He didn't think he had a home anymore and knew he probably wouldn't ever again. In his wildest dreams he envisioned living in a house by the ocean. Just owning a house that he could call his home. He wanted to be able to walk in the front door and know the space was his and someone would be waiting for him, asking him what he did see instead of what he didn't. These are just pipedreams though. They weren't meant for people like Eames who lived a double life. Who are thieves, backstabbers, liars, criminals, conmen, the dregs of society. He had too much time in prison to think. Now he needed to act.

His sister wasn't giving him any choice in the matter. She knew him too well; she didn't want him to run away again and to leave him. She was giving him a second chance.

But he couldn't.

She wouldn't look at him when he slung his bag over his shoulder, sun in his light hair, cigarette burning in the morning sun. She wouldn't meet his eyes but he did hear her say under her breath: "Don't bother contacting me again."

Watching her get in the car and try not to cry in front of him, watching the taxi take off down the road and become smaller and smaller until nothing at all was one of the hardest things he's ever had to do.

He's caught again three months later. Undercover police officers busted up the underground gambling ring Eames had involved himself with in a desperate attempt to make some good money.

The police give him an ultimatum after he did some minimum time again in prison: Go back to prison or join the military and serve the country.

Eames chooses the military because he's already familiar with it and he figures he'll become a better marksmen. Better at gunning people down and killing them.

But there is the particularly tricky aspect of him being color blind that no one knows about and if the military catch wind then he's sealed his fate to rot in prison. No one wants a color blind solider.

He need to pass physical exams at Sandhurst in order to enter and that does include various vision tests. He's thinks he's read something or heard along the way that eye tests, specifically to test for color blindness can be faked.

"My, my, my. Calling on another favor?"

"Look I'm sorry, Rup," he feels like he's apologizing to everyone. He can't do right by anybody.

"You have me worried 'sall."

"I'm…" Eames doesn't know how to finish that thought: "I'm fine"? "I'm a recurring delinquent to society and only twenty years old"?

"I'm safe, alive and still ticking. That's all you need to worry about. If anything at all."

Rupert sighs heavily into the phone. "I heard through the grapevine that your sister is a wee bit upset. You wouldn't have anything to do with that eh?"

Eames winces. He knows Rup is just trying to be a friend and trying to be jovial with him but him hearing through mutual acquaintances that his sister is upset over Eames leaving once again just eats him up inside. He's running to protect her and to extinguish all the people that have hurt her and Eames over the years. Eames wonders if he'll ever tell her the truth one day or if she'll speak to him after their father is dead as well.

He shakes his head to rid himself of the thoughts. He can't think of that now. First he has to worry about passing the bloody eye exams.

Which means he needs to confide in Rup about his condition, something that he suspected that Rup may already know from just observing Eames over the years. But he could be wrong. He just really doesn't want to get into it.

"I probably do have something to do with it, yes," he finds himself saying, hiding the pain under light sarcasm.

Rupert doesn't press him and Eames is again reminded of why he liked him so much in the first place. Besides him being dashingly handsome of course. Too bad they were too similar, sometimes like one mind. One of Eames was bad enough. Add two in the mix…

"Danny…"

His voice is too warm, too full of charm and full of concern.

"Right….I'm to be a military brat once more. My exams at Sandhurst are in a week."

Rupert laughs.

"But you hated the military life."

"Yes and I still do."

"Oh," the way Rupert states it means he understands Eames' predicament.

"It was that or prison right?"

Eames sighs into the phone.

"Just don't let that get back to Sam."

They shoot the shit for a little while and Eames almost feels like its old times back at the academy and he's chasing Rup around campus like a puppy dog. Like things are halfway normal.

But they are anything but.

"I need help passing the eye exams, Rup," he finally ends up saying after a time and he knows that things will be different between them now and it pains him. It pains him when he has to confess his weakness, his disorder.

"Ok?" he sounds confused.

"Rup…I'm…" he struggles with his words.

He takes a moment to compose himself. He feels like he's standing over a precipice ready to drop head first over it at any second.

"I'm color blind," he finally manages to blurt out after a time.

There's a pregnant pause on the other line as he imagines Rup absorbing his words. Eames twists the phone cord around his fingers tightly, bouncing on the balls of his feet anxiously.

"Wow…I, uh, had no idea," he says breathlessly, sounding legitimately shocked.

"How do I pass the exams? Surely there have been others that have faked more and still got in?" He wants to steer all conversation away from himself.

"Sure, sure," Rup still seems to be memorized and Eames prays that he'll not ask any more questions or pity him.

Rup is confident he may know people that know people that work at Sandhurst who can tell him what to expect for the eye exam.

"I have to know all the answers."

"You can't see color at all!" he sounds aghast like the situation just got more difficult.

Eames sighs. "Yes. I'm monochromatic. I can't interpret color at all…"

"Jesus," he breathes and there's another pause. "Then how's your memory?"

Eames bristles. "Fine. Why?"

Rup chuckles. "Because, mate you are going to have to memorize the tests. I remember my cousin's friend said that they make you look at those pictures with the circles with the dots and numbers inside and ask you what number you see and so forth…bloody hell."

Rupert assured him that he would get back to him with more information about the tests.

"Thanks, I owe you."

"I know. I'm keeping a tab. I will collect one day," he hears his endearing chuckle echo and fade before they hang up.

Rupert doesn't fail to deliver a few days later.

Because Eames needs someone to help him memorize the tests he meets him at the Kings Cross train station.

He embraces him in a quick hug as a way of greeting as he's still the same old Rupert-all boyish, suave smiles, inquisitive, intelligent eyes, a calm presence, and still tall, dark and handsome as ever.

They go over the findings once they're alone in Eames' motel room.

Rupert's insider was able to procure copies of the actual tests themselves. That and Rupert pulls out something from his travel bag and throws it to Eames.

It's his Beretta M9. Eames stares stupidly at it in his hands.

He blinks at Rup who's trying to hide his smile but failing horribly as he's looking over some papers.

"Thought you might want that back. Probably has some sentimental value."

To Eames it stupidly does and he was furious when it was taken away from him. He's stunned speechless for a while, feeling the familiar weight of it in his hands.

"How did you get it?"

Rup waggles his eyebrows.

"I know people."

Eames rolls his eyes. Eames may be the criminal but Rup was practically shitting illegal contacts, practically more a criminal then himself. He swears Rup was one of those people that was connected to everyone in some way, shape or fashion.

"I could just kiss you." Eames was overcome with relief and almost giddy with elation, a huge weight lifted off of him, knowing he may have a shot at actually not going back to prison and having his familiar weapon back.

Rup just cocks an eyebrow, slight smile tugging on his lips, still chewing on a pencil, looking down at the tests scattered all over the top of the bed.

"You could but we've already gone down that road once and we know where that leads but I can't say your offer isn't tempting."

Both of them are huge flirts and sometimes it's just a game to see who can do it more to either each other or other people-all jokes, teases and ribs. It's just another of the many reasons why they would never work out as a couple but as friends they seemed to gel together. That is if Eames can ever stop running. Eames believes he needs someone opposite of himself to be able to keep them in the long term for a relationship. Whether he deserves someone is another matter.

Eames is about ninety percent sure Rup was joking. Their sarcasm knows no bounds sometimes. But sometimes the lines get blurred.

"We'd get a disease from this motel room anyway and I'd like to keep my life thank you very much."

It brings out a little forced laugh that almost seems laced with pity or hurt from the tall brunette and then Eames is convinced that Rup wasn't joking earlier. Eames does what he does best and runs away from it. Whatever Rup may feel for him or had felt for him in the past shouldn't concern Eames or be present in the situation.

Eames feels a slight blush on his cheeks anyway and clears his throat. "We should probably get started."

They dive in, Rup drilling him until Eames swears he can recite the tests in his dreams.

"Everything must be black and white?"

They had quit for the night after the umpteenth hour of memorizing tests, Rup showing him what the numbers inside the circles are, helping him form ways to remember. It reminds Eames of when he was a little boy and his mum helped him make flashcards to memorize what colors went with what things.

Both of them were slumped on the dingy motel room floor, backs against the bed, passing a bottle of Jack back and forth, looking up at the white pop-corned ceiling-both of them agreeing it looks like something out of a 70's porn film.

Eames takes a huge swig from the bottle liking the way the dark liquid burns his throat on the way down.

"And gray. Don't forget gray." He probably would have shut down the conversation earlier but the Jack and Rup's curious eyes were helping him forget he didn't like talking about it.

Rup rolls his head back and forth a little on the bed like he's shaking his head.

"Fuck. I can't even imagine…" he trails off.

Rup eyes him curiously after a moment and Eames feels he's put under the microscope. He's five years old again and people peer at him too closely when they learn he can't see color, trying to figure him out by just looking at him.

Eames feels his heart sink. He loves Rup dearly but he still doesn't ask him the important question and it hurts him a little since he holds him in such high regard. It's the question Eames has been dying someone to ask him since he can remember: "What do you see?"

Eames only wants to show them.

The day of the tests came by before he knew it. They were grueling and long and Eames thought he would pass out from the stress of trying to remember everything for the tests.

But he passed.

He's never particularly enjoyed the military life and aspect of it all-too constrictive, regimented, too rule orientated, everything laid out for him and Eames was not that kind of person but it was better than going back to prison.

He was a hamster in a wheel-spinning around and around, not getting anywhere. He was entirely frustrated that his plans of getting to the States were delayed once again but he figured that there was a slim chance by being in the military he would be sent abroad on tours or missions.

In a lot of ways the military life was like prison-getting up, eating and sleeping at the same time every day, going to bed in the same uncomfortable bunk every night, always being yelled at by somebody straight in the face and always reporting to someone The routine was mind numbing at times and Eames' mind was one that was hard to shut off. It craved to be set free.

He was loud, probably spoke his opinion too often, made too many passes to the other soldiers and officers and got caught doing things he shouldn't be doing-mainly in the beds of other soldiers. It was like the academy all over again but he was running with the big dogs now.

He knew how to keep his head down, stand attention and to take orders though. He was always a fast learner and despite his indifference to the military life others took a shining to him.

It all meant nothing to him. He was just biding his time like he was still in prison, only going through the motions until he would be able to move about freely again.

He does research on his father when he can in his free time. He still hasn't found anything.

He's moved up quickly in the ranks.

He makes Sergeant when he's 25 and things start happening rapidly. Again he could care less about the promotion and the more responsibility that comes with it. He only cares about the sweeping news that's taking over his base and all the things that come with it.

A new technology was developed at Oxford and his base immediately snatched it up once it went public.

"Dream sharing," he tries it on his tongue to test out how impossible it seems. And it does.

But it intrigues him all the same. It intrigues everyone.

What really intrigues him is the possibility to travel to the States to share the technology with the US-to develop it further. Then Eames gets really interested in dream sharing but he knows it's for selfish, personal reasons.

He doesn't think much of it at first but as he was in his office, getting up, rounding his desk ready to exit, palming the feather in his trousers he overhears two officers talking in the hallway directly outside of his office as they pass by and it makes him pause. He stops to listen.

"We just went under for the first time to experiment, to get a grip of everything and it's like having your subconscious on display for the whole world! I was thinking about my little girl and how her birthday is coming up this weekend and she kept popping up in the dream everywhere! Not only that but there were pink balloons and presents, the whole bit."

The other officer made some noises in astonishment and consolation.

"Makes me wonder other things too. If you're a particularly angry person or just in a mood does that mean the dream will pulse red?"

Their voices trail off as they walk further down the hallway and out of earshot.

Eames stands frozen behind the closed door.

Pink. Red.

Eames doesn't see color at all…

Eames closes his eyes and draws in a shuddering breath.

He can't see color at all. It certainly would reflect in the dream if others shared it with him.

He had been a fool.

He had just sealed his own fate. He would be heading back to prison.

He uses his rank, begging off requests that they enter his dream to practice and prepare, to stretch the limits of the dream sharing. Eames is a practiced liar and conman-he's able to weasel out it and evade their persistence.

They don't have enough resources devoted to the dream sharing and after a few months they're given orders that they are to leave for the States. Fort Irwin in southern California specifically. The General at Eames' base has correspondence with the General at the Fort Irwin-them forging a friendship over the years.

When Eames gets the news he nearly jumps for joy. He's been waiting six years to get this chance.

He likes California. Likes the atmosphere, so different from where he grew up-palm trees, sandy beaches, miles and miles of coast line, intense hot sun, and dry heat.

He thinks he can get used to it.

The minute he steps off the plane he gets that feeling bubble up inside him, his Beretta safely tucked away in the confines of his bags and he knows why he came to the States.

I'm coming for you…

He doesn't want to go AWOL but if that's what it takes to find the bastard so be it. And Eames will find him. It's just a matter of when.

It's the middle of September when they arrive and the air is crisp but instead of falling leaves and bare branches it feels like sand and desert. Fort Irwin is much larger than Eames' base and it' something to get used to. He can't say that him and his subordinates were treated unfairly or cruelly as the officers and Lt. Alexander who was overseeing parts of the operation were cordial and polite but he got an overwhelming feeling they weren't particularly welcome. They were a dozen English blokes amongst the vast sea of hot blooded young Americans. They stuck out like sore thumbs. People steered clear.

Eames was out of his element. He felt more exposed and slightly off his game but this didn't last long. He was adaptable, always learning to change to his surroundings. He may not be the center of attention, ass grabbing, flirt that got his way most times like back at the academy or his military base but he was respected by his peers and his American counterparts.

But he missed it. That thrill of people paying attention to him, laughing at his jokes, leaning in close to make contact with him, even just listening to him. He didn't want to admit it but he was lonely. He had many men warming his bed at night, it only getting easier as he moved up in the ranks but there was another void that needed to be filled too and Eames wasn't really sure how that would happen.

He liked to pursue but the American soldiers weren't biting so he focused his attention on researching his father. He searched American databases, having more resources available to him but still finding little to no real specific information.

There were literally hundreds of Charles Eames' listed in public records. He had no idea where to start. The whole thing was getting to him. He fancied himself a pretty strong individual with an almost constant iron will be even he made mistakes, fell down and felt broken. He again was spinning his wheels, not getting anywhere fast. How long was too long? Was six years already too long of a time to waste to chase a ghost? He wasn't even entirely certain if his uncle was telling the truth or not.

He swept papers off his desk angrily, furious with himself for getting so caught up. He's content with staying in his makeshift office all night when two of his privates are fumbling through his door wanting to drag him out to get a drink and to: "explore California, military nightlife."

He doesn't want to and it really isn't like him. But they're persistent and Eames resolves he isn't getting any work done anyway so he lets them.

The hole in the wall place reminds him a little of the pubs back home-ancient jukebox, ratty pool tables, worn oak bar. It's too loud, too smoky and too crowded. It's perfect.

He miraculously worms his way to the bar but he's at one end of it, around a corner-definitely not a prime spot. His subordinates seemed pissed already, hanging on to on another-having traveled over to the billiard tables. Eames internally shrugs. He people watches, always liking figuring out people's stories upon first glance. Just a stupid tick he developed over the years.

The bartender is bloody oblivious so he lets his eyes wander through the smoke and haze.

There are two American privates sitting in a corner whooping and hollering, having a gay old time. The one with thin shoulders and dexterous hands used to be an art student he surmises. His slightly droopy eyes and little frown despite his laughter enough evidence. His friend is an all around jock and football hero, attention whore and idiot.

He spies a group of American soldiers huddled together in a booth kitty corner from him. Some of them are hollering to another that it's his birthday, clapping him on the back, shots being passed around.

Eames smiles and continues to sweep the bar. He guesses people's life stories all the while trying to flag down the bartender. He does after a time ordering single malt whiskey thinking it'll be his new drink, only having it once before. It's quite good and worth every penny and it cost him a lot of pennies.

He's about to leave the bar and make his way back to his cronies at last when someone approaching the bar catches his eye. It's one of the blokes that came from the "birthday booth". He realizes it's the birthday boy himself having seen just his slight profile before but he remembers. He remember his mates clapping him on the back and shoving shots in his hands.

Eames starts the game just like with all the others though for some reason it's more difficult with this one.

He takes in the young officer's lean but muscular body, his tall frame, his long, precise fingers, perfectly pressed uniform, shaved dark head and hauntingly beautiful dark eyes that seemed infinitely deep. He's gorgeous without trying. He's too far away to see them very clearly in the dim, smoky bar but there's something in his eyes-reserved, put out, commanding, intelligent, naïve, wounded, tired yet wide-eyed with youth, a walking contradiction. He realizes he's staring but he can't help it. The young man is intriguing. Probably the most interesting creature that's walked into the bar, hell maybe the most interesting person he's seen around Fort Irwin yet.

And he can't figure out his story or maybe he doesn't want to and then the young officer is meeting his eyes from across the other side of the bar. Eames does the most rational thing and waves his fingers a little and winks because why the hell not? He feels he deserves a little distraction after everything he's been through lately.

The birthday boy with the untold story averts his eyes quickly, maybe a little too quickly and then Eames is too intrigued and the game is on. He wants to pursue.

He grabs his drink and approaches him and he can see the young officer stiffen a little in the shoulders as he sidles up next to him.

The birthday boy is trying his best to ignore him. Eames knows this behavior well, has witnessed it many a times when he's performing cons.

"Buy you a drink? I overheard it was your birthday?"

The birthday boy is focusing much too hard on the bar, his shoulders and back still tense but Eames knows he's weighing his options maybe deciding if he wants to talk to Eames or not, maybe deciding if he likes or dislikes his accent.

After another failed attempt to flag the bartender down the young officer, looking defeated, turns to Eames' direction and he is rewarded with the other man's full attention and the cool, disinterested expression he's wearing on his young face. The other man is looking him over again, weighing his options, all calm and calculating.

Eames is doing the same but is getting distracted on seeing his face close up. More specifically his eyes. They're exotic looking and Eames can't place them. They're deep and dark and Eames almost wishes he knows exactly how many shades of brown they are or maybe they're just black they look so dark. He realizes he's staring again so he sweeps his eyes over the rest of his person liking what he sees as well.

He faintly realizes he's a bit nervous. He didn't think he ever got nervous around people.

"It is my birthday but no thank you."

His words rattle him out of his supposed nerves and he leans in closer to him. He can feel the heat the other man is giving off and can smell the pleasant scent of his aftershave.

Eames waves down the bartender, pretending not to hear the young officer's words.

He smiles a little shooting him a: "You're not getting out of this" look.

"What do you fancy?"

The other man is shaking his head a little and opening his mouth to speak to presumably argue further with him but Eames cuts him off. He can't lose him just yet after they just met and barely know each other yet.

"It's your birthday and if I'm not mistaken twenty one is special in the States, you can drink now, no?"

A little surprise flickers across the younger man's eyes and he averts them back to the bar like it's the most interesting thing in the world and Eames has to suppress a grin. He loves when he catches people off guard when he observes them. People always think they are invisible in a crowd but they certainly are anything but to Eames. It's like a treasure for Eames to unbury and discover.

A slight blush seems to creep up on the younger man's face and he shifts his weight from one foot to another.

He seems nervous too maybe even embarrassed and Eames takes that as a small victory. The birthday boy stammers out that he wants a beer and Eames shrugs at that-the inexperienced drinker doesn't seem to make personal decisions very well. Eames files that away for later.

He's going to enjoy discovering things about this one.

After the bartender comes back with the drink Eames allows himself to look him over again, both of them drinking in silence, letting the din of the crowded bar take over.

He's a Corporal he discovers and this only intrigues him and turns him on more. Twenty one and already a Corporal. Though he was twenty five and a Sergeant, no small feat at such a young age. Both of them are over achievers, that much they have in common. That and probably little else. Eames will still have fun discovering what he can though.

Eames is feeling the affects of his strong whiskey and has a strange feeling crawling all over him after attaching himself to the young, gorgeous Corporal.

"Well Corporal," he lifts his glass to him. "Cheers to you, mate on your birthday," the clink glasses and both take heavy gulps.

The other man is definitely blushing and he mumbles out a "thank you" and then his rowdy friends and fellow soldiers are pulling him away from the bar, back to the booth and away from Eames.

The young Corporal doesn't look entirely relieved he's leaving his company and that helps smooth over some of the hurt and defeat Eames feels. He hadn't even learned his name yet and already his friends were cock blocking him.

He settles into a corner to get pissed. He joins up with his crew eventually for a bit but he's more intent on watching the back of the pretty brunette's head than anything else.

He spies the birthday boy getting up to leave after a time. Eames slams his drink and decides he needs a fag and to follow him. He knows he didn't leave his party as there weren't goodbyes passed around. He figures he went out to make a phone call or to smoke. Eames thinks it's the later.

His presumptions are proved correct when he finds him leaning against the side of the building, staring up at the moon like he's transfixed.

He leans up against the building with him and they smoke in silence. Eames likes his silent company, how the moon and fall air feels on his skin.

He picks up on the other man's New England accent through their talk and is delighted when he surprised the other man with his prowess.

Both of them are a bit sloppy with drink but Eames hides it better. The young Corporal is still a bit wet behind the ears with alcohol consumption it seems.

He's discovering him, unraveling his mysteries- he attended an all boys military academy like himself, presumably sent away as well as his tone indicates it wasn't his choice. He's a bit of a loner and probably prefers to be by himself as he seemed a bit awkward with the group he was with. He's secretive and slightly damaged goods as evident in his refusal to tell him his name which Eames thinks is ridiculous but Eames laughs it off. He should be deterred. Any normal person would be put off by these traits but Eames isn't any normal person. It all adds to the intrigue.

But he's still nervous even when he asks him to not move as he goes to get them another drink. Hell, he's not even 100 percent sure the Corporal is gay. He just goes on a gut feeling that maybe he is and the way the Corporal averts his, blushes and tries not to make too much eye contact confirms he's physically attracted to Eames but is either too shy or damaged to act on it.

So Eames acts on it for the both of them-running on instinct and feeling like everything else he's done in the past.

He's almost floored that the Corporal is still outside, around the side of the building when he comes back with the beers.

He opens up talk about work, sticking with safe subjects first. He purposely doesn't talk about why he's in the States specifically, going around the subject, only explaining he's helping consult on a new technology which Eames justifies is partially true. The tone of his voice spoke of that topic being off limits of sorts and the Corporal seemed to catch his drift.

And he was back at the academy and his base, doing what he did best-talking himself up, flirting and telling stories and jokes. It might have been the alcohol but Eames could swear that the other man seemed to relax more and more as the night went on and even seemed to enjoy himself a little revealing hidden dimples as he smiled, flashing perfectly even, white teeth.

During a lag in their talk he noticed the Corporal was reaching into his jacket for his cigarettes when Eames, being the perfect, polite British gentleman reached for his own, beating him to the quick and pressed one into his hand.

His fingers brushed his warm, soft skin making him tingle but the reaction from the other man was truly curious.

The Corporal seemed completely stunned and his eyes were mysteriously closed. His body seemed to tremble a little. Eames thought maybe he was having a fit or seizure and was concerned, regarding him wide eyed but then he noticed the faint smile on the other man's lips and Eames relaxed a little though he was still puzzled. He filed that away for later too-definitely worth investigating and diving deeper into.

After he confirmed that the other man was indeed ok they smoked his British fags followed by more drinks. Eames was intoxicated then and he knew it wasn't completely from the alcohol though it did help matters. It was from the young Corporal. The gorgeous birthday boy with the mostly untold story with his exotic, deep eyes that wouldn't let you go. When he chanced putting his arm around him hours later after both of their parties had left them it felt like something familiar.

When the Corporal grabbed at him and kissed him as they were leaving the bar it felt like the world had dissolved around him, the ground literally feeling like it bottomed out leaving him weightless. He was so soft and warm, young, inexperienced lips finding his, exploring all the intricate details of his mouth. He was delicate he found through his hardened demeanor and when he kissed Eames he did it like the world was ending. Eames was left feeling lightheaded and breathless-drunk on too many things. They both were.

Somewhere in the back of his brain a little voice was telling him to pull on the reigns-to stop as they both were getting too caught up in everything but rational and coherent thoughts were getting pushed out as their bodies would touch or lips would brush.

He took his wrist shooting him a smile.

"I want to show you something."

Breaking into the training room and bringing in someone that wasn't privy to the information wasn'ta good way to start his time in America but as he watched the doe eyed young Corporal take in the dream sharing machine, touching it fondly and faintly like an old friend he knew he was making the right decision.

Eames prepped the machine and the Corporal flashed him a boyish smile-all dimples and flushed face.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?"

Eames took him in his strong arms, him feeling like he was made specifically for him, the Corporal sighing softly against him and brushed his lips to his getting a shiver from the other man.

"No, darling. I want to show you something else. Something even better."

Eames had him sit in one of the chairs as he set the timer and readied the IVs.

He took a seat next to him after he gently inserted his IV. He inserted his own IV and their eyes met, their hands a heartbeat later. Eames felt pressure on his hand as they both slipped under and entered his dream.

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