Chapter Text
"So, how is that 'never working with Yusuf again' plan going?" Eames asked, bitterly, as he cut open the top of a tin of tomatoes.
Realistically, he knew that such things would never have survived an apocalypse for this long. What was important was that, apparently, Cobb didn't, since they were in his subconscious. Eames had a mind to never tell him that nonperishables could, in fact, perish.
"It wasn't my decision," Arthur said, while he stoked the fire.
"Sometimes not choosing is still a decision, Arthur," Eames snapped. "You just went along with Cobb, as usual."
"So did you."
"No, I very much did not. I followed you down here, there is a difference."
"Is there?" Arthur asked, with an amused half smile.
"Only if you choose to think for yourself on occasion," Eames said, irritably.
Arthur snorted. "It was an emergency, Eames. There wasn't time to argue. Besides, Yusuf is on a job in Romania."
"Ah."
Well, Eames did feel better thinking that Arthur had at least checked. Perhaps it wasn't so easy to be removed from their team after all. Especially since Arthur had already forgiven far too many of Cobb's mistakes…
Arthur gave him an appraising look. "So, did you really take this job for me?"
Eames carefully maintained a small, amused smile. He really shouldn't have admitted that, but he couldn't deny it without going back on his word. Then again, he most certainly didn't have to be honest about it, either.
"Of course, darling, you're an excellent employer. You always pay the bills on time," he said.
"I see." Arthur sounded vaguely unconvinced, but not overtly suspicious.
Eames sat next to him, wishing things were different between them, as usual. "Do you think we're actually going to survive this long enough for the others to get down there?"
He gestured at the other dreamers, secure in the driest corner of the room and completely unaware of the events on this level. Arthur had put a blanket over all of them in anticipation of a cold night. Apparently, Cobb's subconscious believed post apocalyptic weather was brutally cold in the evenings and intensely hot in the day. It rather reminded Eames of traveling in the Saharan desert.
"Maybe," Arthur answered, reluctantly.
"Hmm," Eames agreed.
"Do you think this is really going to work?" Arthur asked.
"Do you have doubts?"
"It's my job to have doubts," Arthur said, sounding deeply tired.
"I think it'll work," Eames answered, easily. "Marcus is a narcissist, but fear of death is a natural instinct."
After all, he wouldn't have taken the job if he thought it was doomed to failure, no matter how nicely Cobb had asked. Though, admittedly, their chances didn’t seem high, at the moment. On this level, creating objects in the dream had swarmed the group with zombies. Eames couldn’t imagine the next level down wouldn’t have similar surprises.
Arthur nodded, and passed over one of the twinkies. "I meant saving Mal’s father."
"Oh, sure, why not. Once the job is done, they'll have no reason to keep him. Still, I would recommend getting rid of a few of their cronies, to send a message. This might become a recurring problem, otherwise."
"That's what I would do, too," Arthur said. "But Cobb isn't like that."
"Yes, well, surely you aren't actually blind to Cobb's insanity. Tell me, how do you do it? I don't understand how someone so stubbornly detailed can be loyal to a fault."
Arthur gave him a look that was more curious than irritated. "Most people require just as much patience as the job."
"Now that I can understand. Cheers," Eames said, raising his twinkie.
Arthur actually looked amused as they clinked their twinkies together. "Cheers. Only four more days to go."
"If we survive the night," Eames said, in a lighthearted manner.
Arthur nodded. "We might."