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maybe we show some mercy
[Usually, facing your fears means discovering they're not as bad as they seemed in your head. That your mind catastrophises and exaggerates and the reality is nowhere near what it seemed. Eames certainly wishes that were the case here, but it turns out the reality is far worse than anything that crossed his mind. He'd long since come to terms with the idea that getting caught meant death, but the captain of this discreet little crew made a point of talking about "re-education" with such conviction that it seems like a very real possibility. A real possibility that terrifies Eames in ways he didn't even know he could feel.]
[It's hard not to be mad at himself, and in fact he is. He's fucking furious. Years of being meticulous about hiding from the Empire rendered obsolete because some asshole wanted to make some quick money and Eames hadn't spotted the signs even though that's exactly the kind of thing he's supposed to be good at. And now here he is, bound in a cell on a ship, no idea how long he's been here or where they are — no idea about much of anything outside this room, actually — pumped full of power inhibitors to make doubly sure he can't escape.]
[Fucking hell but it hurts. Hands cuffed behind his back, made to stay on his knees for... A long time. Simultaneously can't feel his legs and yet the muscles burn and ache. All of him a mess of cuts and bruises, a mix of injuries from fighting back and some from cruelty passed off as discipline. He thinks his nose might be broken and one of his eyes is swollen into a semi-permanant squint. The longer he kneels here, the more Eames thinks the inhibitor injections were less about preventing escape and more about making sure he couldn't heal away the beatings; making sure he'd suffer through every moment of the trip "home."]
[It's hard not to be mad at himself, and in fact he is. He's fucking furious. Years of being meticulous about hiding from the Empire rendered obsolete because some asshole wanted to make some quick money and Eames hadn't spotted the signs even though that's exactly the kind of thing he's supposed to be good at. And now here he is, bound in a cell on a ship, no idea how long he's been here or where they are — no idea about much of anything outside this room, actually — pumped full of power inhibitors to make doubly sure he can't escape.]
[Fucking hell but it hurts. Hands cuffed behind his back, made to stay on his knees for... A long time. Simultaneously can't feel his legs and yet the muscles burn and ache. All of him a mess of cuts and bruises, a mix of injuries from fighting back and some from cruelty passed off as discipline. He thinks his nose might be broken and one of his eyes is swollen into a semi-permanant squint. The longer he kneels here, the more Eames thinks the inhibitor injections were less about preventing escape and more about making sure he couldn't heal away the beatings; making sure he'd suffer through every moment of the trip "home."]
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I really like this.
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[He grins back.]
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[They manage a couple hundred hours or so more before Arthur decies to say anything that might rock the boat so to speak. He keeps telling himself that Eames' nightmares will get better that he doesn't need to say anything and he doesn't, but eventually they're gonna run out of water and food and fuel and the longer they put it off the fewer options they'll have for safe ports. So he tracks down Eames after going through one of his routine checklists.]
Hey, we need to start thinking about going to refuel somewhere.
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[So he's too tired to really consider what refuelling could entail.]
Anywhere good for that in this system?
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There's a small station this side of the star right now but they have a fuel limit that won't fill our tank and not much in the way of food. We'll need to make another stop somewhere else before long.
[He looks down at the tablet he's holding with a sigh.]
The increased risk of making two stops instead of one is almost nothing in my opinion, the big difference is whether we want to leave soon or take a little more time to plot a course.
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[Eames glances at what he can see of the tablet with a sigh.]
Or at least find a bigger station we can get to, I'm suee we can find outposts for any supplies along the way.
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[He sits down and leans back, frowning down at the tablet still.]
I'd really like to make contact as little as possible for the forseeable future. If we leave within the next ten hours or so we'll have enough fuel to make it to a larger port and completely restock, oxygen and everything. That'll let us get a few jobs done without having to stop anywhere for a while, and we can make our way to the next sector of the galaxy without having to touch down anywhere other than package drops and the occasional quick food run.
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[He doesn't finish that statement, just takes Arthur's tablet to start looking around maps for the local systems.]
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[He holds it up for Arthur to get a proper look when he's done.]
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Okay, yeah, looks good to me. I guess we can leave whenever, then.
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Alright. [Eames stands and sighs.] I'll go put it in the nav system.
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[Arthur nods and watches Eames, trying not to helicopter too much but wary of what he might do.]
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Okay.
[Time to go.]
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Hey, you should be in bed.
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I'm fine, I'm awake.
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[Arthur's tone is steady. Eames has been understandably off since Arthur rescued him, but now it seems that he's trying to convince himself he's better and Arthur can tell it's quite the opposite.]
Come on, I'll lay down with you if you want.
[He knows what the answer to that is going to be but he also hopes the prospect of spooning might entice him to bed.]
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[The thought of laying down with Arthur sounds really good, but something about it makes his heart race and his breathing just a little faster too.]
I should keep an eye out, just in case. I know what to look for.
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[He brings a hand up to Eames' jaw.]
Just go lie down. I know what to look for too; we've been over it a million times.
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You want me to come with you? I can put us in stealth mode.
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