Chapter 13: Priorities
"So you're really Hans' wife, then," Arthur concluded, peering up from the note to look at the woman. He felt hot embarrassment creep up the back of his neck, a reminder of how roughly they had treated her over the past day. The memory of Andrea graciously picking up the thermos flashed through Arthur's mind. I didn't notice her accent back then... Damn, I can't believe I knocked out Hans' wife.
"Just like that you're going to trust her?" Eames drawled, skepticism dripping in his tone. "I thought you were more cautious than that, Arthur. Anyone can forge a note, darling."
Clearly Eames is still angry with me,Arthur thought, puzzled and a little irritated. I don't think I've heard him say 'darling' quite that way before.
Arthur looked over at Eames, walling off his emotions with his usual tactic - condescension. "I know how to do my job, Eames. At the bottom of the note Hans left the name of an obscure beer that we drank - " when I drunkenly told him I wished you were our forger " - one night. No one would've have known that particular brand and been able to replicate his handwriting like this. But, just to check - Andrea?" Arthur turned towards the woman in the backseat. David had fallen asleep with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his bulletproof vest squeezed between his leg and the Andrea's side.
"Ja?" She answered quietly, shifting uncomfortably. Arthur reached back, dragging the offending vest off the seat and onto the floor. David snorted in his sleep, his head lolling in the direction of his window.
"Would you mind telling us about your husband? Just to - just to confirm who you are?" Arthur asked, keeping his tone gentle. He was still feeling the vestiges of guilt left behind from manhandling her.
Andrea cleared her throat, looking surprised at Arthur's query. While she paused, he took the opportunity to carefully slip Hans' note into his pants pocket.
"Hans..." She looked up at Arthur. "Vell… he vas vunderful. Very big, strong too, but a nice bear at heart. He alvays cut his hair short, fery short, although I told him it looked beautiful long at our vedding. He vorked with you for avhile, nicht?" Arthur nodded solemnly. Tears began to well up Andrea's eyes. "He could talk - to everyone. He vas a charmer. Hans loved all kinds of beer, as you say, Arthur. But that's not, ehm, how you say - specific enough? Vell… he must have mentioned football to you. Wouldn't miss a Bundesliga match for anyzing."
He mentioned some soccer teams during Jansen's dream…Arthur had his confirmation. He turned to snidely inform Eames, but the man was absorbed elsewhere. He was busy unearthing a crumpled napkin from the depths of his weapon-filled suit jacket. Eames handed it to the crying woman, still driving, and Arthur felt some of his animosity melt away. Andrea accepted the it gratefully, wiping her nose. "Vhere are we going to?" She asked.
"I'd like to know that too," David proclaimed loudly, suddenly jerking up from his crumpled position by the window. "I need to take a piss right quick. Been sniping bloody assassins on rooftops all day, I think I earned a pint or two of something."
Eames laughed, throwing his head back, some happiness returning to his stony countenance. "You're definitely the same bloke I remember in back the service, David. We'll be there eventually, and you'll get your pint. In fact…" Arthur's mind drifted off as Eames continued chattering. He settled back into the passenger seat of the small vehicle, and gazed out of the window at the passing scenery. The clouds reflected the meager sunset staining the sky, turning the horizon a dull pink. Darkness was quickly taking over, encouraging the heaviness in Arthur's limbs. Arthur leaned over to rest his head on cool glass of the Ford's window. I haven't eaten since breakfast,Arthur thought, his mind rewinding. It was hard to believe today was part of the same week that Eames had made tea at the cottage, never mind the same day. Not exactly following doctor's orders and resting, am I?
Arthur drifted for a long time, eventually letting his eyes flutter shut. I'll just close them for a few seconds...
"... with Arthur." Arthur stirred at the sound of his name. His eyelids gradually blinked open, and he removed his head gingerly from the window, rolling out a nasty crick in his neck. Turning his head to the left, Arthur's vision slowly focused, coming to rest upon Eames.
He was talking to someone quietly, his eyes flicking up occasionally to look the in rear view mirror. Arthur lazily looked up to the reflection. He saw David once again slumped in the back, a mark of condensation on the window as he drooled. Andrea was looking much more awake, laughing animatedly as she replied to whatever Eames had just said. No doubt a joke at my expense,Arthur thought wryly.
"We'll be there in about five minutes," Eames estimated, turning off onto a much bumpier road. The headlights of the stolen car barely reached a few meters out into the darkness. It seemed they were far away from any of the light that London had to offer. I must have closed my eyes for longer than I thought, Arthur realized unhappily.
"What's the plan?" Arthur asked Eames, going for a casual. His voice came out hoarse, unused.
Eames turned, leveling a look at Arthur that said I'm not fooled by your fake attentiveness, darling."I was telling Andrea once we get set up at the bed and breakfast, David can give you a lift - back to my cottage. It's on the way to his flat anyway," Eames said smoothly.
"Und I vas informing Mister Eames that Hans vorked with a sicherheit -security firm, I mean, een London," Andrea said from the back, sounding much more confident than earlier. "So, I vill stay und help him at das hotel, while David and you travel back to ze house."
"I need to get stuff from my flat, mate," David chimed in, once again snapping miraculously awake. "I'll swing by Eames' place. It's on the way," David finished. Everyone seemed satisfied, except for Arthur. Where was I when they decided to join forces against me?
"Wait a moment," Arthur said, sitting up. Something crinkled under his shirt, and he remembered his makeshift bandage. He had slapped it on earlier in the day, but it was probably dirty and wet with blood by now. I'll have to fix that. Later, though, when everything is sorted out. "I still have to call Saito and describe to him the clean up job. With all that went on in London today, there's going to be a lot of security cameras to erase, not to mention people to be paid off. And who can forget the fact that there's bodies all around Eddie's shop - then the fallout for Eddie himself. We don't even know how the men tailed us to the city, Eames, and there needs to be a profile formulated on - "
Arthur's stressed ranting was drowned out by the guffaws of David. He leaned forward in the cramped quarters of the car, suddenly grinning wildly. "You're exactly the type A kind of bloke that Eames promised you were, aren't you mate?" David slapped the side of Arthur's seat. "No one's going to follow us out here, in the middle of bloody nowhere. And if they do, Arthur, we'll see them coming." David began to chortle again, quieter. "I'm pretty sure the only thing around us is mostly those buggerin' squirrels right now."
Andrea was a little more sympathetic than David, leaning forward to place a calming hand on Arthur's shoulder. "We'll be fine, Arthur. You can make calls and ze plan from Eames' house."
Eames tore his gaze away from the road, where he was busy navigating around potholes. "You know they're right, Arthur. I have plenty of supplies back at the house - you can still be a point man from there. Don't forget - you promised me you would go back tonight."
For a minute, the only sound was the whine of the Fiesta's tiny engine. "It seems everyone is in agreement then," Arthur said eventually, resigned. "I'll need to know where your laptop is, Eames. I'll need it to collect background on Jansen's men."
"Yes. We'll talk when we get out of this auto," Eames replied.
Arthur didn't like how Eames lingered on the word talk.
The Fiesta pulled up a long dirt driveway, headlights casting their beams onto a white house. Eames claimed the building was to be their hotel.
It definitely looks as though it's seen better days, Arthur thought, taking in the aged establishment. A lamp flickered on the front porch, attracting moths, reminding Arthur of the farmhouses from the movies.
Eames, looking the most normal out of the four of them, parked the car before striding up onto the porch. Arthur watched as an older woman answered the door, looking annoyed. Arthur read her lips, and got as far as 'do you know how late it is'before Eames shifted, obscuring his view. They stood by the entryway a moment more, and Arthur could see how the woman's posture gradually changed, becoming more welcoming, relaxed. Eventually, the woman gestured to the open doorway, and Eames followed her inside, the front door closing behind them.
"How does that wanker do that?" David hissed from the back, whispering for once. Arthur assumed he was referring to the fact that Eames could con anyone into liking him.
"Mr. Eames is no doubt feeding her one of his signature sob stories," Arthur responded, settling back into the dark interior of the car, content to wait. Keep talking to David,Arthur told himself. You can't go back to sleep now."He always seems to involve his supposedly dying mother, no matter what country it is. Everyone goes for the dying mother."
Eventually, Eames reappeared, his hand closed around something. The woman stood at the doorway, waving to him as he slid back into the Ford. Eames waved back, smiling grandly.
Eames shut the driver's side door and turned over the engine, buckling his seatbelt. His exaggerated grin fell off his face. Taking in his apparent failure, his backseat passengers followed suit, buckling their belts as well. But Arthur looked over at him, confused. Eames raised an eyebrow teasingly, a smirk once again gracing his full lips. "Are you doubting my prowess, darling? Put on your belt. The better guest lodging is in another shack."
"I got us half the rooms in the other building," Eames said, making a U-turn to drive down another road. This makeshift path was even bumpier than the last, filled with divots. The jolts woke Arthur up even more, sharp pains coursing through his torso.
Their car bumped down to the end of the trail, and Eames cleared his throat, parking the muddy vehicle in front of a smaller structure. The red paint was flaking, and Arthur snorted as he recognized the house. It look like we're staying in a converted barn, Arthur thought, amused. "Ey, don't laugh," Eames said to Arthur, feigning hurt. "This was the upgrade. I told the owner about my poor ailing mother, who my fiancee and I are going to visit - " David and Andrea both started laughing, and Arthur had to hide a snicker of his own. "What?" Eames asked petulantly. "I thought it was a good cover."
"Nothing," David replied, still sniggering. "What are we doing now that we're finally here, besides me taking a piss?"
Eames turned off the engine. "Well, I'd skive off again soon, David, as soon as you help me unload all the luggage from the boot. Arthur and Andrea can make up the rooms together, it'll go faster."
Arthur rolled his eyes, knowing Eames' suggestion was an excuse to stop Arthur from exerting himself. But Andrea seemed to have formed an unspoken pact with Eames. Before Arthur knew it, she said, "That is gut, Eames, we vill go," and he was being pulled from the car. Andrea was muttering something, having commanded a surprisingly tight hold onto his elbow.
"Don't forget to change the license plate, Eames!" Arthur called over his shoulder. He was dragged by Andrea through the darkness, towards the silhouette of the building. If Andrea pulls any harder on my forearm, I'm going to get yet another bruise."Coming, coming," Arthur said, stumbling after the persistent Andrea.
Andrea already had grabbed the key from Eames, and with some fumbling, managed to open the Masterlock. She removed it from the hinged doorway and twisted the metal bit holding the door, swinging the gate outward. Very classy,Arthur thought sarcastically, taking the lock off the swinging door. He ran his fingers through his dirty hair once more, following Andrea through the entryway.
The room was quiet upon entering, and dark. Arthur supposed barns didn't usually have many windows. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he saw Andrea standing in the corner. He moved, ready to help, but was stopped by the sudden influx of light.
"I found ze switch," Andrea proclaimed unnecessarily. Hanging lamps alighted, illuminating their surroundings. Arthur and Andrea were standing in a large front room filled with couches, a desk, and an ancient TV. Arthur was mildly astonished that electricity reached out here.
Andrea and Arthur momentarily separated to look around. Andrea found the next light switch in the kitchen, and Arthur laid the lock on the counter. Andrea was unnaturally silent when they rejoined in the center of the kitchen. Meeting Arthur's questioning look, she moved even closer, herding him against the doorframe. She studied him intently. He let her do it, mildly uncomfortable. He could see the splash of freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose, a shade darker than her brown skin, such a contrast to Arthur's own.
"What is it, Andrea?" He asked uneasily, palms braced against the wood behind him. Was she going to get revenge for earlier? What if the note was faked? Damn, I would never hear the end of it from Eames…
"You are stupid," she declared matter-of-factly, backing away. She shook her head, as though Arthur had disappointed her. Arthur stared dumbly, feeling whiplash at her change in mood. She was just laughing in the car earlier with Eames! Does she blame me for Hans' death?"Come help me get ze beds ready upzairs," Andrea said, as though nothing was amiss. She pointed to the rickety steps, moving. Arthur followed her, still flummoxed.
They walked into the first bedroom on the next landing, a small space with pale blue walls. She went over to the unmade bed, taking up one of the sheets that was folded neatly at the end. Taking ahold of it, she shook it out harder than necessary, motioning for Arthur to help. He caught an end of the floating blanket and moved to the opposite side of the mattress. The low tones of Eames and David's voices echoed as they entered downstairs, dropping something heavy to the floor. Their voices faded as they exited again.
Andrea snapped the sheets, folding them forcefully under her part of the mattress. Arthur mechanically copied her movements, aware of his tender back. The bed making was another ingrained habit from the military, yet as mindless as it was, he couldn't unpuzzle the tension behind her movements. Is she angry with me as well?
"What have I done?" Arthur questioned. He was tired, and his back hurt. Drama never really suited him. Yet it seems I've been receiving more than my fair share, lately.
"You don't see it," Andrea said, looking up at Arthur as she layered another blanket. "He looks at you ze way Hans looked at meand - " She broke off. "You are, how you say, blind? Both of you."
"Blind to what?" Arthur asked, stuffing the blanket into a hospital corner on his side.
Andrea sighed, absentmindedly patting down some of her curls. "You are a good man, Arthur. I am glad dat Hans vorked with you."
Arthur felt a frisson of déjà vu work through his veins at the praise. The same phrase that Hans said to me in his note."Thanks you, Andrea," Arthur said slowly. "I only regret I didn't get to know you better, except for the fact that I knocked you unconscious."
"Do not say talk like that!" Andrea declared passionately, throwing a pillow onto the bed. "You are not dead, or dying. Ve vill speak more in die future, ja?"
"Well, but I'm leaving tonight and - "
"You vill rest and come back, notzing else, alright? No more bullets. Eames told me all about vhat happened on ze way over here." Andrea walked, stopping in front of Arthur. She looked at him again, but her irritation was replaced with concern. She walked around him once more, the ghost of her fingertips trailing over his blood-stained back.
"When did Eames talk to you without me?" Arthur asked, puzzled. Andrea didn't answer right away, straightening the cuffs on his shirt. Arthur thought it was rather useless, seeing as how one arm was ruined by coffee, but he let her hover anyways.
Andrea rolled her eyes, her curls bouncing with the movement. "You and David vere asleeping almost ze whole ride, Arthur. Eames talked a lot about ze past couple days."
"I was?" Arthur questioned in surprise, glancing down at Andrea. A lock of hair escaped onto his forehead. "Wait - he talked about last week?"
Rough footsteps sounded on the stairway, skidding to a halt in the doorway of the room. It was David, dressed in a plain navy jumper and dark pants.
"I've found clean trousers!" He exclaimed cheerfully. "Ready to hit the road, mate?" David asked Arthur. He paused, eyebrows furrowing as he took in Andrea's annoyed expression. "I'm not interrupting something, am I?"
"No," said Andrea, the same time Arthur said yes. Andrea rolled her eyes.
"Zis is fine," Andrea said. "Go, Arthur." Arthur hesitated at his place at the side of the bed, the last duvet still in hand. Andrea impatiently rushed over to take it out of his hands, smoothing it out quickly. Turning, she embraced Arthur in a light hug. "Bitte, Arthur, don't do anyzing too dumb." She released him, stepping back. "I can see vhy Hans told me so much about you."
"Thanks, Andrea," Arthur said sincerely.
"Alright," said David, clapping his hands together. "Let's 'get this show on the road', as you Yanks say." Arthur followed David down the stairway, his feet creaking on the wooden steps. Eames was waiting for the pair at the bottom, his slicked back hair finally looking as though it was ready to come undone. We all need a shower.Arthur thought. A break. Some alcohol sounds nice, as well. I think I left bottle of Perignon at the apartment in France. A pity.
Eames was talking to David, while Arthur's mind once again drifted off. "... don't mind if I talk to him for a mo'?"
"I'll start the engine," sighed David, and was gone.
That left Arthur and Eames standing in the dim light of the kitchen, alone. They faced each other, silent. Arthur fiddled with the ruined cuff of his sleeve, and Eames pulled at the fabric of his silk shirt.
"At least you're not wearing that horrid paisley thing you had on the other day," Arthur said.
"It's not like I could," Eames retorted, a small smile on his lips. "Your bloody hand ruined that brilliant piece of my wardrobe."
"Brilliant?" Arthur questioned, holding back a laugh. "All those years in SAS deprive you of gaining a sense of fashion?"
"No," Eames said. "Cheeky. Although you know as well as I that those years were more bullets than blazers." Eames halted in their usual banter, his frown from earlier returning. "That's what I wanted to talk about. The bullet wound." Arthur shifted uncomfortably, eyeing the way to the car behind Eames.
"What's there to talk about?"
"Do you remember that job in New York?" Eames asked, not answering Arthur.
"Of course I do, Eames, you know that," Arthur said quietly. "That was the last one with Mal."
"And with Smith, that chemist. He had the levels for his Somnacin wrong, and you, the lightweight, were vomiting into the loo for days after."
Arthur winced at the memory. "I remember that well, Eames. I was the one throwing up, you know. I don't see your point."
"Mypoint, Arthur, is that Mal threatened Smith - she was so protective of you. She was livid that you became ill," Eames smiled, reminiscing. "If I recall correctly, her exact wording was to 'string him up by the hair of his balls'." Arthur lips twitched, the memory surfacing in his mind as well. "And I just - " Eames' voice broke, and he stepped closer, bridging the awkward gap between them. Arthur took in the way Eames' eyes looked soft under the low light, the way his eyelashes cast shadows over his tan skin. Eames' lips parted. He licked his lips, his tongue red. Arthur inhaled, air filling his lungs uncomfortably tight. He could almost imagine that he could feel the heat radiating off of Eames, they were so close. Arthur reached out, laying a steadying hand on Eames' forearm. Maybe it was his time to say something, for once.
"ARE WE LEAVING OR DO I HAVE TO SUMMON THE BLOODY QUEENTO DELIVER AN ENGRAVED INVITATION?"
Arthur and Eames jumped back at David's shouting, startled. "I should go," Arthur murmured, the moment broken.
"Here," Eames went over to the kitchen table, fumbling into his bag. "This is the key for the house. Your Glock. And this is an extra encrypted cell phone. All the new specs are on it, you'll be able to contact me from wherever." Arthur accepted the items gratefully, slipping his gun back into his waistband.
"You'll pick up this time?" Arthur asked, walking towards the door.
"You've become my number one priority," Eames said, his trademark smirk returning. "Like it or not."
The car ride felt unbearably long. David and Arthur exchanged occasional remarks, but both were too tired to make meaningful conversation.
Halfway through, the silence became too oppressive for David. He expressed his appreciation for the handgun Arthur gave him earlier. Arthur mentioned the breakthroughs gun companies were having in making quieter silencers. "Only a matter of time before you can shoot someone and have it sound like a buzzing fly," David predicted. "Although," David raised an eyebrow interestedly, his tone changing. "I heard that you assassinated a Chechnian once with a rolled up magazine and a broken umbrella." David glanced sideway at Arthur. "That's hardcore, mate."
"It was a phone book."
David nodded appreciatively, humming along with the pop tune on the radio. "Remind me to stay friends with you, Arthur."
It had been a long day, even by Arthur's standards. He was relieved when David finally pulled the car up to the driveway of the cottage.
"Here we are," David said, shutting the engine off. He looked over at Arthur, a new respect showing on his face. "Be on the lookout for Charlies, mate. Now that we know Jansen's people are targeting you, we know you're going to get bombarded by hired killers."
"I will," Arthur promised, already scanning the perimeter for anything out of the ordinary. The ugly gnome was back in place, meaning the various trip wires and alarms Eames had scattered all over the property had stayed intact. The house itself looked quiet, devoid of any activity.
"Do you want a scout?" David asked. "I know you slapped that bandage on your back - but Eames warned me you're one of those blokes that doesn't admit to pain."
Arthur smiled, the corners not quite reaching his eyes. "I'm fine, thank you David. Mr. Eames seems to be under the assumption lately that I'm as fragile as china." He adjusted his ruined shirt, the fabric chafing at his burned arm. I just need sleep and a shower. Not necessarily in that order.
David scrutinized Arthur, his expression serious. "Eames has never overtly expressed much worry for those around him, you know that mate? Even in SAS, bloody hell, Eames was the most annoyingly loyal arse you could meet, really. But he never showed it much, except during pranks. He would go the extra kilometer to dump extra sand in my boot or replace my shampoo with hair dye, and so on.
"He was always checking up people - and concealed it. But with you…" David trailed off, a white scar on his jaw gleaming as he turned his head. He met Arthur's eyes. "It's different," David said. "He's different."
Arthur wasn't quite sure how to answer that. He knew the pranks David was talking about. Eames delighted in making Arthur's life a living hell whenever he could. But the concern he showed him… from the second Arthur had stumbled over his doorstep, literally, Eames had been nothing but… helpful? It was a change of pace, that was for sure, and it all happened so quickly. Arthur didn't know how to process it.
"Goodbye, David," Arthur replied finally, clasping the other man's hand in a firm farewell. "Hopefully the next time I see you, it will be from the other side of Colin Jansen's body." Arthur opened the Ford's door, slipping to the ground with a muffled thump.
"I can drink to that." David started up the engine again. Saluting Arthur with his free hand, David drove the car off into the night, the dim headlights quickly fading into the inky darkness.
Arthur stood at the end of the driveway for a minute watching the vehicle disappear. He gazed up at the sky, noticing the grey-black clouds partially blotting out the crescent moon. It will rain soon, Arthur thought, eyes tracing the imposing formations. A perfect time to bury a body.
Shaking off the morbid thought, Arthur began to trudge down the narrow driveway. He heard the sounds of wildlife around him as he made the trek, yet he could see little to nothing in the darkness. Finally, he reached the front door. He took the key Eames had given him, put it in the lock, and twisted. Pushing on the door slightly with his good shoulder, Arthur walked inside. The house was dark, near pitch black. The only light was coming from the kitchen. Craning his neck, Arthur saw a lamp, which he supposed Eames had left on in anticipation for Arthur's return. Just another example of forethought I never thought that man possessed.
Arthur hung the key by its ring onto a coat hook. His ruined shirt crinkled at the movement. Arthur's lip curled up in disgust as he took in his cracked sleeve, stained with dried coffee. He felt the dried blood tightening the fabric on his back. I'll be glad when I can take this horrid thing off. I'd almost prefer a clean paisley shirt. Almost.
But as Arthur trudged his way up the narrow staircase, all he could think about was getting back under that white quilt. It was nearing morning and Arthur couldn't remember the last time he slept. Sighing, he stumbled his way into the room and flicked the light on by the bed.
Arthur took a die out of his pocket, throwing it over the white of the quilt. At the familiar sight of the three, Arthur felt any remaining energy drain out of him. Barely managing to kick off his dress shoes, Arthur fell back on top of the covers, the hard material of the second loaded die poking into his burning side. Whatever. Too tired.
And there Arthur fell asleep on top of the covers, tie and all. His hand was in his pocket, clutching the phone that connected him to Eames.
"Eames? Eames? Is that you up there?"
Arthur was caught in an odd dream. It was particularly rare that he dreamt at all, anymore. The excess of Somnacin running through his bloodstream tended inhibit it. And yet, here he was, standing in front of Eva Jansen… wait, were they floating?
She was yet another person that knew Arthur by 'Eames'. And here she was, calling so insistently, so loudly, her British accent so piercing Arthur wished she would just shut upalready, goddamn it - his whole body hurt so much, it wasn't fair, he just wanted to lay here, and she just kept talking.
"Eames? Dear, are you in here? Why - "
And then Arthur's dream shattered as Eva let out a blood curling scream.
Arthur's eyes shot open, confused at the unfamiliar ceiling that consumed his vision. What the -his head snapped to the side, and he wasn't alone, a person was standing in the doorway -
Arthur half rolled, half jumped off the quilt, adrenaline coursing through his system. His back hit the powder blue wall - oww, fuck- and he scrambled towards the bedside table.
His fingers closed around the grip of his Glock, and he cocked it towards the threat.
But it wasn't one of Jansen's men in the doorway, ready to kill him.
It wasn't David, checking up on him.
It wasn't even Eames, back to make sure he didn't faint in the shower - again.
Arthur was aiming his Glock at a total stranger, and not an imposing one, at that. She looked mid-sixties, with a tight bun of brown hair, shot through with grey. She wore a checkered dress, travel bag in hand. At the moment, she clutched the bag to her heart, looking terrified.
"Ah," Arthur stammered, clicking the safety on and setting his Glock onto the middle of the quilt carefully. He put his hands up in the air, placating. Arthur met her eyes, taking in the familiar multi-colored flecks. "You're Eames' mother, I presume?" He asked awkwardly. "I - I don't mean any harm."
"You have me at a disadvantage, young man," she said, sinking slowly onto the quilt, putting the bag next to her. "I'm afraid Eames didn't tell me we would have a visitor."
"It was… unplanned," Arthur began, hurriedly leaning to grab his gun out of the way of her bag.
"Oh, my," Eames' mother blurted out, springing to her feet. "What happened to your back, dear?"
Arthur sighed. That question is getting old."It's nothing, just some… stains."
"Nonsense!" She declared, straightening her pearl necklace. She picked up her pouch from the bed. "We are cleaning you up, and then you are coming downstairs to explain all this. I will make tea. My son has not left me totally oblivious to his type of work, you know." She stopped, considering him. "Although - he never brought company home before. Are you his boyfriend?"
Arthur closed his eyes briefly, wishing that the ground would swallow him up. I hope I'm at work and this is a dream. He looked down, finding his die still on the bed, the three facing tauntingly up at him. He sighed, glancing behind him, and noticed the red imprint he had left smeared on the wall. "I'll clean that up," he said apologetically. He remembered the blood staining downstairs as well - the tablecloth, the carpet, the couches. I have a feeling that's not the last time I'll be saying that phrase. Whose idea was it for me to come back here?
"Eames," Arthur sighed out.