It was just (bloody) difficult.
Eames couldn't stop himself from observing Cobb very closely, then. He noticed Cobb seemed troubled, yes, but not a lot more than usual and thinking about what they were up to, well, Eames thought that being troubled was likely the natural response.
He spotted Cobb lying down, hooked up to a PASIV, almost every night before he left the warehouse, obviously needing to dream for his own and Eames wouldn't ever judge him for that. Eames remembered watching those people down in Yusuf's basement a few weeks earlier, knowing how easily he could have been one of them. If it wasn't for Arthur, he probably would be.
Eames still had some trouble sleeping, though. That was one of the main reasons he used to stick around Mombasa for so long. Eames had met Yusuf when he and the team he'd been working with tried to perform inception for the first time, and even though they had failed, Eames and Yusuf kept in touch, mostly because Yusuf's compounds helped Eames sleep without wearing him out.
Since he and Arthur were back to working under the same roof, however, Eames didn't need to take anything. He slept just fine, and he dreamt about Browning playing with his glasses in a way Eames was sure Browning never done before and then Fischer noticed it and the whole plan fell apart and Arthur was yelling at him for ruining Cobb's chances to get back to his kids and Ariadne was there to put a friendly hand on Arthur's shoulder and Arthur-
Eames' phone was ringing and, as he picked it up, he thought he was still dreaming. Because it was Arthur's voice on the other end.
"It's time," Arthur announced and Eames reached for his poker chip and rubbed it against his fingers a bit, just in case. "Maurice Fischer's dead."
"All right, then," Eames answered and Arthur hang up without saying anything else. And Eames knew he shouldn't feel disappointed or sentimental or what, but the truth was it was the first time in a year Arthur had called him.
There was one last team meeting before they caught a plane to Sydney and it was decided they would go in two separate groups. Yusuf needed a couple more hours to pack his chemicals safely and since Ariadne was going too, she had a few things to take care of before then. Arthur obviously had everything ready to leave immediately, but he visibly hesitated as Saito asked who was going first with him. Cobb was there to rescue Arthur, though. Cobb pointed out that he and Eames were going first, while Arthur should stay to escort Yusuf and Ariadne later. Eames avoided Arthur's eyes, following Saito and Cobb out of the warehouse.
He had flown privately before and Eames had never had a single reason to complain about that. Not until Saito went to the bathroom and Eames found himself alone with a Cobb who was smiling at him. Except it was nothing like a real smile. It was something between a cynical, cold, tired and forgotten shadow of one. As if although Cobb did know how to smile, it still hurt every time he tried. Eames had never had kids and for a second he thought he could try to understand, but the truth was, he couldn't.
"How are you holding up?" Eames heard Cobb and he realized that it was the sort of question that maybe Eames should have been asking him.
"Fabulous," Eames replied with a smirk that wouldn't fool a toddler. "How about you?"
Cobb sunk his head against his seat. "I'll be better when it's all over."
Eames took a sip from the glass of whisky a lovely air hostess had just handed him and murmured a "Yeah, me too," but Cobb wasn't paying attention anymore.
As they landed in Sydney a few hours later, Eames and Cobb went directly to a hotel near the airport, where Saito had reserved an entire floor so their team could settle for the night. The flight to Los Angeles was scheduled at 11:15 AM and Eames knew he should be trying to get some sleep, but it was almost eleven o' clock at night and he couldn't have been more awake. He thought about practicing as Browning one last time, but without a PASIV, all he could do was stare into a mirror, mimicking gestures and expressions which didn't belong on his face. He could try one of Yusuf's minor sedatives, but with inception happening in less than twelve hours, it wouldn't exactly be wise. After he had spent the past half hour memorizing every corner of his room, Eames gave up and walked into the hall, thinking about going down to the bar, but already knowing that would be an equally stupid idea. He had had his last drink six hours ago and he shouldn't consume alcohol again until the job was done either.
Eames swore and was heading back to his room when he noticed light slipping beneath door number 653. He stopped for a few seconds and then realized that was Arthur's room. He could hear Arthur's calculated footsteps wandering over the hardwood, the noise of paper being folded with the steadiest hands. And Eames thought he shouldn't feel surprised. Arthur was a pretty good sleeper, except when he was on duty. Eames remembered how sometimes he had had to tease Arthur for hours until he couldn't work anymore so Eames could drag his arse into a bed. They rarely had sex on those occasions, because Eames knew he only could really make Arthur leave his desk when he was beyond tired and Arthur usually just tucked his chin into the curve of Eames' neck before falling asleep. That was one of the times Eames thought about saying the threes words aloud, because he didn't mind the sex as much he did having Arthur asleep in his arms, like Arthur did trust Eames with his life.
He was knocking on 653 before he could stop himself and the door was open before he could knock a second time. Eames eyed Arthur, fully dressed in a three-piece suit, his hair perfectly slicked back, and a Glock in his hand. Eames put down his fist.
"You aren't planning to take it with you on the plane, are you?" He tossed Arthur a mocking smile and Arthur ignored him, turning his back and walking to the nightstand. Arthur put the gun beside a red die and Eames felt the urge to ask about it, but he didn't. He stuck with the obvious, instead.
"Can't sleep, huh?" Eames pointed out, closing the door behind him.
"Rhetorical questions never really fit you," Arthur snapped in such a soft way Eames thought that it was kind of charming, too. "What are you doing here?"
"Can't sleep." Eames shrugged and confessed simply, because, why the hell not. "I saw the lights."
"Of course you did." Arthur sat on the bed, avoiding his eyes.
"I thought about practicing, you know, to kill a little time, but-" Eames trailed off.
Arthur nodded. "How much do you need? Five, ten?"
Eames couldn't think of anything he would like less than practicing Browning now that he was in the same room as Arthur, but it wasn't like he had multiple choices. He smiled at Arthur and shoved his hands inside his trouser pockets.
"Ten minutes should be enough, thank you."
Arthur nodded again and walked to a suitcase on a table, starting to sort through his things.
"Lie down," Arthur told him over his shoulder and Eames wasn't really thinking as he took off his jacket, lying on his back on Arthur's bed. Eames observed as Arthur frowned at him for a second or two, but neither of them said a thing. Arthur knelt beside the bed and hooked Eames up to the PASIV with his usual efficiency. "See you in ten."
Arthur pressed the button.
Eames' dreamscape was fashioned from the countless rooms he had been in in his life. The worn-out but comfortable furniture from two-star hotels in Seville and New Delhi, the antique dressing table from his first and only flat in London. The carpets which belonged to a pension he used to stay in whenever he was stationed in Mombasa and the curtains, well, the curtains Eames really couldn't remember. He sat in front of the three-wing mirror and saw his own face, wishing he could bring up Browning without having Arthur so clear in his mind. Arthur who was up above, just a few inches away, watching over him. Eames shook his head and scrubbed his face with both hands. When he looked up again, it was Browning's gray hair and wrinkled forehead facing him. Eames sighed, equal parts relieved and disappointed.
He spoke out aloud, using Browning's voice and tones and words. Eames said I'm sorry, Robert as he's sure Browning said to the boy when he heard Maurice Fischer was dead. He loosed the knot of his tie with one hand, then fixed it again, Browning's fingers lingering on it just for a second. Eames lost track of time as he walked around the room in Browning's shoes, feeling his weight and the shape of his body, the length, the balance of his arms and legs. Eames was sure he never had impersonated someone so well before and he was ready to check his watch and maybe shoot himself in the head, because he was beyond done, when he heard a soft knock on the door.
Eames frowned, reaching for the Beretta he knew he had in the top drawer. As he walked towards the door, he was himself again. And Eames felt surprised, but not so much, as he found Arthur in the doorway, his hair and clothes soaking wet. Eames looked out the window and, yes, it was raining. He hadn't noticed when the rain started, though. Eames glanced back at Arthur, who had been waiting for him to say something. It wasn't the first time Eames brought a projection of Arthur into a lucid dream, but it was the first time he had done that as he worked. Usually, Eames was pretty capable of separating those things.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Arthur asked and Eames noticed he had started to shiver a bit. Eames felt his heart sink, because even if it was just a projection, he couldn't bring himself to say no to something which had Arthur's face. He smiled, shook his head and stepped aside to let him in.
"What are you doing here?" Eames asked, because he wasn't really in the mood to play hide and seek with his own subconscious. "Arthur?"
Arthur, who was busy examining the room like the real Arthur did every time he walked into an unknown place, looked back at Eames with an expression which mingled a smile with a frown.
"It's raining outside," he responded softly, but Eames could distinguish a bit of sarcasm in his voice. "Do you mind if I use your shower?"
Eames found himself nodding in agreement before he could even think and Arthur disappeared from his view so quickly it was like he had vanished into thin air. And Eames thought Arthur's projection was already gone when he heard the sounds of someone stepping carefully into the shower. Eames didn't know what to do, so he sat again in front of the mirror, watching from the corner of his eye as Browning's face stared back at him from a piece of glass.
Actually, Eames suddenly realized, there were other people watching him in the mirror's pieces, which multiplied endlessly. Eames recognized Cobb, himself, Saito, Ariadne, Yusuf and a woman Eames couldn't remember seeing anywhere before, yet he thought she looked strangely familiar, like someone he once saw in yellowed photographs from old relatives. She was in her thirties and had curly, dark brown hair, with short locks. Her face had this soft and firm structure, and Eames spotted a birth mark on her forehead when she stared back at him like she couldn't recognize Eames either. Her eyes seemed sad and she frowned at Eames as if, somehow, she knew Eames wasn't real.
"Who are you?" Eames heard himself asking, but before the woman could reply, Arthur was back from the bathroom.
"I see you're working." Arthur said and Eames felt his throat dry as he turned around. Arthur, Arthur's projection he repeated to himself trying to focus, was wearing only an old T-shirt Eames immediately recognized as one of his own. The exact kind of coincidence the subconscious could come up with and Eames smiled, bitterly, because he didn't need his own goddamn mind to remind him he had been missing Arthur this much.
"I was-" Eames started to say, feeling his body tensing up, his hands twitching. He could smell soap on Arthur's skin and sighed, feeling defeated. "I was thinking about our first kiss." He smiled at Arthur, weakly. "Do you remember it?"
"Of course I do," Arthur replied and Eames recognized his own words in Arthur's mouth at the same time he knew he probably wouldn't have the balls to ask such a thing of the real Arthur. "You're waiting for me to wake up," Arthur's projection added with a slightly raised eyebrow and Eames held his breath as Arthur walked towards him. Eames knew he should grab his gun on the dressing table and shoot himself before it was too late.
But Arthur was already straddling Eames' lap, his eyes locked with Eames' and Eames couldn't care less if it was too fucking late anymore. He screwed his eyes shut as their lips brushed and he held Arthur's waist to keep him in place as their tongues slid together. Eames felt Arthur's skin warm and fresh from the shower and ran a hand under the shirt and over his back, making Arthur moan against his mouth and then breaking the kiss so he could capture Eames' ear between his teeth. Eames grunted and dug his fingertips into Arthur's back, crushing their bodies together. That was when he noticed Arthur wasn't wearing any underwear, his cock half-hard between his legs. Eames smirked and slipped a hand between their bodies, grabbing Arthur's cock and starting to pump him with short little jerks. Arthur bit down on Eames' ear lobe hard and Eames hissed through his teeth, increasing his strokes on Arthur's cock, making him gasp and twist his body on his lap.
"Fuck me," Arthur breathed and Eames didn't need to be told twice.
He lifted Arthur, holding him under the back of his knees, Arthur's hands around his neck, Arthur's mouth breathing against his. Eames placed Arthur on the dressing table and he glimpsed back at the faces in the mirror. None of them seemed to be bothered by Arthur's presence. Arthur, with his tousled hair and his breathing coming and going in small gasps and short moans and Eames ignored all of those faces as he opened his fly, starting to give his own cock a few strokes. Then, he saw Arthur slowly licking his fingers, before he grasped Eames' cock between them. Eames held back a grunt and dropped his head into the curve of Arthur's neck, kissing the sensitive skin. He stopped as he felt Arthur let go of his cock and he looked down at Arthur's hand, which was trying to bury two slicked fingers inside Arthur's body.
Eames breathed at it and locked his eyes with Arthur's as he slid one of his fingers along those two, feeling Arthur jolting under the hand Eames was keeping on his knee. Then Eames inserted a second finger, making it four, and Arthur gave up, taking his own fingers out so he could grab Eames' shoulder, and Eames fingered Arthur with two, then three, stretching him and kissing him with his mouth closed so Eames could feel the trembling wet lips, so he could swallow the air Arthur was trying to breathe through his dilated nostrils.
And when Eames pulled his fingers out, so he could push his cock in, Arthur opened his mouth under Eames' and let out a cry which sounded like pain, but Eames knew it wasn't. He kissed Arthur again, tilting his head and sucking Arthur's tongue in a way he knew could make Arthur moan and of course Arthur moaned back, his fingers digging into Eames' hair, deepening the kiss. Eames fucked Arthur with rough, fast thrusts, his hips snapping back and forth like Eames was so close to coming, even though he had just started. Eames panted, holding back his breath, feeling Arthur hauling him closer, deeper, his legs gripped hard around Eames' waist.
He grabbed Arthur's cock and stroked him as he fucked him, hard and fast, then trying to slow down just a little bit, but quickly losing himself again. Eames watched as Arthur's face twitched under his, his brown eyes just half-opened, like Arthur didn't have the wish or even the strength to close them thoroughly. Eames saw Arthur throw his head back as he came, a strangled, unconscious noise slipping from his lips and Eames couldn't help but look at all those faces staring back at them and he felt exposed and filthy because he couldn't fucking care less. Eames increased his thrusts, closing his eyes and he knew he shouldn't, couldn't, but for a second, for a whole second, Eames really wished he didn't have to wake up.
And when he came, tight and hot inside Arthur, Eames automatically put a hand on Arthur's chest, trying to catch Arthur's heartbeat beneath his fingers, because Eames knew this Arthur would fade away once he opened his eyes. And then, as he felt the familiar, unsteady thump under his palm, Eames wanted to laugh and to cry. He didn't, though. Eames skimmed a hand over Arthur's chest, instead, planning to run his fingers all the way to Arthur's face, so he could grab his chin and kiss him just one more time before the dream ended. But Eames' fingers stopped dead as he touched something hard on Arthur's collarbone. Eames gazed down at Arthur, who was also glaring at the exact place where Eames' hand had just fisted a small, slim, aluminum key hanging on a string around Arthur's neck.
They scrutinized each other. Arthur's face unreadable, Eames' mouth hanging open, millions of questions piercing through his mind, demanding an answer, any answer. Eames felt the shape, the weight, the coldness of the key under his fingers, a key never made for use, and he tried to say something. Eames had almost formulated all the possible words he could say when Arthur's projection grasped the Beretta on the dressing table and pressed the barrel against the underside of his chin. Eames knew what was going to happen, but he couldn't stop Arthur from pulling the trigger, burying a bullet in his skull and through the three-wing mirror behind them.
Eames shut his eyes as that broken sound echoed impossibly loud inside his head and when he looked up again, Arthur was gone. But there was no dead body, not a single drop of blood spread over the shattered mirror. And the only face gazing back at Eames, petrified in an expression of relief and disappointment, was his own.
It took Eames a few seconds to recover his senses, take the gun and put a bullet into his head.
"You're early." He heard Arthur's voice all business as always. His hair all in place, his steady hands unhooking Eames from the PASIV.
"Never thought I'd live to hear you say that to me, darling," Eames joked on purpose so he could disguise his shaking hands, pressing them against the mattress.
Arthur frowned sideways as he stood up, putting the aluminum case back on the table, his back turned to Eames, who sat on the bed and tried to read Arthur, but Arthur was acting exactly like he always did, keeping his distance, working quickly and efficiently. He didn't have anything else to say or to do, nothing that could keep him inside that room any longer. So Eames got up as well and thanked Arthur as he made his way towards the door.
Eames felt Arthur's hand on his wrist as he reached for the doorknob. He turned his head and he saw Arthur glancing at him. Eames opened his mouth, but the words failed.
"You're forgetting this," Arthur noted, his voice almost soft as he handed Eames his jacket back. "Here."
Eames smiled at him and he could have sworn he had just seen Arthur fighting to not smile back.
"Thank you, Arthur," Eames said, but Arthur had turned his face to the room, his hand keeping the door open so Eames could leave without any more excuses. And Eames was so eager to see Arthur smiling that when he finally noticed the two tiny red spots on Arthur's wrist, the door had already been shut in his face.
Eames spent most of the night trying to shove down the thoughts about those two red marks, knowing that they must be just some sort of sick and twisted wishful thinking. Because Arthur had gone under every single day of the past few weeks. Of course he would have those tiny red needle marks on his wrist. Eames knew that but even so he couldn't bring himself to stop thinking about the dream, remembering the sound of Arthur's soft moans, the shape of that key under his hand and knowing it was too good to be real.
He woke up to realize he had slept a few hours and was running late, just having the time to splash some cold water over his face, then slick his hair down and brush his teeth. Eames grabbed the jacket Arthur had handed him the previous night and headed to the airport. He tried very hard to not look at Arthur as they embarked and after he managed to steal Fischer's wallet, Eames took a magazine and kept his eyes on the page even if he couldn't perceive a single word. Endless minutes passed and he felt relieved when Cobb finally drugged Fischer and they were ready to go under for the most tricky job he had ever done. Eames risked a glance towards Arthur as he hooked himself up and he thought he saw Arthur watching him with the corner of his eyes, but it was too late and the next thing Eames was doing was shielding himself from the rain.
The first time Eames had ever gone under, he had thought about how amazing it was to feel so invincible, to be able to do the most impossible things, to push reality as far as it could get. He had all kinds of feelings during a dream, even if those were just imperfect, little versions of the real feelings he got to experience when he was wake. Yet he knew he never felt so pissed as when he realized how screwed up they all were. He watched Arthur shouting at Cobb and he thought they were done, done, but he couldn't do anything about it. Not really. Because he knew Arthur would keep following Cobb down each layer even if Cobb didn't insist.
So Eames did what he had to do. He worked faster, he gave his very best, he cracked in a hour what he was supposed to have had an entire night to do, he kept himself together and said to Arthur that he mustn't be afraid because, yes, they had to work with a little chance, they had to learn from their previous mistakes to make them right, to make it work. And Eames distracted Fischer to buy them some time and he was ready to go down and yet, Eames knew he couldn't leave Arthur alone, not the Arthur who didn't believe it could even work, but against all the odds it was Arthur who smiled down at him and Eames knew Arthur would be okay. And it was so freaking cold, and Cobb was saying if he knew the route things could be compromised and Eames hesitated, but they were there, almost there, but Fischer got shot and he was dead and as Eames asked what happened, not really expecting an answer, it was Ariadne who articulated the name Arthur yelled at Cobb, earlier, in the first level. A name that just down there Eames had a face to connect with. A face to blame.
A face which had a soft and firm structure. Face shaped by short and curly, dark brown locks, with a birth mark on the forehead. And Eames finally understood. Because Cobb couldn't shoot her and now Cobb was the one saying they were done and they couldn't be done. Arthur was just up above and they were so, so close, and Arthur had never believed it could even work, yet he was fighting Fischer's army for Cobb to get back to his kids. And Eames looked down at the other body, Mal's body, and he remembered Cobb about that, about his family, because it was the truth, wasn't it?
It was worth trying.
And Fischer was back and they did it, they did it and Eames blew up the whole hospital, and he was staring up at an elevator ceiling, he was soaking wet, he was listening to Fischer talk to him and then, then, then-
He was awake.
Eames noticed Arthur had this little smile on his face, like Arthur just couldn't believe that it really had worked.
And the truth was Eames couldn't believe that, either.
Yet it had. They had all made it work. And Eames gave Cobb an almost imperceptible nod as he passed by, watching Cobb's face beaming, anxious. Eames exchanged subtle greetings with Saito and Yusuf, each one of them walking in opposite directions. He winked at Ariadne, who grinned back and shook her head as she walked away. Eames followed Ariadne with his eyes until she reached Arthur, gathering his things at the baggage claim. Ariadne brushed past, but she didn't stop and she looked at him briefly over her shoulder. She gave Arthur a meaningful little smile that not even Eames' years of experience would dare to translate. Eames saw Arthur twisting the corner of his lips into something that could be a smile, one day, but Ariadne didn't see anything, because she didn't look back again.
Relaxing his shoulders, Arthur turned to Eames and raised his eyebrows. Eames smiled broadly at Arthur and put a hand inside his jacket pocket. Then Eames felt a shiver piercing through his spine when his fingers touched something hard and, as he pulled an aluminum key out, Eames didn't even try to fight back a laugh. He looked at Arthur, shaking his head, thinking that this was exactly what he would have called to dreaming a little bigger. And maybe, maybe it was time for Eames to do his own talking.
"Planning to leave or are you staying in the city for the night?" he asked as Arthur walked closer.
That was when the little twist of Arthur's lips turned into a tiny smile.
"I have a place in town, you know."
And Eames smirked, because of course he did.
"Is that an invitation?"
Eames watched as Arthur's little smile grow. He thought that it could be as much a yes as it could be a friendly farewell and he didn't know what else he could say as Arthur turned to leave, looking over his shoulder.
"Well," Arthur gave him a small shrug. "You know where it is."
They took separate cabs and Eames made his driver wander around L.A. for hours before he headed to Arthur's flat. Eames didn't know if he was doing that so he could give Arthur a chance to change his mind, but when he finally stepped into Arthur's hall, night had already fallen over the city. Eames stopped outside Arthur's door and as he took the key out of his pocket, it became obvious to him he would have to knock anyway. He should have remembered Arthur' door had an automatic lock.
"Took you long enough," Arthur commented as he let Eames in. He had showered, his hair was unbrushed and he was wearing a plain white T-shirt and black sweat pants which looked so wrong and yet so right on him. "I was starting to think you'd walked away."
Eames spotted the unsaid 'again' lingering on Arthur's lips. He smiled softly at Arthur as he watched Arthur walking to the bedroom and then sitting on the mattress.
"You're right, you see," Eames started and Arthur frowned like he was saying well, of course I was, though it's pretty obvious Arthur couldn't have known what Eames was talking about. "Something happened to me."
Arthur didn't move as Eames put the key on the bed, in front of him. Then, Eames took out his poker chip and did the same. Arthur kept his eyes on the two small objects, but he didn't try to touch any of them.
"Yes, Arthur, something happened," Eames continued. "I was a coward and for that a dear friend of mine died. I was just starting in the business, and she was the one who pulled the strings. The best thief I ever knew. Smart, gorgeous hands which could fool anyone she wanted to. Then, life happened. One day, things went wrong and she got shot on a job. Turned out that I was the only one down there with her and what happened was I couldn't bring myself to put her out of her misery. When we couldn't get the job done in time, she was killed by our employer."
Eames saw Arthur's eyes grow just a little wider and nodded, once. "But I learned from that. I learned that sometimes I just need to do what I have to do. It isn't easy and we all make mistakes, Arthur. So, yes. Something happened to me, just as something happened to Cobb. But I'm not Cobb." Eames observed Arthur biting his lower lip. "Or Mal," he added with a small sigh, knowing maybe it was a little cruel and yet also knowing it was something he had to do.
"I understand you had to watch two people who loved each other reaching a terrible end. To watch people like you and me, who lived the dream, being dragged into it. And I understand you're afraid that it could happen to you, too. I understand, but you shouldn't be afraid, Arthur. I won't lose track of reality."
Arthur stared at him for an entire minute and when he finally decided to speak, Eames noticed an unmistakable tone of anxiety in Arthur's voice.
"How can you know that?"
Eames shook his head and he felt that the answer was so painfully obvious. He laughed a sad laugh as he finally let it out.
"Because," Eames breathed, "you are my reality."
And though he knew it sounded ridiculously silly, Eames also knew that it was the absolute truth.
Eames watched Arthur looking at him in silence. Then Arthur tilted his head, grabbing the key from the bed. He got up, walking towards the aluminum case on his desk. And as if he was trapped in a trance, Eames observed as Arthur inserted that same key into the lock, opening the case with a metallic noise.
"Lie down." It wasn't a request, but was not exactly an order. "I have something to show you."
And of course Eames did. When he looked up again, Eames was climbing a staircase, alone. The stairs lead to a door that indicated the sixth floor in big, capital red letters. Eames stepped into a hall he had never seen before and he walked, passing by countless doors, but he didn't stop, as if somehow Eames knew none of them were meant for him to open. Then he spotted light slipping from beneath a door just down the end of the hall. There was no number on its surface and Eames knew he didn't have to knock before he could slide himself in.
The room looked like every ordinary office Eames had seen in countless American movies; an organized desk, a brand-new computer and file cabinets lining each wall. Once he stepped closer and took a look at the labels Eames smiled, because of course Arthur's head would look exactly like that. He spotted names like Home, Mom & Dad, Brother & Sister & Baby Brother, School, College, Army, Dom & Mal, Dream-Sharing, and -
Mr. Eames.
Eames shook his head and took the small key out of his jacket pocket to open his drawer. Inside there was an aluminum case and a red die. For a second, Eames thought he should try the key again, but this case had an electronic lock, with a small keyboard waiting for him to insert six digits in it. Eames frowned a little, but it didn't take him too long to figured out what he had to do. He grabbed the red die and rolled it over the desk. He did it six times and each time Eames got a different number that he entered it on the keyboard, before pressing the OK button.
Within the case was a shoebox. Filled with small, unimportant little secrets.
There was a copy of Eames' file in the military, an airplane ticket to Verona, a crumpled green handkerchief, a postcard from Chelsea, a poor shot of him made by a security camera Eames recognized from a tea house in Mombasa, a pair of chopsticks, a patient's file with the name Tom in Eames' handwriting, an old piece of fabric with oil stains. And then, two last pieces: a receipt from a hotel in Saint-Petersburg in the name of one of Eames' fake IDs, and a two-year old Russian newspaper.
Frowning, Eames unfolded the paper and ran his eyes over the news, but his Russian was rusty and the only thing Eames realized after a couple of minutes was that he had been trying to read the weather section.
"It says the chance of rain is over 79.5 percent."
Eames turned to face Arthur, who was leaning against the doorframe, watching him with a slightly raised eyebrow. He's wearing a three-piece suit in a dark gray tone, a tailored black shirt and a scarlet tie. His hair was slicked back, a smile playing with the corner of his lips. Arthur had a red die between his fingers and he rolled it over the palm of his hand, not bothering to look down at it. Because Arthur obviously already knew the numbers, all the odds. Arthur looked at Eames just like he had everything under control, like he had the key to convert his own destiny with a quick snap of his fingertips.
And maybe, Eames thought, feeling all the pieces finally fitting into place. Maybe Arthur did.
"You knew about the storm," Eames stated, feeling it down to his bones.
"And that you'd already checked out of your hotel, yes, I did know." Arthur shrugged a little and, as an afterthought, Eames realized Arthur looked more pleasant than smug. "I understand most people look at me and only see a guy who thinks he's never wrong. Yet, I assume you already realized that I couldn't have known you would say yes, then." Arthur snorted, his eyes dropping to the die in his hand. "And before you, I wouldn't have taken my chances. Before you showing up so certain of yourself, so certain of your job, of your abilities, I know I wouldn't ever have taken my chances like that. Before, I would rather have chosen the right key to the right lock."
"Then," Arthur continued. "One day I realized something had happened to you. I noticed you never looked people in the eye when you're awake. But I also noticed that you looked at me. I didn't know why, but I noticed you looking right at me, like you felt safe. And this-" Arthur balled his hand into a fist around the die. "This was far as I could deal with chance after I pushed you away. So, yes. I know most people look at me and see a guy who thinks he's never wrong, but I know when I'm wrong and I am sorry. I should have told you, before."
Eames felt something blocking his throat. Maybe the right, impossible words, maybe an incomprehensible, choking noise mingled with unsettled surprise and incredulous relief. He shook his head, incapable of thinking anything he could say in return. But yes, he did understand. Eames understood Arthur had made some mistakes and Eames had his own share, too. And that's okay, because he knew the bad things did matter as well. He knew some choices just weren't for him to make, and there were some doors he wouldn't even try to open. And maybe Eames just had to relearn how to deal with a little chance in his life as well, because the truth was unexpected things did happen. And sometimes, they were better than they could ever have hoped for. Eames glanced up at Arthur, who looked painfully anxious.
"What," Arthur scowled as Eames remained silent. "Are you feeling insulted or something?"
Eames couldn't help but smirk.
"Why, because you planned to get me drunk and strategically trapped inside your hotel under a bloody flood, just so you could get your hands inside my pants?" Eames' smirk faded into a genuine, soft smile. "Darling, it was probably the best way you could ever use your point man skills. I am flattered."
Then, when Arthur's shoulders visibly relaxed and he laughed, a surprisingly easy and refreshing sound, dropped his die on the floor and walked towards him, Eames thought about how things rarely did occur according to the plan, up above or down here. But as Arthur hauled him into a deep kiss, Eames thought it didn't matter, really. How it started, how it ended, once. How everything could look just like a dream, how things could seem impossible until we understood these things were worth the trouble. Eames thought that it didn't really matter where they were.
Not as long Arthur was planning to stay there with him.
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Epilogue
As the dream ended, Eames found himself still lying on Arthur's bed.
"What?" he asked as he looked at Arthur's face, just a few inches apart from his, staring at him in silence.
Arthur parted his lips with the tip of his tongue and he closed the distance between them, brushing their noses, opening his mouth over Eames', letting Eames slide their tongues together. He felt Arthur's hand cupping his cheek and Eames deepened the kiss, digging his fingers into Arthur's shirt, tugging him closer so that he could feel the steady thump of Arthur's heartbeat against his.
And when they broke apart for air, Eames lost himself in Arthur's brown eyes and he felt relief as he saw a smile mingled with a frown right before Arthur decided to tuck his chin against the curve of Eames' neck, whispering close to his ear.
"I was waiting for you to wake up."
Eames was lying on Arthur's bed when he let himself smile a soft, genuine smile.
Because, yes. Reality was so much better.
Final notes: I'd like to thank everyone who read/favorited this story, especially those who had reviewed it along the way to tell me their thoughts. It's been a pleasure. Thank you all! ;)