ruffians | eye of the tiger playing in the distance

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eye of the tiger playing in the distance

[Training for this team has been rougher than Eames really ever expected. SHIELD has already put him through the ringer over the years, but this dream stuff requires a lot of skills he'd never heard of before. And that's before even getting to handling it in the field.]

[Stressful, difficult, and at times painful as it is, it doesn't take Eames that long to get to grips with the fundamentals — using his powers in a dream, learning to navigate something that feels real but isn't, the right checks if he's not sure whether or not he's dreaming — he's dedicated to getting this right, absolutely willing to give everything he's got to it. Plus it helps that Cobb's usually there for the briefings, and he makes an excellent translator when Arthur gets overly technical or theoretical about the whole thing.]

[This part is another one of those things he'd never thought he'd have to learn. A frown on his face when it's just him and Arthur and the plain room they're using, because he wouldn't think someone has to be taught how to handle being killed in a dream, but apparently it's a pretty big deal. Something about being able to take it in stride, to be able to immediately move on to the next thing when you wake up, but surely when you know it's not real, it shouldn't be a problem.]

[He frowns, thumbing over a bottle of light sedative, and glances at Arthur with a raised eyebrow when he asks his question. Seeking a little more information from Arthur's point of view rather than the technical aspects of it.]

So... I have to learn how to die?

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Yeah. [DEEP BREATH] Let's kill me.

Okay.

[Arthur goes back to his chair and sits down.]

Once again, whenever you're ready.

[Eames has the fleeting thought that he really hopes these sedatives aren't addictive as he takes another, but they're so weak there can't be much to them. Either way, this time he falls asleep thinking about the kind of research that must've gone into making these.]

[Arthur follows him quickly, grabbing at Eames' subconscious again and setting them in the same dimly lit room as before. The gun is on the table between them again but this time Eames isn't tied to a chair. There is a chair, but no one's in it just yet.]

[Well that's fucking ominous.]

[Eames doesn't even have any dumb comments this time, he just folds his arms over his chest and looks at the chair like he's waiting for something to happen.]

[Arthur picks up the gun and checks that it's loaded again, a good habit even in dreams where he loaded the gun with his mind.]

I thought we should practice this a couple times. We hardly ever design a mission where it's part of someone's job to die in the dream but sometimes things change and the best way to deal with a situation is to let the subconscious mind we're infiltrating think it's won.

[He takes off the safety but doesn't point the gun at Eames just yet.]

Sometimes that means actively fighting your survival instinct while someone holds a gun to your head.

[Right. That sounds awful.]

[Eames sighs and nods that he understands though, watching the gun in Arthur's hands warily.]

How many times are you planning to shoot me today?

Only a couple more times, unless you want to start the torture simulations today as well.

[This he delivers so dryly that it could be a joke or it could be totally serious.]

[God, that-- Eames balks, raising his eyebrows in surprise at the comment and then he gives an astonished laugh.]

Bet you've been dreaming about this for a while, huh?

[ha ha ha get it]

[Arthur doesn't answer that. He just shakes his head and makes an amused sound, taking a step closer to Eames and holding the gun up to his head. If Eames doesn't move he presses the barrel right to his forehead and takes a deep breath.]

There's only one thing you should be thinking right now: this is a dream, and you are going to wake up.

[Instinctively he moves away from the gun when it presses against his forehead, but beyond leaning back a little, Eames doesn't move. Mostly he glances at Arthur's face, and then what he can see of the gun, then he swallows and closes his eyes like he's preparing for death. Repeating the mantra in his head does shit all for the way his pulse thunders in his ears and his throat goes dry, flexing his fingers and balling his hands into fists to will himself to stay still because every instinct in him is screaming that he can do something to avoid this.]

[Arthur knows it's better to just treat it like a band-aid the first few times and go for it - they can leave the grueling anticipation for another session when Eames is better with the waking up part.]

[So he takes another deep breath and pulls the trigger. Point blank at Eames' head.]

[It's probably going to take some more goes around before Eames wakes with anything other than a condensed panic attack, every time immediately going to check himself to make doubly sure he's fine. He presses his palm to his forehead and then drags it back through his hair, suddenly aware of a thin sheen of sweat that he'd be embarrassed about if he could think about anything other than the terror of being shot in the face and the relief of still being alive.]

[Arthur does the same thing he did the first two times, leaning over and asking in a calm voice:]

Are you okay?

Yeah.

[He's probably not, but he doesn't care. Eames sets his jaw and turns his head to look at Arthur with the kind of intensity Arthur won't have seen on him yet. He literally can't move on to anything else until he has this down, so he's just going to keep doing this until he does.]

Let's go again.

[There's something very different about the way Eames looks at him and it kind of takes Arthur off guard. He studies his face for a moment but ultimately sighs and looks away.]

As soon as your pulse evens out.

Arthur, I'm fine.

[He's not arguing exactly, it's more like he's not even fully aware that his pulse is going a mile a minute and his breath's still a little short. He's just sort of hit that point where he understands what they're trying to do here, what Arthur's trying to teach him, but he's annoyed that he can't just do it. He can't just decide to ignore that survival instinct, so obviously they just need to keep doing this until that becomes instinct too.]

[Arthur holds a hand up as if that will make him listen.]

Eames, your adrenaline is kicked into high gear right now. The sedative might not even put you to sleep until your body has calmed down.

[Eames opens his mouth to protest, but the comment about the sedative stops him and he huffs and gets out of his chair. He should probably stretch his legs anyway, and what better way than pacing around the room, right.]

[Arthur sighs and sits back in his chair, smoothing back his hair. He knows the repeated use of sedative isn't good for someone in this short a time, so they only have a few more tries, but it feels like there's so much more to do. Eames is picking this up quicker and in different ways than other people have in the past and Arthur appreciates the fact that he really wants to figure it out but it's always going to take time. Time and practice.]

[Eames eventually stops and leans against the wall, arms crossed. He's mostly evened out, but he's still amped up and that's probably going to take a while.]

Okay.

[OKAY.]

[He's fine, this is fine. He's gonna sit back down now.]

[Arthur has just been thinking; considering how best to proceed with the slightly volatile man he has in the room with him. When Eames finally speaks he looks up at him and then gives him a short nod.]

Okay.

[He gestures vaguely.]

Whenever you're ready. I want to try something a bit different.

Different?

[He raises an eyebrow and takes another sedative. Time to party.]

[Once again, Arthur follows him into sleep and then they're dreaming of another room. An attic this time, for some reason, built out of wood that's old but solid, with windows letting slanted beams of light in. There's still no door in this room but there is another table with another gun.]

[Eames makes a face this time, looking around the room suspiciously and then looking down at the table, well. Also suspiciously.]

Have you brought us to a Stephen King novel?

[He feels like he's read this one.]

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