a/n: I just couldn't resist this fandom. Inception has enslaved my mind.

Disclaimer: They're not my characters, more's the pity.

They find him at an old warehouse in New York City as he's wrapping up his latest job.

Cobb and Ariadne are out getting the team's payment from the client, leaving Arthur and Eames behind to clean up and make sure there's nothing left to indicate they'd ever been there.

They're caught up in a rain of bullets before they know what's happening. One bullet manages to graze Arthur's right shoulder before the two of them find cover behind a stack of crates along the wall opposite the main entrance.

"Who the hell are these people?" Arthur growls, firing off another shot at one of the black clothed men that is foolish enough to show himself.

"If we knew that, I doubt we'd be in this mess, darling," Eames responds shooting another man in the leg. There are at least twelve masked figures who've made it into the warehouse, a relatively manageable number for the well trained duo if it weren't for the unknown number outside laying down constant fire through the unfortunately numerous windows.

The barrage stops as suddenly as it started, leaving a ringing stillness in its wake.

One man's voice breaks the tense silence. "Come on out, Mr. Eames," his snide voice instructs. "We're only here for you, though if you want the rest of your little group to become casualties we'd be more than happy to wait for that other man and that pretty little girl to return."

Eames hears Arthur suck in a breath beside him, knuckles clenching tighter around the Glock in his hand. They're running out of ammunition fast, caught unawares as they were.

"Enlighten me," Eames snaps out to buy time, taking stock of their current situation. "How'd you track down silly ol' me?"

Arthur looks at Eames and gestures that he's got two clips left. Eames grimaces. He's not much better off, and they still don't know how many assailants are waiting for them outside.

"It wasn't too difficult," that irritatingly snide voice supplies. "Mr. Wes was quite helpful before we shot him in the head."

Arthur watches as the color drains from Eames' face.

"You can try to run, Mr. Eames, but we will find you."

There is a grim set to Eames' mouth as his eyes dart from side to side, a look Arthur has come to recognize as the forger running quickly through his options. For once Arthur is at a loss to come up with something, their resources as limited as they are. Eames' expression settles into one of grim resignation as he turns to Arthur, and it's one that sends a foreboding shiver down Arthur's spine.

"Seems inception's finally caught up with me," he says quietly, giving Arthur a weak smile before turning to break cover.

Arthur's hand shoots out to tightly grab Eames' wrist preventing him from moving any further. "Don't do this," he whispers with a hint of desperation Arthur will never admit to.

The hopeless longing in the look Eames directs him at those three words slams into Arthur like a speeding train. There's a split second of indecision in the forger's eyes before he pulls Arthur towards him.

Their lips meet in what is possibly the most breathtaking kiss Arthur has ever experienced, all teeth, tongues and naked desperation.

The sound of a throat clearing across the room ends the moment far too soon for either of them, and the misery in those storm grey eyes breaks something in Arthur. At some point, Arthur's grip had gone slack and Eames turns and walks out with his hands raised before Arthur can stop him.

"Guess we'd best be on our way, gentlemen," Eames says with a forced joviality. He crosses the room slowly so as not to instigate another firefight.

It seems like an eternity before Eames reaches the man who'd been addressing them. The man gives him an ugly crooked-toothed grin, the last thing Eames sees before he's knocked out from behind and dragged away.

Arthur's dialing Cobb before the last man leaves.

Arthur has identified Adam Wes by the time Cobb and Ariadne return to the warehouse. Arthur just looks at Dom with purpose, wasting no time in divulging every detail about what occurred.

"Right before he surrendered Eames mentioned something about inception catching up with him." Arthur levels a look at Dom that asks Do you know what he meant?

Cobb pauses a moment, wracking his brain for any hint. "It isn't Fisher," Arthur continues. "If that was the case they would've been after all of us."

Cobb's eyes light up. "He mentioned when I went to recruit him for the Fisher job that he'd been part of a group that had tried inception and failed."

"Former mark looking for retribution?" Arthur clarifies. Dom nods. The extractor doesn't miss the way Arthur's fingers occasionally drift up to touch his lips, as if remembering some phantom touch.

It takes Arthur another twenty-eight hours along with a few favors that he calls in to discover the identity of the blond who had done all of the talking.

It only takes him thirty minutes after that to find the hitmen's location.

Arthur is tucking a suppressed Beretta inside his suit jacket when a slim hand comes into view palm up.

He looks up to see Ariadne looking at him with grim determination. "I'm coming," she states simply.

While Cobb immediately and firmly rejects this idea, it is the dark murderous rage brewing in Arthur's eyes that convinces her to stay behind and contact Saito and Yusuf.

This is real life, and Arthur has no plans to give quarter.

They track the group to a rundown warehouse on the docks, a cliché that Arthur would have scoffed at under less pressing circumstances.

This time Arthur is well armed, and the eight men patrolling the perimeter are silently taken down by him and Cobb in under three minutes. After dumping the bodies into the water they slip in soundlessly through one of the side doors. Arthur falters in shock when the center of the room comes into view, barely noticing Cobb tensing up beside him.

Eames is sitting in a wooden chair surrounded by eight men, all armed with assault rifles and laughing at their subdued victim.

Eames' arms are pulled painfully back, hands bound behind the chair and tugging on what looks to be a dislocated shoulder. Each leg is tightly bound to a chair leg, the awkward positioning of the left hinting at it being broken. His face is heavily bruised, a small cut above his brow leaking blood into his eye. What makes Arthur balk is his blood soaked shirt, crimson life seeping steadily from an unidentifiable wound, dripping from the chair to pool at Eames' feet.

Arthur can't tell if he's conscious until one of the men steps forward and curls his pudgy fingers into the forger's hair, yanking his head back painfully. The groan that escapes from Eames twists Arthur's stomach. The man with blond hair steps in front of Eames, smiling in a way that has Arthur and Cobb on edge as they begin to inch closer without drawing attention to themselves.

"It's unfortunate that we don't have the time to draw this out longer, Mr. Eames," the man laments, and Arthur remembers that voice all too well. "You've been such a pleasure to…entertain." The man raises his pistol and presses it to the gash on Eames' brow.

The gunshot echoes in the warehouse, accompanied by the blond man's screams where he writhes on the ground clutching his blood soaked knee. Arthur doesn't lower his gun an inch, his deadly focus back in place, and Cobb takes that as his silent cue.

The pair is on the stunned men before any of them can recover; Cobb's face full of righteous anger and Arthur's a mask of cold calculated fury. When they have killed everyone but the still screaming ringleader Arthur gestures at Cobb to get to work untying Eames, who'd long since gone silent.

Arthur slowly makes his way towards the injured man who'd been attempting to drag himself to the door. The point man keeps his stride measured as he approaches his terrified victim, bending along the way to pick up the man's gun where he'd dropped it.

"Don't move," Arthur orders with icy calm. The man freezes. "Turn around."

Slowly, his trembling prey complies. Looking at his wide-eyed sweaty face, it is Arthur's turn to sneer. "Pathetic."

Wide eyes narrow at the insult and the man responds through gritted teeth, "I should've killed you when I had the chance."

Arthur allows the murderous rage that courses through him show through in his gaze as he slowly, deliberately moves forward and grinds his heel into the man's already shattered knee. The resulting cry is more satisfying than he cares to admit.

As the scream tapers off into pained sobbing, Arthur raises the man's gun to aim between fearful eyes.

"You fucked with the wrong team," he states calmly, and pulls the trigger.

Eames' agonized moan draws Arthur swiftly to his side as Cobb tenderly lays him on the cold floor, away from the pool of blood. Cobb looks up with a despair Arthur refuses to acknowledge as Arthur's perfectly tailored slacks come in contact with the filthy concrete.

"I'm going to hide the bodies," Dom informs him. "The paramedics are on the way."

Arthur nods numbly as he removes his suit jacket, bundling it up to try and stop the bleeding from what looks to be a knife wound just below Eames' ribs. It's difficult as the slightest pressure near his ribs elicits a gurgling whimper from those normally soft lips. Arthur's worried that some of them are broken. Weak fingers grip his now blood drenched cufflink.

"Kn-knew you'd…find me," Eames croaks out with a small bloody smile. Arthur's heart is racing as blood trickles from those beautiful lips.

"Of course I did," he manages to whisper. "I'm the best point man in the business." Arthur grasps Eames' other hand in his own. "You didn't have to do this," he chokes out.

Eames gives him that little smile that says Quit trying to fool yourself, darling. "D-Didn't have much choice, love." And Arthur grudgingly admits that Eames is right. Somewhere in the distance, Arthur can hear sirens.

"Just a little longer, Eames," Arthur urges, panic starting to set in as he sees his friend's eyes flutter closed. "Eames!"

They slowly ease back open, but Arthur can see that it's a herculean effort. "Guess I won't…be able to make Phillipa's…birthday, huh?"

Leave it to Eames to bring up birthdays as his life is quickly slipping away.

"Don't you dare leave me, Eames," Arthur commands fear now clear in his voice. "You kissed me remember? You can't die now."

There's a glimmer of wistful sorrow in those pain-glazed ocean eyes as Eames reaches up a shaky hand to cup Arthur's cheek. Arthur's eyes close to fend off the telltale prick of tears as he leans into the soft touch. The sirens are almost here, and in the back of his mind the professional in Arthur hopes Dom's finished hiding the bodies.

"I'm sorry Arthur," and Arthur's eyes jerk open at the use of his name and the loss of Eames' touch.

"Eames?" Arthur calls, frantically searching for a pulse. "Eames? Eames!"

There isn't one, and Arthur feels his whole world collapse as he stares down at sightless grey pools.

Blank. That's what Arthur knows he looks like, posture rigid and unapproachable. His mind is the same, empty of its normally constant calculations and observations.

The rest of the Inception team is crowded around as well. Cobb, Saito, and Yusuf all wear the same somber expression. Ariadne is crying quietly into Dom's shoulder.

Arthur can't feel anything at the moment.

But he can remember.

He can remember the hoarseness of his throat as he screamed for Eames to wake up.

He remembers the slide of the tears that ran unchecked down his cheeks as Cobb pulled him from Eames' still body so the paramedics could work.

He remembers them trying frantically to revive the forger with an oxygen pump and CPR.

He remembers watching one of the paramedics retrieving a defibrillator and cutting away Eames' now crimson shirt to reveal a portrait of bruises and the knife wound just below his ribs.

He can remember the sight of Eames' inert form arching up and flopping back down as they try again and again to shock life back into his silent heart. It's an image that will haunt Arthur for years to come.

Arthur remembers. He remembers the way his body fell limp in Dom's arms and his loud sobs as the lead paramedic called that they had a pulse.

He barely remembers the trip to the hospital, doesn't remember the arrival of Ariadne then Saito and Yusuf. He can hardly recall the endless hours they spent waiting for news of Eames' surgery.

Arthur just sits in the uncomfortable plastic chair by Eames' bedside in a sterile white room, the beeping of the numerous machines his only way of knowing that Eames is still alive.

His left leg is broken in two places, as well as a couple fingers the doctor had told them. His shoulder was dislocated and three of his ribs are broken, one of which punctured his lung. He lost a lot of blood from the knife wound, though he was lucky that it missed anything vital. There's excessive bruising as well as a few shallow cuts all along his body. Ariadne had burst into tears by this point. He did flat line on us twice during surgery but we were thankfully able to resuscitate him both times.

The doctor had gone on to explain that they didn't know when Eames would regain consciousness, if at all. Thirty-five percent chance of full recovery if he didn't wake after three or four days, with the chances of waking at all dropping exponentially after five.

Arthur had been holding silent vigil by Eames' side for eight.

He looks down at his hands and finds that he's fidgeting with his totem, rolling it in his fingers. He recalls casting the loaded die repeatedly while Eames was in surgery. Each time those three little white dots glared back at him, confirming that this nightmare was undeniably reality. It was enough to make Arthur want to sob in defeat.

Arthur rolls it again on the bedside table, covering it quickly before peering beneath. Still reality. He pockets the weighted cube and for a moment, allows the emotional and physical exhaustion to show through as he buries his face in his hands.

The digital clock by the bed reads 4:19am when Arthur jerks awake from a dead sleep. He's disoriented and confused, struggling to figure out what woke him.

"That you, darling?" a hoarse voice whispers in front of him. Arthur's breath stops.

"E-Eames?" he whispers, disbelief filling his voice.

"The one and only," the croaky voice manages to assure. Arthur gropes for Eames' hand on the bed as he reaches to turn on the small lamp beside him.

Tired but very much alive grey eyes are staring over at him. Arthur releases the hand he's grabbed to cup the stubbly cheek of the man before him, his other hand scrabbling around in his pocket in search of his six-sided lifeline. Feeling its familiar weight isn't enough for him, and the point man shakily rolls it on the table. Three. Once more he rolls it, and the result is still the same.

Real. This is real.

Arthur's lips are on Eames' in the blink of an eye, tongue sweeping across full pouty lips. Eames is quick to respond despite his injuries, and they devour each other's mouths with the passion of the dying. It isn't long before they have to break for Eames to fill his recovering lungs, but the life shining in those captivating orbs is enough to bring tears to Arthur's eyes as well as a small but genuine smile to his lips.

Arthur presses the call button to alert the nurses as his heart hammers in his chest. Medical staff swarms in to check charts and take notes on Eames' health, and Arthur takes this moment of mayhem to step outside the room. The rest of the team have roused from their hallway seats at the commotion.

One look at the light that has returned to Arthur's eyes is enough to inform them that their teammate has beaten the odds. They all file in once the nurses and doctors have vacated the small room, Eames greeting them each in turn with a smile and witty comment.

Arthur simply stands leaning against the doorframe, lips quirked in a small grin as he watches the team welcome back their fallen comrade.

It's Cobb who notices the soft looks Eames keeps shooting in Arthur's direction, and he gently corals the other three out into the hallway. He stops to squeeze Arthur's shoulder and nods briefly at Eames before following the others.

Arthur moves forward tentatively, a little more hesitant now that the euphoria brought on by Eames' awakening has died down to manageable levels.

There's so much he wants to say as he gazes at the man before him. You left me. I was so scared. Never again. I love you.

Eames is still a master at reading people, regardless of injuries. "It's okay, love," he says softly, and he reaches up to grasp Arthur's loosened tie. I'm right here. He pulls him down weakly and Arthur is only too happy to oblige.

Their lips meet for the third time, but this time it is only a brush of lips. The kiss is chaste, without desperation or overwhelming relief. It is filled with apology, with assurance that this, this moment between the two of them is real. It is more than real. It is the beginning of something that could end up shaping and defining the rest of their lives.

"I love you," Eames whispers against Arthur's lips. Arthur's heart swells with joy and he smiles softly in response.

I love you too remains unspoken but perfectly understood.

This moment is a new beginning, a second chance to explore a future together.

Arthur's never been a gambler like Eames. But just this once, he is more than willing to take a leap of faith.

~fin~