A/N: (AtlantisGirl12): First of all, thank you for all the birthday wishes and also a special thank you to everyone who wrote a fic for my challenge! You're awesome! Second of all, I am SO sorry for the long delay in updates! It's my fault. :P I had ¾ of this written a couple weeks ago, but just hadn't gotten around to finishing it. School is a little stressful for me right now; this weekend and next week I will be panicking about my English paper and my linguistics midterm (ick). Fortunately though, both of those will be over next Friday, which is the beginning of my fall break! Yay! So I will try to get a lot of writing done then. :D :D In the meantime, perhaps this chapter will appease the angry mob? Lol Hope you enjoy!

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A/N: (Feathered Filly): Thank you all for all the kind words and get well wishes! I'm sorry I haven't had the time to get back to each and every one of you personally, but between work, family and personal life things are all extremely stressful and I have very little personal time to myself. Hope you all continue enjoying our story though! Things start to pick up this chapter! :D

Chapter 4

Carefully, Eames lifted Arthur from his lap and lay him down on the dirty floor. Then he moved into a crouch and waited tensely. Above, Andrew and the other man were kicking the door, which dangled from its hinges. Mere seconds had passed before they succeeded in removing it. With a great clatter, the door fell down the stairs, coming to rest a few feet from where Arthur and Eames were.

With the door gone, Andrew was afforded a clear view of the room, especially since Eames had neglected to turn off the light. Not that it would have mattered, the forger reflected ruefully. There was nothing in the room with which to hide behind and if it was indeed true that there were bloodstains outside, the men knew they were there anyway.

"Eames," Andrew called down.

The forger remained silent.

"Come now, no need to play coy. We know you're down there. And I can see your precious point man's with you too and injured at that! Wonder how that happened? I certainly didn't shoot him. Did you, Cavendish?"

The other man shook his head. "Nope, I never even took a shot at him."

Andrew laughed. "So unless dear Arthur took a gun to his stomach—unlikely, I say—the evidence seems to point to our pal Eames! Gotta say thanks, buddy…you're doing our work for us!"

Eames glared at the gloating man. "Shut up, Andrew!"

"Tut-tut," he replied, "no need to get testy. We appreciate the help. How does it make you feel, Arthur, to know your so-called 'friend' is really in cahoots with us?" He chuckled.

Arthur made no answer, and Eames glanced down at him. He felt a sharp pang of fear when he saw the younger man's eyes only half-way open and staring at nothing. He pressed two fingers to his neck. A wave of relief crashed over him when he felt the pulse; it was thready and weak, but still there.

"Give it up, Eames," Andrew yelled down, all playfulness gone from his voice. "We might let Arthur live if you do. If you don't, he's dead for sure."

"Forget it!" Eames shouted back hoping the noise might bring help. He snapped the gun up and took a shot. Andrew jumped back as the bullet clipped the doorframe where he was standing.

"You'll have to do better than that!"

"I intend to," Eames muttered under his breath. He tightened his grip on the handle and looked down at Arthur once more. The point man's slack features gave him an air of youthfulness that Eames had never seen before and at that moment, the forger felt a surge of protectiveness. He knew what needed to be done—not just his sake but for Arthur's as well. The responsibility weighed heavily on him, something he hadn't felt in years.

A shot rang out and Eames ducked as a bullet slammed into the wall behind him.

"We have the tactical advantage, Eames! You've got no chance of making it out of here alive!"

"Oh shut up," Eames muttered. He cocked the gun and took a deep breath. Only two bullets left. They'd have to each count.

"E-Eames…"

He glanced down as Arthur weakly tried to get his attention. "Decided to finally join the party, sleeping beauty?" he quipped, hiding his relief at seeing Arthur somewhat alert.

Arthur groaned. Whether it was from his awful joke or pain, Eames didn't know. "Don't…miss."

"Yeah, thanks for that, love," Eames tossed back sarcastically. He peered up at the doorway. It was still empty; maybe Andrew had been scared off. Ha, not likely, Eames thought. He readied his weapon once more, waiting for the moment when Andrew's face would appear. He'd relish wiping that smirk off his face. He didn't have to wait long.

Andrew's henchman poked his head around the doorway and Eames quickly aimed and fired...only to see his shot miss the man by a few inches. He swore under his breath. Things were just so much harder to do in reality!

"Did you…get him?"

"Didn't hear any cries of agony, did you?" Immediately, Eames wished he could take back his terse words. He hated the way Arthur's voice sounded. To anyone who was unfamiliar with the point man, he would sound calm, albeit a bit strained from injury. But Eames had learned to decipher at least some of the little intonations and inflections in the younger man's speech and could detect the barest hint of hopefulness.

Gritting his teeth, Eames raised his gun again. Andrew had no way of knowing how much ammo he had left. That would buy them some time until Cobb could find them. Where was that man anyway?

He whipped the barrel up when a loud clatter came from the stairs. He was just in time to see a small grey cylinder come bouncing down right before the top popped open, releasing a small puff of gas. Tear gas! He scooted away as far as possible, dragging Arthur with him. Tugging the edge of Arthur's suit coat, he tried to cover the point man's mouth and nose as much as possible before doing the same.

Despite his efforts, the gas quickly permeated the room and Eames fell against the wall coughing with tears streaming down his face. Dimly, he heard the sound of footsteps running down the stairs. His hand fumbled about, searching for the gun. Someone stepped hard on his hand, stilling his efforts.

"Oh no you don't." Andrew.

With bleary eyes, Eames looked up to see the man wearing some sort of small gas mask, his partner right behind him. Both had their guns trained on the two men. Andrew jerked his head at the other man and he went over to the can and placed it in a duffel bag. Immediately, the room began to clear.

After a few minutes of smirking and gloating, Andrew took off his mask. "Betcha didn't see that one coming, didja Eames." He walked back and forth in front of his captives.

"See you haven't changed, Andrew." Eames coughed. "You still look like a strutting peacock."

Andrew scowled and pinned Eames to the wall by his throat. "And you still have a fat mouth." He backhanded the forger hard. "Oops. Now it's even fatter." He released Eames, who promptly fell back against the wall, coughing. He had forgotten how strong the psycho was. He wiped away the blood trickling from his split lip, glaring balefully as Andrew turned his attention to Arthur.

"Tsk, tsk. Looks like Eames did a real number on you." Andrew toed Arthur's injured side, eliciting a sharp groan.

"Don't touch him!" Eames shouted.

Andrew grinned at him. "But I'm in control now, Eames old boy. You can't tell me what to do."

Eames saw red. He lunged at the man, only to be met with a fist to the gut.

"And don't you forget it," Andrew hissed in his ear. He removed his fist and shoved Eames back. "Tie him up, Cavendish."

The other man held out a piece of rope. "Put your hands together," he commanded.

Eames complied but flexed his wrists, hoping to get some leeway once the ropes were tied and he relaxed his muscles.

"No flexing!"

Rats. This guy knew his stuff. Reluctantly, Eames loosened the muscles in his arms. He grunted when he felt the ropes quickly tighten and cut deeply into his skin. Already he could feel the circulation being slowly cut off.

"And now him," Andrew ordered.

"No," Eames protested. "Can't you see he's too injured to go anywhere?"

Ignoring him, Cavendish proceeded to obey his boss' orders. He roughly flipped Arthur over on his stomach, eliciting a sharp cry of pain which Arthur tried to stifle by gritting teeth. Cavendish quickly tied his hands together and yanked the point man to his feet. "Ready, Boss."

"Good. Go get the van." Andrew turned to where Eames was watching Arthur worriedly as he slumped against the wall for support. Due to the location of his wound, the point man couldn't stand upright, instead hunching over in a futile attempt to curl himself inwards. As Arthur began to sway, Eames started to go over to him before he fell over.

"Uh-uh," Andrew warned him. "Move an inch and you'll regret it."

Eames ground his teeth and kept moving. "I don't care what you do to me, you little—"

"Ah, but I didn't say I would do anything to you." Andrew turned the gun slightly so that it was aimed at Arthur's leg. "I wonder how long dear Arthur would be able to survive a second shot if it was to his foot? Would the blood loss kill him first or the pain?" He chuckled.

Eames was furious inside but he kept his expression neutral and kept edged a little closer. "Go ahead, do it," he bluffed. "He dies and you won't have any hold over me."

His hope to unnerve Andrew failed. The man only laughed. "Ooh heartless." He walked over to the point man. "How does it feel knowing your pal Eames doesn't care if you live or die? You know, he shot you once…I think he'd like to see it happen again. Matching pair and all that." He rubbed Arthur's shoulder. "Don't let it worry you. Soon it won't matter what Eames thinks of you."

"Get your hand off me," Arthur hissed. He jerked his shoulder and tried to knock the other man off balance. Andrew quickly retaliated, bringing the butt of the gun swiftly across the younger's temple. As Arthur slumped to the ground, he brought the gun up once more to halt Eames' advance.

"Oh no you don't." He leaned casually against the wall. "Might as well get used to it, Eames old boy. You're not going anywhere."

Eames scowled at him before looking back at Arthur. The point man lay on his side, unconscious. A bruise was already blossoming on his temple. At least he's not feeling any pain, Eames thought. Now would be a good time to find us, Cobb!

After about ten minutes, they heard a vehicle approaching. Andrew edged to the bottom of the stairs and glanced up, carefully keeping his gun trained on Eames and Arthur. Within seconds, Cavendish's head appeared.

"All clear, Boss!"

"Good. Get on down here and lug the skinny one up."

Cavendish hurried down and picked the younger man up into a fireman's carry with a grunt. Eames winced, thinking of the strain on Arthur's wound.

"Alright, now you." Andrew gestured to the stairs. Together they followed Cavendish up the stairs. Eames squinted when he stepped outside. The black SUV was idling next to the building. Cavendish jerked the side door open and dumped Arthur on the floor, who only let out a slight moan at the rough treatment.

"Get in," Andrew ordered.

It was now or never. Eames made a sudden move toward the man. He didn't know exactly what he was doing, but he had to try something. Cavendish quickly grabbed him by the arms as the forger continued to struggle.

"Naughty, naughty. You just won't learn, will you?" Andrew frowned at him and raised his gun.

Eames glared back and turned his head away to see…Dom? His mouth parted in shock just as the gun was brought down forcefully on his head. He felt himself being tossed in beside Arthur and heard a door slam. Then he knew no more.

A/N: Please review! It really makes our day. :)