Dream A Little Bigger, Darling

"Dreams are rather funny things, aren't they? They feel real until you wake up. It's only then that you realize something was strange," Eames said casually, stirring his spoon around in his cup of tea.
"They also seem to last a lot longer than they are. If I learned it correctly, going deeper into the dream world gives you more time. Right?" DeLaney asked, her head tilting curiously as her eyes flicked up to Mr. Eames face.
"Precisely. I'm not going to go into the details, I was never good at Maths, but you're right. If you add a sedative to the mix, your time is even longer," Eames said. "Now, another thing about dreams is that you never seem to remember how the dream began, do you? You always seem to start off somewhere in the middle of everything that's going on. Pointing that out to the subject can be potentially dangerous if you're actually out in the field. Pointing it out to someone in their first shared dreaming lesson always ends the same," Eames said, trying to conceal the smirk threatening to pull his full lips up at the corners. DeLaney caught the twitch of his lips and narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"What are you saying?" she asked slowly. Eames looked up at her and finally let himself smirk.
"DeLaney, how did we get here?" he asked.
"We were at the..." she trailed off, and her eyes snapped back up to the Englishman.
"You never remember the beginning of a dream. You always start out somewhere in the middle," he reiterated, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back.
"We're dreaming?" she said, her eyes wide.
"We're actually in the workshop right now. Sleeping. Just stay calm, darling, there's no use in panicking," he said, but the damage had already been done, much as he had expected. A loud crashing noise caught both of their attentions. Looking toward the source of the noise, they found the buildings forcefully throwing huge chunks of themselves out into the air, the pieces crashing down to the ground before exploding into smaller chunks. The cars on the streets started violently pulling themselves apart. The exploding pieces of building and car started slowing down until they almost came to a near stop in midair. Without thinking, DeLaney flew up from her seat, knocking it over in the process. Once it hit the ground, it pulled itself apart just like the cars did. She spun toward Eames who remained in his seat, and was about to say something when she was knocked to the ground by a rolling chunk of rubble, and the sudden pain of the weight crushing her leg sent her into an immediate state of shock.
It was broken, she just knew it, but before she could let out any kind of a scream, Mr. Eames was standing over her, aiming a handgun to her head. She could only stare wildly up at him before he pulled the trigger without any hesitation. All of a sudden, DeLaney was back in the real world, waking up with a yelp. Her still panicked mind had her hyperventilating and looking over herself frantically for any damage. She flinched with another yelp and made a weak attempt of a kick when Arthur was suddenly by her side, trying to still her arm to take the needle out of her wrist.
"You're okay, DeLaney. What happened?" he asked curiously, once she stopped struggling enough. She didn't get a chance to answer his question, for she noticed movement to her left. Mr. Eames was awake and she furrowed her brows at him furiously.
"Why did you shoot me, you asshole?!" she snapped at the man.
"I did you a favor, shooting you. Would you rather have had your leg caught under that rock until time ran out?" Eames asked mockingly. She only glared at him, and Arthur looked between the two in amusement.
"You shot her? In her first shared dreaming session?" Arthur asked, raising his brows.
"Her leg was being crushed by a giant piece of building, Arthur. There was still time on the clock, and I wasn't going to let her wait it out," Eames snapped in exasperation. "Now put us back under, I want to see what happens this time," he said, shifting in his seat.

"Do you have a totem?" Eames asked. The pair were back at the hotel, lazily wasting the late afternoon. She turned her gaze to Mr. Eames from her spot on her bed.
"I haven't thought of a good one yet," she said, her voice as lazy as the afternoon.
"Hm, well, you should come up with one soon. You'll never know when you're going to start needing it," he said.
"What's yours?" DeLaney asked. He pulled it out of his pocket at her question and held it up for her to see.
"It's a poker chip," he said, starting to rub the little red disc between his fingers. She let her gaze linger on his hand for a moment longer. There was something nearly mesmerizing about the smooth rhythm of the movement. She turned her head away after a moment and stretched, almost catlike in motion, on the bed before sitting up. "I'm assuming you know what makes a good totem, yes?" he asked.
"Small and unique. Its actions known only by its owner. I've done my homework, Eames," she smirked at the man, slipping off of the bed and heading out onto the balcony. A few moments later, she heard him shuffle outside to join her. He handed her a glass of the wine she had bought and leaned against the railing with her. "So do you guys just hide out in different places all the time, or what?" DeLaney asked, taking a sip.
"We go where we can find work or lay low if need be. You, Miss Ferris, are going to have to be very careful once you get into the field," he said, raising his brows at the end.
"What for?" she asked.
"Well, Extractors run a high risk when doing business. If the Extractor fails to get the information asked of him, there's no telling what his employer will do. Usually, it doesn't end well and you end up in a situation much like the one Cobb found himself in when he visited me in Mombasa. You mentioned it when we first met, so I'm sure you know what happened. Extraction is nothing to trifle with," he explained. "You're going to have a lot of responsibilities. You'll have a team to look after, and you'll have to be clever enough to get yourself and your team out of some tough situations. They don't go after people like Point Men or Forgers with the ferocity they have when chasing down failed Extractors. And you will have inevitable failures, as with any job," he added.
"Sounds fun enough," DeLaney said with a small smirk in Eames' direction. His lips twitched up into a grin.
"There's no need to worry, darling, you'll be trained for it all in time," he said, his eyes darting about the Parisian street below them. His eyes were quite pretty, DeLaney hated to admit. They were gray with a soft tint of blue to them, and held a constant hint of secrecy. It was almost intimidating on the rare occasion he would look her in the eye.
As the days passed, Mr. Eames' word remained true. She was trained in the dream world, Eames with her every step of the way. She started doing missions that were set up for her, learning how to deal with subconscious security, and she was handling it all rather well.
Both Eames and Arthur joined her in the dream world, shadowing her as she worked out a strategy. They were sitting in the lobby of the building they were in during one session while DeLaney was practicing a few floors up.
"She's pretty," Arthur said casually, casting a sly gaze toward Eames. The Forger's eyes met Arthur's for only a second. The tell tale signs of that god forsaken smirk were clear on the Point Man's face. He was up to something, Eames could tell.
"I'm glad you were able to come to that realization, Arthur," Eames said, grinning stiffly. Arthur ignored the comment.
"She would have been just fine having a hotel room of her own back in Mombasa, you know," Arthur noted. Eames shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"I don't see how that's any of your business," Mr. Eames said, the tone of his voice matching his uncomfortable demeanor.
"She and I were talking the other day, and it came up in conversation. I'd say that makes it my business," Arthur said, earning a quick glare. "So what were you thinking?" he prodded. Mr. Eames let out a quick sigh.
"I was thinking I was in the presence of a very pretty young woman who I wasn't getting away from even if I wanted to, so I made a plan that would work in both our favors," Mr. Eames huffed in an irritated tone.
"How did it work in you favor?" Arthur asked. Eames stared at the man beside him unfathomably.
"Are you going to continue prying into things that don't concern you?" he asked. Arthur's smirk grew victoriously. He had once again succeeded in putting the Englishman off.
"One of you always has that look on your face any time you're together," the girls voice sounded. They turned their eyes to her, the papers she was sent to get in her hand. Eames held out a hand.
"Let's see what you've got," he said. She handed him the papers, and he scanned over them to make sure she got the right ones. "Good job, DeLaney. And still with time on the clock. Did you leave anything the projections could trace back to us?" he asked.
"I left a fake trail, they fell for it," she said. Eames grinned up at her.
"Once again, good job, DeLaney," he said. As Eames was leading DeLaney out of the workshop, he could read the smirk on Arthur's face clear as day. He met the smirk with a subtle glare before disappearing from Arthur's sight.
Just as Mr. Eames was about to flag down a cab outside of the building, DeLaney stopped and looked up at him. "Can we walk back? We aren't too far from the hotel," she asked. Eames looked down at her curiously for a moment. The weather was a little downcast that day, but it didn't seem to pose a problem.
"I don't see why not," he said, and started walking in the direction of the hotel.
"I hope you're not worried about getting paid. You still are," DeLaney said after a few minutes of silence.
"Why would I be worried about that?" Mr. Eames asked. She shrugged.
"Well it was over a year since my dad tried to get you to accept his offer. I guess it just makes sense to worry about it. To me, at least," she said. A small chuckle escaped Eames' lips.
"Miss Ferris, getting paid is the least of my worries concerning you," he said in amusement.
"What, you think I can't take care of myself?" she teased.
"I'm sure you can take care of yourself. Until you're being chased by men with guns in reality, that is," he said.
"I know how to run, Eames, I'm not that pathetic," she said, throwing a playful glare up at the man.
"Running is one thing. Escaping is another," he said. As he finished his sentence, a drop of rain hit his shoulder. Then another hit his forehead. He slowed his pace as the few drops steadily grew to a light shower, and he looked down at the girl, finding her grinning sheepishly up at him. "You wanted to walk, DeLaney," he chided, water now heavily pouring down around them. He pulled his coat off, and tossed it around her small shoulders before placing a hand on her back and leading her onward.