InsaneJournal

There was a roar as the huge motorbike whirled dangerously round the corner, leaning violently to one side before righting itself and screaming to a halt outside the building. The young wizard, wrapped in a coat and scarf, kicked the stand down and swung one long leg over the saddle, before striding irritably into the building. It wasn’t long before the loud, impatient knocking started on Arthur and Eames’ door. Just the one initially, but quickly morphing into a mad, disjointed rhythm of a fist against the wood.

When the door opened Sirius was glaring, although the effect was ruined somewhat by the slightly effeminate way he had to blow his long hair out of his eyes. He had, after all, been sleeping on a sofa for four nights, had just been forced into having a very uncomfortable text conversation with his brother and, to top it all off, had been denied his morning caffeine and nicotine. All in the space of about half an hour.

“You,” he announced to Eames. “Owe me coffee. And a fucking cigarette.” He pushed past the man, loping into the room and unwinding his scarf from around his neck, chucking it over the back of the chair, where it hung for a moment then slid slowly onto the floor.

Eames decided not to point out that Sirius had sort-of missed the chair, and simply lit up one of the younger man’s cigarettes before handing it over as he walked into the kitchen to lift the two mugs of coffee and a packet of biscuits. Handing one of the coffees over when he returned to the living room, he took a mouthful of coffee from his own mug and then sat down on the couch, dropping the biscuits down beside him. “Remind me never to part you from your carcinogens and stimulants before noon again, won’t you? And sit down, you’re making the place look untidy,” he said cheerfully, pointedly refusing to look over at the not-so-small heap of art supplies that seemed to be on the verge of taking over the living room.

The biscuits got opened, but as had been previously stated over the network, they weren’t Jaffa cakes so Eames had no real desire to eat them. They got set on the coffee table instead. “You look like shit, by the way. Not sleeping?”

Sirius took the cigarette, jamming it between his lips like a lifeline as Eames wandered off to collect the coffee. The animagus accepted the drink gratefully, plucking the lit stick of tobacco from his mouth as he took a much-needed gulp. You didn’t have to know Sirius very well to know that without his caffeine and nicotine he turned into a bit of a monster. He wasn’t very good company until he’d had some kind of stimulant.

“Never,” Sirius told Eames gravely, waving the lit cigarette in his friends direction “Never do that to me again.” He gave what he imagined was a ‘warning look’, before giving in and sloping over to sit on the other end of the sofa. Sirius kicked off his boots, leaving them empty on the carpet as he curled his legs underneath him and threw back the remains of the coffee, plugging his mouth with the cigarette and reaching for the biscuits. The younger man shrugged as he rummaged with the packet.

“James’ couch is fucking uncomfortable. I think Tom’s been jumping on it. Or he and Lils did something else. Which I really don’t have the stomach to think about right now.” Sirius had been speaking around the cigarette, and he took it out to shove two biscuits in whole and wolf them down. He spoke again through the mouthful, changing the subject casually and avoiding Eames gaze so he wouldn’t have to discuss the other reason he never slept. “How’d you get in the flat?”

Sirius’s current ‘warning look’ was a touch on the side of pathetic, given what Eames had seen in his time, so it really didn’t faze him all that much. Nor was he all that interested in what other people might have been doing on James Potter’s couch. The question of how he got into the flat, though. Heh.

“I told you. I went in through the front door, same as most other people would do. I just had to make my own key, that’s all,” he admitted, watching Sirius as he replied. He took another drink of coffee before speaking again. “You know, we do have a spare room now that Ariadne’s moved out. If you need somewhere to sleep that isn’t your own perfectly adequate flat and isn’t a love-seat, you’re more than welcome to stay here. Your coffee’s already migrated anyway, and most of your cigarettes, so it’s not like the essentials aren’t here.”

Sirius lifted his eyebrows as far as they would go, letting them disappear under the hair that was so carefully arranged to fall over his high forehead.

“And how did you make your own, exactly?” He probed again. It was simple enough for him to get past a locked door - but he was a wizard. He wasn’t completely naive when it came to picking locks, either, but it took so much time and effort he normally just resorted to blowing the lock clean out of the wood. Which had usually made Remus smack him around the back of the head. Subtlety had never been a strong point.

He shook his head, finishing off the coffee and placing the mug down on the table, taking another deep inhalation of sharp, toxic smoke. “You don’t want to put up with me waking up and padding around all hours of the night. Taking the piss out of your sex noises. Prongs had seven years of rooming with me. He’s used to it. Anyway,” he took another biscuit. “Regulus is moving back in tonight. I should probably keep an eye on the twat.”

He raised an eyebrow in reply to Sirius’s question, then grinned as he decided to just tell the wizard the truth. The lack of coffee probably meant he’d be far more likely to turn Eames into a cat or something equally horrific, and while the thought of changing into something else (and a whole new species at that) whilst still being awake was theoretically a good one, he found that he probably wouldn’t exactly be so enthused about putting that idea into practice. “I picked the lock. It’s easily done if you know how,” he admitted with a small shrug, “and no, I was not a locksmith in my previous life”. While he wasn’t as good as Parker was, he was still more than competent, able to work quickly and with confidence as he manipulated the various tumblers within the locks.

He laughed at Sirius’s reasons for turning down the offer of his spare room. “Given that I can’t remember the last time Arthur or I had a normal sleep pattern, your padding about at random times wouldn’t be all that much of a problem. Besides, you’re one to talk about sex noises. I’ve heard what you come out with, don’t forget.”

The mention of Regulus meant that Eames just went a tad quieter and watched how Sirius’s body language shifted very slightly as he spoke. Hmm. Interesting. “Well, the offer’s always there if you ever need to take us up on it,” he said and then finished his coffee. Bugger.

“Then what were you?” Sirius insisted, crossing his legs a little tighter as he squirmed round on the sofa to face Eames, leaning back against the arm. “I’m taking a mad guess that it wasn’t completely legal, here. I mean... At the very least it must have been morally dubious.“ He quirked an eyebrow playfully. Sirius wasn’t completely a stranger when it came to breaking the law - he’d become animagus at fifteen, after all, and it hadn’t done much to keep him on the straight and narrow. Not to mention the fact that he’d more or less spent his whole childhood surrounded by the Dark Arts, and that the Order hadn’t always worked completely within the Ministry parameters... Bloody place was full of Death Eaters anyway.

Still, at the mention of sex noises, he had to drag himself back to the here and now to feign insult.

“Oi! They’re manly! Although... I’m pretty sure I barked the other week. I thought the poor girl would be freaked out, but she seemed to be into it...” He gave a wicked grin and shrugged yet again, ignoring the tired tightness of his muscles and shoving another whole biscuit in his mouth. Sirius didn’t waste time chewing for more than a moment before he swallowed and reached over to tap cigarette ash into a nearby ashtray, not bothering to hide a yawn at the same time. “And I’ll keep it in mind. Cheers.”

‘Morally dubious’ was a delightful phrase! Eames laughed once more as he put his mug down on the coffee table, and then shifted positions to watch Sirius, mirroring the wizard’s movements from a few seconds previously. “I don’t think I’ve had a completely legal job in the past ten years, to be perfectly honest,” he said, still smiling, “and I’m a Forger. I can make you counterfeit copies of pretty much anything within reason. Documents, ID, signatures, artwork, whatever you like.” The ‘people’ part remained unsaid, for now. “And if I can’t copy it, I’ll steal it for you. For a price, of course.”

He did look a bit puzzled when Sirius admitted to barking during sex, though. “You know, I’ve been with some kinky bastards in my time, but nobody has ever barked at me. Why the fuck did you do that?” He reached round to his back pocket as he asked and got his cigarettes out, making sure he hadn’t accidentally squashed them when he sat down. When they seemed okay, he took one out and tossed the rest of the pack onto the coffee table beside his mug, and then lit up.

“Thief!!” Sirius announced, far too delighted by the prospect and pointing an accusing finger towards Eames, actually bouncing a little on the cushions like a hyperactive child. “Fucking criminal! I pissing knew it! HAH!” He rammed the cigarette smugly back between his lips, taking a final, triumphant inhalation and letting the smoke trickle out through flared nostrils. “You know,” he added, wicked grin firmly in place and something between admiration and amusement sparking in his eyes. “that is no way for a pleasant gentleman such as yourself to behave.”

He reached over, one eyebrow remaining stubbornly raised as he tapped out the cigarette and left the stub smouldering in the ash. “I didn’t mean to. I want to chase cats half the time as well. It messes with your head a bit. I...” He hesitated, glancing up at his friend for a moment, sly smile rekindling as he shook his hair back. “You haven’t seen, have you?”

There was a popping noise, a momentary rush of air, and suddenly Sirius’ face elongated, his shoulders hunched and thick, dark hair erupted over otherwise pale skin. A split second later the enormous shaggy black dog was sat on Arthur’s and Eames’ couch, pink tongue lolling out in a way that remarkably resembled Sirius’ wide grin. Padfoot gave a bark of laughter, shifted his weight on his haunches so the sofa creaked, then seemed to shake.

Less than a minute had passed since the start of the Padfoot fiasco and Sirius was back, curled on the sofa like nothing had happened. A few black dog hairs remained stuck to his cheek, but he brushed them away, smiling smugly.

Eames was too amused by Sirius’s reaction to his job description to reply straight away, and then things got decidedly weird when the cat-chasing admission came out. And then Eames was reaching into his pocket for his totem because people didn’t just turn into huge fucking dogs like that. Not when he was awake, at least, and rarely when they were asleep. He sort-of stared a bit longer, and then Sirius was back in his seat.

Eames blinked.

He blinked again and rubbed at his nose.

He even managed to not allow his cigarette fall out of his mouth, since that would have burnt a hole in his jeans and that would have been awful. And also painful. So that was an accomplishment.

“Well. That’s a new one. Although it explains a few of your earlier comments, and I suppose I’d look as smug as you currently do if I could lick my own balls without needing a couple of ribs surgically removed. And don’t even think of telling me you haven’t tried that.”

Sirius gave a bark of laughter that was frighteningly similar to Padfoot’s, and bounced a little more, the caffeine giving his system the kick it needed to get him back to his usual restless self. “We learnt when we were in our fifth year, to help out Remus. James turns into a stag and Peter...” He caught himself, suddenly becoming still on the cushions as his bottom lip caught between his teeth. With all the things involving Regulus being stirred up, it had been a while since he had thought about Wormtail, and it made his stomach twist unpleasantly.

Sirius reached for another cigarette, fishing his wand from his pocket to light it with a golden spark. The living room was starting to get that distinct, sharp smell now, and it doubtless wouldn’t be long until a faint film of winding smoke would be visible. Sirius kept his attention on the job at hand for a moment, letting the knot in his chest loosen before the cigarette started to smoke gently and he lifted his gaze to peer up at Eames. A smirk was curling at one corner of his mouth. “Still, bet a few tricks like that wouldn’t be completely useless for you back at home, right?”

“A stag?” Eames asked, “I suppose that explains ‘Prongs’, then.” He took careful note of the reaction to saying the name “Peter” and decided to leave well enough alone. If it was covered in those books, he’d probably find out for himself later, or he could always go down a level and have a look. Or get Sirius rolling-drunk and just ask him face-to-face, but that way might end up with actual real injuries from a barfight.

Sirius’ next comment had him laughing once more. He held up a hand as he fished his PDA out of his other back pocket, and started writing a text to Ariadne while he filled his lungs with lovely smoke.

“r u there? want 2 xplane dreamstuff 2 Sirius.”

and then

“did u no he turns in2 a fcuking bear? ok dog. hairs all over the couch. Arthur will crack lol”

He looked back up at the animagus as he waited for her replies. “Not completely useless, no. I suppose I should show you what else we do,” and he gestured in such a way as to indicate himself, Ariadne, Arthur and Mal. Just then, his PDA buzzed twice with Ariadne’s replies.

"yes. your place? be there in a sec"

which was quickly followed by

"a bear? he's a dog. and yes, I knew, I read the books"

Bloody books. “Ariadne’ll be here in a moment. So, do you think I should read those books you’re in?”

“What else you do?” Sirius frowned, slumping forward over his crossed legs, cigarette dangling dangerously between long fingers. “Fuck. More exciting than stealing and forging? Godric save us.” He smirked, lifting the cigarette and watching through the plume of delicate smoke as Eames’ PDA buzzed irritably. His own was switched to silent in his pocket, ignored since his brief conversation with Regulus. The animagus nodded as Eames informed him their mutual friend was on her way. He did like Ariadne. As well as their obvious arrangement, she was a good laugh. And she knew a lot about maps, he’d discovered.

Sirius did his best to keep his expression careless when the books were mentioned. No, was the obvious answer. No, he didn’t think Eames should read them. It was oddly freeing to speak with someone who didn’t seem to skirt around the ideas of Azkaban and Harry as if the topics were elephants in the room intent on taking them down. But he couldn’t say that, so Sirius shrugged carelessly, and braced on hand on the back of the couch.

“If you want. Although then how will I shock you?” He flashed his trademark grin, wriggled his eyebrows and vaulted elegantly over the back of the sofa, landing with only a slight stumble and loping off towards the kitchen. “More coffee? You got any food? I fancy apples. Or sweets.... Oooh! Toffee apples!”

Sirius had vanished into the kitchen at this point, and the sound of the kettle being flicked on rang back. A moment later, and the two empty mugs on the coffee table floated into the air and zoomed over the sitting room after the wizard. When the door opened, and Ariadne appeared, it was a moment before Sirius’ dark head appeared around the kitchen door-frame, offering a wide grin and a wink to the new arrival.

“Alright stranger?!”

Now that she wasn't living in the same apartment as the men anymore, Ariadne had to get dressed before heading over. Even if both Eames and Sirius had seen her naked. Which was weird if she stopped to think about it, so she shoved the thought to the back of her mind. But their neighbors didn't need to see her underwear. So she took the time to pull on some clothes before padding her way over to the other apartment. Her old key was still on her keyring - she hadn't stopped to question that either. And she definitely did not flinch when she saw Eames sitting in the living room.

"All right yourself?" she said when Sirius grinned at her, smiling back. Okay, she was fond of him, even if he was an arrogant jerk. Much like some other gentlemen of her acquaintance. "Is there coffee for me too?" Eames was already on the couch and Sirius had clearly been in the corner she liked best, so Ariadne settled herself on the floor on the other side of the coffee table.

Eames was normally pretty unshakable. He regularly turned into different people while wading through people’s dreams and nightmares, after all. But he’d just checked his totem for the fifth time in as many minutes and smoked his cigarette almost down to the butt, because Sirius could turn into a bloody dog, and also, his mugs had just gone sailing past his head like something out of that awful Disney film where Mickey learnt magic. If his art supplies followed suit, he wasn’t going to be at all impressed.

He was about to check for the sixth time when Ariadne walked in and sat on the floor, so he put his totem away and smiled over at her. “Hello, how are you?” he asked, careful not to use any terms of endearment around her. Not that he wanted to, but he thought calling her “My dear” and “Darling” and anything else off of his giant list of pet names would just make things worse between them all.

Sirius had disappeared back into the kitchen once Ariadne had replied, waving a hand vaguely as he retreated, and the faint sound of rather messy coffee making rang back as the newcomer got settled. When he emerged, Ariadne was on the floor, and Eames was where he’d left him. Sirius flicked his wand, sending two coffee mugs zooming over the space to bump gently into the sides of their heads, knocking persistently until they got some attention. In the meantime, he loped over to his old seat and resumed his cross-legged position on the cushions.

“Have we discussed the fact that you two ripped each other new ones at my party?” he offered, perkily, more for the reaction that anything. Sirius grinned wickedly over the rim of his coffee cup. “I mean, if I hadn’t listened to James and Lily for most of my teenage life, I would have been appalled by the scene. Even the strippers were horrified. It was very difficult to recapture the mood.”

Nothing like making everyone feel amazingly uncomfortable over coffee. Sirius did feel that there should be some way for him to make money out of his gift. He shifted on the sofa, wriggling around like a cat trying to make himself comfortable. “So come on then. Show me the muggle madness. Are you a thief too?” This was shot at Ariadne, “Because Eames needs to be locked away. Turns out his moral compass is a bloody piss-take. He stole my coffee!”

"I'm okay," Ariadne said to Eames. Which was about as honest an answer as he was going to get right now. "But I have work later, so I can't stay forever. How were you planning on doing this?" She gently plucked the coffee cup out of the air and brought it to her lips but managed not to spew coffee all over the table at Sirius's question. Still, she could feel her ears turning red and her eyes burning as she set the mug down on the table carefully. The effects of the candy might have worn off, but it didn't make her much less touchy about what had happened and what was still going on. "I'm not a thief, I'm an architect. And I really can't comment on Eames's sense of morality." Maybe she should just leave. Did they really need her here for this?

He had been about to answer Ariadne's question when something quite hot bumped into his skull. What? How was this happening? He was awake, damn it, and didn't need to check his totem again. "Sirius, kindly stop giving my crockery a semblance of personality, would you?" he grumbled as he grabbed at the mug smacking against his head, then reached into his pocket for his poker chip and started flipping it over his knuckles with his free hand.

He had just put his coffee down on the table when Sirius asked what was probably the least-useful question he could have thought up. "We have not, and we're not going to, either," he replied calmly, allowing just a hint of 'Keep asking and I'll swap your eyeballs with your testicles' to creep into his voice, then smiled back at the wizard. That was something for Ariadne and himself to sort out first, and then he'd talk to Sirius about it later.

“Anyway, leave my lack of a moral compass out of this. I asked Ariadne round to see if we can sort out the little problem you have with sleeping. I can’t be the only person who’s noticed,” he said, then gestured for Sirius to pass him the ashtray before lighting his next cigarette off of the last one.

Sirius just grinned cheekily at Eames’ objection to the floating coffee cup, lifting his own to his lips and taking a drink as Ariadne did her best to skirt his questions entirely and the older man dismissed him with no small amount of passive aggression. Oh well, he’d have plenty of time to tease them about it later.

Or now.

At least, it seemed preferable to the sudden change in conversation. Sirius didn’t talk about the nightmares. He’d suffered as long as he could remember and although they were admittedly worse here, he was sure it was nothing he couldn’t cope with. The animagus scowled, passing the ashtray on wordlessly and slipping his wand behind his ear. He shot Ariadne a ‘you just couldn’t keep your mouth shut’ look as he did so. Of course, he’d mentioned his nightmares to Eames once or twice. In passing. Briefly. Ariadne was the one he’d most recently spent the night with. The time with Eames didn’t count. It was long enough ago now to be more or less written off in Sirius’ relatively short memory.

“Or....” he decided, stretching over to place the coffee mug down on the floor. “We could just leave it all well alone? Sleep is for the weak!” The last announcement was more than a little over-dramatic, one eyebrow quirking up his forehead as he took on what he liked to call his ‘war hero’ expression. The one that made him look a little like a constipated Hippogriff. Apparently. Although how Lily knew what a constipated Hippogriff looked like was a mystery to everyone.

Ariadne let out a breath as Eames definitively closed the subject, and she leaned her elbow on the coffee table and propped her chin in her hand to look at Sirius. "You aren't. I bet you haven't gotten a full night's sleep in forever." Not that the people she hung out with slept regularly, but Sirius wasn't injecting quantities of somnacin on a regular basis. "I mean, you certainly haven't the time's I've been there with you. And not because of whatever other activities we were up to." And she refused to be embarrassed about that.

"Besides, you've asked what we do. Half the time what we deal with is whatever's messing up people's heads. It all hangs out in the subconscious." Ariadne drank some of her coffee, then looked at Eames for confirmation. Surely not everybody was as bad as Cobb with his shade of Mal wrecking jobs, but projections were people the subject knew in real life and they could use their histories to gain access.

Sirius rolled his eyes, then latched onto the brief mention of his and Ariadne’s escapades like it was his last lifeline. “Careful. You’ll make Eames jealous.”

But Ariadne ploughed on regardless, even as Sirius gave a gigantic, irritated exhalation and slumped back in the cushions, communicating in what he thought was a quite clear way that he didn’t want to carry on this conversation. Arms crossed over his chest, long fingertips drumming irregularly in the crook of his arm. On the cushions, his knee twitched. “What are you? I thought you were a bloody Architect and... whatever the fuck Eames likes to be called. Now you’re a head healer on top of it?” He scowled, “Listen, I’m fine. I’ve lasted Merlin knows how long with bad dreams, and I’m pretty sure a few more aren’t about to kill me. Can you just leave it?”

He was pretty sure he’d had this exact conversation with James before, and that the next day he’d put silencing charms around his four poster. Which, it turned out, had worked quite well on a number of levels besides keeping his nightmares private. Prongs knew anyway, obviously - that man knew everything. But it still wasn’t something he was about to have a casual chat about over coffee.

Eames sat forward, shifting out of his usual sprawl and suddenly looking much more... intense. “There’s something you should know about us. We specialise in a very specific type of head-healing,” he said, squinting for effect. “Subconscious head-healing.” He relaxed very slightly after that, but his body-language and posture was still nothing like it had been only a few moments ago. Eames had always been able to switch between business and play with the greatest of ease, and he was shaping up to treat this like a job.

“You want to talk about bad dreams? We’ll go ask Mal. She killed herself over dreams, which is why Phillipa talks about her mommy going to live with the angels. Your subconscious is a very powerful place, and the more things you shove down into it, the more they begin to... well, define you. Ignoring something that’s giving you recurring nightmares for however long it’s been is never going to fix things,” he continued, flipping his poker chip across his knuckles as he spoke.

“My main job is as a Forger, but I can also put in a fair turn at being an Extractor. In layman’s terms, I could get into your head while you sleep, and steal things. Ideas, secrets, anything you’re hiding in there. However, we can also go in and tidy up, for want of a better term. Build a safehouse, teach you how to order your thoughts, how to protect them, how to keep people like us out.” He took a long drag on his cigarette after that, then lifted his coffee and sat back. Ariadne could continue, since she seemed to have an almost intuitive sense of how to go about these things and had somehow managed to help sort Cobb out without beating his head off a wall.

It was only through a herculean effort that Ariadne did not spew her coffee all over the men's laps. That impression of Cobb was dead on - of course it was, it was Eames - and it was a wonderful contrast to Sirius's petulant sigh. She watched him as he discussed the power of denial and bit back a comment; it was all well and good for him to preach at Sirius, but when they were so busy not talking about the things that had affected them since they arrived in Colligo he didn't have much room to talk, did he?

"I was an architecture student before we got here, before I met Cobb. But as an Architect in dreams, that means I build the world you see when we share the dream. I design it, construct it, and teach it to the dreamer. If you wanted a safehouse I could build you one.." She paused to drink her coffee, remembering Arthur showing her the Penrose stairs. "And I can change things as I go if I'm in there. The second time I shared a dream, I folded Paris over itself." Yeah, she was still proud of that.

Subconscious head healing. Sirius was liking the sound of all this less and less as it went on. What the bloody hell was wrong with Muggles? God, leave people without magic for a few centuries and they turned to bloody anything to keep themselves occupied. Eames was all business, leaning in in a way that made Sirius automatically lean back, as if Eames would squirm up one of his nostrils and into his subconscious that way. His wide eyes drifted down to the way Eames flipped a poker chip over his knuckles, something Sirius had always taken as a nervous habit, but now he suddenly remembered Ariadne’s chess piece, which she always flicked over on the side-table every morning, and he felt his stomach curl.

Sirius’ hand flew up somewhere in the middle of Eames’ ‘extractor’ explanation. “Whoa! Merlin, you better not have been in my fucking head…” But the conversation was still going, and he let his hand drop, although it flew up again a moment later to snatch his wand from behind his ear and start spinning it between his fingers. His own nervous tic. One of many. The swirl of the wood became faster as he listened to Eames, one eyebrow stubbornly raised in a sceptical expression that didn’t quite carry through. Ariadne had taken over now, talking about building worlds for his dreams, folding Paris. Who the fuck wanted to fold Paris? What did that even mean?!

There was a long silence as they finished. Sirius stopped twirling the wand when a golden spark shot from the end and nearly set the sofa alight.

“So…. You want to take a casual jaunt into my head, build a… safehouse,” His handsome features curled around the word, trying it out. “And shove my enormously fucked up subconscious in there for a time out? That’s the general idea?” His eyebrows climbed in bewilderment, and his tone gave a very clear indication of what he thought of the plan. “How in the name of Godric Gryffindor’s ginger beard can you find apparition a mindfuck and yet casually suggest… that?! Anyway… that stuff… it’s private.”

“It can stay private. Did you look through Ariadne’s stuff when you helped her move across the hallway? Wait, don’t answer that,” Eames replied, obviously amused at Sirius’ reaction, and then blew a couple of smoke rings before continuing to speak. “Anyway, my point is that we wouldn’t need to look. You could sort out what you wanted to have tidied up, we’d... uh, carry the boxes, I suppose, and you would then benefit from a full eight hours of beauty sleep every night, and perhaps your dire need for coffee would have less of a hold on you? Or your incendiary impulses would lessen, which the couch would thank you for.”

He reached for the packet of biscuits, wondering if Sirius had managed to eat all of them in one sitting. Oooh, there were some left. Excellent. He lifted one out and nudged the rest towards Ariadne. “Honestly, Sirius, I’ve been doing this for a long time. I know what I’d be doing and I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t think it would help. And Ariadne’s a natural at it. Apparation, on the other hand, is evil and wrong and since you’ve no doubt concluded that I’m a very bad man, I’m clearly qualified to make such a judgement.”

Ariadne took a cookie and nodded, accepting Eames's praise without equivocating. "That is, in fact, the general idea. I guess we could try it, and if it doesn't work we can always... I don't know, blow off the locks on the safe and put you in therapy." Because really, wasn't this what Cobb had tried to do with Mal? She'd never talked about how many layers he'd built to try and lock up the shade of his dead wife, but surely Eames could guess. "But I think it's worth... trying out, at least." She tilted her head and looked at Sirius, considering. "And probably less scary than the thought of you rifling through my stuff."

Sirius stared at the pair for a moment, before finally blowing his hair from his face in that slightly camp way he had and throwing his hands up in defeat. “Fuck it. Fine. Go rifling through my head. Although don’t be surprised if it’s past help.” He didn’t have the energy in him to argue against two quite possibly mental muggles who seemed set on giving him some weird mind-wiping brain probe. Actually, if people were getting technical, he had too much energy. Two cups of coffee, a dozen biscuits and a heap of nerves will do that to a person. He really needed to go running around the park bothering pigeons or something for a little while.

Sirius cocked an eyebrow. “What do I need to do? No offence, but there’s no way I’m sleeping now. I’m on a caffeine kick. And I need to go bother Harry.” As if to prove a point, his knee did that weird twitching thing again. Then, suddenly, Sirius was on his feet, bouncing anxiously on his toes for a moment so long dark hair fell casually into his eyes as he peered down. “Also, I’ve seen quite enough of your knickers, Ariadne, to go rifling through boxes. And Eames, apparation is a glorious and convenient method of transportation. You should try a bloody broom.”

Ariadne shrugged, looking to Eames. "Arthur has the PASIV, but I don't know if there's enough somnacin for us all. Or..." they could always ask their mutual friend Morpheus, but Ariadne didn't feel entirely comfortable asking the Lord of Dreams to help them root around in a friend’s subconscious. “But we don’t have to do anything now. We can, you know, plan things.” Eames had been instrumental in creating their strategy for the Fischer job, and frankly Ariadne was interested to see what he would come up with in this case.

“I don’t think anyone’s past help,” she added quietly, taking another sip of her coffee. If she’d been able to help Cobb, then she should be able to help Sirius, especially with help from someone else.

“I’m not sure,” Eames replied, “but I’ll check. And if we’re out of somnacin, I’ll talk with Morpheus.” He had no such problems with asking Dream for favours. Clearly, since he’d continually asked him for training from the very moment he’d realised who Morpheus was - harassed was possibly too strong a word, but it came close. Glancing over at Sirius, he rubbed at his nose as he thought things over for a moment, then looked back at Ariadne. “He’ll be working with us anyway, so. What would you say to taking him on a practice run first? You could fold this place into a paper hat if you wanted,” he said with a grin, already working out possible Forges he could use.

Of course, then he realised what Sirius had said after another wasted attempt at defending Apparation. He looked round at the wizard, clearly confused by what he’d heard. “A broom? An actual broom? Why would anyone do that? How is that even comfortable?”

The talk of somnacin sailed about a mile over Sirius’ head as he stood anxiously beside the couch. After all, this was the man who had had trouble learning about television when he’d first arrived here. He’d only just managed to understand half the stuff Rose babbled on about. No way was he even going to try and understand how Araidne and Eames planned on emptying or cleaning or whatever they wanted to do to his subconscious. He glanced down at Eames, frowning as if the older man had just asked a very stupid question.

“Cushioning charms,” he told him, then shook his head. “One day I’ll teach you about Quidditch. Are we done? Or are you planning on trapping me, knocking me out and just scooping my dreams out with a spoon?” He glanced down at Ariadne, hoisting his eyebrows with a playful smirk. The caffeine was still making him jumpy, and Sirius resisted an urge to sprint out of the flat before his friends came up with any more madcap schemes. And coming from Sirius, who was the master of stupid plans, that was saying something.

"Yes. With a spoon." Ariadne looked all the way up at him with a deadpan expression. "I think we're done for now. And one of us will let you know what's happening if Morpheus agrees to help us, I guess." That was assuming he did. "Or we could knock you out. Put something in your coffee." She grinned. "Actually, I like that plan."

“Yusuf, Yusuf, why have you abandoned us in our hour of need?” Eames said, ignoring Sirius’s deranged ramblings about charms and kwiditch or whatever the fuck that was. Then he got to his feet as well, and put his poker chip back in his pocket. “Right. You look like you need to go chase some mangy old mog or... if you’re in a car, mate, do you have to stick your head out the window while it’s moving? Just wondering. Anyway, yes. Have you eaten enough of my biscuits? Are you leaving your coffee here? What about your fags? I seem to have work to do, so...”

“Oh, ha ha,” Sirius shot back at Ariadne, before quirking his eyebrows at Eames and snatching up the remaining biscuits with an arrogant, easy smile. “Compensation,” he told him, “for the breaking and entering.” As he spoke, he waved a vague hand, caught the jar of coffee granules that came speeding in from the kitchen and grabbed his cigarettes. Fully weighed down with all manner of objects, the animagus sent the pair a grin.

“Give me a text whenever you feel like sending me completely over the edge, yeah?” Sirius cocked an eyebrow suggestively at Ariadne, gave Eames as best a salute as he could manage with his arms full of retrieved and stolen goods, and was suddenly gone, leaving nothing but a popping sound and an empty coffee cup.