tabi_essentially (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tabi_essentially) wrote2011-03-10 11:31 pm
tabi_essentially) wrote2011-03-10 11:31 pm
Plenty Of Good Thieves - 5
Suggestions are building up! There are still a ton that I love and just have not been able to fit in yet. But I will!
A few people want some more action and I'm really going to try to get to that soon. :D With some of the suggestions, it's been a little hard to fit everything in all at once; I feel like this is a pretty long fic. ^_^ The other thing I'm noticing is that, as the train they're on is on the rails, in a way the story is on the rails, too. It really limits how much action can happen. So what I need to do (with you guys's help,) is figure out how I can include a lot more realistic action that makes a certain amount of sense on a train. In the real world, if violence happened on a tour, the tour would stop and everyone would be arrested. And Arthur and Eames would simply GTFO. So I need two things: Something to take place either off the train or in secret ON the train (where the authorities won't know about it,) and a reason for both of them not to just say "eff this" and run.
This chapter coming up includes some repercussions to what they did to each other in that last chapter, which surprised even me. It also includes a lot of the requests for certain scenes and lines between the two of them, which was actually a lot of fun for me to write. :D
So here are some suggestions / requests. The repeated ones are ones I haven't gotten to yet, but I mean to. I managed to get a few in this chapter, however. :D
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sweetsigh - Scent: Well, they're in the Great White, so describe the smell of the ice/snow/wind around them!
fae_boleyn-For some reason I want to see Eames messing up Arthur's hair. I don't care why, I just want to see that.
negiyou - I would like to read about a litte 'contest' thing, where Arthur claims Eames couldn't steal from him because he is way too watchful. A few tries and then Eames finally manages to steal his wallet or something, which Arthur just realizes when he finds a note in it, saying 'told you so' (Iit didn't turn out exactly like this, but this gave me an idea that I REALLY needed to have! Plus, I might come back to it.
gelbwax - And then he tries to get Eames to do something to Arthur? But he resists! And then Eames TAKES THAT FUCKER DOWN. Using only items he can find in the dining car, which is where he's been trussed up and left for dead. And on top of that, skyvehicle said, what if tremors give way to like, Dr. Strangelove hand? lol, until it tries to choke Arthur after Arthur tries to break into their train car? oooh. Okay, I really like this and I'm going to try to get this in there. I love this direction.
fae_boleyn - Yekaterinburg's coming up, yay! Means I can hope for them to visit the Romanov execution site and make my not-so-inner history nerd happy. And also, I think I kind of want to see them either drunk or on some kind of drug, and kinda-sorta having that talk they really should have. (I don't think they ever will sans intoxication of some sort.) As it's them, it'll probably be a mess, but good Lord, they actually might need it now. twilightthief seconded this by saying, I know you've said in the past tabi that you dont have them say the mushy stuff like the obvious "I love you" but maybe they get toasted at some point during this "vacation" and some unspoken things come out. They dance around it but they never really say it. Lets have one or both of them say something that they normally wouldnt :) At this point, it didn't work for them to get drunk, but a little bit frantic might do the trick. I hope this part works well! ^_^
twilightthief also says, Maybe they get lost but really its just someone messing with/ransacking the train? Maybe outside forces or maybe Dinclusin or someone on the train. And I like the idea that Michelle really isn't who she seems. There's something more to our Pokemon lovin' friend. I agree with both of these, and I answered, You're right, this is why the train needs to get abandoned somehow, or left on its own. Maybe someone could even take it over. ... having the train on the rails is exactly the same thing as having the story on the rails. ... UNLESS. Unless the shoot out / action happens outside of the train and in one of the towns and no one sees it except the main characters. But then they would need a reason to stay aboard the train and not just GTFO. So! This is going to take a lot of thought, and I'm going to have to try to get some action going here! I need to think outside of the rails as it were. :D Don't know that I accomplished that in this chapter yet, though.
we_reflamingos says, Michelle has got to be the key to something. A revelation, inspiration, information - she's aces and needs a part to play. Perhaps her parents do too, maybe in that so-clueless-don't-know-what's-going-on-but-it-helps kind of way. She does need to come into play. MAYBE she could be the thing that keeps them on the train? What do you think?
Anonymous said, How about if Eames turns into a killing machine after getting beat up? I'd like to see that. I WOULD TOO. :D
laughing_lovers - I'd like to see a moment of weakness or dependency between Arthur and Eames- something along the lines of "don't let me fall." YES. :D
osaki_nana_707 I wouldn't mind having a feature with Cobb or one of the other Inception team members via phone call or something. Will get on that soon!
we_reflamingos wanted: Eames could have some fun suggesting their life stories to Arthur based on his observations (dinner conversation as others come and go) and Arthur could have some fun second-guessing Eames assumptions (or just being absurd). This was seconded by sparrow_hubris I loved that idea! ^_^
mydeerfriend - I'd really like to see Eames go through some sort of shit but NOT get saved by BAMF Arthur. Because Eames is awesome enough to save himself from danger (and then maybe Arthur would feel bad that he didn't/couldn't help Eames). It is time for Eames to save himself, eh? :)
Whilevattelapesca says, Is it too late to say that I love your usual formula (beat up Arthur, put Eames in danger, broken!BAMF!Arthur to the rescue) to death? LOVE. LOVE LOVE LOVE. Do not abandon. Please? *puppy eyes* she adds, You can always break them both. :D Sweet. And ALSO, this is important: - I don't like it when things turn out to be genuinely supernatural, but I love subtle intricate gambits disguised as magic. I agree, I like that, too! PLUS. "Dinclusin" and "Dromalius" are carefully selected aliases, calculated to unsettle as much as to obscure. Still, if Arthur were to find out their real names, he would definitely remember them -- and neither he nor they will like what he remembers. Another great idea which cleared something up for me. :D
Here are a few of the older suggestions that I am going to eventually get in there if I can! I haven't forgotten. :D
astheytick - Arthur says to Eames "Just wait. Wait for me."
orion_nightbane - people lurking outside their door would be interesting?
twisted_ream there's this huge spider on eames' back and he can't get it off and arthur just laughs
efcia a broken mirror, possibly a small one. I can see the shattered glass, maybe even a small amount of blood on them? This gave me a really cool idea!
quixyjie and twilightthief - wanted Eames smoking a cigar. I will get to that soon. :D
Anonymous: One having to carry the other.
towel_master One of them thinks they see something dangerous/weird/downright creepy out of the corner of their eye in Ann's bag? Perhaps they see her opening it while on the train.
gelbwax - WHAT IF the wind whips the fedora off Arthur's head and into the siberian wasteland. OMFG, horror, right? AND THEN. AND THEN. It comes BACK TO HIM. THE FEDORA COMES BACK. RIGHT WHEN HE NEEDS ITS POWERS OF BADASSERY IT COMES BACK TO HIM.
I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. Not in this chapter, but down the road. :D
twilightthief - How about Eames says: "It's always been you." Probably too cheesy. But in the right context, that's giving me some ideas! ^_^
sparrow_hubris - Eames glances up at Arthur from across an empty train car, posture stiff, with a blank or hostile look. He then turns slowly and walks away. Arthur for some reason cannot follow/can't catch him and it scares the crap out of him how empty/possessed?/haunted Eames looked. SO EFFING CREEPY. Not this chapter, but possibly the next. :D Also: And I'm totally in love with the idea of Arthur having to steal something more difficult than truffles because they need it and Eames' hand is too unstable to steal it himself. Nice!
hazysea - A line for Eames to say to Arthur? "Stay at my level and keep to the shadows.
Right, thanks for your patience, guys, and thanks for all the awesome ideas! Off we go!
** ** ** **
Chapter Five - There Is A King
Arthur looked Eames over carefully in the morning light, outside of the Yekaterinburg station. He was concerned. In some unsettling, unexplainable way, he felt as if he'd done something wrong, but he didn't know what.
"You look pale," he told Eames, as they walked away from the station. He was freezing already. Moving away from the forced, heated air of the station was torment of the highest order.
"Don't feel pale." Eames smiled at him.
"How can you feel pale?" He put his hand against the side of Eames's face and turned him first one way, then the other. He didn't know what he was looking for. Eames's eyes looked so much lighter in the day than at night; they changed colors subtly depending on the light. Today they were grey with a green cast reflecting off Eames's olive coat, with a darker circle around the edges. Arthur thought, not for the first time, of how normal he must look standing next to Eames, and wondered again what it was that had made Eames say "yes" to him all those years ago. But otherwise, Eames's eyes didn't look any different to him than they usually did. And maybe he really didn't look pale, after all. Maybe he was just tired.
"Stop putting your icy hands an my face," Eames said. "It's a method of torture. And stop fretting, for christ's sake. I'm fine. You're fine. We're on vacation and we're bloody well going to enjoy it. It's going to be a beautiful day today and nothing is going to ruin that."
Arthur tugged his gloves on and grabbed for Eames's hand as they walked from the white, columned building. Which was weird, he knew, because he never did that; it was dangerous to do in public. He was tipping his mitt and he knew it. You never showed other people what was important to you. And there were many people around, bustling out of the station into the bright, cold morning, ready for their tours. Arthur was sure some of them were looking at the two of them. It was the kind of world they lived in. But even if he'd been with a woman, he would not have grabbed her hand: safety was in playing it close to the vest. In private, he kind of had a thing for Eames's hands. But this was just strange of him. He was aware of that.
Eames seemed to think so, too, looking at him with one eyebrow up, and a smirk at the corners of his mouth.
Arthur looked away and pulled him along a few more steps, onto the snowy street. "I feel like something's wrong," he said. "I don't know what or why. I think I had a dream that I can't remember, where I did something to you in it that wasn't right. Like you should be pissed off about something."
He felt Eames shrug. "I'm not angry. I'm not sick. Everything is in order, right, we've made our plans for the evening." He turned to Arthur. "We'll have a few hours out here today, then we'll head back early like we planned. Stay focused. Jobs go to shit when you're nervous. I need you on top of your game."
Arthur took a deep breath. "You're right. I think going three levels down just shook me up a little. But we found out what we needed to know and we're all right. I'm good."
"Got your shit together?" Eames asked.
"Yes."
"Good. Then put Dinclusin and the rest out of your mind and relax. By and by, I'll tell you all about the horrifying murder of the Romanov family. It's quite sad, filled with anguish."
"That's great?" Arthur said. "I remember a lot of it from school."
"Not the details, I'll bet."
Arthur had looked up the history online, and he actually did know about the murders, the circumstances surrounding them, and the church. But Eames wanted to tell him. And he liked listening to the way Eames told stories, anyway.
The other passengers moved about them, forming a group around a bus. He and Eames pretended to be a part of this group. It wouldn't do to disappear right away. Arthur spotted Michelle and her parents coming out of the station. He looked around for Dinclusin, or Ann, but didn't see either of them. The other two men were lurking, though, Kenzie and Giles Fenderlyn. Arthur had stored their names away in his head. Those two set off his alarms, but he thought they were more like lookout guys for the other two. Dinclusin was at the head of this operation. Wouldn't hurt to keep his specs peeled for these two puppets, since they were all four of them obviously up to no good together. He pulled his hands away from Eames and forced himself into a casual posture.
Kenzie and Giles huddled together, sharing a lighter to ignite two cigarettes. Kenzie was the smaller of the two. He leaned up and whispered something in Giles's ear and Arthur saw his tell when his hand gestured vaguely to the other man's hip. They were both carrying, and obviously didn't want anyone else to know.
Eames was watching them carefully, too. "They're jacks," Eames said. "That's all. Dinclusin's the king in this hand."
"I thought so, too," Arthur said. "So we keep an eye on them, and they won't get lost in the shuffle."
"Right."
From the corner of his eye, he saw an attention-getting motion and turned to see Michelle waving at him. The simple gesture made his chest clench tight. That cheerful wave she'd given in her dream before being swallowed by the lake.
Arthur had gone years without natural dreams, most of his adult life, actually. He'd only begun dreaming again within the last two, and he realized that he wasn't quite used to his own mind yet. He wondered if this was how normal people felt about their dreams.
He waved back. It was a few days until they got to Baikal. There was nothing to worry about, anyway.
"Look," Eames said, pointing to a young-ish couple who stood hand in hand by the bus. She was in a floor-length fur coat, and the man wore a similarly long wool coat in black. "How posh."
"Fuck him, my coat is better than his," Arthur said.
"Fur is so tacky," Eames said in a mincing voice. "Wouldn't be caught dead in it. And look at her flashing those rocks on her hands like a damn fool. Wonder what's in that bag of hers."
"Why do I feel like we're going to find out sometime today," Arthur said.
"It's all about opportunity. We'll see if it comes along. They, by the way, are Anthony and Miranda Nelson. What do you think they're doing here on this tour?"
"I don't know," Arthur said. "I didn't check out everyone on the train. Should I have?"
"Nah, see," Eames said, "you don't even have to check. They're trying to reconcile their marriage, and they likely will, too, because they're what each other needs. Look, she's old money, I smell it on her. He's new money, a surgeon or something. A plastic surgeon, like. To all the aging Hollywood stars."
"Really?" Arthur wasn't sure if this was something Eames had picked up, or if he was just guessing.
"Yeah," Eames said. His voice sounded conspiratorial and amused. "That's right, and the second she turns forty he's going to give her the old tuck and lift. That's surgery, Arthur, get your mind out of the gutter. She'll ask him to keep doing it until her lips meet at the back of her head and then he'll leave her for someone young and dewy."
"Dewy? Jesus, Eames."
"Right, but she'll be fine, because she's got money."
"And lips in the back of her head," Arthur added.
"Imagine, she could give a blowjob from behind, that way."
Arthur laughed, loud and sudden. Eames looked at him fondly, while a few other people turned their heads, surprised or annoyed at his outburst.
"Now every time you see her, you'll know that one day she'll give great head. Right, what about those two?" Eames pointed to an older couple this time, in their sixties. They were both rotund, the man entirely bald, and the woman with thin, blazingly red hair. They were dressed in matching dark pants and striped shirts.
"Matching outfits are a disease," Arthur said, watching them as they went to the bus. "Umm. They met in high school. She used to be a cheerleader."
"He was the jock?" Eames said.
"No, he was the math nerd. It was an unlikely love story."
"Maybe you'd like it if I did my hair that color?" Eames asked. "What d'you think? I could pull that off."
"You could pull anything off," Arthur said, truthfully. He wanted to trace the angle of his cheekbones, run a finger down the noble slope of his nose, and leave filthy marks all over his jaw. Christ, he wanted an actual vacation, where he could do these things without worrying about who was watching. Why did Eames have to be standing there like that, in his fitted olive green coat, looking clean-cut and delicious under the bright, cold sun? Talking to him in a voice that went straight to his dick? When all he could do was tackle him? It wasn't fair.
"You flatter me overmuch."
"But I only tell the truth," Arthur said.
Eames turned to him. He looked like he was trying to remember something that bothered him. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you?" he asked, as if he had just discovered this. "No, I don't think you could."
Arthur felt his pulse skip, as if he were guilty of something. He didn't know why. "I don't think I could, no. You'd probably know."
"But would you trick me?"
He struggled to look into Eames's eyes. He had no idea why this was so hard; he felt utterly fucked with and it was starting go anger him. Of course he wouldn't trick Eames, why should he?
"Yes," Arthur said, surprising himself. "Yeah, I could see myself trying to trick you. If I thought it would help something. I guess I would, if I thought you were in trouble and there was no other way. I don't think I'd do it to hurt you, though. But I mean, who knows. People can change. Look at what Dom did to Mal, right? And what she did to him. No one would ever have thought that could happen. They loved each other, there was no question of that, and they had a family, kids involved, you'd like to think that everything's fine, you settle down together and that's it for the rest of your life. But they betrayed each other in the end. And why? They both thought they were doing the right thing for each other. Anything can happen, they're the perfect example." He swallowed hard. Eames kept staring at him. "Yes, Eames, I could see myself trying to trick you. I can also see you doing it back to me. It disturbs me, but what can you do about it?"
Eames surprised him by pressing his cold knuckles to the side of his face. "It was just an offhanded question," he said. "I didn't mean to bring up any old pain."
"You were right to ask," Arthur said. "We never really talk much about the way we..."
"Hey," said a voice behind Eames.
Eames jumped, startled, and moved aside to reveal Michelle, so tiny that she'd been able to disappear behind him.
"Are you two Not-Boyfriends going to get on the bus, or are you going to stand here all day?"
For the briefest of moments, Arthur saw her under the waves, her brown hair floating rhythmically, her white eyes pleading with him. He wanted to be annoyed with her, but couldn't. "We're going our own way, by cab," he told her.
"Why?" she asked.
"Arthur doesn't like buses," Eames said. "They make him feel carsick."
"I get carsick too," she said. "Let me go with you guys."
"Fuck no," Eames said. "Sorry pet. My activities do no allow for extra responsibility. And your parents already think that Arthur is a predator."
"They do not," she said. "I told you, my Mom's a bitch. The only thing she said was that at first she thought Arthur was about my age and that his boyfriend was a pederast. I told her Arthur was thirty three and she laughed and said that up close she could see the wrinkles. She's an idiot."
"Well how old did she think I was?" Eames asked, insulted.
"She didn't say," Michelle said. "But she thinks she saw you in a magazine like ten years ago. She thought you were a model, if that makes you feel any better."
"I was," Eames said, "and it doesn't."
Arthur gaped at him. "You were?"
Eames tsked. "Oh, Arthur. You've had ten years to do your homework and you haven't finished yet." He turned back to Michelle. "Go on now, get on the bus and leave the pederast to his thirty-three year old boy to their business. Face forward and take deep breaths, you'll live. And put that iPod down once in a while."
"You are so mean," she said.
"Listen to the tour guide," he told her. "It's fabulous history here."
"If you like stories about people getting shot repeatedly."
"They are among my favorites," Eames said. "Get along, pigeon."
Amazingly, Michelle was trying not to smile at him. She had to fight in order to keep her sulk in place. "Fine, be like that," she said. "Later, you two. I hope you puke in the cab." She walked away to join her parents, who had gone ahead and were waiting to get on the bus.
"She's charming," Eames said, when she was out of earshot. He turned back to Arthur. "And you're still upset about your dream."
"No," Arthur said. He meant it honestly. Or, if he was, it was a different dream that upset him, one he couldn't remember.
"Worried Arthur is of no use to me," Eames reminded him. "Get your shit together and relax."
But it's you I'm worried about, Arthur did not say.
He didn't know why he felt that way. He only knew that Eames didn't want to hear it.
** ** ** **
By the time the cab dropped them off at the church, the sun had slipped behind clouds that now dominated the sky. With the wind came the scent of snow, brittle and fresh. Eames glanced over at Arthur to see him huddling into his coat and holding onto his hat. Not the fedora today, either, but a fitted cap that came down over his ears.
He had felt Arthur's eyes burning on him for the entire ride to the church. It made him feel frantic, more than the usual effect that Arthur had on him. His gaze cut through the vague feeling of being unsettled and off balance that had plagued him all morning. Arthur had said he looked pale. He didn't disbelieve him. It took all he had in him to find his center, to project calm. Arthur was the one who was going into someone's head tonight; he needed to be clear.
The trembling that Eames felt all through his body – he'd deal with that later. Arthur would find out what it was that old Jackie Boy had done to him, if anything at all. Or to them, maybe. Then he'd fix it. Arthur always came through for him, but he needed him to be at his best. He could not be at his best if Eames wasn't at least pretending to be at his. 'Hitting on all eights', Arthur would say, or something like that.
Once in front of the church, they stood side by side and stared up at it. They had beat the crowd. It was just the two of them, surrounded by the snow-covered park, and dwarfed by the white and gold domes. The sun was gone and the morning had faded under clouds, so the domes didn't gleam like they had the last time Eames had come here.
"They call it Church On Blood," Eames said. "It marks where the
execution took place."
"Show it to me," Arthur said.
With no one around, he took Arthur's gloved hand and linked their fingers together. Arthur had occasionally gotten grabby-handed with him before, mostly as a precursor to dragging him off for some frantic screwing when they were supposed to be doing something else. This morning when he'd done it, it had felt a little different. It had felt, weirdly, more like a claim. This time when Eames did it to him, all it meant was 'Come with me' as he led Arthur up the stairs.
"It was 1918," Eames said, "July, and the Romanov family was in exile. They were awakened at midnight and told to get dressed, without knowing why. They did. The girls most of all."
Arthur looked at him instead of at the church, as if more keenly interested in how he chose to tell the story than in the history in front of him. Eames knew perfectly well that Arthur knew this story. He didn't go anywhere without knowing first where he was going and why.
They reached the top of the stairs and stood at the foot of the statue of the Romanov family clustered around a cross. Eames looked for a long time at the child in the arms of the Tsar.
"What was that about the girls getting dressed?" Arthur asked. "I've never heard about that."
Eames led him away from the statue to the side of the towering church. A circular alcove jutted out, with arched, brickwork and columned doors leading into them. The first few flakes of snow began to fall.
"The Tsar died first, shot in the heart. The girls, Anastasia and her sisters, survived the first round of bullets. They were shot again and again, but would not die. Eventually the executioners started just trying to gore them to death with bayonets." Eames swallowed hard. Contrary to what he'd said earlier, he actually did not like this story. It had given him nightmares as a child, long-lasting night-terrors even, of executioners coming for him and his family in his sleep. Tearing them up with bullets and bayonets. All the wealth in the world unable to stop the slaughter.
Arthur tugged at his hand. "Why did they take so long to die? Was it like a Rasputin kind of thing? He took forever to die, too."
"No. Well, yes, he did, but, the girls. There was an old anecdote about them. Their corsets, you see. They supposedly had diamonds in them."
"Jesus."
"It's likely not true, but it's the story I grew up hearing, the diamond-studded corsets. Their armor never protected them; it only prolonged their agony. To die in anguish like that... Those beautiful girls." He turned to see Arthur staring at him, maybe a little surprised, and perhaps waiting for something.
"You hate this story," Arthur said.
Eames kissed him. He did it harder than he meant to, and Arthur made a shocked little noise in the back of his throat. Eames backed him up through one of the arched doors, into the alcove, and pressed him against the cold stone of the church. Arthur's back hit the wall hard, and forced a rush of breath out of him that Eames caught with his lips.
"Die old, Arthur," Eames said against his mouth. He grabbed his wrists and pressed them against the wall, pinning him entirely. "Do whatever else you like with your life, you don't even have to stay mine, just die old."
"Eames," Arthur said, "What..."
He kissed Arthur again because he didn't want to answer any questions. He couldn't imagine why he suddenly felt this way, as if he had to make this demand. It burned from the inside. Arthur's cheek was so cold against his lips when he kissed him there, as if he was already gone. He let go of Arthur's hands, slid them instead around the back of his neck and pulled his hat off. He threaded one hand into his hair, combing his fingers through it, tugging on it, mussing it up.
"Okay," Arthur said, with a breathless, nervous little laugh.
"Get old and go grey," Eames said, "and get aches and pains from all of your injuries. If you ever must fight against me, or leave, or betray me, then do so. But die old."
"God, Eames, what the fuck?"
Arthur gripped him by the arms, not kissing back, just bracing him, and god, he was falling, literally falling. He felt dizzy and had to lean against Arthur, his face pressed into the wool of his collar. He breathed him in and said, "Don't let me fall."
"I've got you," Arthur said, sliding both arms around him. It wasn't an embrace so much as he seemed afraid that Eames would actually fall. "Come on," he urged. His voice sounded soft and worried as he tugged to get him upright again.
"I'm all right," Eames said. He waited for the darkness to clear, and when it did, he planted his hands on the cold wall behind Arthur, bracketing his shoulders, and eased away from him. "I'm fine. Sorry. Came over somewhat dizzy."
"Right," Arthur said. He put his hands on Eames's shoulders and looked him over. "Right, but that was more than just a little dizziness. You kind of acted crazy for a few seconds. Hey. What was that about me betraying you and dying young?" He gave him a light shake.
"I don't know."
"Eames, what was it? What did you mean, 'betray you?'"
"I don't know, Arthur."
"Because earlier you asked me if I would ever trick you, and honestly I feel like I did something to you and I don't know what it was. If you know, tell me. Let's not wait until this gets out of control. Did something happen?"
"No," Eames said. He was sure nothing had. Arthur stared at him, looking almost guilty and not yet relieved. Eames's vision cleared around the edges and went crisp. The last few minutes came back to him and he was surprised at himself. He'd been babbling to Arthur about betrayal, about death, all while mussing up his hair and more or less rutting on him up against a church. "I realize how ridiculous I sound," Eames said, "but I have no idea what came over me. This morning, my mind told your mind that it wasn't sick. I believe that. But I don't know what else it might be."
"I'll find that out for you tonight," Arthur said. "And I'm not going to ask you to take point for me. You're going to stay in the room while I..."
"No."
"Yes. I don't want you getting near those people, at least until I find out what they fuck they have done."
"If it's even them," Eames reminded him.
"I have a feeling. It's the same feeling I got off Dinclusin the second I saw him looking at you like a piece of goddamn man-steak."
Arthur's hackles were up again, and suddenly, out of nowhere, Eames liked it. His entire mood shifted. He liked Arthur's messed up hair and cold hands and the rising color in his face. He even liked, a little bit, that Arthur still looked guilty over something that neither of them could put their finger on. It charged him up, it felt warm, hot even, that Arthur cared enough to get into such a frenzy. That Arthur would break rules for him, and make him break those same rules.
"Man-steak," Eames repeated. "Yes, I can see that, I have been called beefy before, if that's what you're implying. Perhaps he wants a bite, but I assure you that I won't grant him one, if that's your worry."
"Well I'm happy to see that you have your wits about you again, and no, asshole, that is not my worry." Arthur was angry because he was afraid – afraid on Eames's behalf and it made him feel powerful. "And I wasn't implying anything about your, whatever, I was just saying that I didn't like the way he was eyeballing you and I really think he's up to something and it's not on the up and up, he's a sharper, I know one when I smell one and I got a slant on him the second he was getting a slant on you. He pulled something fancy and here you are acting like someone safe-cracked your head, so yeah I got my hackles up."
He gave Eames a light shove with no real meaning behind it other than to show that he was upset and not to be fucked with at the moment. It was Arthur's terrified bravado; Eames saw it rarely but had come to learn it. He hadn't realized how much he'd worried Arthur, and while it made him feel a little worse, it also gave him a thrill.
"Now are you gonna let me handle this?" Arthur demanded. "And are we gonna quit with all this talk about 'trick this' and 'betray that'? Because honestly you should know better by now, yeah, okay I already said that anyone can con anyone at any time, and if I ever conned you, I'm sorry. I don't know why you would think that; I don't know why I'd have a reason to con you either, unless I did something stupid because I love you, and I just don't want you to be sick."
Eames had no idea what Arthur was talking about, but the words, the entire string of phrases, hit him like a ball of ice to the chest. He considered his own babbling before, begging Arthur not to die young. There was something about it he almost remembered, something fucked up, an actual reason, maybe. He had no idea what it was.
Arthur stood staring at him, his lips pressed into a tight line. He looked miserable and afraid, leaning away from Eames and into the white stone of the church.
"I'm not sick," Eames said, gently, choosing his response and his tone of voice with great care. "And neither are you. We established that. The mind can lie to itself at a certain level, but three layers down it can't. So let's forget about that. All right?"
Arthur nodded.
"As to these strange feelings about betrayal? Quite possibly we worked through some issues with each other while we were down there together and it's coloring how we feel today. It can happen, we both know how dark it can be that deep under. Whatever happened down there doesn't change anything. We're reasonable creatures, far more reasonable than the Id of our subconscious. We swim in dangerous waters for a living. We won't drown now."
Another nod. Some of the fire went out of Arthur's eyes, and some of the fight. Eames knew he wasn't addressing what Arthur had really said; in his own way, he was running away from it and Arthur was allowing him to.
"I feel better," Eames said. "Do you?"
"Yes."
"Are you on top of your game for tonight? Hitting on all eights or whatever it is?"
"Yes."
"Good."
He once again grabbed the back of Arthur's neck and pulled him into a kiss – an actual one, the way he liked to do it, not desperate and confused like before. Arthur pulled him up close so that Eames was pinning him to the wall again. He wondered if part of that was to shield himself from the cold wind. Arthur slid his hands into Eames's coat and felt up the sides of his ribs. His hands felt good all over him, like they always did.
"I didn't mean..." Arthur murmured against his jaw, when Eames let him up for a breath.
He pulled away and pointed his finger in Arthur's face. "Don't you dare take it back."
Arthur batted his hand away. "I just meant, I don't mean it in a possessive way." He leaned in to kiss his neck, clearly so he wouldn't have to look at him. "I'm sorry if I'm acting like a dog with a bone. I don't mean it like that."
"Arthur, can you please for once not be a twat and ruin something by over-talking? Fuck."
"Nothing has to change," Arthur went on anyway. "We're, you know, good the way we are."
"Did I not just tell you to shut your gob? Do as you're told for once." To his side, from the front of the church, he heard the squeal of air-brakes as the tour bus pulled up. "Right, let's wrap this up quickly."
Arthur pulled him closer by the hips and said, "What do you mean? You want to, what... finish or something? Here?"
"Christ," Eames said, "why are you so filthy? I meant finish talking about what's going on tonight."
"Oh." Arthur let go of his trousers and caught his breath. "Right. So, okay, change of plans." He took a second to shove Eames away from him. Then he tried to finger-comb his hair back into place, and failed spectacularly, so he just snatched his hat back from Eames and pulled it over his ears. "We should probably head back now, because we know that the two Fenderlyn guard-dogs are here and they're carrying. Dinclusin and Dromelius could be anywhere so I'll stake out their compartment when I get back and set up to put them under."
"I've got the sedative we used on Fischer. That works in seconds."
"Great, that's the one I need. I take Dinclusin under, see if he's, like you said, the king in this hand. And then if he is, then..."
"Then we bring out the aces." Eames flipped a card from out of his sleeve: the ace of spades, and held it up in front of Arthur. It was such an old trick, but Arthur smiled like he always did.
"Your hand isn't shaking."
"Good enough for government work," Eames said. "I'll take point and I'll still distract the lot of them at the table later."
"No. What did I just tell you? You stay in the room and away from them."
"I am honestly fine."
Arthur didn't budge. "Whatever, that's the plan."
"Arthur..."
"I'm field commander on this one, Eames. Are we good?"
Eames sighed. "Good."
Arthur kissed him again, just as the voices of the many travelers from the bus overtook the silence.
On a whim, and just to test something out, Eames reached around Arthur's back and tried to lift his wallet. His hand immediately went numb and slack. Arthur's wallet fell to the stone ground behind him.
"What?" Arthur asked, confused, looking over his shoulder. "Did you just...? Eames?"
His throat felt dry and tight. No, he wasn't dying; he had just finished convincing Arthur of that. But this was still not natural. A cold, unpleasant tingle crept from his fingertips to his shoulder. He bent down and picked Arthur's wallet up, holding it out to him.
"Just an experiment," he said. "Wanted to try my hand. Didn't work, obviously."
Arthur pocketed his wallet and then took his hand and looked it over, as if he could see the strangeness, the sickness that Eames felt in it. "All right," Arthur said. "Okay. So, it makes a weird kind of sense if you think about it. Someone doesn't want you stealing. Someone got to you. Tonight we find out if it was who I think it was. Don't panic."
"I'm not." He was.
Arthur frowned and glanced over his shoulder. "Jesus, Eames, look."
Before Eames could look, in fact before he could even gather his wits enough to worry, Arthur pulled him to huddle against the inside of the alcove, out of the sight-lines that led through the arched doors. He peered around the doorway, pressing a finger to his lips. Then he leaned back and let Eames have a look.
Michelle was walking across the snow-covered park to the side of the church. She wore a camouflage coat with a hood and obvious faux fur lining. Her demeanor and clothing projected the precise opposite of a rich couple's daughter and that was probably the idea. She had one hand stuffed into her voluminous pocket, and she walked her head down. Her other hand toyed with something small, round, and shiny. It fit into her palm. A mirror, Eames realized.
Most of the crowd was still clustered at the front of the church. Most, but not all. Ann Dromelius walked a good twenty paces behind Michelle. Her blond hair almost faded into the white backdrop of snow and sky, and her grey, fitted coat worked almost as an actual camouflage. The flap of her white, leather purse was open. Eames knew, with the instinct of a thief, what had just happened. He knew, and Ann knew.
Michelle, however, didn't realize that she'd been caught. Ann followed behind her slowly, placid, smiling.
"Interference," Eames whispered to Arthur. Arthur nodded.
They both started out the doorway but only made it a few steps before Michelle collapsed into the snow.
** ** ** **
CONTINUE TO INCEPT ME. :D
Chapter 6 ...That Will Steal Your Soul...
A few people want some more action and I'm really going to try to get to that soon. :D With some of the suggestions, it's been a little hard to fit everything in all at once; I feel like this is a pretty long fic. ^_^ The other thing I'm noticing is that, as the train they're on is on the rails, in a way the story is on the rails, too. It really limits how much action can happen. So what I need to do (with you guys's help,) is figure out how I can include a lot more realistic action that makes a certain amount of sense on a train. In the real world, if violence happened on a tour, the tour would stop and everyone would be arrested. And Arthur and Eames would simply GTFO. So I need two things: Something to take place either off the train or in secret ON the train (where the authorities won't know about it,) and a reason for both of them not to just say "eff this" and run.
This chapter coming up includes some repercussions to what they did to each other in that last chapter, which surprised even me. It also includes a lot of the requests for certain scenes and lines between the two of them, which was actually a lot of fun for me to write. :D
So here are some suggestions / requests. The repeated ones are ones I haven't gotten to yet, but I mean to. I managed to get a few in this chapter, however. :D
sweetsigh - Scent: Well, they're in the Great White, so describe the smell of the ice/snow/wind around them!fae_boleyn-For some reason I want to see Eames messing up Arthur's hair. I don't care why, I just want to see that.negiyou - I would like to read about a litte 'contest' thing, where Arthur claims Eames couldn't steal from him because he is way too watchful. A few tries and then Eames finally manages to steal his wallet or something, which Arthur just realizes when he finds a note in it, saying 'told you so' (Iit didn't turn out exactly like this, but this gave me an idea that I REALLY needed to have! Plus, I might come back to it.gelbwax - And then he tries to get Eames to do something to Arthur? But he resists! And then Eames TAKES THAT FUCKER DOWN. Using only items he can find in the dining car, which is where he's been trussed up and left for dead. And on top of that, skyvehicle said, what if tremors give way to like, Dr. Strangelove hand? lol, until it tries to choke Arthur after Arthur tries to break into their train car? oooh. Okay, I really like this and I'm going to try to get this in there. I love this direction. fae_boleyn - Yekaterinburg's coming up, yay! Means I can hope for them to visit the Romanov execution site and make my not-so-inner history nerd happy. And also, I think I kind of want to see them either drunk or on some kind of drug, and kinda-sorta having that talk they really should have. (I don't think they ever will sans intoxication of some sort.) As it's them, it'll probably be a mess, but good Lord, they actually might need it now. twilightthief seconded this by saying, I know you've said in the past tabi that you dont have them say the mushy stuff like the obvious "I love you" but maybe they get toasted at some point during this "vacation" and some unspoken things come out. They dance around it but they never really say it. Lets have one or both of them say something that they normally wouldnt :) At this point, it didn't work for them to get drunk, but a little bit frantic might do the trick. I hope this part works well! ^_^twilightthief also says, Maybe they get lost but really its just someone messing with/ransacking the train? Maybe outside forces or maybe Dinclusin or someone on the train. And I like the idea that Michelle really isn't who she seems. There's something more to our Pokemon lovin' friend. I agree with both of these, and I answered, You're right, this is why the train needs to get abandoned somehow, or left on its own. Maybe someone could even take it over. ... having the train on the rails is exactly the same thing as having the story on the rails. ... UNLESS. Unless the shoot out / action happens outside of the train and in one of the towns and no one sees it except the main characters. But then they would need a reason to stay aboard the train and not just GTFO. So! This is going to take a lot of thought, and I'm going to have to try to get some action going here! I need to think outside of the rails as it were. :D Don't know that I accomplished that in this chapter yet, though.we_reflamingos says, Michelle has got to be the key to something. A revelation, inspiration, information - she's aces and needs a part to play. Perhaps her parents do too, maybe in that so-clueless-don't-know-what's-going-on-but-it-helps kind of way. She does need to come into play. MAYBE she could be the thing that keeps them on the train? What do you think?Anonymous said, How about if Eames turns into a killing machine after getting beat up? I'd like to see that. I WOULD TOO. :D
laughing_lovers - I'd like to see a moment of weakness or dependency between Arthur and Eames- something along the lines of "don't let me fall." YES. :Dosaki_nana_707 I wouldn't mind having a feature with Cobb or one of the other Inception team members via phone call or something. Will get on that soon!we_reflamingos wanted: Eames could have some fun suggesting their life stories to Arthur based on his observations (dinner conversation as others come and go) and Arthur could have some fun second-guessing Eames assumptions (or just being absurd). This was seconded by sparrow_hubris I loved that idea! ^_^mydeerfriend - I'd really like to see Eames go through some sort of shit but NOT get saved by BAMF Arthur. Because Eames is awesome enough to save himself from danger (and then maybe Arthur would feel bad that he didn't/couldn't help Eames). It is time for Eames to save himself, eh? :)While
vattelapesca says, Is it too late to say that I love your usual formula (beat up Arthur, put Eames in danger, broken!BAMF!Arthur to the rescue) to death? LOVE. LOVE LOVE LOVE. Do not abandon. Please? *puppy eyes* she adds, You can always break them both. :D Sweet. And ALSO, this is important: - I don't like it when things turn out to be genuinely supernatural, but I love subtle intricate gambits disguised as magic. I agree, I like that, too! PLUS. "Dinclusin" and "Dromalius" are carefully selected aliases, calculated to unsettle as much as to obscure. Still, if Arthur were to find out their real names, he would definitely remember them -- and neither he nor they will like what he remembers. Another great idea which cleared something up for me. :DHere are a few of the older suggestions that I am going to eventually get in there if I can! I haven't forgotten. :D
astheytick - Arthur says to Eames "Just wait. Wait for me."orion_nightbane - people lurking outside their door would be interesting?twisted_ream there's this huge spider on eames' back and he can't get it off and arthur just laughs efcia a broken mirror, possibly a small one. I can see the shattered glass, maybe even a small amount of blood on them? This gave me a really cool idea!quixyjie and twilightthief - wanted Eames smoking a cigar. I will get to that soon. :D Anonymous: One having to carry the other.
towel_master One of them thinks they see something dangerous/weird/downright creepy out of the corner of their eye in Ann's bag? Perhaps they see her opening it while on the train.gelbwax - WHAT IF the wind whips the fedora off Arthur's head and into the siberian wasteland. OMFG, horror, right? AND THEN. AND THEN. It comes BACK TO HIM. THE FEDORA COMES BACK. RIGHT WHEN HE NEEDS ITS POWERS OF BADASSERY IT COMES BACK TO HIM. I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. Not in this chapter, but down the road. :D
twilightthief - How about Eames says: "It's always been you." Probably too cheesy. But in the right context, that's giving me some ideas! ^_^sparrow_hubris - Eames glances up at Arthur from across an empty train car, posture stiff, with a blank or hostile look. He then turns slowly and walks away. Arthur for some reason cannot follow/can't catch him and it scares the crap out of him how empty/possessed?/haunted Eames looked. SO EFFING CREEPY. Not this chapter, but possibly the next. :D Also: And I'm totally in love with the idea of Arthur having to steal something more difficult than truffles because they need it and Eames' hand is too unstable to steal it himself. Nice!hazysea - A line for Eames to say to Arthur? "Stay at my level and keep to the shadows. Right, thanks for your patience, guys, and thanks for all the awesome ideas! Off we go!
** ** ** **
Chapter Five - There Is A King
Arthur looked Eames over carefully in the morning light, outside of the Yekaterinburg station. He was concerned. In some unsettling, unexplainable way, he felt as if he'd done something wrong, but he didn't know what.
"You look pale," he told Eames, as they walked away from the station. He was freezing already. Moving away from the forced, heated air of the station was torment of the highest order.
"Don't feel pale." Eames smiled at him.
"How can you feel pale?" He put his hand against the side of Eames's face and turned him first one way, then the other. He didn't know what he was looking for. Eames's eyes looked so much lighter in the day than at night; they changed colors subtly depending on the light. Today they were grey with a green cast reflecting off Eames's olive coat, with a darker circle around the edges. Arthur thought, not for the first time, of how normal he must look standing next to Eames, and wondered again what it was that had made Eames say "yes" to him all those years ago. But otherwise, Eames's eyes didn't look any different to him than they usually did. And maybe he really didn't look pale, after all. Maybe he was just tired.
"Stop putting your icy hands an my face," Eames said. "It's a method of torture. And stop fretting, for christ's sake. I'm fine. You're fine. We're on vacation and we're bloody well going to enjoy it. It's going to be a beautiful day today and nothing is going to ruin that."
Arthur tugged his gloves on and grabbed for Eames's hand as they walked from the white, columned building. Which was weird, he knew, because he never did that; it was dangerous to do in public. He was tipping his mitt and he knew it. You never showed other people what was important to you. And there were many people around, bustling out of the station into the bright, cold morning, ready for their tours. Arthur was sure some of them were looking at the two of them. It was the kind of world they lived in. But even if he'd been with a woman, he would not have grabbed her hand: safety was in playing it close to the vest. In private, he kind of had a thing for Eames's hands. But this was just strange of him. He was aware of that.
Eames seemed to think so, too, looking at him with one eyebrow up, and a smirk at the corners of his mouth.
Arthur looked away and pulled him along a few more steps, onto the snowy street. "I feel like something's wrong," he said. "I don't know what or why. I think I had a dream that I can't remember, where I did something to you in it that wasn't right. Like you should be pissed off about something."
He felt Eames shrug. "I'm not angry. I'm not sick. Everything is in order, right, we've made our plans for the evening." He turned to Arthur. "We'll have a few hours out here today, then we'll head back early like we planned. Stay focused. Jobs go to shit when you're nervous. I need you on top of your game."
Arthur took a deep breath. "You're right. I think going three levels down just shook me up a little. But we found out what we needed to know and we're all right. I'm good."
"Got your shit together?" Eames asked.
"Yes."
"Good. Then put Dinclusin and the rest out of your mind and relax. By and by, I'll tell you all about the horrifying murder of the Romanov family. It's quite sad, filled with anguish."
"That's great?" Arthur said. "I remember a lot of it from school."
"Not the details, I'll bet."
Arthur had looked up the history online, and he actually did know about the murders, the circumstances surrounding them, and the church. But Eames wanted to tell him. And he liked listening to the way Eames told stories, anyway.
The other passengers moved about them, forming a group around a bus. He and Eames pretended to be a part of this group. It wouldn't do to disappear right away. Arthur spotted Michelle and her parents coming out of the station. He looked around for Dinclusin, or Ann, but didn't see either of them. The other two men were lurking, though, Kenzie and Giles Fenderlyn. Arthur had stored their names away in his head. Those two set off his alarms, but he thought they were more like lookout guys for the other two. Dinclusin was at the head of this operation. Wouldn't hurt to keep his specs peeled for these two puppets, since they were all four of them obviously up to no good together. He pulled his hands away from Eames and forced himself into a casual posture.
Kenzie and Giles huddled together, sharing a lighter to ignite two cigarettes. Kenzie was the smaller of the two. He leaned up and whispered something in Giles's ear and Arthur saw his tell when his hand gestured vaguely to the other man's hip. They were both carrying, and obviously didn't want anyone else to know.
Eames was watching them carefully, too. "They're jacks," Eames said. "That's all. Dinclusin's the king in this hand."
"I thought so, too," Arthur said. "So we keep an eye on them, and they won't get lost in the shuffle."
"Right."
From the corner of his eye, he saw an attention-getting motion and turned to see Michelle waving at him. The simple gesture made his chest clench tight. That cheerful wave she'd given in her dream before being swallowed by the lake.
Arthur had gone years without natural dreams, most of his adult life, actually. He'd only begun dreaming again within the last two, and he realized that he wasn't quite used to his own mind yet. He wondered if this was how normal people felt about their dreams.
He waved back. It was a few days until they got to Baikal. There was nothing to worry about, anyway.
"Look," Eames said, pointing to a young-ish couple who stood hand in hand by the bus. She was in a floor-length fur coat, and the man wore a similarly long wool coat in black. "How posh."
"Fuck him, my coat is better than his," Arthur said.
"Fur is so tacky," Eames said in a mincing voice. "Wouldn't be caught dead in it. And look at her flashing those rocks on her hands like a damn fool. Wonder what's in that bag of hers."
"Why do I feel like we're going to find out sometime today," Arthur said.
"It's all about opportunity. We'll see if it comes along. They, by the way, are Anthony and Miranda Nelson. What do you think they're doing here on this tour?"
"I don't know," Arthur said. "I didn't check out everyone on the train. Should I have?"
"Nah, see," Eames said, "you don't even have to check. They're trying to reconcile their marriage, and they likely will, too, because they're what each other needs. Look, she's old money, I smell it on her. He's new money, a surgeon or something. A plastic surgeon, like. To all the aging Hollywood stars."
"Really?" Arthur wasn't sure if this was something Eames had picked up, or if he was just guessing.
"Yeah," Eames said. His voice sounded conspiratorial and amused. "That's right, and the second she turns forty he's going to give her the old tuck and lift. That's surgery, Arthur, get your mind out of the gutter. She'll ask him to keep doing it until her lips meet at the back of her head and then he'll leave her for someone young and dewy."
"Dewy? Jesus, Eames."
"Right, but she'll be fine, because she's got money."
"And lips in the back of her head," Arthur added.
"Imagine, she could give a blowjob from behind, that way."
Arthur laughed, loud and sudden. Eames looked at him fondly, while a few other people turned their heads, surprised or annoyed at his outburst.
"Now every time you see her, you'll know that one day she'll give great head. Right, what about those two?" Eames pointed to an older couple this time, in their sixties. They were both rotund, the man entirely bald, and the woman with thin, blazingly red hair. They were dressed in matching dark pants and striped shirts.
"Matching outfits are a disease," Arthur said, watching them as they went to the bus. "Umm. They met in high school. She used to be a cheerleader."
"He was the jock?" Eames said.
"No, he was the math nerd. It was an unlikely love story."
"Maybe you'd like it if I did my hair that color?" Eames asked. "What d'you think? I could pull that off."
"You could pull anything off," Arthur said, truthfully. He wanted to trace the angle of his cheekbones, run a finger down the noble slope of his nose, and leave filthy marks all over his jaw. Christ, he wanted an actual vacation, where he could do these things without worrying about who was watching. Why did Eames have to be standing there like that, in his fitted olive green coat, looking clean-cut and delicious under the bright, cold sun? Talking to him in a voice that went straight to his dick? When all he could do was tackle him? It wasn't fair.
"You flatter me overmuch."
"But I only tell the truth," Arthur said.
Eames turned to him. He looked like he was trying to remember something that bothered him. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you?" he asked, as if he had just discovered this. "No, I don't think you could."
Arthur felt his pulse skip, as if he were guilty of something. He didn't know why. "I don't think I could, no. You'd probably know."
"But would you trick me?"
He struggled to look into Eames's eyes. He had no idea why this was so hard; he felt utterly fucked with and it was starting go anger him. Of course he wouldn't trick Eames, why should he?
"Yes," Arthur said, surprising himself. "Yeah, I could see myself trying to trick you. If I thought it would help something. I guess I would, if I thought you were in trouble and there was no other way. I don't think I'd do it to hurt you, though. But I mean, who knows. People can change. Look at what Dom did to Mal, right? And what she did to him. No one would ever have thought that could happen. They loved each other, there was no question of that, and they had a family, kids involved, you'd like to think that everything's fine, you settle down together and that's it for the rest of your life. But they betrayed each other in the end. And why? They both thought they were doing the right thing for each other. Anything can happen, they're the perfect example." He swallowed hard. Eames kept staring at him. "Yes, Eames, I could see myself trying to trick you. I can also see you doing it back to me. It disturbs me, but what can you do about it?"
Eames surprised him by pressing his cold knuckles to the side of his face. "It was just an offhanded question," he said. "I didn't mean to bring up any old pain."
"You were right to ask," Arthur said. "We never really talk much about the way we..."
"Hey," said a voice behind Eames.
Eames jumped, startled, and moved aside to reveal Michelle, so tiny that she'd been able to disappear behind him.
"Are you two Not-Boyfriends going to get on the bus, or are you going to stand here all day?"
For the briefest of moments, Arthur saw her under the waves, her brown hair floating rhythmically, her white eyes pleading with him. He wanted to be annoyed with her, but couldn't. "We're going our own way, by cab," he told her.
"Why?" she asked.
"Arthur doesn't like buses," Eames said. "They make him feel carsick."
"I get carsick too," she said. "Let me go with you guys."
"Fuck no," Eames said. "Sorry pet. My activities do no allow for extra responsibility. And your parents already think that Arthur is a predator."
"They do not," she said. "I told you, my Mom's a bitch. The only thing she said was that at first she thought Arthur was about my age and that his boyfriend was a pederast. I told her Arthur was thirty three and she laughed and said that up close she could see the wrinkles. She's an idiot."
"Well how old did she think I was?" Eames asked, insulted.
"She didn't say," Michelle said. "But she thinks she saw you in a magazine like ten years ago. She thought you were a model, if that makes you feel any better."
"I was," Eames said, "and it doesn't."
Arthur gaped at him. "You were?"
Eames tsked. "Oh, Arthur. You've had ten years to do your homework and you haven't finished yet." He turned back to Michelle. "Go on now, get on the bus and leave the pederast to his thirty-three year old boy to their business. Face forward and take deep breaths, you'll live. And put that iPod down once in a while."
"You are so mean," she said.
"Listen to the tour guide," he told her. "It's fabulous history here."
"If you like stories about people getting shot repeatedly."
"They are among my favorites," Eames said. "Get along, pigeon."
Amazingly, Michelle was trying not to smile at him. She had to fight in order to keep her sulk in place. "Fine, be like that," she said. "Later, you two. I hope you puke in the cab." She walked away to join her parents, who had gone ahead and were waiting to get on the bus.
"She's charming," Eames said, when she was out of earshot. He turned back to Arthur. "And you're still upset about your dream."
"No," Arthur said. He meant it honestly. Or, if he was, it was a different dream that upset him, one he couldn't remember.
"Worried Arthur is of no use to me," Eames reminded him. "Get your shit together and relax."
But it's you I'm worried about, Arthur did not say.
He didn't know why he felt that way. He only knew that Eames didn't want to hear it.
** ** ** **
By the time the cab dropped them off at the church, the sun had slipped behind clouds that now dominated the sky. With the wind came the scent of snow, brittle and fresh. Eames glanced over at Arthur to see him huddling into his coat and holding onto his hat. Not the fedora today, either, but a fitted cap that came down over his ears.
He had felt Arthur's eyes burning on him for the entire ride to the church. It made him feel frantic, more than the usual effect that Arthur had on him. His gaze cut through the vague feeling of being unsettled and off balance that had plagued him all morning. Arthur had said he looked pale. He didn't disbelieve him. It took all he had in him to find his center, to project calm. Arthur was the one who was going into someone's head tonight; he needed to be clear.
The trembling that Eames felt all through his body – he'd deal with that later. Arthur would find out what it was that old Jackie Boy had done to him, if anything at all. Or to them, maybe. Then he'd fix it. Arthur always came through for him, but he needed him to be at his best. He could not be at his best if Eames wasn't at least pretending to be at his. 'Hitting on all eights', Arthur would say, or something like that.
Once in front of the church, they stood side by side and stared up at it. They had beat the crowd. It was just the two of them, surrounded by the snow-covered park, and dwarfed by the white and gold domes. The sun was gone and the morning had faded under clouds, so the domes didn't gleam like they had the last time Eames had come here.
"They call it Church On Blood," Eames said. "It marks where the
execution took place."
"Show it to me," Arthur said.
With no one around, he took Arthur's gloved hand and linked their fingers together. Arthur had occasionally gotten grabby-handed with him before, mostly as a precursor to dragging him off for some frantic screwing when they were supposed to be doing something else. This morning when he'd done it, it had felt a little different. It had felt, weirdly, more like a claim. This time when Eames did it to him, all it meant was 'Come with me' as he led Arthur up the stairs.
"It was 1918," Eames said, "July, and the Romanov family was in exile. They were awakened at midnight and told to get dressed, without knowing why. They did. The girls most of all."
Arthur looked at him instead of at the church, as if more keenly interested in how he chose to tell the story than in the history in front of him. Eames knew perfectly well that Arthur knew this story. He didn't go anywhere without knowing first where he was going and why.
They reached the top of the stairs and stood at the foot of the statue of the Romanov family clustered around a cross. Eames looked for a long time at the child in the arms of the Tsar.
"What was that about the girls getting dressed?" Arthur asked. "I've never heard about that."
Eames led him away from the statue to the side of the towering church. A circular alcove jutted out, with arched, brickwork and columned doors leading into them. The first few flakes of snow began to fall.
"The Tsar died first, shot in the heart. The girls, Anastasia and her sisters, survived the first round of bullets. They were shot again and again, but would not die. Eventually the executioners started just trying to gore them to death with bayonets." Eames swallowed hard. Contrary to what he'd said earlier, he actually did not like this story. It had given him nightmares as a child, long-lasting night-terrors even, of executioners coming for him and his family in his sleep. Tearing them up with bullets and bayonets. All the wealth in the world unable to stop the slaughter.
Arthur tugged at his hand. "Why did they take so long to die? Was it like a Rasputin kind of thing? He took forever to die, too."
"No. Well, yes, he did, but, the girls. There was an old anecdote about them. Their corsets, you see. They supposedly had diamonds in them."
"Jesus."
"It's likely not true, but it's the story I grew up hearing, the diamond-studded corsets. Their armor never protected them; it only prolonged their agony. To die in anguish like that... Those beautiful girls." He turned to see Arthur staring at him, maybe a little surprised, and perhaps waiting for something.
"You hate this story," Arthur said.
Eames kissed him. He did it harder than he meant to, and Arthur made a shocked little noise in the back of his throat. Eames backed him up through one of the arched doors, into the alcove, and pressed him against the cold stone of the church. Arthur's back hit the wall hard, and forced a rush of breath out of him that Eames caught with his lips.
"Die old, Arthur," Eames said against his mouth. He grabbed his wrists and pressed them against the wall, pinning him entirely. "Do whatever else you like with your life, you don't even have to stay mine, just die old."
"Eames," Arthur said, "What..."
He kissed Arthur again because he didn't want to answer any questions. He couldn't imagine why he suddenly felt this way, as if he had to make this demand. It burned from the inside. Arthur's cheek was so cold against his lips when he kissed him there, as if he was already gone. He let go of Arthur's hands, slid them instead around the back of his neck and pulled his hat off. He threaded one hand into his hair, combing his fingers through it, tugging on it, mussing it up.
"Okay," Arthur said, with a breathless, nervous little laugh.
"Get old and go grey," Eames said, "and get aches and pains from all of your injuries. If you ever must fight against me, or leave, or betray me, then do so. But die old."
"God, Eames, what the fuck?"
Arthur gripped him by the arms, not kissing back, just bracing him, and god, he was falling, literally falling. He felt dizzy and had to lean against Arthur, his face pressed into the wool of his collar. He breathed him in and said, "Don't let me fall."
"I've got you," Arthur said, sliding both arms around him. It wasn't an embrace so much as he seemed afraid that Eames would actually fall. "Come on," he urged. His voice sounded soft and worried as he tugged to get him upright again.
"I'm all right," Eames said. He waited for the darkness to clear, and when it did, he planted his hands on the cold wall behind Arthur, bracketing his shoulders, and eased away from him. "I'm fine. Sorry. Came over somewhat dizzy."
"Right," Arthur said. He put his hands on Eames's shoulders and looked him over. "Right, but that was more than just a little dizziness. You kind of acted crazy for a few seconds. Hey. What was that about me betraying you and dying young?" He gave him a light shake.
"I don't know."
"Eames, what was it? What did you mean, 'betray you?'"
"I don't know, Arthur."
"Because earlier you asked me if I would ever trick you, and honestly I feel like I did something to you and I don't know what it was. If you know, tell me. Let's not wait until this gets out of control. Did something happen?"
"No," Eames said. He was sure nothing had. Arthur stared at him, looking almost guilty and not yet relieved. Eames's vision cleared around the edges and went crisp. The last few minutes came back to him and he was surprised at himself. He'd been babbling to Arthur about betrayal, about death, all while mussing up his hair and more or less rutting on him up against a church. "I realize how ridiculous I sound," Eames said, "but I have no idea what came over me. This morning, my mind told your mind that it wasn't sick. I believe that. But I don't know what else it might be."
"I'll find that out for you tonight," Arthur said. "And I'm not going to ask you to take point for me. You're going to stay in the room while I..."
"No."
"Yes. I don't want you getting near those people, at least until I find out what they fuck they have done."
"If it's even them," Eames reminded him.
"I have a feeling. It's the same feeling I got off Dinclusin the second I saw him looking at you like a piece of goddamn man-steak."
Arthur's hackles were up again, and suddenly, out of nowhere, Eames liked it. His entire mood shifted. He liked Arthur's messed up hair and cold hands and the rising color in his face. He even liked, a little bit, that Arthur still looked guilty over something that neither of them could put their finger on. It charged him up, it felt warm, hot even, that Arthur cared enough to get into such a frenzy. That Arthur would break rules for him, and make him break those same rules.
"Man-steak," Eames repeated. "Yes, I can see that, I have been called beefy before, if that's what you're implying. Perhaps he wants a bite, but I assure you that I won't grant him one, if that's your worry."
"Well I'm happy to see that you have your wits about you again, and no, asshole, that is not my worry." Arthur was angry because he was afraid – afraid on Eames's behalf and it made him feel powerful. "And I wasn't implying anything about your, whatever, I was just saying that I didn't like the way he was eyeballing you and I really think he's up to something and it's not on the up and up, he's a sharper, I know one when I smell one and I got a slant on him the second he was getting a slant on you. He pulled something fancy and here you are acting like someone safe-cracked your head, so yeah I got my hackles up."
He gave Eames a light shove with no real meaning behind it other than to show that he was upset and not to be fucked with at the moment. It was Arthur's terrified bravado; Eames saw it rarely but had come to learn it. He hadn't realized how much he'd worried Arthur, and while it made him feel a little worse, it also gave him a thrill.
"Now are you gonna let me handle this?" Arthur demanded. "And are we gonna quit with all this talk about 'trick this' and 'betray that'? Because honestly you should know better by now, yeah, okay I already said that anyone can con anyone at any time, and if I ever conned you, I'm sorry. I don't know why you would think that; I don't know why I'd have a reason to con you either, unless I did something stupid because I love you, and I just don't want you to be sick."
Eames had no idea what Arthur was talking about, but the words, the entire string of phrases, hit him like a ball of ice to the chest. He considered his own babbling before, begging Arthur not to die young. There was something about it he almost remembered, something fucked up, an actual reason, maybe. He had no idea what it was.
Arthur stood staring at him, his lips pressed into a tight line. He looked miserable and afraid, leaning away from Eames and into the white stone of the church.
"I'm not sick," Eames said, gently, choosing his response and his tone of voice with great care. "And neither are you. We established that. The mind can lie to itself at a certain level, but three layers down it can't. So let's forget about that. All right?"
Arthur nodded.
"As to these strange feelings about betrayal? Quite possibly we worked through some issues with each other while we were down there together and it's coloring how we feel today. It can happen, we both know how dark it can be that deep under. Whatever happened down there doesn't change anything. We're reasonable creatures, far more reasonable than the Id of our subconscious. We swim in dangerous waters for a living. We won't drown now."
Another nod. Some of the fire went out of Arthur's eyes, and some of the fight. Eames knew he wasn't addressing what Arthur had really said; in his own way, he was running away from it and Arthur was allowing him to.
"I feel better," Eames said. "Do you?"
"Yes."
"Are you on top of your game for tonight? Hitting on all eights or whatever it is?"
"Yes."
"Good."
He once again grabbed the back of Arthur's neck and pulled him into a kiss – an actual one, the way he liked to do it, not desperate and confused like before. Arthur pulled him up close so that Eames was pinning him to the wall again. He wondered if part of that was to shield himself from the cold wind. Arthur slid his hands into Eames's coat and felt up the sides of his ribs. His hands felt good all over him, like they always did.
"I didn't mean..." Arthur murmured against his jaw, when Eames let him up for a breath.
He pulled away and pointed his finger in Arthur's face. "Don't you dare take it back."
Arthur batted his hand away. "I just meant, I don't mean it in a possessive way." He leaned in to kiss his neck, clearly so he wouldn't have to look at him. "I'm sorry if I'm acting like a dog with a bone. I don't mean it like that."
"Arthur, can you please for once not be a twat and ruin something by over-talking? Fuck."
"Nothing has to change," Arthur went on anyway. "We're, you know, good the way we are."
"Did I not just tell you to shut your gob? Do as you're told for once." To his side, from the front of the church, he heard the squeal of air-brakes as the tour bus pulled up. "Right, let's wrap this up quickly."
Arthur pulled him closer by the hips and said, "What do you mean? You want to, what... finish or something? Here?"
"Christ," Eames said, "why are you so filthy? I meant finish talking about what's going on tonight."
"Oh." Arthur let go of his trousers and caught his breath. "Right. So, okay, change of plans." He took a second to shove Eames away from him. Then he tried to finger-comb his hair back into place, and failed spectacularly, so he just snatched his hat back from Eames and pulled it over his ears. "We should probably head back now, because we know that the two Fenderlyn guard-dogs are here and they're carrying. Dinclusin and Dromelius could be anywhere so I'll stake out their compartment when I get back and set up to put them under."
"I've got the sedative we used on Fischer. That works in seconds."
"Great, that's the one I need. I take Dinclusin under, see if he's, like you said, the king in this hand. And then if he is, then..."
"Then we bring out the aces." Eames flipped a card from out of his sleeve: the ace of spades, and held it up in front of Arthur. It was such an old trick, but Arthur smiled like he always did.
"Your hand isn't shaking."
"Good enough for government work," Eames said. "I'll take point and I'll still distract the lot of them at the table later."
"No. What did I just tell you? You stay in the room and away from them."
"I am honestly fine."
Arthur didn't budge. "Whatever, that's the plan."
"Arthur..."
"I'm field commander on this one, Eames. Are we good?"
Eames sighed. "Good."
Arthur kissed him again, just as the voices of the many travelers from the bus overtook the silence.
On a whim, and just to test something out, Eames reached around Arthur's back and tried to lift his wallet. His hand immediately went numb and slack. Arthur's wallet fell to the stone ground behind him.
"What?" Arthur asked, confused, looking over his shoulder. "Did you just...? Eames?"
His throat felt dry and tight. No, he wasn't dying; he had just finished convincing Arthur of that. But this was still not natural. A cold, unpleasant tingle crept from his fingertips to his shoulder. He bent down and picked Arthur's wallet up, holding it out to him.
"Just an experiment," he said. "Wanted to try my hand. Didn't work, obviously."
Arthur pocketed his wallet and then took his hand and looked it over, as if he could see the strangeness, the sickness that Eames felt in it. "All right," Arthur said. "Okay. So, it makes a weird kind of sense if you think about it. Someone doesn't want you stealing. Someone got to you. Tonight we find out if it was who I think it was. Don't panic."
"I'm not." He was.
Arthur frowned and glanced over his shoulder. "Jesus, Eames, look."
Before Eames could look, in fact before he could even gather his wits enough to worry, Arthur pulled him to huddle against the inside of the alcove, out of the sight-lines that led through the arched doors. He peered around the doorway, pressing a finger to his lips. Then he leaned back and let Eames have a look.
Michelle was walking across the snow-covered park to the side of the church. She wore a camouflage coat with a hood and obvious faux fur lining. Her demeanor and clothing projected the precise opposite of a rich couple's daughter and that was probably the idea. She had one hand stuffed into her voluminous pocket, and she walked her head down. Her other hand toyed with something small, round, and shiny. It fit into her palm. A mirror, Eames realized.
Most of the crowd was still clustered at the front of the church. Most, but not all. Ann Dromelius walked a good twenty paces behind Michelle. Her blond hair almost faded into the white backdrop of snow and sky, and her grey, fitted coat worked almost as an actual camouflage. The flap of her white, leather purse was open. Eames knew, with the instinct of a thief, what had just happened. He knew, and Ann knew.
Michelle, however, didn't realize that she'd been caught. Ann followed behind her slowly, placid, smiling.
"Interference," Eames whispered to Arthur. Arthur nodded.
They both started out the doorway but only made it a few steps before Michelle collapsed into the snow.
** ** ** **
CONTINUE TO INCEPT ME. :D
Chapter 6 ...That Will Steal Your Soul...
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Awesome! Loved Arthur's concern for Eames and how he drops the "L" word. Also love how he continues to lapse into BRICK-speak when anxious.
And the stuff about the Romanovs... Now I want you to include an undead/ghostly Rasputin somewhere :)
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I can't get enough of Brick!Speak. I'm really glad it's not getting old yet. ^_^
Oh, let me tell you. My finger hovered over the "L" for about five minutes before I typed it. ;D Hehe.
Anyway I'm so glad you liked it. Thank you, as always! ^_^
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Also, I haven't picked up on it before, but I like how Arthur loves looking at Eames. I remember a line from an earlier chapter where Arthur says, 'You're the pretty one', I don't know why, but I like how it's like this: Arthur thought, not for the first time, of how normal he must look standing next to Eames, and wondered again what it was that had made Eames say "yes" to him all those years ago., a sense of wonder and gratefulness rather than insecurity (because, really, Arthur!).
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I think that I'm kind of projecting onto Arthur in some cases with the "OMG Eames is so hot" stuff. But then *cough* aren't we all? ^_^;;
But yeah, homeboy has nothing to be insecure about. *fans self*
Thank you as always! ^_^
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Depends on what you feel about Tilda Swinton (dear god, I love her). :D Jadis is the White Witch's name from Narnia.
But then *cough* aren't we all? ^_^;;
IKR!!
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WHAT
WHAT
WHY YOU GIVE ME CLIFFHANGERS
Okay. That was a beautiful scene, and I am all nervous for them and biting my fingers because SOMETHING IS WRONG, I KNOW IT IS, I just want them to turn around and flee back to Italy or something where they are not being followed/incepted by scary people.
This is weird, but can someone break Eames's jaw? Possibly while they're torturing him and then trussing him up and leaving him in the dining car.
I would like that very much thank you.Michelle holds the key to all of the problems, right? She's going to be the one who figures out what's going on, right? OR SOMETHING?
A quote- use however you see fit: "Honestly, Mr Eames, you are not in a position to barter."
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I want them to GTFO too! Just go somewhere where Arthur could be warm and they can snog without anyone creeping up on them.
I do want Michelle to figure something out; I really like this idea. I want her to help them somehow. Agreed! Copy-pasted. ^_^
This is weird, but can someone break Eames's jaw? Possibly while they're torturing him and then trussing him up and leaving him in the dining car. I would like that very much thank you.
Okay, I will so try to get this in, but I can't afford to take him out of the fight and I'm afraid that injury might do so? I'm not clear on it so I will look it up. Don't you have to have it wired or something? Also can't have him unable to get some end-of-story tongue-snogging either. ;D So umm. I will do my homework and see if I can manage that. if not, can I hurt him in a prettier way? ;D Hehe.
A quote- use however you see fit: "Honestly, Mr Eames, you are not in a position to barter." Love it.
Thank you! ^_^
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(Anonymous) 2011-03-11 06:04 am (UTC)(link)Love this, Tabi!
Let's see some ideas. Umm. I can't think of any. Wait maybe.
Maybe I really want to see Arthur collapse the way Michelle did? BUT WHY, I don't know! Maybe they both got incepted, or all three of them? Or drugged?
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Maybe I really want to see Arthur collapse the way Michelle did?
AND I LOVE YOU. Thanks, nonnie. ^_^
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This story is so fascinating. It's weird how Eames's little problem tends to keep acting up while Arthur's has only happened once, but I suppose we'll figure out why later.
Also, I feel like the Romanov story has a point to it, like some elements will be showing itself later perhaps???
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This story is so fascinating. It's weird how Eames's little problem tends to keep acting up while Arthur's has only happened once, but I suppose we'll figure out why later.
You gave me an idea. There was something that Eames said in the movie that really sort of makes this work out.
Oh wow. YES. Thank you. :D
Also, I feel like the Romanov story has a point to it, like some elements will be showing itself later perhaps???
That's pretty cool, too. Like, something maybe about armor that you thought would protect you only prolonging your agony or something? Hmm. I'll go over that again and, you may have something there. :)
Thank you! ^_^
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Either way, I'm glad you like it! That means a lot to me. ^_^
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OH NO!!!
And I'm sorry I can't brain right now. 2 hours of sleep + 10 hr work day and earthquake in Japan has made mind mush. I'll have to come back later.
I love where this story has gone so far though. ARTHUR SAID I LOVE YOU!!!! OMG!!!! It's so squishy it is squishy squishy.
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But yes, my finger hovered over the "L" of the keyboard for about five minutes before I went through with it. OMG, that's so sad, now that I put it that way, can't even type the word! ;D Ha!
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This chapter was simply lovely. The tension... The talking... I loved the remnants of the inceptions! That was so clever! And the way they're talk would keep going until it spiraled just to the brink of out-of-control, pull back, and then do it again! Masterfully done! I felt like I was right there in the church with them. (By the way, I loved the inclusion of the Romanov story!) And I really got a sense of how much they loved each other.
There are so many other things that I loved, but I won't bore you with them all (the wallet-stealing, Arthur's fall back to his jargon when he's nervous!!!). I just really enjoy this story, and I enjoy how organically it's growing. This chapter is the highlight of my day, and it's only ten AM!
Suggestion: The train officials are corrupt, either with Dinclusin or wanting to stop the train somewhere in the middle of nowhere (who would run away into the snow and ice?) and rob the passengers themselves!
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So glad you liked the Romanov story! You know what, I had to do some researching on that, and WOW, what a story. I learned a lot. It was actually a great deal of fun, learning all that, looking up the church, the history and such.
Also, of course I have such a great time doing Brick!Speak, so I'm always happy to hear that's not getting old. :)
Suggestion: The train officials are corrupt, either with Dinclusin or wanting to stop the train somewhere in the middle of nowhere (who would run away into the snow and ice?) and rob the passengers themselves!
THANK YOU. This could work! Oh man, I'm holding on to this. Awesome. ^_^
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And the story is creepy no matter who is telling it.
Curiouser and Curiouser and also - ack! :)
Good stuff!
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Actually, the whole inception/inception thing gave me some kind of hint as to what's really going on here. I'm telling you, it's so cool getting all these suggestions. It's like the story is out of my hands. So much fun!
Thank you! ^_^
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I love how you had effects from the dual inception, and how that helped push them both into a bit of frantic babbling. So glad they finally had some semblance of a talk, and the way Arthur just says "I love you" so matter-of-factly as part of his rant... <3
And the Romanovs! *history-nerd part of me does cartwheels* You got the whole story in, that was fantastic! :D
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And of course, I'm super glad that you liked the part with the Romanovs! Like I said above, Ihad to research that, and I learned a lot of stuff I didn't know. It was awesome, finding that anecdote, looking at pics of the church, and all of that. I feel a bit smarter. So thank you for that! ^_^
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love love love love love what you did with my idea! Totally the best part. But my god this is so good. I'll think of something with which I can incept yo' braaaiiin. Just gimme a minute. Or 20.
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Oh, take your time with suggestions, whenever you're ready! ^_^
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(Anonymous) 2011-03-12 06:57 am (UTC)(link)no subject
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(Anonymous) 2011-03-14 05:03 am (UTC)(link)Because, Arthur mused, he was only putting his hands on something that was already his.
um. not to imply that i'm not loving the complicated and exciting plot! just, this is the icing on the cake!
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I can't even...Oh my, this chapter just about did me in. How do you do that!?
Their dialogue, the PDA, the tension, the confessions, the tenderness, the emotions coming out even though they're trying to hide them...UMPH!
Why is seeing Eames through Arthur's POV so hot! And the things Arthur wants to do to him! OMG I love you for that. ...Talking to him in a voice that went straight to his dick? When all he could do was tackle him? It wasn't fair. OMG yes!
"Die old, Arthur," I think my heart broke at that! Eames just wants him to grow old even if he's not with him *lip quivers*.
And then this: I don't know why I'd have a reason to con you either, unless I did something stupid because I love you, and I just don't want you to be sick." THE L WORD?? *dies* I think you were trying to kill me in this chapter for shizz! I thought you didn't have them say it and then you do it and then I die!
Im so full of glee!
I love this story-it keeps getting better and better.
Ok, enough gushing.
You asked for suggestions on how the realistic action can happen either on or off the train? I think something behind closed doors on the train could happen. I keep thinking about Eames is involved in another card game or what have you with Dinclusion, Ann, etc in some private room/car and the shit goes down. They're far away enough that no one hears/sees whats going on. Maybe Eames has to defend himself without the help of his gun or Arthur. IDK I think I just want Eames being caught in a tight spot using what he has available in the "shoot out" or whatever.
Someone else kind of touched on it but I'd like to see Eames unable to talk for some reason either from being hurt or this "hand shaking" thing or something else. Maybe Arthur is in more "fussing" mode and they have to pass notes back and forth. Maybe it turns Arthur on that he can't talk.... I guess I just want Eames as the whipping boy this time around in your fabulous verse.
I definitely want to see Michelle do some bad ass stuff too. Maybe the boys need to use her for part of "the plan" (whatever that ends up being).
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I'm putting the next chapter up in a few minutes and for the one after that (which I'm going to start writing tonight,) I extracted a few of your suggestions. ^_^
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It blows my mind O_0
So to you I bow and give many congratulatory claps!
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A GIF COMMENT! I LOVE THESE! *steals them all*
Thank you so much! ^_^
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It's much deserved! :)
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All the Arthur That Was language is making me nervous. They're really messing with his head. OMG.