A Soul Awake pt 20/20

[tabi_essentially]

Arthur was quiet on the car ride to the meeting place, huddled into Yusuf's coat, breathing in through the nose, out through the mouth. The sight of him almost made Eames feel car-sick. He hated how ill he looked and pitied him for having to fly while feeling like this. Eames kept quiet, in case Arthur wanted to sleep.

He'd had to hustle them both out of Yusuf's house after cleaning up and wiping down as quickly as he could. Arthur had done his share, bleaching the bathroom (the fumes probably had gotten to him too) and wiping everything he'd touched, for fingerprints. Eames had taken care of the lab in the basement as well as he could, but there was no way to erase all the evidence of the dream-chemicals. He'd had the landline disconnected but doubted that would be enough, if they were ever really traced there. Yusuf had used his real name. He'd been at that flat since back before the playing ground had shifted, when dreamers and their jobs had been relatively safe.

He resented this change; and part of him resented that it drove him to the Cobbs and their team, now that he'd had a chance to think about it some. He liked them. Liked the young man beside him in the car, too. But it was unfair, how it hadn't been his decision, because Eames liked options, and lately he hadn't any.

Not the Cobbs' fault. And not Arthur's either. They'd been naïve, working under SomniCore. Eames had made the decision to work privately, protecting some of his rights, forfeiting others.

He also knew that forced loyalty shifts had a way of becoming uncomfortable. He wondered if the Cobbs would ever resent having to become criminals – now that they were.

Eames glanced again at Arthur. Would he hate his new life on the wrong side of the law? Would he blame him? His options had been limited, too.

Eames reached his hand into his carry-on and pulled out a bottle of water.

"Arthur," he said, nudging his good arm with the bottle.

"I'm all right, thanks," Arthur answered, without opening his eyes. The streetlights played over his features: light and then shadow, light and then shadow.

"It'll do you good to flush it out of your system."

Arthur humored him and took the bottle, eyes still shut. Dark smudges lined his eyes, his lips looked pale. Yet he still looked somewhat pristine in a way that Eames knew he'd never looked in his own life, at least not awake.

"You can crawl into the back and sleep if you'd like."

Arthur took a deep breath. "Can we stop somewhere real quick? I need to pee. And possibly vomit again. Like maybe now."

Eames pulled the car to the side of the road, and didn't dare offer to help Arthur out of the car. He was too brittle like this, showing weakness when he wanted so badly not to.

So he waited in the car and switched on the radio. They still had time before they got to the meeting place.

** ** ** **

Arthur knew that it wasn't Eames's fault the way the car jostled around on the road. And when he took that turn off the exit, making Arthur's head spin, he wondered if he'd make it to the rest area or whatever the hell Eames had in mind to meet up with Mal and Dom.

God, he hated this. Hated more than anything for someone to see him like this; especially the man he'd tracked for so long, resented for so damn long too. He wondered what Eames thought: This little weakling was my worst enemy? He still feared that he'd said more than Eames had told him, while he was babbling and incoherent.

The car stopped and Arthur opened his eyes, finally. It was still raining as he gazed out to the parking lot. Air. Fresh air would help a lot, and maybe some food.

Eames was on his way to the other side of the car to open the door and maybe even offer to help him. Arthur hurried his ass up, opened the door himself and got to his feet.

"I'm all right, thanks," he said, before Eames even offered. "Just chilly."

"Of course. If you'd like to throw up some more, there are bushes over there."

"I think I'm good."

"Arthur. You've been poisoned, you know, so it's quite all right to be ill."

"Thanks for your permission," Arthur said, searching for refuge in snark.

"Come inside and we'll get some food. This is our meeting place. The sooner we're off British soil, the better." He began walking toward the small, lonely diner in the distance.

"Yes," Arthur said, following. "But on the other hand, we don't want to hang around Heathrow longer than necessary, either. They're more likely to be on the lookout for us there than here in the middle of nowhere."

"Middle of nowhere? Arthur, I'll have you know I did some growing up around here."

Arthur looked around at the mostly empty parking lot and sad, trashy diner. He could hardly reconcile this with "England" as he had imagined it before coming here. Then he thought of Eames, younger and trying to make his way into the business. "Did you live around here?"

Eames laughed. "You could say that, I suppose. It was warm in the back of the diner in the winter."

Arthur looked at Eames so quickly that it made his head ache. "You were... What, homeless or something?"

"By choice. I thought it would be romantic of me to be a street urchin. So I would sleep here at night, which worked out nicely, until I decided to try to rob them. Stupid of me, actually. But you must have already known that?"

Arthur shook his head. "My research of you doesn't go that far back, I guess. I knew you'd done a little time here and there for some small things. You must have been young."

"Yes, I was a minor."

Arthur tried to picture Eames at 15 or 16, dirty and homeless and violent. He thought maybe he'd had long hair back then. He'd only become aware of Eames by the time he was into his twenties and had moved onto larger crimes, those for which no law could catch him. But Arthur had always tracked him at SomniCore's request when Eames's criminal activity led him into independent dreaming.

All those years of trying to keep up with him under his many different aliases, Arthur had seen pictures of him but had somehow never quite seen him.

"You had money," Arthur said. "You still have money. Why this?"

"Because, Arthur, you can't buy freedom. That's what I've been trying to tell you, all these years before we even met. You knew who I was; you knew what I did, and that I didn't want to be held under by some big corporation. It's dreams Arthur. It's a person's mind, their consciousness. Soul, if you want. How can anyone be allowed to control who dreams what? How can it be bought, sold and regulated?"

"But you did criminal things, Mr. Eames. You went into the minds of others, and stole from them. That's not something a person does on principal."

"Why then, Arthur? Why do you think would I do such a thing, and take such risks?"

Arthur thought about it, but had no answer. Why was Eames asking him this? They got to the diner and Eames held the door open for him. Once he smelled food, he realized he could eat. They seated themselves, and as the diner was nearly empty, a waitress came over directly, bringing water. Arthur asked for a salad. Eames smiled, and asked for a sandwich. Arthur thought about that for a moment before he remembered seeing Eames in the Oxford cafe that first day. So Eames liked cycles, it appeared.

In the bright overhead lights, Arthur looked at the man across from him. It was a face he felt like he was finally becoming familiar with.

"I don't know why you did it," Arthur finally said. "I guess that's why I tracked you. I didn't understand."

"Arthur, you may as well ask yourself why you worked for a corporation that you knew was rotten. Perhaps we both went to the wrong extremes. If there's a place to meet in the middle, the entire dreaming community needs to start searching for it."

"The way it looks right now, the entire dreaming community is a sinking ship; I don't think there will be a middle ground."

"Then we'll have to create one, Arthur. I'm not the sort of man who goes down with the ship."

The waitress brought over a pre-made salad, and a wrapped deli sandwich. Hardly the fare they'd eaten the first day, but Eames seemed satisfied. They ate in silence for a while, while Arthur's body figured out what to do with nourishment again. He felt a little stronger.

The bell on the door jingled, and even though Arthur had expected Mal and Dom, he still felt a strange sort of surprise, and maybe even nervousness, about seeing them. About them seeing him. And, oddly, about what it would change about the dynamic between him and the man across from him.

"Arthur," Dom said when he saw them.

Mal covered her mouth with both her hands.

** ** ** **

When Cobb swept Arthur into a bear-hug, much to the surprise of the waitress, Eames very nearly pulled him away, remembering Arthur's fractured arm.

But Arthur took it like a man, even with the injured arm crushed against his chest.

"We thought..." Cobb began, but didn't say it. His hand gripped at the back of the coat Arthur was wearing.

"I'm okay," Arthur said.

Eames hung back and stuck his hands into his pockets, not wanting to intrude on what was obviously a family-like reunion after a literal near-death.

Cobb backed off and Mal took Arthur's face in her hands. "Are you very much all right, darling?" she asked.

"Very much," Arthur assured her. And Eames saw it again: that genuine smile, the one that crinkled his youthful eyes and still managed to make him look like a twelve year old. Something tightened in his chest and he couldn't quite name it. He knew he had a crush, if you could call it that at his age. It was somehow on the both of them, or all of them. He felt fascinated by Mal, and how she could be in love with that husband of hers and still have enough room in her heart for this deadly young man with the hooded dark eyes.

And even underneath what he was coming to know as respect, he sort of resented them, too. Because now the Cobbs would go their own way, and they would take young Mr. Arceneau with them; young Arthur of the Sweater Vest, Arthur in a fedora on a rainy day, Arthur breaking a man's hand without breaking a sweat, Arthur taking on all of SomniCore, blind, drugged, and with a broken arm. Arthur who had rested his feverish head on his arm while walking through his own dark past. Arthur who had chased him for years, and now the chase was over.

Mal let go of her boy and approached Eames. Her eyes were gleaming, so goddamn blue he could hardly think. He didn't know what to say to her; her beauty undid him.

She put her hands on his face like she had done to Arthur, and then kissed first one cheek, then the other. She smelled like rain and her wool coat. Her nails were sharp, and he thought of tiny knives on her fingertips, and remembered her seething, I will murder someone.

"Thank you, thank you, Mr. Eames," she said.

"No, not at all," he murmured. "Let me tell you. Arthur handled himself quite amazingly. He is, as you said, quite something."

"We know that," she said. She spoke quietly, while Arthur was busy talking to Cobb. "But he is not made out of metal, also. And you got there in enough time to save him. So you've retrieved something valuable for Dom and I. Arthur is..." She searched his eyes for one uncomfortable moment, as if looking for the truth there that she had spotted. But no one hid that particular commodity better than he.

"He's the best there is," Eames said, all professional respect. "I knew that even when he was..."

"Yes, on the other side or your interests," she finished. "Come with us, Mr. Eames. We're going stateside where Dom has family. You'll be safe. We need a team."

"As tempting as that is," he said, "it's safer for now if we travel alone. You'll need to separate. Take Arthur with you, have Mr. Cobb go on a different flight: the two of you are known to travel together. But you also shouldn't be alone, and neither should Arthur."

She bit her lip and frowned. "And you, Mr. Eames?"

"Yes," Dom said, now once again business. He approached Eames, and Arthur took his place behind him, as if that was his station in life. "We'd love to have you with us."

"Not just yet," Eames said, looking at Arthur over Cobb's shoulder. "I've got some ends to tie up. A few names to shut down, some offices that need cleaning here and abroad."

"Be careful," Cobb said, frowning and looking not at all happy. "Mr. Eames, we sought you out for a reason. We could really use your services."

"And you will," Eames said. "I've just got to go under for a few months."

Again he looked at Arthur, who didn't react. Although Eames had come to know that Arthur was good at hiding things, too. He just didn't know what he was hiding.

"How will we contact you?" Cobb asked.

That was a good question. They could hardly exchange phone numbers now that they'd have to change all their contact info.

"Mr. Eames," Arthur said, "do you still have my phone?"

Eames had to think for a moment. "Oh! Your phone, yes, of course." He reached into his bag, digging around for the stolen phone until his hand closed around it. He held it out toward Arthur.

"Keep it. I'll have the name and number changed once I'm stateside, and then I'll contact—I'll have Dom contact you."

"Right." Eames said, gripping the phone. "Good idea. Thanks."

Mal looked to Arthur, to Eames, and back to Arthur as if she was trying to figure something out. Perhaps she did, because she took hold of Cobb's hand and tugged it. He turned to her, blatant, questioning. Mal ignored his look. Eames wished she'd let him in on whatever she thought was happening, because he felt very confused.

"Dom, buy me a cup of ginger tea?" Mal said, pulling her husband by the arm towards the tiny bar where a man was wiping down the counter.

"Huh? Oh. Sure, sweetheart." He followed her, one big helpless smile.

Arthur and Eames were left in the middle of the diner, looking at each other.

"Umm," Arthur said, "there are some good songs on there, if you want."

Eames laughed a little. "Megadeth, I know."

"Well, aside from that. There's some cool playlists."

"Thank you, Arthur."

"Yeah. You have the password, I assume." His voice sounded a little sharp, as if it had just occurred to him how Eames had found him. Eames had cracked his code, for once.

"Oh, yes. Une ame eveillee."

"Right. 'L'espoir est le rêve d'une âme éveillée,'" Arthur said perfectly. "Hope is the dream of a soul awake. Mal actually has that tattooed on her ankle."

Eames's jaw dropped. Mal with a tattoo, oh dear sweet Jesus.

"I know," Arthur said, with a small laugh. "You didn't see mine?"

Eames's jaw dropped another inch. He couldn't tell if Arthur was kidding or not. He'd had the man's shirt off, had him down to underwear. He would have seen it. Surely. If it was anywhere above the waist.

Arthur did not deign to say if he was joking or not. "So," he said instead, "I'm really bad at this, but thank you."

"You're not bad at it at all," Eames said. "And you've really nothing to thank me for."

"Okay, and you're bad at it, too. I will save your ass in return one day."

"I have no doubt."

The Cobbs made their way back over to them, Mal sipping her tea. She put her free hand on Arthur's arm. "We've got to go, darling. Papa's just called from France." She looked at Eames. "SomniCore's made announcements to search for us, he says."

"Okay, well no worries, Mrs. Cobb," Eames said. "I've booked flights for the Cobbs and Arthur Arceneau out of the country for tomorrow. But your flights are tonight." He handed them their fake passports.

"Brilliant," Cobb said, opening his and checking the picture, the stamps, everything. "Wow. We could really use you, Eames. I mean that."

"I'm flattered. And I will be around again soon."

"Please do," Mal said. She kissed him again on the cheek. Dom Cobb shook his hand.

Arthur held out his hand—the one he wasn't pressing to his chest to keep still—and Eames took it. Firm, dry, chilly.

"I'll call you when the dust settles," Arthur said. "I'm the only one who will have the number, so it shouldn't even ring until then."

"I'll keep it on me at all times," Eames said, and he meant it.

"Take care of yourself, Mr. Eames."

"Yes, please be careful," Mal said.

"And you. And congratulations again."

Dom slipped his arm around his wife's waist and, with a nod, headed for the door. Arthur once again took his place at Dom's back. Mal turned around and winked at Eames.

Arthur turned and nodded, a slight, noble inclination of his head to indicate acknowledgement or everything that had happened, and perhaps might happen. As if he were tipping a hat that wasn't there. Then he turned away, and Eames held on to the image of his dark eyes and thought, Arthur in a fedora on a rainy day.

He swore to see that again someday.







Author's Note:

So, I thought about doing some kind of little addendum or epilogue to this, but it never ends nicely, does it? I wondered, as I was writing this, how I could justify them being so fond of each other pre-Inception. Because I was filling a prompt, one which asked for a fic in which Arthur and Eames actually liked each other when they met - and I agreed that they would really be polite, because they were both professional. But canon actually has them being snarky, sexy bitches to each other. And you can clearly see their rivalry and one-up-manship.

So I wondered, what might have happened between a scenario like this one--where they kind of bond--and the movie, where they kind of just snark at each other?

And all I could come up with to justify the change was Mal's death. Arthur would be angry at everything, Eames would be resentful, and even though they obviously still respect each other and probably dig each other's work - and maybe are still kinda hot for each other - they would have that edge.

And then I decided that writing an epilogue where it all goes to hell when Mal dies was way too sad.

Maybe one time I'll write a post-Inception fic where they kinda work it out, and then I remembered that I pretty much already did, sort of. Because "Come Back With Me" is post-Inception and sort of explores them actually liking each other again. (It's another h/c story because h/c is like my chronic and most beloved disease. ;) )

Thank you to everyone who read this story. It means the world to me that some of you liked it. :D