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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[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.]

[Arthur looks around, raising his eyebrows as he inspects his own handiwork.]

No, I just wanted to be somewhere quiet and comfortable.

[He sighs and looks down at the gun, then up at Eames.]

This would be better with another person here, but I just want to try it out once. I want you to shoot me.

Um--

[...]

[nope his brain stalled, he's got nothing.]

What?

I think it'll help give you a bit of perspective on the situation.

[He crosses his arms and leans a shoulder against the wall.]

I'm not afraid. I know I'll wake up.

Right...

[Eames doesn't sound so certain, but he does step toward the table to take the gun hesitantly. He glances around the room to remind himself there's no actual way in or out, something to focus on to remind himself this obviously isn't real even though the gun feels so heavy and solid in his hand.]

[He takes the magazine out, slots it back in, thumbs the safety — it looks and feels just like a real gun, which honestly does nothing for how he feels about all this.]

And what perspective is this supposed to give me?

[He has a fairly decent idea, mostly he's stalling.]

It just reinforces that life and death aren't real in a dream. We all need to be comfortable with that concept from both ends.

[He pushes off the wall and takes a couple steps towards Eames.]

Come on. I just shot you in the head twice, and before that I asked you to fall hundreds of feet to your death.

[Eames lets out a short laugh; that certainly should make him feel a little more willing to do this, but this situation is so artificial and yet it feels so real at the same time... It's not even that he's uncomfortable with killing somebody so much as this specific person in this specific situation.]

[He looks back down at the gun in his hands, frowning.]

You know, this feels just like a real glock.

[Of course he knows, Eames, stop putting it off.]

That's because I've held them before and my brain's the one that put that gun on that table. It's not real.

[Arthur's patient. He'll wait as long as it takes. He'll even pull them out if he needs to, if Eames can't manage this.]

[Eames nods, slow and thoughtful, processing the situation. He looks deeply unhappy, but he does eventually lift the gun and take aim, the only real giveaway about how uncomfortable he is being the way his breathing is so shallow.]

[That and how he can't seem to make himself take his finger off the guard.]

[If someone ever told him he'd have this much trouble shooting Arthur, he'd call bullshit in an instant, but here he is completely failing to do it. He bites his lip, jaw tight in frustration. He feels like he's been standing here forever.]

[Arthur takes a couple steps toward him, inches from the barrel of the gun. He doesn't take his eyes off Eames' face, and his own expression is calm and steady. He knows that probably doesn't help, but part of this is fascinating to him.]

Eames, pull the trigger.

[That isn't helping, though honestly Eames doesn't know what would right now. He keeps having to remind himself this isn't real, and it's not like he's never killed anyone before. Not a lot, and he really prefers not to, but it's never been difficult either. Which raises questions he's still not prepared to face, but either way.]

I'm not sure I can.

[A fact he sounds annoyed about more than anything.]

[Arthur's quiet for a moment, studying Eames' face with a frustratingly neutral expression, and then he slowly reaches up to put his hand on the gun.]

Okay. Give it to me then.

[Eames pulls a face, it's very much the same expression a child would make before yelling "I can do it myself!" but Eames doesn't yell anything. He just holds on to the gun a little longer, still trying to make himself pull the trigger, but eventually he lets up his grip so Arthur can take the gun from him.]

[Arthur takes the gun, careful about the trigger, and contemplates it quickly before he turns it and holds it up to his own temple.]

Look. It's not real.

[He just barely stops himself reaching to take the gun from Arthur, sighing heavily instead because he already knows that and he's just getting more and more annoyed that he can't act like it.]

Oh, my mistake. I must not have realised.

[Arthur doesn't know what it feels like for other people. How real it feels for them. It feels real for him too - he can feel the metal of the gun resting on the side of his head and he can smell the old wood of the attic and feel the sunlight on his arm as he closes his eyes. Still, he at least can feel the boundaries of the dream and feel where he can manipulate it, and Eames probably can't, so it's not entirely fair.]

[None of that matters, though, because Eames has to get ready to do this job and this is part of the job. Arthur takes a breath in, exhales, and pulls the trigger.]

[The dream collapses as soon as the bullet gets to his brain, and the next thing Arthur knows he's waking up with a wince and what feels like a flash headache, so he brings his hand up to the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath.]

[Eames jolts awake with a startled curse, a laughably familiar thing in any other situation, being startled out of a dream before having the chance to react. It's difficult to watch somebody put a gun to their head and not intervene, especially when you know with absolute certainty that they're going to pull the trigger, and watching it happen sets off its own sort of panic.]

[Of course, with Arthur holding the dream together it's less than a moment between the noise of the gun and waking up — a morbid part of Eames' mind thinking it's good he didn't have to actually see Arthur blow his brains out or stick around to deal with the mess, though Eames suspects something similar might be on the curriculum.]

[For the moment though, Eames breathes another curse and looks down at his hands. As the shock wears off, he's settling comfortably back into frustrated. Intellectually he knows it's just been a few hours and really what he needs is to step back for today so he can process everything, but he can't stop being annoyed, feeling frustrated that this isn't something he can be instantly comfortable with.]

[It doesn't take very long for Arthur to recover, and when he does he pushes himself up out of his chair to grab a glass of water from a side table in the room.]

Would it help if we developed something to reinforce the difference between dreaming and reality? Something you can check quickly before you have to make those kinds of decisions?

Maybe?

[He's having a hard time thinking about anything other than how annoyed he is at himself for not shooting Arthur. He just can't believe he'd have that difficult a time of it.]

[Arthur sighs as he thinks, sitting back down in his chair and look up at the ceiling. He tries to create a ripple there and it doesn't work.]

It's stupidly simple, but the way I make totally sure that I'm in a dream and not in reality is just by using my ability to create imperfections. Just something momentary that no one else notices, but it proves to me that I am in control of the world and it isn't real.

[He gestures to Eames.]

There are boundaries in reality but there aren't any in the dream world. There have to be limits to what you can do that you can push past in the dream world, right? Is there any way you can turn that into a test?

[Eames pulls a bit of a face, thinking. He's still reeling a little, but having a problem to focus on helps a lot with that. Redirects his attention to something more pressing, or at least that makes him feel a little less frustrated by not immediately having this.]

I can't do animals, but I'm not sure turning into a cat is the most efficient test.

[He says it a little wryly as he stands, pacing a little to stretch his legs and get a bit of blood flowing.]

If I could concentrate it into something smaller, maybe. Something easy to hide...

[Eames looks at his hand as he trails off, expression thoughtful. If Arthur's paying close enough attention, he'd see a shift in Eames' fingers; length, shape. It's subtle and short-lived, the kind of test he does to check his powers are working and under control.]

[Arthur doesn't pay too much attention. He's focusing on getting a bit of water instead, trying to think of other methods for this.]

We can go back under to try some stuff out if you want. No dying this time.

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eye of the tiger playing in the distance

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