~I do not own Inception-but dear God, I love Eames-so much fun to write as. He's amazing. Now I have a plot for all this and this is going somewhere people. Once we get the team together it'll get kickin'. This is going to be a longish story of sorts so if you like? Keep reading and know I'll pull through, please. Thank you for the reviews! I love them! –MsArtemis~

Part 3: Away

The 'Mexican hat dance' ringtone electronically snaps the smothering, Musamba afternoon in half. It was a default the owner had never chosen, but silently he enjoyed how it annoyed just about everyone within its presence. Coyly locking gazes with his opponent across the table, he lazily reached for the silver flip-phone. "Business." He explained, the grin and twinkle in his eyes after the statement suggesting nothing of the kind.

"Ah-I was expecting your call, darling. Miss me already?"

"No, Eames."

As Arthur's voice crackled over the unsteady connection Eames grinned, breaking gazes with the irritated player across from him as he kicked back in his chair.

"So for dating advice, then? Because we both know-"

"I'm not in the mood for your games now." Arthur hissed, his voice shooting straight over the line like a spear. Eame's smile faltered-the crowd around the table eyed him warily, some whispering urgently as they discussed their bets.

"Oh, come now-"

"Ariadne's been shot, Eames." The dead- weight of the words jerked Eames mouth into a grimace, made him sit up straight.

"She called me, I came to her apartment-I got the bullet out, but-"There was a shaky breath over the line, each inch of it heart-wrenching. The voice started up again, steadier, the words strong.

"I think she was onto something, Eames. I really think she was. I don't know what yet-but you know how she is. Curious, can't stop herself from exploring." There was a long pause during which Eames made several hand motions to the people surrounding him, indicating that only a few minutes alone would end the phone call. The crowd, cursing under their breath, dispersed for a brief intermission.

"It was…a close-call." Arthur resigned, regaining hold over his shock.

"I would certainly say. But more to the point-why did you call me Arthur?" Eames smirked, stood up, and walked away from the poker table, hand on his hip as he concentrated on the phone call. "As much as I care for our little architect friend, and yourself of course, I have a place here, in Africa-"

"I'm not saying you don't," Arthur reassured, "but I was bound to call you anyway. We have a job. "

"Really? From who?"

"An anonymous corporation-and what they're requesting…it's not anything I've ever heard of."

"Hit me."

"It's a big job, Eames. I can't do it alone."

The indirect answer didn't go past Eames notice; he expected Arthur, being his paranoid self, would want to exchange the details of the latest job in person rather than over the phone, where anyone could be listening. Placing an overdramatic scoff before his sentence, Eames spoke.

"And you're expecting little old me to drag my ass back up to California-"

"Paris."

Eames mentally rolled his eyes at Arthur's prim correction, eyeing himself in the reflexive metal of a nearby sundial. His moss-colored eyes were alight with the glory of teasing his old colleague, his tawny hair glinting in the noon-day sun.

"Oh don't be such a stick in the mud, Arthur. All the way up to, 'Paris' then, for this little operation of yours, with nothing in it but your pure good word to rely on?"

A huff of exasperation made itself known-it crackled over the connection, the noise not too far away from the pain caused by nails on a chalkboard.

" Eames, I swear to God that you are the most arrogant-"

Arthur's irritation was all Eames needed to hear-he had already decided the second a job was mentioned he was on board. And, despite the way Eames himself acted, he did care about Ariadne. She was right fun and quite amusing at times-all in all a good girl that he liked to have around. Plus, he was the only one that seemed to notice the way she put Arthur in invisible knots-which was a great show in itself.

"On my way, darling."

Arthur went silent on the other end, his words cut off by Eames cheery response.

"You're coming?"

Eames merely grinned, removing his eyes from the bronze sun-dials reflexive surface.

"Of course. Wouldn't miss it for the world." Already Eames was making his way back to the table that sat in the dusty square, the poker chips covered in sand and grime.

"Be in Paris by tomorrow morning."

There were several fervent tongue clickings before: "So demanding, are we?"

"Goodbye, Eames."

Eames' wry smile ended with the conversation; he easily snapped the phone shut, slipping it into his pants pocket. Now at the table he spared a tight-lipped smile for the man who sat at it, the man being his current poker adversary.

"I must leave you. So sorry for the inconvenience." Eames told the dark-skinned man, recalling that the man understood little English. The stranger's suspicious gaze fell when a wad of cash landed upon the chipping paint and poker chips of the table. Without another word, Eames turned his back on the man, beginning to slip into the crowd, when rather suddenly, the man yelled after him.

"Wher' sheh goin' sa'?" Hands in his pockets, Eames casually looked over his shoulder.

"Away."

The crowd hardly noticed as he slipped out, heading for the nearest alley across the street to make a phone call. It would take some doing, but Eames was ready for it to begin again. To play the Forger as he knew best-and to get back with the old team again, of course.

Luxuriating in the breezy shadows that surrounded him he dialed, holding the phone to his ear as he scanned the alley to make sure he was alone.

"Now, Lila-have I ever told you how beautiful you are? No? What do I want? If you must know, a first-class jet that can get me to Paris by tomorrow morning…"