AN: I love this pairing, so I hope whoever reads this enjoys it :)

Eames fell against the soft contours of his bed immediately, breathing in the scent of alcohol and smoke. He gripped the poker chip in his hand tighter, his knuckles turning a ghastly white.

He turned his head staring at the shafts of dusty sunlight, which filtered through his window, until he could only see Arthur's face. There were shouts outside and he could feel the familiar dread, which Eames associated with Cobb's yelling.

The door splintered and crashed to the floor. Eames didn't move from where he lay on the bed.

"Eames." It was Ariadne's voice, which brought him back to reality.

"You can't possibly expect me to do this mission, love." Eames could hear his voice, but he wasn't really aware of saying anything at all.

"Eames, look at yourself! Look at where you are! You have nothing! Why can't you understand that this is the only way?" Her voice cracked like a fault line, and she rubbed her eyes. Cobb was in the room as well, Eames realized with a jolt, and he turned over on his back to glare at him.

"I would rather rot in this dump, than betray that stupid stick in the mud." His words came out slightly harshly, and Ariadne blinked as though he had struck her.

"Eames…" Eames jumped when he heard the metallic click of the gun.

"Let's put it this way… You don't have a choice." Eames glared at Cobb who didn't flinch; instead he continued to point the gun steadily at the forger's head.

"Right. Right." Eames slowly sat up, looking around at his shabby apartment.

"It's for the best Eames. I mean look," Ariadne gestured around his apartment, which held nothing in it but a wardrobe, a few lamps, a bed and a shabby bathroom, "You don't have anything. You need the money."

Eames chose to glare at her.

"I don't want to stab him in the back like this though. He hasn't done a thing to deserve it, and both of you know it, you just don't want to admit it to yourselves." Cobb and Ariadne looked at each other uneasily.

"So when does this bloody awful mission begin? And do we actually have any instructions?" Eames asked, tucking his poker chip safely back in the front pocket of his shirt. Cobb didn't miss the way he did it, gripping the front of his shirt to make sure it was still there, as though frightened it might vanish completely.

"Well, we figured it'd be much easier to wait and do some research on Arthur before moving in for the attack. But like the guy said, no random kidnapping off the street and then forcing him into a dream world. We have to get close enough to him for him to trust us completely. You know how Arthur is, he doesn't really trust us at all, he just acts like he does."

Eames could feel his insides fluttering every time Cobb said Arthur's name.

"Who is the guy who's actually hiring us for this mission?" The words fell like boulders on to the floor beneath them, cracking the concrete beneath their feet and leaving them feeling uncomfortable.

It was Aridane who spoke first, beating Cobb to it.

"The guy who's hiring us is his brother, and some other guy, but we don't know much about him."

Eames let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"Okay. Just give me a minute." With that, Eames strode over to his tiny bathroom, and let the icy water run. He splashed some onto his face, hitting himself as he did so, and gazed at his reflection.

…

Ten years earlier, Paris:

"Eames, our point man has been killed. Murdered, I mean." Cobb's voice was ghost-like, weary.

"What? How?" Eames had heard his voice shake slightly, and had cursed himself for it.

He could hear Cobb's intake of breath over the phone.

"They trapped him and his family in their house, and set it on fire. They're all dead." A horrible sickening lurching feeling twisted Eames's gut. The man had only been twenty-seven. This was their fault for getting him involved in something like this in the first place.

"I'm sorry about that." The words carried something else with them, a painful melody of regret, for words that were too hard to formulate. In Eames's opinion, the English language lacked certain phrases for when someone you knew died, or something bad happened on the news, or when you knew it was your fault someone was no longer around.

…

Two months later, Paris:

"I've found us a new point man, Eames!" Cobb's face was shining with delight, obviously extremely pleased with himself. Mal hushed him. "You'll scare the unfortunate boy away, Dom."

The boy sat timidly in his chair. He could only have been what? Twenty? Twenty-one maybe. The boy had very dark hair, ivory skin, and very deep brown eyes, which made Eames think of autumn leaves, or melted chocolate. Eames also noticed the way the boy gripped his elbows, as though scared if he let go of them, he would fly apart.

"What's your name, love?" Eames had asked, trying to be cheerful and friendly, but what he got in response he had remembered had been somewhat of a surprise: "Why does it concern you?" which, incidentally, had been accompanied with a famous 'Arthur' glare.

Eames had not said anything at first, then he had smirked.

"Cocky one, isn't he?" He had asked Cobb and Mal conversationally, as though Arthur was not there.

Eames knew he had triumphed in the way Arthur's cheeks, so finely sculpted, had been stained by a very subtle pink tone.

"Don't mock the poor boy, Eames." Mal had said, in that calming melodic voice of hers.

"Don't talk about me as if I'm not here either." Arthur had interjected at that point, and with another 'Arthur' glare at Mal he had snapped, "And I'm not a boy! I'm already twenty." He had said this, as though it settled the matter.

Cobb had rolled his eyes at the ceiling, as though praying for patience, and had then introduced the boy.

"Arthur. His name is Arthur." To this very day, Eames still wondered whether or not that was his real name, or just an alias Cobb had given him when he found him.

"Where'd you pick the boy up Cobb?"

Cobb had hesitated, seeing the look Arthur was giving him, and had then said, "Nowhere, and everywhere."

Eames hadn't really understood at all at the time, but he supposed now, that Cobb could only have meant the streets.

"Shall we see what he can do?"

…

Present:

Eames adjusted himself on his chair, plumping up one of the pillows, and spoke, "So, what exactly are we trying to extract from Arthur? I mean… What exactly are we being paid to find out?"

Cobb and Ariadne looked at each other. Yusuf, who had joined them at the last minute coughed.

"We're being paid to find out whether or not Arthur killed his father." The sentence hung in the air like unwanted wasps on a summer's day.

After a short pause, Eames nodded, and then scribbled something down in his notes.

"I see… Well, this does come as a surprise, who'd have thought nice, obedient little Arthur would have blood on his hands?" Though, deep down inside, Eames was suddenly starting to piece bits together. Was this why Arthur had been on the streets?

"Basically, we just need to break into his mind and extract that information then?" Eames posed another question, which seemed to irritate Cobb who frowned slightly.

"Basically… Yes."

"So…" Ariadne coughed slightly, then continued. "Did Jacob tell you exactly how their father died in that little…" Ariadne paused to glare at Cobb, "talk of yours?" Eames guessed that they probably hadn't let her in with them.

Cobb didn't flinch at Ariadne's harsher tone, instead he looked at her slightly disdainfully.

"Those two are like a married couple sometimes."

Arthur's voice rang out from somewhere in the recesses of Eames's mind. When Arthur had said that, Ariadne and Cobb had been arguing over what colour paperclips to use for a particular file.

"… so basically, Arthur and Jacob's father was found dead in a pool of blood in the kitchen. One of the kitchen knives was missing. They never found it." Cobb's voice drowned out the memories being replayed in Eames's head. He shook himself inwardly, and stared indifferently at a button which was missing on Cobb's shirt.

"So basically, we have to become close friends with Arthur, so that he'll gain our trust, then when he's not looking we'll slip something in his drink and gain access to his mind." This sounded ridiculous to Eames.

"He'll bloody well know he's dreaming, and he'll know what we're up to. Who's to say he hasn't been trained to deal with this kind of thing? He'll know exactly what we're doing."

Cobb frowned at the tone in Eames's voice.

"Look Eames. You of all people shouldn't be pointing out the problems in this plan, as you've gambled away everything you own. Secondly, Ariadne thought it would be possible to create a labyrinth so big, we can keep running from him, his projections and the possible private army."

"That's impossible Cobb. You're talking pretty damn big there."

"It's going to be bigger, and much more complex than 'pretty damn big', Eames." Cobb replied icily.

…

Nine years earlier, Chicago:

Arthur was frowning in concentration, attempting to get his vision back by staring very carefully at the liquid in his glass.

"Would you say that's three quarters full… or one quarter empty ?"

Eames laughed at the cross-eyed point man.

"Darling, I think that's pretty damn empty," and with that, he had ordered the barman to top up Arthur's beer.

"Eames… This tastes revolting you know?" The barman shot Arthur a nasty look.

"You don't have to drink it, love."

"It's rude not to." Eames resisted the urge to point out that Arthur had already insulted the barman, and he might as well continue doing so now.

"It's not fair Eames. You've had about three times the amount of alcohol I have, and you're not even tipsy yet."

"It's a good thing one of us isn't Arthur." But Arthur didn't hear him, because at that moment he decided to slump sideways, landing in Eames's lap. Eames had stared dumbfounded at the sight of Arthur – in poise, never letting his walls down Arthur – sprawled on his lap like a baby, and realized in horror, but mostly amusement, that Arthur had fallen asleep.

Eames had paid the barman, and had carried Arthur bridal style – yes bridal style – to a hotel Eames was staying at. Once there he had laid Arthur down on the bed, only to feel strangely empty. He realized with shock, that Arthur had been jus the right weight, so that when he had put him down, he had felt something missing.

In the early hours of the morning, Eames had woken Arthur up.

"What on earth are you doing, waking me up this early Eames?" Arthur had demanded indignantly, clutching his head, because the migraine he had received from the alcohol, had not been a nice one.

"I was making sure you were dreaming of me, darling." And then, Eames had placed a small kiss on Arthur's forehead. Arthur had immediately lashed out, kicking Eames off the bed, and wrapping the covers more firmly around his small frame, as though it were of some protection to him.

Neither Eames, nor Arthur had mentioned it the next morning, just like so many other things, which had occurred between them.

AN: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter :) Feedback is appreciated.