A/N: I hope you all enjoy part two as much as part one.

Dreaming

In a dream, anything can happen.

In a dream, you can fly or breathe under water. You can turn the sky purple and say it's normal on Tuesdays. You can be half bird and no one would care. That is, of course, unless you're dream sharing. It was also hard for those types of dreams to be believable to you once you'd navigated other people's dreams so often. It was still possible, but so rare.

Arthur could usually tell he was dreaming. He could always tell something was off. In dreams, and in life, he always tried to manipulate the stairs on his first trip up or down them, just to see if it would work. It was almost like his back-up totem. Arthur could also usually tell he was dreaming by the way people were acting around him. After so many dreams of tip toeing around other people's projections, he was cautious yet poised everywhere he went. Arthur knew how to watch for strangeness.

But it wasn't the dreams Arthur was having trouble with these days. Lately, whenever he would go under to practice with Cobb, he woke up with the distinct feeling of someone having touched his face or arm. At first he'd thought it was just his imagination, but he could tell someone's hand had made a mark in his sleeves after a while. Before a test, he'd smooth himself out, and when he woke up there was definitely an imprint of something that touched him. His face became more obvious too. Because not only did it seem to tingle with a disappearing warmth, but once or twice he also found that spot a bit greasier.

Someone was touching him while he dreamed, and the only possibility was Eames. Their chemist was away and would be away for another two weeks. Eames was the only one here. But why was he touching Arthur in his sleep?

And there he was, Mr. Eames, walking around as though nothing was going on in his weird and twisted mind. Arthur wiped the extra tingle off his face and then pretended nothing had happened either. He took the tubing from Cobb and started to put it away.

"Eames, you should join us next time," Cobb was saying, pulling the forger over with words. "You and Arthur have had very little experience in dreams together, and you need to get more familiar with him."

"I couldn't agree more," Eames said, eyes drifting over to Arthur. Arthur may have had his back to them, but he could feel those eyes going up him like a brush of air.

"Well, Arthur, I'm out. I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early, alright? I'll try to bring Mal if I can," Cobb said, straightening himself out and fixing his hair.

"Oh, that's right. Today's your anniversary," Arthur said. "Good luck with Mal. I know it's been a rough year." He tried to offer a reassuring smile and held out his hand to shake for comfort. Cobb took it and smiled gratefully.

"Oh, is that why you're all dressed up today?" Eames asked, his smile much larger than either of theirs. "Well good job, Cobb. Give Mrs. Cobb a big hug from me!"

"Will do, Eames. You two play nice. I'll be back tomorrow!" Cobb called as he disappeared from sight. They heard the door close securely behind him, echoing around them and leaving them completely alone.

"You know it's not as happy as you think. Tonight will probably end badly… like with another argument or something," Arthur spoke, voice a bit sour. Eames shrugged and took a seat where Cobb had been.

"Always best to be positive, don't you think?" he asked. "Now why don't we get a bit of fun in before we too retire for the evening?"

"Fun?" Arthur asked, turning and laying a confused look on Eames. The Brit smiled and put a hand on Arthur's hip, a friendly, and yet overly intimate for Eames, gesture.

"Dream sharing," Eames explained as though Arthur were silly for not realizing it. "He said we needed to practice together, did he not?"

"I guess he did," Arthur agreed, looking down at the keypad and the multiple tubes rolled up inside his briefcase. He felt this odd feeling inside, as though dream sharing alone with Eames was potentially dangerous… and not because of the projections.

"Look-see, Arthur. Take out that machine and let's test it out together. Come on. What's the worst that could happen? Not afraid of me, are you?" Eames teased, hand still on Arthur's waist.

Arthur tensed. No. He'd told himself since day one that he wouldn't let Eames get to him, so what was he doing now? Arthur pulled out a tube for himself and then took his place back on the chair, effectively removing Eames' hand from his waist. Eames smirked and got himself prepared as well.

"Sweet dreams, then, Arthur," he said just before they hit the button and drifted off.

Arthur could usually tell when he was in a dream. Some aspects were just obvious. And yet, when he appeared in the dream exactly where he'd left from, he was confused. Without opening his eyes, he was definitely still sitting in that chair in the lab. He could hear the machine making noises beside him, but he didn't feel the sting of the needle in his arm. Had Eames picked out a place from memory?

A hand touched his arm, gently, and another touched his hair. He felt the fingers brush over his gelled back locks and wondered what was going on. Then the fingers left his hair and one dragged lazily down his cheek. Arthur had a sharp intake of breath and opened his eyes. He sat up straight and looked at Eames, who was crouched down next to him.

"You've been dying to ask, haven't you?" Eames asked carelessly. Was this man never serious? "You been wondering what happens when you're asleep and I'm not. I've seen you take your precautions just to be sure. I've noticed how you wipe your cheek when you wake. Have you not been a little bit curious as to why?"

"Of course I have," Arthur bit back, voice much more steeled and hard. "But what did you expect? I couldn't just ask something like that. I don't even know how I'd word that."

"Eames, why are you touching me in my sleep?" Eames suggested in a tease. "Seems straightforward enough, don't you agree?"

"You don't just ask things like that," Arthur argued.

"Why not? It gets you to the answer doesn't it?" Eames asked. "Besides, don't you want to know?"

Arthur clenched his teeth, but outwardly didn't change much. He did want to know. He wanted to know what was going on in Eames' head. It was like a completely different language… but he'd never wanted to let Eames know that he was so curious. It was like showing weakness to a great rival.

"Haaa, I can see it in your eyes, Arthur. You can't hide anything from me, especially not in my own dream," Eames teased. "Since you're too proud to ask it, I'll just answer my own question from earlier."

Eames stood and then paced back and forth between Arthur's chair and his own. He did this four times before finally sitting down in his own chair. He looked over at Arthur steadily, that 007 sophisticated look becoming overwhelming in Arthur's view. Arthur turned his gaze away and swallowed heavily.

"You see?" Eames asked. Arthur glanced back up at him. "That was my question all along. Why oh why can Arthur not look at me for longer than a minute? Why does he swallow like that? Is it a nervous habit?"

"No. I just-," Arthur began. Eames held up his hand to silence him.

"My turn, Arthur. You can flub out an excuse in a moment, I promise," he said. He took a deep breath and looked as vulnerable as Arthur had ever seen him, and it wasn't even as vulnerable as Arthur felt in that instant. "Your hair, Arthur, is never out of place if you can help it. And your skin is so fair for a man's. The first time I did it, I was testing just how much grease you must use to keep your hair down like that, and then I was trying to feel stubble on your chin. Alas I have yet to find any. You're very particular."

Arthur struggled not to smile. That almost sounded like a compliment in his ears, but he didn't know if that's how Eames meant it.

"And then I kept doing it because, well quite frankly, I liked it. Your hair isn't hard under all that gel, Arthur. Just draggin a hand across it, you can feel how soft it is. I don't understand it, but I did like it. And you skin is smooth too. I must assume your personality is what drives away all the girls, because your looks are definitely not a problem," Eames said. Arthur frowned. "So it may be a shitty answer, but it's what you're getting. Any comments?"

Arthur turned his whole body to face Eames, sitting the way the other man was, and put his hands on his knees. He took a steady breath and looked into Eames' eyes, something he found even more difficult than simply looking at the other man.

"I don't use gel. I use mousse," he said. And that was all. Silence dragged between them… and then Eames started laughing.

"See? I don't get it!" Eames chortled. "You're so particular and yet you never tried to ask me for the details! Tell me Arthur, were you more worried about the political correctness of asking or about showing any form of interest in me?"

"I-," Arthur tried but failed to bring an answer from his throat. It was just like that damned first meeting. He swallowed heavily and tried again. "I knew from day one that you were going to be a problem."

Eames seemed slightly taken aback by that answer. He frowned a bit. "Now what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, get me out of this dream before I spill my secrets to someone I barely know," Arthur replied, straightening his tie and dusting off invisible dirt from his clothes, especially the part where Eames had touched. Eames shifted into a more comfortable position.

"But we have a whole hour in here. This is our chance to remove this 'stranger' barrier you've put up between us. Come now, Arthur. Remember, what happens in a dream, stays in a dream… well, so long as both parties agree not to tell, of course," he said, that wicked smile back on his face.

Arthur frowned and looked at Eames curiously. What was he planning? What friendship did he see blossoming between them? Was there still something Eames knew that he wasn't telling Arthur? Arthur grunted. He could usually tell what was going to happen in a dream. He was going to get shot or chased, the plan would work or it wouldn't, but not this time.

In a dream, anything can happen and the dreamer has the choice of whether or not to tell his friends about that dream. While Arthur doesn't remember everything about the end of that dream with Eames, he does remember that, after that, Eames started nicknaming him 'darling'.

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