A/N: (Feathered Filly): My goodness! I'm so ecstatic that this little story of ours has been so amazingly well received! Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, alerting and faving. I forgot how much fun it was to get such incredible feedback and to interact with you wonderful readers! Once again, this collaboration has been so much fun and I'm so glad you guys are enjoying what the two of us have come up with!

A/N: (AtlantisGirl12): Echoing Feathered Filly, thank you all so much for the reviewing, alerts and favorites! It really inspires the writing cells! :D I hope you enjoy this next installment as much as we did planning/writing it!

Important Note! Something we both forgot to mention last chapter: The story takes place a little more than a year- 14 months to be exact, before the movie. We've also taken a tiny bit of liberty with the guys' ages. Since none of their ages were specifically mentioned in the movie, we decided to make Arthur 25, Eames 30 and Dom 33. ~Feathered Filly

Chapter 2

As Andrew's finger tightened on the trigger, patrons started to scream and run for the exits. Dom leaped up, knocking over his chair.

"Now!" he shouted. He turned over the table and ducked along with Eames and Arthur just as a shot careened into the wood.

Another shot clipped the top of the table just above Eames' head and he ducked down even further. "Well, isn't this a nice little pickle," he grumbled sarcastically. "Brilliant plan, Dom."

The extractor ignored the words and pulled out his gun, with Eames and Arthur following suit. No one in the dream business with any sense of self-preservation went anywhere unarmed for precisely reasons such as this. Revenge and retribution as well as arguments over petty issues made for a dangerous game and one quickly learned to watch one's back.

Another shot rang out, this time from the other direction. Eames glanced behind him. Andrew's accomplice had gone around back. Now they were effectively pinned down between the two men. Neither had a clear shot, but this good fortune would not last forever.

"Dom, we have to move." Arthur's voice was calm, in spite of the bullets peppering the room. Sirens could now be heard in the distance and were rapidly getting louder. It was bitter irony that they couldn't wait it out for the police to arrive. As a federal fugitive, Dom could ill-afford to be taken into custody since he would be immediately extradited to the U.S.

"Thank you for your insight, Arthur. Neither Dom nor I could possibly come up with that on our own."

"Enough!" Dom's voice was clipped and tight with anger as he cut off Eames' snide remark. He peered around the corner and fired off a shot. "We've got to get to that back door." He craned his neck around to look over his shoulder. The open back door beckoned, tantalizingly close.

"Give it up, Dom!" Andrew's voice rang out. "You've got no chance! You know the police will take you in and you'll never see those darling children again. Might as well come with me. I just might give you a chance." He laughed and chambered some more rounds.

"I'll keep him talking," Dom whispered. "Then I'll lay down covering fire and you two make a break for it. I'll go out the window on the other side. Be careful, the other one has a view of the back." At their nods, Dom raised his voice again. "You're the one who ought to be worried, Andrew! What is it, two against three? Not very good odds, I'd say!"

Arthur checked the magazine of his gun and slid the hammer back. "We're ready, Dom."

The extractor nodded grimly. "Okay. Let's go." He took a deep breath. "One. Two. Three!" He whipped his gun around the corner and began shooting rapidly at the other man, forcing Andrew to take cover as Dom's shots peppered the walls and door behind him. Arthur and Eames sprinted to the back door, firing wildly in the direction of the other man. As they ran, Dom leaped up and ran to the window. He did a quick double-tap and jumped through the window as the glass shattered in front of him from the bullets. He tucked in his body, landing in a roll in the alley outside.

Eames and Arthur quickly split in opposite directions according to the plan, not waiting to see what the men would do. Eames could hear muffled shouting and cursing coming from inside the ruined bar. As he sprinted down to the end of the alley, his exit was suddenly blocked by a police car coming to a quick halt in front of him.

Taking a deep breath, he increased his speed. Just before he ran into the car, he jumped and slid over the top of the hood to the other side, safely landing on the other side and darting back into the street.

"Awqif! Awqif!" He heard the police shout after him. He hazarded a quick glance over his shoulder, just in time to see Andrew running out of the bar and grabbing a motorcycle from a hapless pedestrian he pushed to the side.

Several shots rang out behind him. Eames cursed under his breath. Great. Now he had Andrew and coppers to worry about. He was already getting winded and now Andrew had a motorcycle? Life just wasn't fair. So much for police back-up. Darting another look behind him, he saw the police had jumped back in their cars, but there was no way to turn around quickly in the narrow street. And Andrew was gaining.

Gasping for air, Eames felt his heart leap when he saw an open door a few yards away. With the roar of the motorcycle getting louder, he made a break for the opening.

"Aaah!" A woman screamed to see a dirty white man burst into her pastry shop.

"Sorry, lady," he muttered, already running into the back. He skittered across the tiled floor, bracing himself against the countertops. He ran into the other street and spied a stall selling traditional dress. Digging some coins out of his pocket, he hurried over to the elderly man selling the brightly colored clothes and grabbed several articles off the racks.

"How much? How much?" He gasped out, thrusting his money into the man's hands.

The man jabbered in Arabic, holding up some fingers.

"Come on!" He scowled. He jabbed a hand into his pocket again, only to find it empty. He cursed, remembering the money he had used to gamble and buy the drinks.

The sound of a motorcycle down the street caught his attention and he looked up to see Andrew at the end of the street grinning wickedly.

"You've got to be kidding me." Eames threw the clothing back at the old man. The old man held the money out to him as the forger started to turn away. "Oh, keep it, keep it!" Eames hollered over his shoulder, already sprinting away.

His side started to ache almost immediately and sweat poured down his back and forehead. He weaved in and out among the huge crowd, hoping the bustling marketplace would prevent Andrew from using the motorcycle. Checking behind him, he saw that his plan had worked. The other man had abandoned the bike and was now shoving people out of his way in an effort to catch up to Eames. Only…he hadn't been running as long.

Eames was now breathing in ragged gasps. He kept searching for an open door, but crowded stalls blocked all openings. Wait, there. A side street beckoned him and he raced down it. Another one. He took that turn too. Several twists and turns later, Andrew was no longer in sight…for the moment. He huffed out a sigh of relief when he saw the rendezvous ahead. The neighborhood it was in was deserted, everyone having gone to the marketplace at this time of day as custom.

Eames went around the corner of the building and collapsed in exhaustion against the wall. He pulled out his gun and held it ready. Drawing an arm across his brow, he futilely wiped away the sweat coursing down his face. He leaned his head back and drew in a shuddering breath, trying to control his breathing.

Where were Dom and Arthur? He checked his watch. Okay, he was early. Knowing Arthur and Dom, they would take the full ten minutes and a few extra besides to lose any tails. Not that he blamed them. Running into Andrew was just bad news.

Eames checked his gun, making sure it was loaded. Suddenly, he heard footsteps. They were quiet and slow, as if someone was trying to be as quiet as possible. But it was the unmistakable sound of a dress shoe. Just like the one Andrew was wearing.

Eames held his breath and straightened, every muscle tense and all his senses straining. The footsteps came closer. It sounded like someone was searching for something…or someone. He took a deep breath. Andrew was notoriously fast with a gun. But not this time.

Steadying his nerves, Eames lunged around the corner, his gun at the ready. He caught a glimpse of a man in a suit holding a gun just before he fired. Too late he realized the suit was the wrong color. Andrew wore dark clothes.

Eames watched in horror as Arthur recoiled from the force of the bullet, staggering back a few steps. The point man's own gun clattered to the ground as he pressed his hand to his side where the light cloth was rapidly blossoming red. Arthur held his hands out and stared uncomprehendingly at the bright blood that covered them, as if he couldn't believe that it belonged to him. He looked up at Eames, his dark eyes full of confusion and pain, a question forming on his lips. His body shuddered convulsively in pain and he fell against the side of the white-washed building before slumping to the ground, leaving a trail of coppery liquid behind.

At his fall, Eames felt his body jolt into action. "Nonono!" He raced forward and fell to his knees beside Arthur. "Arthur, I'm sorry….I didn't know…" He pressed his hands against the other's wound, eliciting a cry of pain from the point man. "Sorry, chap." He felt a sharp twinge of guilt, knowing he was the cause of Arthur's pain. "It's got to be done."

Arthur struggled, trying to get away from the pressure digging into his side. "Didn't…didn't know you disliked…me that much," he gasped. "Could have…just told me so." He coughed.

Eames felt a smile tug at his lips in spite of the gravity of the situation. "Only way I could drill it into your thick skull, old boy."

Arthur grimaced. "No…tails, right?"

"No, I think I lost him."

"T-think?"

"Um, pretty sure?"

"Eames!" Arthur's scowl was deepened by pain. He tried to straighten and fell back against the wall with a groan.

Eames looked at him in concern. "Don't try to move."

Arthur huffed at him. "You couldn't…have just shot me…in the arm?"

Eames looked at him apologetically. "I thought you were Andrew."

"I don't know…whether or not…to be in-insulted…or amused."

The sound of hurried footsteps caused them both to pause.

"Dom?"

Eames shook his head. "There're two of them." He hauled Arthur to his feet, clapping a hand over his mouth as the point man cried out from the jostling. "We've got to move," he said by way of apology.

Arthur nodded stiffly, gripping his still bleeding side. Eames pulled his arm over his shoulder and half-carried, half-dragged his injured teammate down the street.

A/N: Well there it is! What will happen to our intrepid heroes next? Please review! :D