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(I probably didn’t make it clear enough before, but this fic is a follow up to The Helix Trap, so this part especially won’t make a lick of sense if you haven’t read it.  Mindless porn to be returning later).

At home, they cleaned up and shared a modest takeout dinner.  With the leftovers stowed they took to the living room with a bottle of brandy that Robert had been saving for the occasion.  He would have liked to sit and drink a while, continuing the small talk and catching-up that had sustained them through dinner, but Eames was ready to come to business. 

“All right,” Eames said as if steeling himself.  “Tell me what you meant over the phone.”

Robert refilled his glass and took a long gulp.  “It’s just like I said.  I’ve run out of Limbo.”

Eames rubbed his whiskers; he looked immediately exhausted.  “I didn’t think you even had a PASIV.”

“I do,” said Robert.  “But I haven’t needed it.”

Eames stared.  His face was carefully even but Robert could see the twitch of anxiety in the corner of his eyes.  “Tell me everything.”

Robert took another sip.  “I dream almost every night now,” he said, completely calm despite the clear ill-ease of his partner.  “I’m always lucid, but most of the time I can’t really choose or control the dream.  Sometimes there are projections—normal projections,” he added when he saw Eames’ brow furrow.  “But the settings are never something I’ve come up with myself.  I’ve tried, but I only ever dream of places you’ve given me.”

“Like the fortress?” Eames guessed.  “The cabin?”

“And Cairo.”  He glanced away, remembering the dizzying streets.  He was certain he could feel them grinding in circles around his brain.  “And the city you and your friends used in the inception.  And deeper, of course: the bluff, the beach.  When the tide is out I can still see the carnival.”  He took a deep breath.  “They’re all connected.  It’s all one continent down there—it’s taken me all this time but I made it from one end to the other.  I even made a map.”

Robert handed off his glass and pushed to his feet.  Out of his briefcase he pulled a yellow legal pad and returned to the sofa, flipping through the different pages.  “There’s the two cities, close to each other.  Our hotel from Munich showed up in the middle of this one.  Maurice’s mansion is in there, too.”  He pointed to a rough sketch and scribbled labels.  “Where you were shot, remember?”

Eames pulled a face and finished off Robert’s drink for him.  “Yeah.”

“Some of the places Dr. Banks whipped me to are pieced together down there,” Robert went on.  “They’re not very well made, though.”  He flipped another page.  “And then this road goes into the mountains—look, here’s the cabin—which leads into the valley with my fortress—”

“My fortress,” Eames corrected automatically.

“—and from there it’s another pass, to…here.”

Robert flipped another page, displaying yet more scratchy drawings and hasty notes.  “The one in my head is better,” he said wryly.  “But look at all this.”  He flipped through three more pages.  “Castles and cities and graveyards and deserts.  More than the whole rest of the world combined, all the way down to the ocean.”  The last page had a dark line across the bottom that had been drawn over several times.  “And that’s the end of the world.”  He looked at Eames.  “Do you recognize it?”

Eames’ face said yes, but he took several, hazy-eyed moments to answer.  “I built all that,” he said quietly.  “When we were in Limbo.”

“Yes—yes, all of it.”  Robert tossed the papers onto the coffee table and turned to Eames excitedly.  “Do you know how long it took to get from one end to the other?  Almost four months.  It took you only minutes to make it all, and it took me four months to explore, which is even longer down there, you know.  But it’s all connected and real and perfect.  It’s amazing.”

His enthusiasm seemed to have the opposite effect on Eames.  “You’re accessing your memories from Limbo every time you sleep?” he asked, exasperated.  “Without a PASIV?  But that’s…”  He straightened.  “How much time is that in the dream?”

Robert fidgeted.  “It varies,” he said, but with Eames staring intently he couldn’t stall for long.  “And it’s hard to tell, but usually it’s between one and three days per dream.”

“Three days?”  Eames shoved to his feet despite Robert’s attempt to reach for his hand.  “You’re spending three days in dreams for every one day awake?  And you have been for the last four months I’ve been with you?”

Robert sighed and leaned back into the corner of the sofa.  “Something like that, yes.” 

Eames paced a circle around the coffee table.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did tell you.”  Robert folded his arms.  “I told you every time you asked: ‘yes, I’m still dreaming.  Yes, I’m still lucid.’  And I wake up on time and haven’t seen a…”  He stumbled over the word.  “A ghost, not one.  Not since that morning.”

“You didn’t say you were spending those dreams in Limbo.”  Eames stopped pacing to glare at him.  “Are you sure it even is Limbo?”

“I don’t know.”  Robert squirmed beneath Eames’ heavy eyes.  “What’s the difference between a regular dream and Limbo anyway?  Time?  All I know is that it’s all still up here.”  He tapped his temple.  “Now sit down; I don’t like you looming over me.”

Eames sighed, but he did sit down, and when Robert immediately scooted closer, he welcomed him.  “I wasn’t looming,” he grumbled.

Robert leaned into Eames’ side.  “I didn’t tell you everything before because I knew you’d be this upset,” he said.

“I’m not…”

Eames rubbed his eyes.  He was tired, and it made it so much easier for Robert to see all the uncertainty he usually tried to hide.  “It frightens you, doesn’t it,” Robert said, watching him closely.  He took Eames’ hand.  “Limbo.”

“With good reason,” he retorted.  His hand clenched around Robert’s, but the more he tried to convey his seriousness, the more Robert was convinced he knew better.  “These aren’t just dreams, you know.  We’re talking about your mind—your actual brain—working in ways it’s not supposed to.  It’s bloody dangerous and I’ve known people who didn’t come back from it.”

“But I did,” Robert said.  “And so did you.  Maybe I can’t build the way you can, but I can tell now whenever I’m dreaming.  I’m not afraid of it anymore.”  Though there was a chance it would make things worse, he added, “You and your friends changed me.  I don’t have a choice but to learn how to live with it.”

Eames eyed him, and in his face Robert saw all the reasons he’d left: more than anything the weight piled on his shoulders, not unlike miles of oppressive ocean.   “All right,” he said.  “So what is it you’re asking me to do?”

Robert took a deep breath and pushed against Eames to get to his feet.  He made a short trip to the hall closet and pulled from it his PASIV.  It was new, a bit more elegant than the typical PASIV, covered with soft brown leather and closed with brass buckles.  He opened it on the table, displaying its polished innards and full vials of Somnacin.  Eames knew what he was going to say, but he said it anyway.

“I want you to dream with me.”

Eames didn’t take his eyes off the device.  “After everything, I never thought I’d hear that out of you,” he said.

Robert smirked.  “Me neither.”  He retook his seat and Eames’ hand.  “I’m not asking you to go deep, I just want…”  He faltered, knowing how strange it must have sounded.  He even blushed a little.  “I want more of you in me,” he blurted out, and plowed on before Eames could tease him.  “Until I can figure out how to slow my own brain down—” he made a doubtful face “—I need some way to keep myself occupied down there, and the things you’ve built, they’re just…something I could never do.”  Unexpected emotion swelled in his chest and made his voice rough.  “Do you even know how beautiful some of the things you created are?  I don’t have that in me.”

“Robert,” Eames said gently.

“I wouldn’t have that in me if not for you,” Robert went on, impassioned.  “And now that I’ve found the end of it all I can think about is that empty ocean.  All that space with nothing to fill it.  There’s all this potential being wasted.  And I can’t fucking stand it, all right?”  He touched Eames’ face, pleading through his fingertips.  “I’ve spent enough time feeling empty.  So please—”

Eames kissed him.  It was just what Robert wanted, and he pressed eagerly into Eames’ lips.  Fill me up, he thought, and when Eames wrapped him in his arms he could have melted.  I want everything that’s yours.  I want you all through me.

“All right,” said Eames, rubbing Robert’s back.  “All right, I’ll dream with you.”  He kissed Robert again with slow passion.  “But you’re wrong—I’ve seen you build when you didn’t know you were doing it.  You can make anything.”  He smiled and gave Robert’s shoulders a squeeze before leaning back.  “And we’re going to find a way to let you control it better, so you’re not going under for days at a time every night.”

Robert reluctantly let him slip away so he could prepare the PASIV.  “I don’t mind it.”

“It’s not healthy.”  Eames inspected the needles and, finding them still in their sterile casings, set the timer for only five minutes.  “It means you’re addicted.  If you keep it up I might have to start sedating you.”

He quirked an eyebrow and Robert grinned.  “Maybe I don’t mind that, either,” Robert replied.

Eames chuckled, but he grew somber again as he handed Robert his needle.  “Five minutes,” he said.  “My dream.  If anything seems off, or if I decide we’ve been down too long, I’m waking us up, understood?”

“I understand,” Robert assured him.  “I know what this means for you.”  He pierced his skin with the needle and didn’t feel the sting—only elation, dug deeper by Eames nestling in next to him.  “I just want…somewhere new.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Eames said, and then pressed the plunger with his toe.