Chapter Text
Arthur gets the call. He's the one who normally gets the calls, these days. He's fine with it. Gives him time to research the client, the objective (such as they give him), and decide whether he's making his own calls. This time, he does. It seems an easy job. Hack into a hockey player's brain for an unreasonable amount of money? Shouldn't be an issue.
Arthur calls Eames. He's doing extractions too now, and after the Fischer job, Arthur trusts Eames more than anyone else in their field.
"Arthur, my dear. Bored already?"
He is, actually. "Of course not."
"Of course not. That's why you're not calling me about a job."
"I am calling you about a job."
"So you are bored. Honestly, Arthur, you could just ask me to come over."
"You're still in Mombasa, Eames."
"I could take a plane."
"You hate flying."
"I could take a car."
"To New York?"
"Or you could come over, you know. Lovely heat here, in Mombasa. You might even wear less clothing. How nice would that be?"
"Not that nice. And I guess you don't want the job."
Eames sighs. "What is the job?"
Eames calls Ariadne. Then he calls Yusuf. Arthur is outraged.
"Yusuf? After what he did in the Fischer job?"
"Did you or did you not say the mark is a hockey player?"
"I did."
"Hockey players get paid to professionally mangle each other's brains, Arthur. We need someone who knows how to mix for a post-TBI subconscious."
"And we know of no other chemist who can do this?"
"Yusuf mixes for people with far worse issues. He knows how to do this."
"I'm sure he does. I'm not sure I'd trust him."
"What if I vouch for him?"
"You would?"
"I've known him longer than Cobb ever did. He confided in me after the Fischer job that Cobb was ready to go to Stanfield if he refused the offer."
Arthur shudders. Stanfield was blacklisted a few months after the Fischer job for nearly killing an entire team with a badly calculated dream compound.
"Fine. We'll get Yusuf."
They all meet in Montreal. Arthur organizes a work space in a nondescript office building and hands them briefs. Ariadne giggles when she sees them. He looks at her blankly and she pretends to stop.
"What?"
"Arthur, is there anything in those briefs we haven't read already before arriving?" Ariadne is still smiling way too wide.
"It's important to have all the information in front of your eyes—"
"—I see we've started," said Eames, indolently settling in a chair.
"Ariadne certainly has started," says Yusuf from his perch by his newly-unpacked station.
"Eames, why is Arthur still using briefs?" Ariadne looks at him expectantly.
"You know, I always thought he should go for boxers instead."
"Eames!"
Eames raises his hands in surrender. "I would never impugn on your honor, pet. Please proceed."
Arthur glares at him as he turns to their whiteboard. "Our mark is an MLH player named Shane Hollander. He's—"
"—one of their biggest stars and also happens to be extremely attractive," Eames contributes.
Ariadne and Yusuf perk up. "Really?"
Arthur bristles. "Thank you, Eames, for that input. Yes, Hollander is very famous. He's the captain of the Montreal Metros, and he already won two Stanley Cups with them during his tenure."
"So why are we going into his mind?" Ariadne still isn't leafing through the brief.
"Our client has his doubts about Hollander's loyalties. He believes Hollander is purposefully making the team worse, this year, in an attempt to force a trade. Which would not align with his financial interests."
"So what dear Arthur means is we need to find out whether Hockey Prince is about the mess with our client's gambling."
"…Pretty much, yes."
"What are the issues?"
"Hollander's had a concussion a few months back. He's been cleared by his neurologist and team medics, but it could pose a problem with the PASIV."
"And this is why you have me handle the drugs," says Yusuf with a sigh. "Concussions are no joke for dream compounds. I'm going to need every medical test of his you can get me, Arthur."
"Eames is already on it. We're forging a way into his hospital and team records. We'll get you what you need." Arthur flips a page in his brief. No one else is following his stead. "There are a couple more issues that might arise with Hollander. He is, by many accounts, very particular and also not very social."
"By which Arthur means he has undiagnosed autism and OCD, a rather unsurprising set of traits in successful professional athletes," adds Eames. He's doodling on his brief. Arthur tries not to look at it. "Whatever we design for his dream has to be very precise as not to arouse suspicion."
"So what maze are we building, then? It must be somewhere real." Ariadne does turn the page, now. Arthur is relieved.
"We are building the Bell Centre. That's his team's home ice. He's been practicing and playing in this rink since he was drafted in 2009. He will be comfortable there."
"Is there a way to get me in there?"
"Why, Ariadne, in for a new beau?"
"Yes, Eames. That's why I want to case our mark's location."
Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose.
"We'll get you in, Ariadne. Moving on to the issue of 'Boston Lily.'"
Ariadne and Yusuf both stare at him. Arthur doesn't fidget, but he wants to.
"You're telling me he's gay. Hockey Prince is gay."
"Yes."
"He's gay and he's in love with his—"
"—divisional rival team's captain, yes." Okay, Arthur was fidgeting now.
"Wasn't he involved with Rose Landry?"
"They broke up after a short while. Their messages confirm she found out he was gay and broke up with him over it."
"A thing that has never happened before in celebrity land and never has since," Eames rolls his eyes.
Ariadne looked at her brief thoughtfully. "Would that possibly be the reason our client thinks he's messing up?"
"Unlikely," Arthur shakes his head. "He and Rozanov have been involved off-and-on for years, judging by their messages. Their secret relationship hasn't affected their game."
Eames leans back in his seat. His shirt draws taut over his muscles. Arthur needs to stop noticing that. "Perhaps it's a side factor, but we won't know until we get in his head. Arthur dearest, have you looked into the team's messages?"
Arthur levels a look at him. "Yes, I have. They're agitated, which is understandable, considering their bad streak."
Eames looks thoughtful. "All this just to find out if he wants to move teams. One would think extracting information from the team captain is a bit extreme, but then, it's the MLH. Coping mechanisms are not the name of the game here."
"I didn't know you were an MLH fan, Eames."
"I've seen enough. Bad decisions abound."
They were making their umpteenth cups of coffee when Eames restarted the argument.
"I'm the forger and extractor. I know who I'm forging, Arthur."
"You are not forging him, Eames."
"He's the most obvious choice, pet. The person Hollander is most likely to share his innermost thoughts with."
"Ilya Rozanov doesn't live in Montreal, Eames. Short of constructing a Boston-Montreal dream scenario, there is no feasible reason to have him there on a practice day. Hollander's projections will tear us into shreds. With hockey sticks."
"Darling."
"Don't call me darling."
"Darling, Rozanov probably knows why Hollander is having a bad season. Hollander has likely already confided in him."
"Which is all the more reason for you not to forge him. Also, your Russian accent is dreadful."
"You say that, but I can promise you my Rozanov is spectacular. He's all bluster. Very enjoyable to play. Very hot too." Eames waggles his eyebrows. Arthur is unamused.
"No, Eames. You will forge Hayden Pike, and that is the last time we will discuss this."
"Forging the world's most boring father is one thing. He is also Hollander's right wing and one of his alternate captains. He probably knows what is going on there."
"By all accounts, Pike knows a lot less than Rozanov."
"Text messages and emails do not paint a full picture, you know this."
"Nevertheless. You're doing Pike."
"Fine. One boring father-of-four hockey player at your service. I'll have Rozanov on the back-burner, though, ready for action."
"No, you won't."
Their first dream in Ariadne's constructed Bell Centre is rather dour.
"Does it always smell like that?" Hayden Pike rankles his cute little nose.
Arthur is busy checking if the banners hanging over the rink are correctly colored. "Like what?"
"Like cold and bleach. Very Soviet Russia of them."
"Pike is from Vancouver, Eames. You need to fix your imagery."
"Fine."
"And yes, ice rinks smell cold. Not sure about the bleach." Arthur turns to Ariadne. "How many times have you been to the real thing outside of when the cleaners are doing their rounds?"
"Probably not enough. And let me tell you, they need those cleaners. The locker rooms smell like hell in a dirty sock."
Hayden Pike giggles. He really is quite adorable, thinks Arthur. He could get the information out of Hollander.
"Okay, walk me through the back corridors. We need to make sure Hollander stays trapped here."
The job itself will take place in Hollander's weekend home.
"He calls it 'The Cottage'," Ariadne snorts. "More like McAllWindowsMansion."
"It's good that it's so private, then," Arthur answers without looking up from his research. The rest are watching the ESPN special about that house, because that's the kind of famous Hollander is.
"Not that private, if his parents are within a short driving distance," Yusuf points out.
"That won't be an issue," says Arthur. "We will do the job after he sees them, and they won't be in their vacation house. He has a meal with them whenever he goes to the cottage, and then he heads home alone."
"Wow, he is bendy," Ariadne breathes. Arthur looks up. Hollander is busy doing yoga on his back lawn. He is very bendy. Rozanov must be enjoying that, at least.
"Ariadne, please stop drooling over our mark," Eames says distractedly. He's also staring at Hollander. "Wouldn't do for our ice rink to be hot, now would it."
"Would not do to have your Pike slobbering all over him either," bites Arthur.
Eames's smile is far too smug. "Pike is half in love with him as it is. Not that Hollander has ever noticed."
That, at least, is probably true, thinks Arthur. Hollander seems to be far too introverted to realize just how attractive he is. Not that it matters for the job.
"Let's move to some game day interviews. You can watch Pike answer the same questions over and over again, Eames."
Eames groans. Arthur moves to the next video file on his computer with a mean little smile of his own.
"The Metros are slated for a rare free in-season weekend in two weeks' time," says Arthur, a week into their preparation. "Boston will be on a road game, so a secret rendezvous is unlikely to happen. We will be able to subdue Hollander after he meets with his parents."
Yusuf looks up from copies of Hollander's extensive medical documentation. "How long under are we talking here?"
"I don't believe we will need more than an hour of real-world time."
"That should probably be fine. I wouldn't want to overload his brain. One level?"
"Yes. No need for more. Ariadne will be the dreamer. Our runner will wake her after us. Hollander will wake up on his sofa in front of the TV by the time we will be gone." Easy, Arthur thought. Almost too easy. All they'll need to do is hack into the cottage's security system and let themselves in. Hollander invested in good security, of course, but nothing insurmountable.
The door to their space opens. Eames sheds his coat and removes his fake press credentials. "Today, I have discovered Pike has had a vasectomy in the off-season."
Yusuf bursts out laughing. "How did you discover that, I wonder?"
"A lady never kisses and tells, Yusuf."
"He heard two teammates laughing about it behind Pike's back," says Ariadne, shedding her own coat. "Those guys are super gross, by the way. How does Hollander stand them?"
"He's a jock," Arthur shrugs. "He's probably heard a lot worse."
"Heard and repressed," frowns Eames.
"Are we really discussing homophobia in professional sports, Eames?"
"Of course not. No need. Hollander looks tight as a drum next to his teammates."
"That could be for many other reasons."
"Other reasons than his teammates are trash?" Now Ariadne was frowning.
"Yes. He's team captain. He has a lot of things to worry about."
"A team captain who has led those men to two Stanley Cups and now suddenly stands next to them like he's facing a firing squad."
"You're digressing, Eames."
"I'm analyzing, Arthur. If Pike says the wrong thing in our dream, the extraction will be a wash."
Arthur sighs. "Fine. But don't push that angle if Hollander doesn't react the way you think he would."
"Pike knows something, Arthur. We just need to see how much of it is guesswork."
Their second Bell Centre dream attempt is far better.
"Good work on the stalls, Ariadne. They now look identical."
"Thanks. Wait till you see their workout room. I managed to replicate the scuffs on the floor"
"By the way, how do we divert the attention of the Pike projection?" asks Yusuf.
"Ariadne will pretend to be a social media intern who will need him for a promo shoot and take him away from Hollander," says Arthur. "Hollander will feel left out, which also works in our benefit. He's used to doing a lot of media for the team."
"A lot of wooden media," says Pike.
Arthur groans. "It's worked for them so far. And it's not like Pike is much better at it. "
"Yes. It's almost as if this hockey team is terrible at being a hockey team."
"That's not your judgment to make, Eames. You need to discover why."
"Yes, I'm well aware, darling. I will just make this face," Pike makes an exaggerated pout, "and tell Hollander my eldest daughter is being a menace again."
"While you're at it, you might want to call her godfather Shane."
"Just when I thought this couldn't get any more boring, you remind me of that fact."
Ariadne claps her hands. They all stare at her. "Okay, my bicker-o-meter is at maximum level. If we are not examining the design any further, I'm calling it."
Nabbing Hollander goes off without a hitch. Arthur waits for him with a small syringe in the dark hallway as he enters the cottage. Eames grabs him as he closes the door. Hollander is out before he can even say a word. They carry him gently to the den and lay him on the sectional. He's heavier than Arthur expected.
Arthur arranges himself by Hollander's head. Eames sits by his feet. Ariadne sits on the floor by the PASIV. Yusuf works the compound he's created into the machine.
Arthur checks his Glock's safety is on. "Okay. Remember, one hour of real world time gives us about five hours of dream time. We go in, intercept the Pike projection, as well as any other projection turning on us. No visible violence if we can get away with it. Let Eames do the work and get out quick."
Yusuf hooks them in first, then Hollander, then motions the runner to press the button as he joins.
They are two hours into dream time when Arthur realizes Eames was right. Hollander's projections are becoming hostile, but not towards them. They're hostile towards Hollander.
"Holy shit," breathes Ariadne from their press seats. "It's worse than I thought."
Arthur is more than a little stunned himself. "I hope Eames gets his answer quickly, or we might have to protect him." It's unthinkable, to protect an obviously unmilitarized subconscious from their own projections. Self-loathing so deeply ingrained. How terrified Hollander must actually be of the people he calls his colleagues.
They're watching a hockey practice swiftly becoming chaos. Several teammates are openly cursing at Hollander. Eames as Pike is standing between them, shielding him. He looks up at Arthur, who nods, then escorts Hollander off the ice. Arthur moves down towards the locker rooms, waving his press credentials at security. They stop for a moment, then let him through. He doesn't reach for his Glock, but it's a close call.
In the hallway, he can hear Pike and Hollander.
"I can't do it," Hollander breathes. "I'm going to need a trade."
"You're not serious, they'll calm down eventually," says Pike.
"You saw them. They're still angry. They've been angry since—"
"—I know. You made the choice that was best for you, buddy. You know I support you. Maybe the team could use some mediation?"
"What mediation? What's going to make them go back into being a team rather than a bunch of goons yelling homophobic slurs at me?"
Pike's shoulders slump. It's a good performance, Arthur thinks. The real-world Pike must be considering a trade himself, if that's what it's like. "You hid a big part of yourself from them for years. You've led them to two Cups and never told them you never wanted all those women chasing you."
Hollander rubs his face. "I know I did, but look at how they are. Do you think we would've won those Cups if I told them when I became captain?"
"Probably not. It would've been a mess."
"I would've lost my captaincy for it, Hayden," Hollander sinks to his knees, face in his hands. "I wouldn't have played professional hockey ever again."
Pike sinks next to him. "You are playing now, though. And look at Scott Hunter, man. He's still captain."
"Scott Hunter is retiring after this season, Hayden. You know it. We all know it. He kissed his boyfriend because he knew the worst thing that could happen to him after was retiring a season earlier than he planned."
Pike rubs his shoulder. "I know. You have more Cups in you," he sighs, "maybe not with this team, though."
Arthur checks his watch. They're twenty minutes of real world time from the kick.
Then Hollander suddenly disappears, and all human noises cease. He and Pike are alone in the hallway.
Ariadne runs towards them as they sprint back to the rink. They hear Yusuf running down the stairs from the nosebleeds, where he was watching. "What just happened? Where is everyone? Where is Hollander?"
"He's gone," Eames says, no longer in his Hayden Pike body.
Arthur turns to the still-descending Yusuf. "Is it the compound? Did we do something to him?"
"No," pants Yusuf, already winded. "If it had been the compound, we would have noticed dream abnormalities already."
Arthur feels a chill that has nothing to do with the temperature of the rink. "Then—"
Eames is already pulling out his own Glock. "We have to go back. Someone knows what we're doing and kicked Hollander out of the dream."
Ariadne's eyes, widening with horror, are the last thing Arthur sees before Eames shoots him in the head.