Chapter Text
Shots whiz by them as they run through the airport rental car garage. They’d expected militarization, but not this bad. A bullet catches Arthur in the leg and he crumples. Eames wraps an arm around his shoulders and drags him behind a concrete pillar.
“You okay?”
“No, they shot out my fucking knee.” He almost falls again when he tries to put weight on it. “You’ve gotta drive.”
All the color drains from Eames’ face. “Can’t.”
“What?”
“Drive. I can’t drive.”
“Oh my god, Eames!” Panic permeates his voice. “How can you not drive?”
“Grew up in London. C’mon, they’re getting closer!” Eames half-carries Arthur and deposits him ungracefully in the passenger’s seat of the closest rental car.
Arthur stifles a yelp as his leg twists at an unnatural angle. He glares at Eames, who winces.
“Sorry. Okay, talk me through this. Can’t be that hard.”
The rental car associate runs up, waving his hands. “That one’s not yours!”
Eames looks over brightly. “Says so on the contract,” he lies, and hops in the driver’s seat.
“Brake pedal left, gas right, shift lever on the steering column,” Arthur shouts over the noise of gunfire.
Eames’ eyes flick over the controls. “Got it.”
“Foot on the brake to go into Reverse and Drive.”
He slams the shift lever into Reverse and hits the gas, and the tires squeal — and the car goes nowhere.
“Parking brake!” Arthur yells.
Eames looks around in a panic. It’s not between the seats, where they are in the movies.
“Um, left hand, under the console, should be a lever of some kind,” Arthur says, miming where to look.
It takes a few seconds but Eames finds it. When he releases it, the car flies backwards.
Arthur, unable to brace himself with his bad leg, hits the dash and shouts in pain. He gropes for his seatbelt and says, “Just get us to the meet-up.” By the time they get out of the deck, the car’s dented on three corners and missing a mirror.
The first thing Arthur does out of the dream is look around the room and say, “Okay, how many of you assholes can’t drive?”
Eames looks at him, defensive and hurt. “I got us out.”
“Leaving half the car in the garage. Anyone else?”
Ariadne timidly puts her hand up.
“Okay, you’re building a driving simulation. By the time we’re done, you guys will be able to parallel park a hearse in New York.”
She heads for her desk and Eames follows, avoiding eye contact with Arthur.
“Shit,” he says, and pulls Eames to the side. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. Thanks for getting me out of there. I just assumed, you know?”
Eames looks unimpressed.
“Can I buy you dinner to make up for being an asshole?”
“Yeah, okay,” Eames says, cracking a smile, “but unless you want to end up as a vehicular homicide statistic, you might want to do something nice for her, too.”