Alright now as all stories go, there is a sort of back and forth in this particular chapter. Hopefully everyone follows it, because I'd hate for anyone to get lost. Anyway hope that you enjoy it, leave a review please and that's about it. Oh and can anyone spot the Avenue Q reference? Just for fun of course :D

"So...who was the Architect before me?"

Eames glanced away from the mirror, turning to face Army. She was wearing a short black dress, a dipping neckline, allowing for a pleasant view of her cleavage while remaining tasteful. Her legs, long and well shaped, were in Spartan sandals. He figured she wore the sandals more for his benefit than for hers. He wasn't going to ask.

"Ah, the lady that bruised Arthur's heart. Her name is Ariadne." She nodded to herself before coming closer. He thought that she was going to touch him she was so close. Rather, she sidestepped him to look herself in the mirror.

Sweet heavenly father the dress was backless. Eames kept his expression in check, watching as she examined herself.

"Might I suggest a pair of earrings and your hair, lovely as it is, shouldn't hang down this way." He refrained from running his fingers through the aforementioned hair and waited to see what she would say.

"You're right."

"I'm a Forger, darling. Looks are very important in my area."

"He's not what he seems Army-he's selfish, a lecher, and he'll try to charm you. I've seen what he's done to other women."

"Don't worry Arthur, I can handle it."

"Then you're just playing with him then? There's nothing behind it?"

Well, besides lust? No, not really.

"Of course not, just relax. We're just going to visit this club and do a little recon. He'll grope me a little, I'll giggle like a bumbling brunette, we'll be fine."

"That does nothing to reassure me."

Army continued along the aisle of clothing. She eyed some of the mannequins, seeing the way the various fabrics fitted over their forms. She saw her dress at the end of the row. The mannequin even wore the perfect heels, however, she was a tall woman already, it wouldn't do to be too much taller than Eames. She walked up to the dummy, her fingers letting the silk fabric glide through her fingers. She could make tiny incisions in the fabric, wear the straps for a few knives just at her hips where the fabric bunched a little.

"You're going to wear that,"Arthur said calmly. She knew that voice, knew that her brother disapproved. He was going to have to suck it up, she wasn't going as a nun. She was going as an escort girl, they were going to see skin.

"Yes, maybe in a size smaller actually."

Arthur's mouth tightened into a grim line. They didn't need words, she already what he was thinking.

She was covered in freckles, lovely dots that somehow made her look more exotic than cute. They were along her back, progressing in spatters and spots until they disappeared to who knew where.

"Like this?"

Eames flicked his wandering eyes back to Army's hair. Her dark hair was gathered into messy curls around her head. Loose spirals hung by her ears settling against her shoulders. She had the messy, yet strangely sexy bun pinned with pearl drops. She pulled one out of her hair to show him.

It certainly looked like she could kill someone with it. The end was needle thin and just thick enough to stab someone with.

"I usually don't need to dress up my weapons but this is a special occasion, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. Now, my turn."

Army eyed Eames' reflection in the mirror. He wore a dark suit, something Arthur had probably suggested. It wasn't in Eames' usual taste thank goodness and wasn't nearly as plain as Arthur's tended to be. Army turned around and set to work on the tie. It was a little bit crooked but that would probably matter where they were going. Knowing Eames however, he'd probably made the tie crooked on purpose.

"I'm almost positive that Arthur suggested Armani."

"Positive, eh?"

"Well, yes,"Army said giving the tie a firm tug.

"It never occurred to you that I like what I wear? And that I am perfectly capable of picking out boring suits?"

"No, I just thought that you were broke and bought whatever you could afford."

"That really hurts."

"So did that teal and yellow number you wore last time. There finished."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Y'know I was wondering about this tattoo, right there on your shoulder."

Eames traced over it gently, not able to stop his hand from touching her skin. It was soft, warm. She looked over her shoulder, as if suddenly remembering it was there. She glanced up at him, her lashes long and not artificial. The dark blue eye shadow she wore made him think of a 1920s movie star.

"You ever see that movie American Beauty?"

"Can't say that I have."

"It...it's about finding beauty in whatever you see, it's about looking at everything beneath the surface, what's waiting to come up. This is Japanese calligraphy, the rough translation is 'keep looking in'."

"What am I supposed to be seeing?"

"Ask Arthur, he sees it."

Eames caught her eyes, staring off into space, no longer in their little warehouse. She was somewhere that she and Arthur had been once. He wondered what it took to make an assassin in someone as young as she? How long had it taken to shake the beauty out of her world before she had to stitch it into her skin to see it again?

"Army? Why does he hit us?"

"Because he doesn't want to touch mom."

"Is it better, not hitting mom?"

"No, just different. You want some candy?"

Army looked down at her little brother, saw the sudden realization in his eyes. He knew what happened whenever he was sent to the corner store, he was already eleven and was catching on quickly. She, at sixteen, was going to have to begin coming up with better excuses than candy. Maybe she'd teach him poker or maybe they'd build a fort out in the woods nearby. She lit up a cigarette and put it to her lips. She took out trusty zippo lighter. She had painted it to look like a zombie with his head coming off. Flick, instant decapitation, light, head's back on again.

"I don't want candy."

"Bring me something back then, some KitKats."

He looked at her and then pressed a hand just under her ribs. She flinched but made no sound. She let out a swirl of smoke, watched as it held in a cloud and slowly dispersed, disappearing into nothingness. He didn't move, she didn't ask why. She simply turned and pressed fingers against his chest.

He made a small sound of pain and she asked once more. He nodded and left her to her cigarette.

She had changed the way she walked, added more sway to her hips, and she wore a sultry smile. Her eyes were the only part of her that were real, but soon, when they entered the club, Eames was sure that that would disappear too. Eames opened the car door for her and she slid in with ease.

When he got behind the wheel, he looked over to her. "What's your name then, love?"

"Lucy. We just met, we're not steady or anything. I like to shop, giggle, and have sex. What's your name?"

Eames laughed when he heard a Valley girl accent toward the end. "My name's Antony Dilena. I like to steal, sell various items on the black market, have copious amounts of sex and gamble."

"I'm sure at least three out of those four things you've just listed are true."

"Yes, my dear, but that only adds to my disguise."

Eames started the car and adjusted the radio.

"Rock, please."

He looked at her for a moment before adjusting the dial. Oasis came on, lead singer _ singing in a melancholy voice that waxed poetic on Army's nerves.

Eames saw her mouth form the words, her lips lingering on the notes in silence. He found himself watching her for a full thirty seconds before stepping on the gas and pulling out onto the street.

"You like to stare. I'll pin it as something that Forgers do."

"You're a beautiful woman, Army."

"My dad used to say that," she said without looking at him. Eames hand tightened on the wheel but he said nothing at her comment. She had wanted a rise out of him, her comment, biting. Maybe it was a poke at her father or herself but she wanted to see if he'd show disgust. He wondered if Arthur knew, probably not.

"You should probably stop flirting with me, puts Arthur on edge."

"Yes, however, I've never been one to do as I was told."

"That's probably why Arthur can't stand you."

"And yourself?"

"I barely know you. I mean, I know enough to assassinate you but not enough to do much else."

"That so?"

"Yup."

"And killing me would be easy?"

Eames watched her eyes appraise him for a moment.

"It would be and it wouldn't take very long either, no offense."

"None taken, thanks for the honesty."

When they arrived Army let her senses dull. The valet took their car and she giggled as Eames helped her from the vehicle. The one thing about total recall was that even if she glanced at something and deemed it insignificant, later she could pull it back and give it a second look. Eames offered his elbow and she accepted it, letting her weight rest against his arm. She whispered into his ear.

"I'm drawing on all my patience, playing the bimbo. Be gentle."

"Only for you, darling,"he whispered back, planting a kiss near her ear.

Now let's play pretend.

Lucy the Call-girl and Antony Dilena walk arm and arm into the buzzing club of the decadently rich. A waiter asks where they'd like to be seated. Lucy giggles, bats her lashes. She glances up, eyes the VIP section and purrs softly at her man for the night.

"Can we go to the VIP, baby, looks like fun."

The host looks up from the scantily clad woman's breasts and eyes the VIP section. Lucy notes the fidgeting fingers the general nervousness. She brushes her hand down the host's chest, smiles when he blushes.

"Money is no object friend," and Antony dips into his pocket and withdraws a cleverly concealed stack of cash. The host understands, accepting the cash with a small bow. Lucy presses a kiss to Antony's cheek and squeezes his arm a little tighter, following the host's lead.

She looked about, taking in the large dance floor. An elevated stage had busty, barely clothed women dancing to the sensual trance. Below on the dance floor, there were other women and many men. She observed several of the men, the wall flowers, at the bar. She leans up and whispers something else to her man, he nods, a smirk on his lips.

The host leads them up another level, the sounds of pounding bass are practically an afterthought and there's only a chic restaurant. The lighting is dim and the atmosphere much different, there were mostly men there, men of power.

Lucy, pointed to a table, cooing her approval. It was just near enough the poker game but just far away enough to enjoy a tasteful meal. The host seated them, bowed awkwardly one more time when Lucy blew a not-too-subtle kiss, and left.

"Wow, well, I'm enjoying myself," Army said as she moved her chair closer to Eames'. She draped herself over the arm rest smiling up at him.

"I'm glad you are because so am I. Let's have a look at that menu shall we?"

"Good, because I'm hungry. Playing Lucy the Slut can be a little can build up an appetite."

"Very true, just looking at you makes me hungry."

Army winks and brushes her hand against Eames' wrist, taking the menu. She glances over the menu, very badly wanting to ask for the steak, medium-well, but knew that women of her station were salad-eaters and not much else. She also wanted red wine but saw a cosmopolitan in her future, maybe a Hypnotiq, which was vodka but hardly. She eyes Eames, noting the path his eyes were following.

"Yes, that short bald man, the one clearly losing his money, is our contact. He's the jealous type and was easy to sway. When we finish our meal, I'm going to get up and use the ladies room. He'll see you alone, invite you for a round and things should pick up from there."

"Very good, just one question."

"Quickly, because our waiter is coming and is about to ask for our order."

"Can you sit in my lap?"

Army eyed Eames for a split second before touching his lips with her fingers. She smiled as he shivered.

"Maybe I will but after tonight I won't be your Lucy."

Eames sighed a half-grin on his lips,"A man has to settle sometimes."