Chapter 3

Eames hadn't said anything since the lobby, and Arthur knew he'd been joking, of course he'd been joking, and of course Arthur had only played along because it was tactical and made sense to spread the illusion of a couple traveling together rather than two individuals and what the fuck had he been thinking? If there was anything Arthur hated in this world it was feeling stupid and he was feeling it now. He covered his embarrassment with movement, unpacking and setting up his laptop and getting to work. He also snuck in a roll of his loaded die, twice, just in case he'd be able to wake up and this whole goddamn thing was a bad dream. No such luck, fours all around.

Eames had been right about Ariadne, she was still in Paris. He found her in 20 minutes, and he shook his head as he cleaned up behind her, removing traces of her and laying fake leads to cover her tracks. As he worked, he listened to Eames in the background absentmindedly unpacking the world's worst wardrobe and talking to someone in Russian on Arthur's phone. Arthur's Russian was superficial at best, but he didn't intend Eames to find that out unless absolutely necessary. He was man enough to admit that Eames knew more languages than he did, it was a side effect of pretending to be different people all over the world. But that didn't mean he was proud of it. He just wasn't going to inflate Eames's ego any more than it already was.

Eames was apparently talking to a Dimitri, and Arthur could follow the conversation enough to hear Eames laugh and flirt the way he did with everyone before asking questions about limbo. Dimitri had a lot to say and when Eames finally hung up, he was frowning a bit. Arthur jerked his eyes back to his laptop before Eames could catch him staring.

"Hows Dimitri?" Arthur asked with what he hoped was a casual air. He knew the flirty tone wasn't all act, he and Dimitri had been a thing two years ago when Eames had lived in St. Petersburg for six months. Not that Arthur kept track or anything.

"Smarmy as ever. But he did work with Marjorie last year, who said she'd been on a job with a guy who swore he'd been to limbo and back."

"Do you believe him?"

"Doesn't matter," Eames said matter of factly. "He can't remember who it was, and Marjorie died a few months ago in Kiev. Someone ratted them out."

"Oh." Arthur wasn't sure exactly how to react to that. "Did you know her well?"

"Nope, never had the pleasure. But that's the end of my possible contacts. I haven't heard anything else and I can beat the bushes if you need-"

"No, that's alright, I'd rather not advertise this any more than necessary. You were right, Ari is in Paris, I'm going to see if I can get a hold of her later."

"What are you working on now?" Suddenly his space was taken up with Eames, one hand on the back of his chair, the other on the desk, peering at his screen. Eames's stubble covered jaw was right there and Arthur's mouth was suddenly dry.

"Ah, tracking, trying to track down, other leads." Jesus, he smelled good. "I've got a few ideas," he cleared his throat, "it's taking longer than I wanted, though."

Thankfully, Eames moved back. "Well, let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"Mmhm." But Arthur's brain had restarted a bit with the extra inches between them so he continued. "I've also been keeping an eye on the news reports and covering our tracks. Ari's not very good at this yet. Yusuf seems to be ok, though, I couldn't find much on him at all. Must have gone back to his dream dens."

"That's Yusef, slippery devil," Eames said flippantly, moving to store his gun in the top drawer of the dresser.

Arthur worked on ignoring him. He stretched his arms over his head the way he did when he'd been sitting for too long, sighing as the stiffness eased out of his shoulders and back. Then he took off his tie, rolled his sleeves to the elbow and got back to work. He needed to focus and get Eames out of his head. He'd read the same thing three times and he had shit to do, so fuck Eames and his stupid shoulders and his stupid mouth and his stupid stubble.

"I'm just gonna jump in the shower."

Fuck. Of course he was. Because Arthur absolutely needed more mental images to make his work go faster.

"Sure." Arthur was pretty proud that he almost sounded normal when he said it too. He kept laser focused on his laptop until Eames's back had disappeared behind the bathroom door, then Arthur gave up and sat back in his chair. "Fuck," he whispered to himself, grinding his knuckles into his eyes. He heard the water turn on and could track the movements of the other man by the sounds coming through the thin wall. He couldn't stop seeing Eames disrobing and crowding his muscled bulk into the small shower, water glistening off his tattoos and running in rivulets down his chest...ribs...hip bone...thigh...Arthur clenched his jaw around the small groan that escaped. "Ok," he thought, addressing his raging erection, "we are going to have to keep our shit together. Don't embarrass me." But halfway through naming the US vice presidents in reverse chronological order, Arthur heard an unmistakable sound over the rush of the water. He listened in shock for ten seconds to the explicit rhythmic sound of skin on skin, his face and neck heating. Then he choked back a whimper, grabbed his jacket and phone and fled the room as fast as he could.

Arthur was an arsehole, there was no other explanation for him stretching and moaning and then partially disrobing. There was really only so much a man can take. And if Eames happened to be thinking of Arthur's lean body stretched out under him while he was in the shitty hotel shower, well, no one needed to know.

When he exited the too warm bathroom, it was to an empty room. Which wasn't concerning as much as the fact that Arthur's laptop was open and unlocked. Eames immediately moved to the dresser and pulled the Glock he'd hastily purchased in LA and chambered a round. He moved to the door, listening for a second before throwing it open and sighting both ends of the hallway. Spotting only a shocked hotel guest in the middle of opening their room door, Eames realized he was holding a gun in a hotel and wearing only a towel. He flashed his most charming smile at the older woman and dialed up the British accent. "Sorry, love! Thought I heard something!" She continued to stand, frozen, mouth slightly open. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Don't worry, it's not real. Just for show," he winked, then eased back into the room. He realized Arthur's mobile was no longer on the bed where he'd tossed it. The knot in his chest eased slightly. Abductors probably don't allow you to take your mobile.

Eames dialed Arthur's number on the room phone from memory. He readjusted his grip on the gun while it rang, but when Arthur finally answered he sank onto the bed in relief.

"Arthur, darling! Haven't seen you in a while, how are the kids?"

There was a pause on the other end and Eames held his breath. "I don't have kids, Eames. I'm fine, I just stepped out. Be back in 20. You want Chinese? I can't promise how authentic it'll be. Actually, that's not true. I can promise you how unauthentic it will be."

Eames could finally breathe again. "Sure, that's..." he cleared his throat. "That's fine, Arthur, thank you."

"Sure," Arthur said, then hung up.

Eames dropped the phone back in the cradle, then ran his hands over his face, blowing out a tension-filled sigh. Then he realized that Arthur's laptop was unlocked and he was just sitting here wasting an opportunity that would probably never come again. Actually, he was sure it would never come again, precisely because of what he was going to do next. After setting Arthur's background to a picture of a naked David Hasselhoff cuddling a puppy and resetting all his bookmarks to gay porn sites, he pulled back open Arthur's windows.

"Fuck. Is this Interpol?!" he said in shock, looking at the hacked website before him. "How does he fucking do that?"

"I'll tell you when you're older."

Eames's gun was pointed at Arthur before he processed who was speaking. Arthur held up Chinese food bags in mock surrender and raised an eyebrow. Eames lowered the gun quickly, embarrassed Arthur had managed to sneak up on him. "Shit. You about gave me a bloody heart attack."

"You planning on getting dressed, ever?" Arthur said, glancing down Eames's towel-clad figure. "You'll shock the paramedics."

"Well, if you weren't a bloody ninja who can't accurately calculate 20 minutes..." Eames grumbled, crossing the room to pull pants and trousers on under his towel.

Arthur dished up food and they ate in companionable silence. Until, of course, Eames couldn't take it anymore. "So how long will we be in beautiful Alaska? Will I have time to buy a sled dog?"

"How did you know there was a breeder here?"

"Wait, there is? Seriously?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I need to call Ariadne. The time difference makes it about..." he checked his watch, "6:30 in the morning there. Think she'll be up?"

"Darling. Do you even remember university? Give the poor girl a break. In the meantime..." Eames arranged himself on the bed and put his hands behind his head. He waggled his eyebrows at Arthur and paused long enough for Arthur to arch an eyebrow at him before he continued. "You can tell me your plan for getting Cobb and Saito out of limbo."

Arthur's brow furrowed and Eames felt a little tug at his heart at the sight of Arthur's thinking frown. "Well, they're at Marina Del Rey Hospital, listed in stable condition. They're under surveillance right now, but I expect the police will lose interest shortly and we have the option of either getting them and taking them somewhere or figuring out how to get in and bribe an entire hospital floor to let us hook them up to a PASIV..."

Trust Arthur to work on logistics first. Eames let him talk it out. Arthur wouldn't admit it, but he worked better out loud. He worked best in a team, though, someone to bounce ideas off of and people to give him inspiration. He chose to believe that's why Arthur had followed bloody Cobb around for years: because he didn't want to do it alone. Eames just listened and reveled in the way Arthur didn't seem to notice he was saying "we" and "us". Eventually, Arthur's fingers twitched and Eames handed him his Moleskin from the bedside table. Arthur took it without breaking his monologue, he didn't even seem to realize Eames had handed it to him, just grabbed the pencil tucked inside and began to fill the page with his sprawling handwriting.

Eames was always amused by Arthur's uncharacteristically messy handwriting. He remembered the first time he'd worked with the Cobbs and he'd pickpocketed Arthur. He'd swiped his wallet and notebook and sneaked a look at what he'd been writing. Part of him figured Arthur wrote in the notebook whenever he didn't want to deal with other people, but the notes (or what he could make out of them) seemed strictly work-related. He'd winked and handed it back when Arthur had given him a frankly terrifying scowl, and told him he just wanted to copy his notes after class, but he kept the wallet since Arthur hadn't seemed to notice. At the time, he'd thought Arthur a terrific prat and was only grudgingly impressed when he found the next day that Arthur had pickpocketed him back. He'd flirted and teased as they'd exchanged wallets and then cursed a blue streak when he'd tried the credit cards in his wallet and found them all with security flags on them. He'd been stuck at the police station for six hours, which was ridiculous because of course there wasn't a security issue with his cards, he'd created the damn things the week before. When he'd finally shown back up at the job and Arthur smirked at him, he felt only slightly murderous because Arthur was wearing a particularly fantastic pair of tailored trousers that day and he'd forgotten why he was angry for a moment. Arthur had put his hands in his pockets and winked at him, the fucking prat, and Eames was a goner. He'd been half-mad for Arthur ever since.

"Arthur."

Arthur stopped mid-sentence and blinked like he'd forgotten Eames was in the room. "Yeah?"

"How do you propose we get into limbo whenever we do manage to get to them?"

"Well..."

"Because you can't do a multi-level dream by yourself," Eames continued. "And you can't go into both of their heads at the same time, at least, I don't think you can. And I'd rather lessen our risk whenever possible on this one."

Where Eames had expected Arthur's classic scowl, he saw Arthur's face go carefully blank instead.

Eames hurried to continue, "I still have a number for Yusuf. Maybe he can make us another batch of the Somnacin he used and we can shoot ourselves into limbo. You get Cobb and I'll get Saito, and we'll pull them out at the same time."

Arthur's face remained blank, then he placed the pencil inside his notebook and closed it. "Eames, I can't let you do this."

Anger flooded Eames with the speed only Arthur could provoke. He ground his teeth. "As much as your condescension is almost a form of endearment at this point, you don't get to let me do anything, darling."

"I mean it, Eames," Arthur said urgently. "No fucking around. I can't ask you to do this, so please understand when I tell you that it's not going to happen."

Eames reached behind him and grabbed the pillow he'd been leaning on and whipped it at the side of Arthur's head. He had a whole litany of grief he was going to hurl at Arthur but at that moment, with the shock on Arthur's face and his carefully slicked hair knocked askew, Eames felt a laugh roll out of him. Once he started, he couldn't quite stop, not even when Arthur's expected scowl showed up. Eames collapsed on the bed, holding his sides and laughing until tears streamed down his face.

"Stop laughing, fucker, I'm serious," Arthur said but he was smiling. He tossed the pillow back at Eames, who couldn't stop laughing long enough to even catch it and just laid there under the soft fabric as the last of the laughter was wrung out of him. He stared at the ceiling as he caught his breath, then swivelled his head and beamed at Arthur. Arthur was in the middle of trying to appear stern, but as he hadn't fixed his hair, it didn't have quite the effect it normally did.

Eames's smile softened. "You don't have to ask me. I will be doing this with you, so sorry to ruin your plans of solo world domination. Now," he sat up, tossing the pillow lightly to Arthur, who caught it with a frown, "it's time to call Ari."

Arthur looked at his watch reflexively. "Shit." He grabbed for his mobile, dialing as he said, "This isn't over. You can't just lesbian-porn-scene me every time you want to change the subject."

"Ah, but what fun it'll be to try," Eames smirked.

The phone rang exactly once before Ariadne picked up, sounding panicked and breathless. "ARTHUR! Jesus Christ, I was freaking out. Are you ok, what's going on? Where are you? Dom and Saito have been all over the news, I keep expecting the cops to show up at my door at any moment-"

"Ari. Take a breath," Arthur said calmly. Eames could hear her comply.

"Cheers, Ari!" Eames added in the pause.

"Eames? Is Eames there too? Where ARE you guys?! I've been trying to get a hold of you, but your phones are turned off or something-"

"Ari. You're forgetting to breathe again. Just listen, ok?" Arthur's eyes met Eames's over the phone in between them. "Eames and I are fine, we're holed up someplace safe and I've been keeping your trail clean so you can calm down about anyone showing up at your door. Unless you're still seeing that douche, Eddie, then he'll probably show up at some point."

"He's not a douche! How can you say that?! And how do you even know about him?"

Arthur's small smile flitted across his face as he said, "Does he, or does he not, wear a Bluetooth and wraparound mirrored sunglasses when he jogs?" Eames bit the inside of his cheek.

There was a pause on the other end. Then, "How do you KNOW that?!"

"See?" Arthur said. "Douche."

"Fuck. You make out with a guy one time and he thinks he can weigh in on your boyfriends."

Eames's eyebrows hit his hairline and he gaped at Arthur. Arthur blushed and cleared his throat.

"Listen, I need to pick your brain."

"We. We need to pick your brain," Eames added helpfully.

"Right. Anyway, Eames said you went into limbo with Dom and we need to talk to you about what you saw and how you got out."

Ariadne sobered immediately. "Oh, Arthur. It was so sad. Dom...God, he loved her so much."

Arthur paled visibly, but his face resumed its careful blankness. "Tell me."

And they listened. Ari talked and talked and talked, telling how Dom and Mal had been to limbo together and Mal lost herself. She convinced herself she wanted to stay, and in trying to save her, Dom destroyed her sense of reality and, incidentally, performed the first inception. She carried the loss of reality into the waking world. And Dom had been wracked with guilt ever since.

Eames watched Arthur as carefully as he dared, as he grew stiller and stiller until Eames was worried a touch would snap him in half. Finally, Arthur closed his eyes and leaned forward, elbows on his knees and thumbs pressed firmly into his eyebrows. He let out a shaky breath and Eames was torn between moving closer and giving him space. He settled for staying where he was and asking Ariadne, "What did you see when you went down with him?"

"I saw his limbo. Well, his and Mal's, everything they'd built. We went to his house, and Mal was there. Dom made her tell us where Robert was by saying that he'd stay with her."

"Fuck." Eames glanced at Arthur, but he didn't look up.

"He promised me he'd come back instead, but only after he found Saito. I guess he didn't find him."

"Yeah," Eames agreed forlornly. "Maybe."

"I felt the kick and Robert and I jumped off a cliff and woke up in Yusuf's dream, and you were there for the rest."

"So that's it? You just die in limbo and wake up like normal?"

"Maybe," Ari hesitated. "I think it's pretty easy to forget you're not awake. Robert was on his way when we got there, and we were only a few minutes behind him. Time doesn't really work the same way that far down. If I hadn't felt the kick, I don't know that I'd have known it was time to go."

Eames chanced one more glance at Arthur, who hadn't moved. "Right, I think that's what we needed. Ta, Ari. We'll be in touch, yeah?"

"Sure, thanks, guys. Talk to you soon."

"Right." Eames hung up, then bounced the mobile in his hand for a moment, watching Arthur and thinking. Then he stood, crossed to the room's tiny coffee pot, an apparent standard in the upscale establishments they were frequenting these days. Instead of coffee, though, he made a cuppa, or the closest approximation thereof, and brought it to Arthur. When he didn't look up, Eames placed a hand softly on the back of his head and couldn't resist a short drag of fingers through his hair. Arthur jumped slightly, then looked up at Eames, eyes red-rimmed and kind of lost. Eames handed him the cup and Arthur took it wordlessly. "Just like mum used to make. Well. Sort of." He risked a small smile, but Arthur didn't see, eyes focused on the tea in his hand. Eames sat on the bed, knees almost touching Arthur's. "Darling", he started, then when Arthur didn't look up, he reached a hand and settled it on the base of Arthur's neck. Arthur met his eyes and Eames said, "He's not gone. Don't write him off yet. He's a tough, crazy bastard. Besides, if anyone can talk him round, it'll be you." Arthur didn't look convinced but finally nodded. "One step at a time, yeah?"

"Yeah." Then Arthur drank his tea.