November 24, 2013: 11:45 pm, Bonanza, Colorado
"I hate this," Cobb sighed, collapsing in frustration on the couch next to Eames. "I hate this waiting. There's nothing I can do to help Yusuf, and it's killing me."
"I know exactly what you mean," the conman agreed, flipping another page of the book he'd borrowed from Saito, before the other man had gone to bed. Saito knew he would sleep well after contacting Mark to see how the search for his family was going, pleased to find out that they were all alive and well. "However, I've always known I had more patience than you," Eames continued. "Arthur owes me five dollars."
Cobb snorted, but he relaxed slightly.
Suddenly, Ariadne looked up from where she sat on Fischer's lap in the armchair, reading. She'd finally wrestled the young businessman out of his suit and into a grey turtleneck and slacks, and was quite comfortable right there, thank you very much.
"What was that?"
"What was what?" Fischer asked distractedly, not looking up from the paper he was reading around Ariadne.
"There it is again." She sat forward slightly, eyes narrowing as she tried to pinpoint it. "Can't you hear it?"
"Hear what? It's probably crickets, or the house settling. I'm sure it's nothing."
"Rob—there. Again." She stood up. "What is that?"
By now, Eames had stopped reading and cocked his head to the side. "…That?"
"Yes, thank you. I'm not crazy." She huffed and listened again. "It sounds kind of like…like a pencil being dropped a few rooms over. It's really quiet, but…"
Cobb held up his hand, and soon all noise in the room stopped. And though they were all listening for it only Eames and Ariadne heard it. Faintly, very faintly—
Click.
Silence.
Click.
"A clock?" Nash offered nervously from where he sat on the floor next to the cold fireplace, though he still didn't know what they were talking about. He looked uncomfortable, but he had declined a chair when they'd offered. Instead he preferred to curl his legs close to his body, protectively.
"No," Eames said. "It's a bit too irregular to be a clock."
"The heating system?" Ariadne suggested, hopefully. She looked a little freaked out, and no one blamed her. In the world today, almost every sound was worth worrying about.
"No—I think—it's coming from outside," said Fischer, finally hearing it. "Should we go check—"
Eames hadn't moved.
"It's a lighter."
"A—what?" asked Fischer, slightly confused. "What makes you say that?"
"Because I've clicked that case open and closed enough times to recognize it," the conman sighed, finally rising. "Arthur's outside."
"How do you know?" Cobb asked, not doubting, really. "Arthur doesn't—"
"Smoke, I know. Do you remember the die that Mal always told Arthur was lucky? Well, my luck is a silver lighter. I gave it to Arthur when we…parted at the Global MedCare facility. It always finds its way back to me."
Everyone fell silent for a moment, and Ariadne paled a little further in anxiety.
"If it's Arthur, then the transformation's probably complete. He won't recognize us," she said. "If possible, we should try to get him inside, under supervision, right? I mean…it's cold out."
"We can try," Cobb said, sounding doubtful now. "I don't think we'll be very successful. Unless we tranquilize him or something."
"I wouldn't chance a tranquilizer," Yusuf said as he came up from the lab, catching the end of the conversation. "I don't know what the chemical makeup of his body is now. It might not make any difference, but it might react badly with the cure when we administer it to him."
"He is not going to be one of your subjects," Eames growled. He'd been sure he'd made that abundantly clear. "We already got you someone."
"I know, Eames," Yusuf said, raising a placating hand. "I'm simply saying that I don't want to introduce any foreign agents into his bloodstream before we give him the vaccine, when it's finished. I don't know how long the tranquilizer would stay in his system."
"…Fair enough." Eames cocked his head to listen again. "It's coming from the front door, by the window that got smashed when Mal escaped."
"How do you know?" Nash asked, voice shrill and grating. He still didn't hear it.
"Otherwise we wouldn't be able to hear it, genius," Eames mocked, and got up to walk slowly into the shadowed arch of the entrance hall.
"Should we turn on the light?" Fischer questioned, his hand already straying towards the switch on the wall. Eames motioned for him to stop, eyes still fixed on the world beyond the decorative glass panels of the front door.
"No. We don't want him to know that we know he's here. He might be able to hear us, but for now he can't see us. He'll be looking."
"Yeah, 'cause that's not creepy at all," Ariadne muttered under her breath as she and Fischer followed Eames into the entrance hall.
"He's a zombie, Ari," Fischer reminded her gently. "I think creepy is in his job description."
"Quiet, if you wouldn't mind," Eames said, pausing in front of the door. "I'm trying to figure out how far away from the door he is, and whether or not he's going to be right on top of me when I open it."
Dutifully, the rest of them fell quiet, allowing Eames the opportunity to pinpoint Arthur's location as best he could from the quiet clicks of the lighter. Finally, he sighed and stepped back slightly, letting his hand fall onto the doorknob.
"I don't think he's right outside. He's probably a little down the path. You have good ears, Ariadne."
She shrugged, just glad that all of them could hear it now that they were closer to the patched window.
Cobb nodded and withdrew his gun from his waistband, his eyes creasing with the pain of thinking about what he may have to do. Fischer and Nash moved to do the same, but Cobb shook his head, wary of having too many guns in the enclosed space of the doorway.
"Should we wake Saito?" Nash asked, suddenly. "I mean, it's good for him to know, right?"
"No, let him sleep," Fischer answered. "We can tell him in the morning if there's anything he needs to know. We're not waking anyone else, are we?"
"No," Cobb said firmly, then motioned for Fischer to take a post at the window. "Can you see him?" he asked.
Fischer shook his head. "It's too dark."
"Okay," Eames breathed. "On three, I'm going to open the door. Yusuf, you turn on the outside light. Cobb, Fischer, cover me. Everyone ready?"
Nods.
"One."
Fischer's hand tensed on the grip of his gun, his gaze searching the night as if he could tear it open.
"Two."
Cobb shifted to be in a better position to have sightlines on the path and surrounding area as Yusuf raised his hand to the wall switches.
"Three."
Eames's hand nearly slid off the doorknob due to his nervous sweat, but still the door exploded open, the glow from Yusuf's mounted lamps chasing itself down the cobblestone walkway and back up the steps to Eames's feet.
Cobb stepped forward and swung his gun in a wide arc of cover.
Midway down the path, crouched and halfway concealed by one of Yusuf's shrubs, was Arthur. When the light revealed him, he let out a half-strangled hiss and ducked back into the darkness, slipping behind the greenery like a shadow.
"I'm sorry, love," Eames said, half out of instinct, shouldering past Cobb. His heart ached. It wasn't so different, really. He'd heard Arthur make that noise before, back when they had spent a few nights together in a run-down motel in Hungary.
Arthur had never been a morning person.
"That's not Arthur," Yusuf said gently. "Not yet. You need to stop beating yourself up over this, Eames. You need to stop worrying about—"
"About what? About whether I'll actually even see him as himself? Whether he'll ever respond when I call him—"
"Darling."
"What?" Everyone, shocked, turned to stare out into the path, where Arthur crouched just on the edge of the light. His pupils were blown, wide and dark, and there was blood caked in a very telling way around his mouth.
"Oh, Arthur," Eames choked out. "Bloody Nora." He took a step forward until Yusuf caught his arm.
"Darling," Arthur repeated, tilting his head to one side. He retreated a few paces then slinked forward again, skittishly dancing at a distance with his lover, when Eames moved closer.
"He's just doing it to trick you, Eames," Yusuf cautioned. "Come back inside. Get off the doorstep."
"Something moved over there," Fischer hissed suddenly from the window, and Yusuf yanked Eames into the house just fast enough to avoid Mal as she sprung out of the bushes. Eames managed to catch a hold of the edge of the door, yanking it shut
"Goddamn!" Cobb exclaimed, all of them stumbling back from the unexpectedness of the motion. "Jesus Christ."
Through the glass, dark eyes flashed, then blurred as the pale face housing them retreated away from the door.
"Mal?" Cobb whispered.
Suddenly, Mal launched herself at them, slamming her hands on the door and snarling. Her lip curled up to reveal pink teeth, and here was blood clearly evident on her face. Slowly, she dragged her fingers down the wood, the varnish coming off under her chipped-polished nails.
Mal leaned her forehead against the middle glass panel.
"Dom," she said, once, and then fled back to the shadows near Arthur. They had what appeared to be a silent conversation in nothing but expressions and body language, and then Arthur clicked the lighter open again.
Click.
Click.
Mal faded back into the darkness of the night, silent and swift, invisible in only a matter of seconds. Arthur lingered, if only for a moment, clicking the lighter open and shut and open again, the metal case flashing in the slight glow cast by the mounted lights.
"Arthur," Eames whispered, and it was heartbroken and tight in his throat as he watched the infected man slip slowly into the blackness after Mal.
"He's gone," Yusuf said gently, pulling Eames back away from the door and into the living room. The others waited in the entryway for a moment, unmoving, almost as if the seeping cold of the November night had frozen them in place. "There's nothing you can do for him now. Come on."
But Yusuf was wrong. When the house was silent, so silent, Eames could hear it. All night long, he could hear it.
Click.
Click.
Click—
-oooxooo-
November 25, 2013: 12:35 am, Bonanza, Colorado
"Arthur. Well, this is unexpected." Eames grins as he descends the stairs, hand already outstretched to shake that of the well-dressed young man when he reaches the bottom.
"Indeed, though not unpleasant," the hacker returns, and Eames almost laughs at the fake surprise in his eyes. With Arthur, nothing is ever a coincidence.
And there is no one else who could have supplied the client with Eames's contact details.
"I must say, I am truly delighted to see you. It's been quite a while."
And even under the sweetness of Eames's light pleasantry, Arthur can hear the accusing sting. He sighs, only slightly, and briefly tightens his fingers around Eames's in their handshake as an apology before he lets go.
"Yes, and I'm sorry about that. Work and life have kept me," is all he has to say in reply, at least while their employer watches from the balcony above.
"Well, how fortunate that we should get to work together, then." Eames quirks his lips into a smile, a half-acceptance of Arthur's apology, glad that the hacker has chosen to recommend him, even though Eames is well aware that there are several other conmen who live much closer than he.
"Yes, fortunate. Meet me in my hotel room to discuss the job," Arthur says, all business, turning on his heel to leave after he has secured Eames's agreement.
"I'll see you then, darling."
-o-
"James!" Arthur arches his back off the bed, eyes shut and head thrown back in bliss as Eames sucks on the pale skin under his jaw. The blankets are tangled down at the end of the bed, kicked down in the haze of passion.
"Mmm…darling, darling," the conman mutters, kissing the shell of Arthur's ear as the slighter man collapses back against the mattress, eyes half-lidded and face flushed. His hair is mussed, strands breaking free from its once-gelled perfection and falling softly against his forehead.
"I missed you," the hacker sighs, and it is the truth. Eames can tell.
"I missed you, too, darling. I haven't seen you since you disappeared in France, back in April." Again, though Eames tries to hide it, the accusation laces itself into his words and makes Arthur cringe slightly.
"I am sorry about that, James. I've been busy. I know it's a weak excuse, but…" He sighs, shoulders tensing as he waits for Eames to say something. Anything.
Finally, Eames leans down and places a soft kiss onto Arthur's bare shoulder. "I forgive you. It's not really your fault. I could have tried harder, too."
Arthur shakes his head and presses his lips to Eames's. "Let's not worry about blame, then. It's too nice to see you."
"And you say I'm the flatterer," the conman chuckles, rolling onto his side and tucking Arthur's head underneath his chin.
"Oh just go to sleep," the hacker laughs, and drops a kiss to his lover's collar bone. "I—I'll see you in the morning."
"Yeah?"
"…Yeah."
-o-
Eames wakes to an empty, cold bed as the sun slides innocently through the blinds to his left, illuminating the note on the pillow next to him.
Client needed me, it says, breakfast is in the lobby until 10:30.
Eames sighs in frustration, shaking his head and trying to hold back the familiar stab of hurt. He had known this would happen, after all. He has slept with Arthur more times than he can count, and never once woken up next to the man.
He rolls out of bed and pads to the bathroom, dropping the note carelessly onto the bedcovers. He turns on the water, noting the beads of liquid that denote Arthur's shower earlier this morning. Water scalding, he knows, but the shower would only be about five minutes long.
"Darling," Eames sighs sadly to no one, and then steps under the spray.
When he is done, he towels off and dresses in the Armani he brought with him—black with gray pinstripes, light blue shirt, no tie—and makes for the door. As he passes the bed, he reaches down and picks up the note again, eyes tracing the precise curls of Arthur's handwriting to make sure he's gotten everything.
And there, outlined against the light of the window, is a light scrawl on the back of the paper. Bemused, he flips it over to read it.
9:30, corner table.
Checking the clock hurriedly, Eames grins; glad to see it reads 9:15. He tucks the note into his breast pocket and lifts his room key from the table by the door as he leaves, door clicking softly shut behind him.
-o-
When he arrives, the corner table is on its side, covered with the blood of the half-eaten server currently draped over it. Eames's hand drops to the gun concealed on his belt, eyes scanning anxiously for Arthur.
He finds him leaning, picturesque, against the window, backlit by the morning sunshine that filters past him and over the carnage. His white shirt is stained with red, splashes and drips all down his chest, and for a horrible moment Eames can only think that he's been shot, he's been shot, he's been—
But he's wiping at his mouth with the handkerchief Eames loaned him back in Venice, the one with the blue embroidered initials, the only one with the correct J.E.
And Arthur's grace is more fluid than it's ever been before as he pushes himself off the glass and starts toward Eames, eyes dark and intent, like a predator. His hand is ice on Eames's cheek, and his dilated pupils suck all the light out of the room.
He leans in, his clod, gray cheek brushing Eames's, stealing its warmth and color. The conman feels teeth at his neck, pressing a little too hard to be comfortable, as arms come up to wrap around him.
"Darling," he hears, once, and then the teeth sink in.
-o-
Eames did not wake crying.
-ooo-
9:50 am, Bonanza, Colorado
"I see," Saito said, leaning back in his chair. "This changes many things."
"This house has become a prison," Fischer said. "You all should come to New York. At least they'll be zombies we can kill. We should create a diversion for Mal and Arthur, and then make it to the cars and back to Mark and the plane." He sighed. "I'd also like to look for a few of my friends on the East Coast. I came out here because I thought I could help. It's up to Yusuf now, so I'd like to get back to doing something…I don't know, useful."
"Mm," Yusuf hummed. "In spite of Mr. Saito's kind offer of his labs, I would actually prefer to stay. I don't want to risk moving the serum, and it would be beneficial for me to study these new behaviors. For example, it seems that Mal and Arthur are working together to catch food—us. Now, in previous experiences it seemed that the infected would just as easily attack each other as us if it meant getting food."
"They speak."
Yusuf turned to look at Eames, who had just opened his mouth for the first time in hours. The chemist's eyes crinkled in sympathy.
"That's really bothering you, isn't it?" he asked softly. "It really startled me. I didn't think they spoke anymore, either."
"It wasn't the fact that Arthur spoke that threw him," Cobb said. "It was what he said. Personally, it nearly killed me when Mal said my name. It just…"
"In some ways, I'd say they're regressing again," Yusuf said. "They're reverting back to more basic hunting instincts. Arthur called us before, and tried to lure us out. You saw how Arthur was trying to get Eames outside so Mal could get him. That's clever, but it's not unusual in…wild animals. What's interesting about this is not how they're hunting, but the fact that their hunting in groups. So far, zombies have all been individual hunters."
Ariadne listened from where she sat next to Fischer at the kitchen table, head in her hands. Everything was so wrong. This wasn't supposed to be life. This had only been happening for less than a month, and already almost everything she'd ever known was gone, twisted in horrible, incomprehensible ways. Her parents, her best friends, Arthur—they were all out there, somewhere, eating other people. Or dead, eaten, or shot in the head by someone just trying to survive.
"Are they still out there? Do we know?" Miles asked, having come in to listen while his wife cared for the children.
"We can never really be sure," Cobb confessed. "I mean, it was dark last night, but we never even saw Mal coming."
After a rather subdued moment of silence, Fischer shifted in his chair. "So, what's our plan? Are we going to stay here, or are we going to go back to New York?"
"I actually am in favor of going to New York," Nash said. "I agree with Fischer. It's better that we're able to protect ourselves. I mean, Yusuf doesn't even want us to tranquilize them."
"I'm staying," Eames said, and there was no questioning it. "As long as Arthur's here, I'm not leaving."
"I want to stay with Uncle Arthur and Maman," came a small voice from the doorway. "Phil and I want to stay."
"Yeah," Phillipa agreed, stepping in front of James as if to hide him from their father's disapproval. "I don't want to leave. But—" for a moment, her eyes teared up, "you can go if you want, Dad. We can stay with Uncle Eames. Right?" Her gaze flickered over to Eames, a little hesitant, a little scared. But nonetheless she tried to give him a small smile.
"Of course," Eames said, slightly startled. "That is, if your father is really—"
"We're not going to split up," Cobb said. "Never. Either we all stay, or we all go to New York. You guys, me, and your grandparents, too." He glanced up, and the silent unless you want to go was clear in his eyes to both Miles and Marie.
"Then it would appear that we're staying," Miles said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as James and Phillipa burst into excited 'thank yous'.
"Is that all right with you?" Eames asked Cobb under his breath. "I didn't mean to bias your family against you…"
"It's fine. I'd rather stay, anyway." He ran a hand through his hair. "Ariadne?"
"I—" She bit her lip. "I…"
"If you want to go with your boy, I can look after Arthur," Eames said gently, sympathetic of the torn expression on her face. "I won't let anything happen to him. I'll even see if I can get him inside, locked in a room or something."
"Yeah, because that worked so well with the crazy wife," Nash muttered.
"Did I ask you, you muppet?" Eames snapped. "No one bloody wants to hear your opinion."
"Hey, calm down," Cobb interrupted before things could get too bad. "Let's just leave that where it is. Nash, you want to go to New York, right?"
The other man nodded.
"All right," Cobb continued, "so we have three for New York, and the rest are staying?"
"Four," Ariadne corrected softly. "Eames, you promise me this: that you will take care of Arthur, and call me at once if anything changes. Please."
"Of course, pet. You stay safe." He narrowed his eyes when they fell on Fischer. "And you had better take care of her."
Fischer bristled. "I will. Nothing will ever happen to her."
Eames nodded. "Good. So, when do you leave? You probably want to be out of here before dark."
"Yeah," Yusuf agreed. "The sun sets early here in Bonanza. Around 4:30."
"We should probably pack some supplies now, then," Saito said, rising from the table. "It is a four hour flight back to New York, with a two-hour time difference. It is not the wisest idea to land in the dark, either."
"It was a pleasure meeting both of you. You, too, Nash. Ariadne." Cobb held out his hand to each man in turn, and then to the young woman. She ignored it, favoring instead to wrap her arms around him in a tight hug.
"You'll get her back, Cobb. I know you will," she said. He patted her back in thanks, and she stepped back, only to catch Eames in her next hug. "Arthur will be fine. You'll see."
The Brit hugged her back, murmuring, "You take care, pet."
"I will." She tried valiantly to hold back her tears as the two kids rushed forward to give her goodbye hugs, their small arms circling around her as best they could, burying their faces in her shirt.
"Stay safe and come back soon, okay, Miss Ari?" Phillipa pleaded.
"Yeah, come back soon!" James echoed, tiny hands fisted in the hem of her blouse as he stared earnestly up at her.
"Kids…" Cobb began, but Ariadne was already nodding.
"As soon as I can, I promise," she said. "We'll see each other again."
"Okay," Phil consented, finally stepping back and pulling James along with her. "We'll miss you all. So you'd better come back and see us, okay? Okay, Mr. Fischer? Mr. Saito? Mr. Nash?"
"Okay, kids," Fischer agreed, a sad smile playing over his mouth. "As soon as we can."
"Yes, we will meet again soon," Saito agreed. "You can count on it."
All Nash said was goodbye, making no promises.