Archive of Our Own

The job had crashed and burned —spectacularly so. The fact that none of them had died in the escape was a miracle. He and Arthur had been the only ones to participate in the shooting part during their escape because while in a dream Cobb might know how to use a gun he hadn’t actually learned in the real world. Eames was sporting a wound on his thigh from a ricochet that had at least stopped bleeding an hour or so ago. He wasn't sure if Arthur had taken any damage because the other man just said he was fine and that could really mean anything from I've got five minutes to live to not a scratch on me. Especially in Arthur's current mood.

Their client's representative was dead. Not good. Their target was dead. Really not good. There were other people dead but Eames didn't know whose side they had been on. Both sides were now hunting for Cobb. That was clearly becoming a pattern when Cobb was on a job. How their target's associates knew about Cobb —and knew him by name— was still a mystery. Their client was pissed and had told them he had hired people to hunt them down. It was unclear if that was alive or not. The only reason they knew any of this was because Arthur had made Cobb put the phone on speaker —something Cobb had not wanted to do. This had started a rather loud conversation after the phone call had disconnected. It had only stopped when they piled into a stolen car to make for a safe house.

Cobb's safe house had not been safe.

In the midst of the current argument, Arthur had turned to Cobb and asked, "Out of pure curiosity, did you fail to mention our target's people also approached you about a job for them?" Arthur had not been point on this job; as a matter of fact he hadn't been involved until a week ago.

Cobb looked indifferent when he said, "That has nothing to do with this."

"The hell?" Eames remarked. He could not believe that had not at least been mentioned at the start.

He looked over at Arthur. "That's close to rule number one," Arthur revealed to Ariadne who looked confused. "Never switch sides of a job once accepted. Followed by never take bids from competing sides. Which one did you do?"

Cobb shrugged. "The money was better."

Which only partially answered the question and restarted the argument with a new twist to the accusations. Though the topic never stayed put long enough to resolve a single thing. How were they going to get out of this mess? What did each side really want? Information or no witnesses. Who did they need to pay back? Both sides probably wanted something besides their money back. Did they even still have the money that would have been paid upfront? Eames hadn't been paid yet so Cobb still had to have that money; somewhere. How were they going to disappear? Where to hide? How much information did the two sides have on each of them if they knew about Cobb? There was hope in Eames' mind that since Cobb had been running point that no one else had been mentioned by name as Cobb liked to take all the credit and be the shining star.

Eames just wanted him and Arthur out of this glorious fiasco. Cobb could settle his own debts. Ariadne, still new to all of the darkside of dreamshare, didn't seem to grasp how much trouble they were actually in, even though she had apparently been taking small jobs with Cobb for the last year. Which had been news because the contract with Saito was they would all stay away from dreamshare for at least six months to ensure that there was no blowback from the inception itself or any part of the sides jobs related to it.

He wanted to know what Cobb and Ariadne had been doing with her money from the Fischer job because as much as Eames liked dreamshare he probably never had to work another day in his life if he didn't want to. He and Arthur could finally go do married couple things like normal-ish people.

“Wait,” Cobb yelled at both of them, to stop the argument. “You two are married?”

Clearly he was frustrated enough that he had said that last part out loud. He and Arthur both turned to look at Cobb like he had somehow lost the plot again. Their marriage didn't technically matter at this time. Cobb had screwed up again and now they were all on the run —in the real world— from some very wealthy, very pissed off people. “Yes,” they said in unison. Arthur glared at him for a moment then just shrugged it off.

Eames had only agreed to this job because Arthur was supposed to have been a part of it and the two of them had been working non-dreamshare jobs continents apart and this was supposed to give them some time together. When he arrived a month ago to find no Arthur he was surprised, but Cobb had told him Arthur was coming in later. Later ended up being when Cobb finally called to offer him the job after most everything had been planned and because they were going to need topside security. Eames was almost positive Arthur had only agreed to do the job so that he could check up on Cobb since the other man was supposed to be off doing fatherly things and not dreamshare jobs. Eames was also damn sure that this was his last job with Cobb —if they lived. But it was definitely Cobb's last job since the man's PASIV unit was in too many pieces to even try and count. They hadn't even had a chance to gather any of the pieces before they had to run. He was sure the explosion had taken care of anything they could have gone back for. Which meant there were only two PASIV units left —Arthur's and Daniel Cameron's, and Cameron hadn't been heard from in more than a year.

“What? Since when?” Cobb demanded, staring at Arthur. “Is this something Eames talked you into?" Cobb accused, turning on Arthur.

Eames would have been offended but he had basically stopped caring what the other man thought of him years ago. He normally only worked with Cobb because of the interesting jobs, the money, and Arthur. And at this point, he really was only there for Arthur. “No,” again said in unison.

“I knew that kiss felt flat,” Ariadne commented, for the first time since the argument had started. It might actually have been the first time she had something in the last day —since someone had fired a rocket into their first safe house.

“Eames kissed you?” Cobb demanded, turning his head to look at Ariadne.

“Absolutely not,” Eames said with fever.

Ariadne shook her head. “No, Arthur,” Ariadne answered.

Cobb's head looked like it was at a tennis match. "Arthur kissed you," he turned to glare at Arthur. "When? Why?"

"During the Fischer job," Ariadne replied.

"On the job?" Cobb looked like he was ready to explode. "You were screwing about while on the job," he said angrily, looking at Arthur. "Is that why you weren't doing your job? I knew I shouldn't have called you in on this one."

Arthur lifted an eyebrow and looked, for the most part very calm, but his voice negated that. "You know what?" he said. "I'm done. You can figure this mess out on your own. You should have stayed home with your kids where you belong. Not that you should be going anywhere near somnacin again anyway; not after your trips to Limbo. And you can try to talk Johansen out of killing you and Ariadne and going after your families. I'm out. Done. Do not contact me again."

Arthur turned on his heel. Picked up his satchel that was sitting on the table and walked towards the door. He gave Eames a brief nod as he passed and all Eames could do was watch him go for the moment. They were now officially screwed.

"Get back here!" Cobb yelled. "I will ruin you in dreamshare!"

Arthur didn't even respond. Cobb didn't have that kind of power and after this fiasco no one was going to listen to him anyway. But Arthur had the power to ruin Cobb; Arthur probably even had a plan for that in his back pocket in case it was ever needed.

Cobb turned on him. "This is your fault," he pointed his finger and stabbed Eames in the chest.

Eames grabbed Cobb's finger and twisted. "Don't poke me," he said, each word very clearly enunciated. He let go of Cobb's finger with a little push. "As you might recall, you were both point and extractor for this job. You weren't even going to call in Arthur —the man who gave up almost two years of his life so you could get back to your family. So," he said, waving his hand to encompass the room and everything that had gone wrong in the last few days, "this is all your fault. Again. But this time instead of getting Mal killed you are going to get Ariadne killed."

He turned to look at Ariadne. "I'm sure Arthur sat you down sometime during that first job and talked to you about having an exit plan in case it was needed. Knowing him, he probably helped you set it up so it wouldn't fall apart. Since until dreamshare, criminal activity wasn't in your wheelhouse. You need to use it. Just you," he said pointing at her. "Do not try to adapt it to save Cobb or it will just get you both killed. Do not go back to your old life. Do not reach out to any of your family that you particularly care about."

"Stop!" Cobb shouted. "You're scaring her and none of this is necessary."

Eames snorted and looked at Ariadne. "You should be scared," he said with conviction. "Do you think those people shooting at us were projections? Do you think they blew up the safe house hoping we weren't in there? No, someone wants either you," he said looking straight at Cobb, "or all of us dead. I'd like to not die. But you seem to think you can dream your way out of all this. Good luck with that."

He started to walk away. "It should probably be said,'' he began, turning slightly to look back at Cobb. "That you can't go home either. Though, if Matheison's people know as much about you as Johansen does then your children could become pawns to get to you.” Eames paused again. “Unless Arthur has a contingency in place for that." Eames snorted; it was Arthur. "He probably has one. That's probably the last thing you will ever get from him is their safety; and it probably doesn't include you.”

Eames didn’t even wait for a response; he just left through the same door as Arthur.

Their marriage hadn't started out as anything really, Eames thought, as he left the building, until it had. He would gladly give up dreamshare to keep it. He had barely made it a few steps before an SUV sped up and an arm with a gun reached out one of the windows and began firing. He dropped to the ground, but heard the bullets impact the building and windows above him.

When the car screamed off around the corner he slowly climbed back to his feet and looked around, checking for a second attempt or another car. Clearly they were being tracked somehow. He spun on his heel and went back inside. It looked like neither Cobb or Ariadne had been hit, but Ariadne was now just sitting on the floor crying. The large window for the room they had been in had been hit with several bullets, shattering the glass and sending it to the floor.

He knelt down in front of her. "Love, this is real," he said, touching her lightly on the shoulder. She jerked back at his touch. "You understand that, right?" She nodded. "Good. Now I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?" She looked up and nodded again between sobs. "Excellent."

He helped her to her feet. "I know Cobb didn't, but I bet when Arthur arrived he gave you an identity to use just for this job. And, it's not the one from the exit plan." He was trying to step her through things." Do you still have the driver's license and credit card?"

"Yes," she sniffled.

He gave her a little encouraging nod. "You are going to leave everything behind here. No jewelry, phone, keys, jacket, or sunglasses. Anything they could have put a tracker in. You take the cash you have, the credit card, the ID, and the clothes on your back. You are going to get on the next city bus that stops at the stop down the road. Get off after five stops." Eames knew that would get her into a more populated area. "You need to go into the first clothing store or thrift store you can find. You are going to buy new clothes from head to toe, under and out," he pointed out to make sure she understood. "You are then going to check into the first cheap hotel. Shower. It will make you feel better. Change your clothes. Leave the old clothes and leave the hotel. Do not stay any longer than you need."

He paused but kept looking at her until she gave him a nod. He was avoiding mentioning that there were substances that could be used to track her that could be in or on her body or clothes. But a hot shower and a change of clothes could get rid of some of them; especially if a tracker had just been placed on her clothes. "Go into another store. Buy a bag you can carry, some more clothes. Can you get to where Arthur had you store your new identity and exit plan on just the license?"

She wiped her eyes. "Yes," she whispered.

"Good. Take the city train to the airport and buy an airline ticket to wherever that is. If anyone asks why you are traveling so light, you say you had an expected death in the family. That will normally get you sympathy and understanding for your harried appearance. When you land wherever it is you are going, buy another ticket to another city with your current identity. Throw the ID, credit card, and the ticket in the garbage as you leave the airport. You go directly to wherever you stored your exit plan and follow whatever directions he wrote up to go with that plan because I know he gave you some type of packet as Arthur is very thorough. You leave here and you do not look back. Understand?"

"I," Ariadne began, but then reached out and hugged him. "Thank you," she sniffled into his chest. "Tell Arthur too," she added, then let him go. She rooted through a bag on the floor and pocketed what Eames figured was the cards and cash and then began removing her jewelry and the scarf she had wrapped around her neck as she walked towards the door.

Eames turned to look at Cobb who had finally moved to sit in a chair. "You," he said, clearly disgusted. "I won't help. This mess is all yours."

Cobb just glared at him and Eames just couldn't anymore with that man and left without another word.

This time when he left the building he followed the advice he gave Ariadne. The bus ride would give him time to figure out where Arthur would go.

He sunk down into the bus seat and let his mind drift slightly to years back.

"I need you to sign this," Arthur told him, sliding a half visible piece of paper across the table —the top half covered by the file folder it was in. "With your real name." Eames looked from the document to Arthur. He tried to lift the folder to read the document, but Arthur put his hand on it. "Just sign it."

"And how do you know Eames isn't my real name?" he asked, curiously.

Arthur gave him a look. "Same way I know that you used to work for MI-5."

Okay, point to Arthur there. And another for a way he stressed used to and the implications that came with that. "Arthur," he said, most sincerely, "I'm not signing anything, without knowing what it is, especially with my legal name as I still use it when I'm not doing all this. I'm not the Cobbs."

Arthur made a noise that could almost either be a polite snort or laughter. Eames wasn't sure because he'd never heard Arthur make that sound before. Eames could see it in Arthur's eyes that the other man was running multiple scenarios through his mind. It was fascinating to watch. He'd worked with Arthur a handful of times and the man, while lacking any type of active imagination in the dreams, was very good at running the operational side of things. Very good.

"Fine," Arthur said, lifting his hand. "I need a favor," he admitted. "And you are the least likely person to get me killed in or out of dreamshare."

“High praise,” Eames commented. The folder contained all the paperwork and the certificate for a marriage in England. The signing officiate was even from the tiny village that Eames had lived in through most of his teen years —he was definitely not asking how Arthur had found that. The paperwork was back dated two years ago. "Darling," he drew out the word just slightly, "you haven't even asked."

He saw Arthur roll his eyes, but he said nothing and just waited on Arthur. "Fine," Arthur breathed out. "Mr. Eames, would you do me the favor of marrying me so that I can have a legal exit strategy to another country when this all goes to hell and every side denies that any of this shit exists or is even possible?”

Eames laughed, but he did wonder if he could get Arthur into bed now. He'd actually been wondering that since they'd met. "When you put it that way, I'll sign as long as this exits me as well."

He didn’t know why he was surprised when Arthur pulled another folder out of his satchel, but he was. Eames glanced through the paperwork. And he would admit this only to himself, Arthur was scary as hell and very well trained by which every agency had trained him. He looked up from the paperwork. "How about we make this official?"

"No."

"I know you don't like being messy."

"I like messy just fine," Arthur paused, "sometimes. But I don't get involved with coworkers."

"Yet you are going to marry one?"

"Yes."

They'd been able to keep it professional for eight months and two more jobs. Then the Hanson job had gone bad and they had ended up in bed together for we're still alive sex. But Arthur was as good as his word, no sex while on a job. Before or after, absolutely, but never on the job. The only thing he seemed to be able to get away with was calling Arthur darling a nickname he didn't use for anyone else; everyone else was love, pet, mate, petal, or other such words.

But Eames missed not being able to sleep with Arthur on the jobs they did together because god, he was efficient in everything he did. And Eames truly meant that. He wasn't going another two years where he only saw Arthur when he could safely get away from Cobb.

The bus jerked to a stop and Eames knew what Arthur was going to do; he was going to use that exit plan from years ago. And probably burn half of dreamshare while doing so. The thing Eames didn't know was where Arthur was at that moment and how to find him. Plus he had to hope that Arthur wasn't lying injured in an alleyway because of the drive-by shooter from earlier. He didn't remember hearing gunshots but that meant nothing. For now he was going with the belief that Arthur was alive and just in the wind. He laughed quietly to himself when he thought that Arthur's exit plan probably had forty-two or more steps and by now the other man was probably on something like step twenty-three.

Eames had a lot of catching up to do.

He got off the bus at a stop right past a large building that held a fitness center and its associated store. He bought a set of too expensive workout clothes for what they were supposed to be used for but he guessed people liked to be fashionable in some gyms. He bought a small drawstring gym bag and a couple of other supplies the store offered and shoved everything into the bag so he would look like someone hitting the gym after work. He waited a couple of minutes, faking a phone call with the set of earbuds he bought for a device he didn't have. Then proceeded to enter the fitness center while the clerk at the check-in desk was busy. He made it to the locker room without being stopped and then got lost in the chaos of gym goers. He showered twice. Cleaned the still healing bullet graze. Thankfully it hadn't reopened during the dive away from the bullets. He wrapped his thigh with the coban self-adherent wrap he'd purchased in the gym's store. Threw his old clothes and shower supplies into multiple trash cans around the locker room. Left the logo-emblazoned towel he had purchased draped over the bench in front of the locker he pretended was his —it would look like someone had forgotten it. He slipped on the running shoes and exited the building with a couple of other people.

He walked down the street until he found a barber shop. He had the sides of his hair trimmed down to almost a buzz and the top shortened so he wouldn't have to gel it back like people were used to seeing him with.

A new temporary cell phone was next and then shopping for new clothes. He exited the last store in a pair of jeans and a soft bluish-gray short-sleeved t-shirt that showed off the tattoos on his arms. Again, something that maybe only two or three in dreamshare knew about —Mal was dead, Arthur was missing, and Cobb was clearly out of his mind. The further Eames got from where he left Cobb the more like his old non-dreamshare self he felt like. Maybe it really had been time to break with somnacin and the world it came with. There were plenty of things he could do in the real world; both legal and illegal.

Instead of the airport, Eames went to the Amtrak station. He needed to fly out from another city than Ariadne. He also had to make several stops to pick up things and that would require changing identities at each stop to be safe. All before he could implement his exit plan because he knew he was going to need a passport to get to Arthur.

Eames spent almost a day hopping between rental cars, taxis, and two different trains to pick up the things he needed to get out of the states. His final train stop was Ontario, California followed by a ten minute taxi ride to Ontario International Airport. In a little over two days he would be stepping foot in the tiny village where he was born.

He was hoping Arthur had left him a message at the small vacation cottage that was in the names on their marriage license. It had become a home away from home for both of them and he was really hoping they wouldn't have to sell it. He and Arthur had used it as a rendezvous spot as the village was not something anyone would even think would be their style. It was quaint and quiet. And a fair distance from any real city center.

They had been there when they had gotten the news of Mallorie Cobb's death. Arthur had left with the intention of returning a few days later but that had never happened. Eames had closed their home down and they hadn't returned until shortly after the Fischer job had ended. The first two weeks were just for them alone —no dreamshare, no running, no scheming. There had been a week filled with a handful of arguments; mostly about the Cobbs. It had given them time to talk. Something they had not truly done with Arthur running after Cobb. After that it had been them traveling, non-dreamshare jobs, and making the cottage a home that neither of them had had for a while.

Eames had still been a little putout with Arthur's decision to chase after Cobb. He understood it, but it had still ticked him off. Neither one of them had had both their parents through their childhoods and Arthur was trying to make sure that Phillipa and James did. He had understood that, but he had always thought that Cobb hadn't understood that Arthur had given up two years of his life to ensure the man got home to his children.

And now Eames was pissed at Cobb all over again because he threw that chance away. Threw away all the effort that Arthur had gone through. He wondered if Cobb had even realized that his cut of the Fischer job —the money he had turned around and given to Yusuf to switch out the somnacin to something they had not tested— had been much less than everyone's. He knew Arthur had always taken a percentage from the Cobbs' payouts, without their permission, and set it aside for their children in case something went wrong.

Eames had two very long flights to make it from the States to the UK and then a drive to the cottage to put it all behind him.

"Agent James," a woman's voice called to him even before he had finished climbing out of his car. Technically it was Arthur’s car, but his —which Arthur enjoyed driving more— hadn’t been in their shared storage unit.

Eames turned with a smile. "Now Mrs. Bryant, how many times have I told you to call me James," he said pleasantly.

Mrs. Bryant, who was five feet if that, and nearly eighty, gave him a stern look but smiled nonetheless. She firmly did not believe in being familiar with people who were not her family; whether James was his last name or first name, made no difference. She and her husband lived in the cottage next door and she kept their place aired out and fresh for them.

"Your husband said you might be passing through." Eames let go of a little of the worry he hadn't really been able to get rid of until then. Arthur was alive, or at least had been in the last forty-eight hours.

Eames changed his expression to one he hoped showed a little regret. "So I missed him, then?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "He left early this morning." He had missed Arthur by less than twelve hours. "He said you would both be back later this week. You were both wrapping cases. He mentioned something about retirement," she added. "I did wonder if it had to do with his injury."

Eames straightened. "How did he look?" he asked. "Truthfully as you know how he is, Mrs. Bryant, not always as forthcoming when it comes to himself."

"Favoring his left," she answered. "Slight limp. He had Mr. Bryant help him rewrap his ribs. I think you both deserve a little rest as you look worn to the bone as well and your lack of fancy suits is not hiding it as well as you had hoped."

Eames let out a laugh. He did have to wonder what Mrs. Bryant did for a living before she retired. Perhaps he would ask one day; or get Arthur to tell him because he was pretty sure Arthur knew.

"He left you this," she said, handing him a small locked courier bag. "There is a stew and fresh bread in your kitchen. Do try and rest before you leave again," she said as she walked back to her home.

Eames grabbed the small carry-on from the car and headed into the cottage. The rustic look that kept it blended in with the rest of the cottages down the lane ended in the foyer with the exception of the beams that ran across the ceilings in most of the rooms. The contents and furniture were a mix of them both. The wall art, some originals, some fantastic forgies, a small framed black and white photo of he and Arthur that looked like it could be from their wedding sat on a shelf.

He picked up the photo. "You better still be alive, you well-dressed, specificity-requiring arse."

Eames showered away the twenty plus hours of airplanes and put on his own clothes before padding barefoot into the kitchen for the meal that Mrs. Bryant had promised. He spun the dial on the courier bag to the birthdate of Arthur's favorite superhero and pulled out two envelopes, a USB drive, his real passport and credentials, and a handwritten note from Arthur.

The first envelope had the word "apart" written in large blocky-letters. The other had "stay" written across it. He glared at the two envelopes and tossed the one with "apart" written on it to the side. He wanted to be annoyed with Arthur, and maybe he was a little for even thinking he would leave their relationship or marriage. Most days he liked being married to Arthur.

Before he could get too much into his head, he opened the note.

E -

God, I hope you are reading this and Cobb hasn't gotten you killed. I will be rather put out if he has. By the way, I'm fine. No doubt Mrs. Bryant told you my ribs are wrapped and I was limping. I really am fine. Two cracked ribs and probably a class one sprain. But no one is following me any longer.

Don't get pissy about the two envelopes. I lov But I needed to give you a choice. The drive contains information that your actual employers will want. I passed an identical copy to my former employer. I have officially resigned. I'm contemplating taking that job with The Hague. There's an offer for you as well, if you want.

P&J and their grandparents have been relocated and are safe from harm from their unstable parent. S was not happy to hear about C's issues; including not taking the time as prescribed and trying to take a competitor's contract while still under his employment. It is possible that due to a few known mental issues C has been taken in on a psych hold.

Eames started laughing. He wondered if there was video. Any and all parts of dreamshare was going to sound like a fantasy and maybe it was for the best. He hadn't missed what Arthur tried to triple cross through then diagonally-hatch marked out. He was accustomed to reading Arthur's penmanship. They really did need to talk about their feelings.

A has decided for an early retirement; I wish her the best.

S has bought J's company and they are no longer an issue. I handled the situation with M personally. Any debt I felt I owed C is now paid.

As for you and I. We can go it together or apart. I leave it to you. I should be back in three, four days tops. I hope to see If you’re not here, I’ll understand and hope you the best.

- A

Eames didn't even bother opening the "apart" envelope. He took one of the sharpie markers from the bowl in the center of the table and artfully drew the word "never" on it and left the envelope on the table.

He opened the other one. There was indeed an offer from The Hague inside. Eames made a promise to himself to get the story of how Arthur knew Inspector Dorn.

Right now he needed to pack for an overnight trip. He had a job he needed to resign from and one to accept. And, he wanted, no needed, to make sure he was here when Arthur got back.

Resigning took longer than he had expected. So had the interview with Inspector Dorn. But in the end both were done. He would start a new —legitimate— job in two months with a partner he knew he could trust; and he was actually looking forward to the work. There was no doubt in his mind that Arthur had already scoped out and probably purchased them a flat somewhere near the officers that the Inspector had set up, but that would have to wait for next month. The next two weeks were just going to be them.

By the other car parked out front of their cottage he hadn't beaten Arthur back so he was glad he had left the "never" envelope on the table.

Arthur looked good, even with the gun in his hand that was not pointed at Eames as he came through the door but at the ground. They really did need to get that annoying rattle in Arthur's car fixed. Arthur looked more relaxed than Eames had seen him in years. His hair was not slicked back, a little shorter, more finger tousled, more natural. He still looked serious, and a little dangerous; but less hardened, even with the gun in his hand. Even with him dressed in jeans and a really worn geeky t-shirt about penrose tribars. This was the non-dreamshare, not working, mostly relaxed Arthur.

"I love you," Arthur said, putting the gun down on the dining table.

Eames grinned and walked towards the other man. "I know."

"Do not Han Solo me right now."

"Darling, I love you too," he responded, stepping into Arthur's personal space.

The kiss said it all.

~end~