Poker Face
Prologue-Under the Sheets
ShadowHeartofFaith
Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. Christopher Nolan does. I am not making any profit from this story. I do, however, own my OCs.
His skin shone with a thin sheen of sweat, his broad chest heaving as his lungs greedily sucked in the oxygen they so desperately craved. Tremors shot up his spine, the cold feeling that the nerves brought filling up the pit of his stomach. Propping himself up on his elbows, his head began to pound with the after-effects of last night's extracurricular activities and a smoldering hangover.
A soft sound to his left reminded him that he was not alone. Glancing to the side he saw the sleeping outline of the tipsy trophy that had eagerly followed him back to the hotel room. He rolled his eyes. She hadn't been a challenge at all, just something to satiate his hunger. A strange feeling of guilt unfurled within his stomach like a tongue of flame. He had never felt guilty, of all things, after his late nights of chaotic play and destruction. Why all of the sudden?
Ah, yes, he thought to himself. Her.
She stared back at him with an exotic fire lighting up her nearly acidic eyes, her brunette locks fluttering as the wind blew. Throwing an arm out into the darkness, he felt around the bedside table for his totem. His fingertips skimmed over it, taking in every detail, before he brought it into the cage of his fist, holding on tightly. Letting out a shaken sigh of relief, he slid from the bed, the sheets warm and wrinkled from where his body had lain.
The woman in the bed was blonde. Not the green-eyed brunette that still haunted his every dream, prowling through his subconscious as a projection of the woman she represented. She seemed to stalk about him like an animal did its prey, her eyes hungry and filled with motives he dared not place. She tormented him and, nearly three years later, he pined for her with his existence but could never hope to obtain her. He'd begun digging the hole that separated them until it had yawned into a great divide.
Bending down to retrieve his trousers, he tugged them on, placing his totem into his pocket. Shrugging the printed button-down over his shoulders, his calloused hands moved to adjust his collar before he did up the buttons over his chest. Feeling the familiar weight of the blue poker chip and the folded letter in his pocket, he straightened up, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
Moving towards the door, he glanced back at the drunken, sated woman. She had rolled onto her side, smiling pleasantly in his direction. He squinted his stormy eyes to see through the dark and after a moment of deliberation, decided she was still asleep. He turned away at the sight, that same pang of guilt from his gut traveling up to resonate through his chest.
He favored blondes because he had little to compare with the chestnut curls he had loved to run his fingers through. He favored dark eyes that could not even begin to outshine the blazing jade pair that he had fallen for at first sight. He favored women that had little substance and even less to speak of because no one had ever beaten him at his own game of wits aside from her. No one had a more wild imagination than she did.
He often wondered where she was, what she was doing, if she ever wonder about him in return. Bet she's got a steady bloke, he muttered internally as he crept from the hotel room. Someone who gives her everything I never could manage. He faltered a step as he strode down the hallway as realization struck him. Every night that he spent picking up tipsy trophies to end his cravings with his dazzling smiles and charming parlor tricks, she was with this man that he had imagined up for her.
Jamming his hands into his pockets, he watched as the elevator door slid shut before him. He was surprised by his intense bitterness. He was a Forger. He never stayed in one place for long, it was in his nature to lie and brag. He was a vagabond with many faces and a reckless nature and love for discord. He didn't settle, he moved on. He didn't stop, he took breaks. He couldn't afford to stop. People like him were an odd commodity in his line of work. In the world of dream-sharing, extracting, and inception. His stormy eyes watched from beneath hooded lids as the numbers on the panel lit up with a dull sort of gleam as the elevator took him down lower.
He had just woken up and he already needed a drink. This woman-his woman-was relentless and ruthless. She was his infatuation, his most coveted dream, and his worst bloody nightmare. Running his hand through his disheveled hair and back down over his face, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Dammit, woman", he grumbled angrily. "What have you done to me?"
The ding of the hotel elevator brought him back from his thoughts. The door sliding back, he stepped out onto the polished tile. Strolling through the lobby, he winked at the bubbly girl at the desk that he had checked in with two nights ago. She grinned, her perfect white teeth showing when she caught sight of him. That alien sensation ignited within his abdomen once again making him cringe.
Slipping through the growing throng of people milling and out of the architectural beauty, he shoved his way out of the five-star building and out onto the crowded streets. Rummaging in his coat pocket, he retrieved his lighter. Smiling around the cigarette that dangled from his lips, he mused on about how simple it was to find something of comfort. A strong drink, death sticks, the company of a woman. But nothing could compare to that one woman. And no drink or amount of smoke could ever even begin to compete with the constant thrill of dream-sharing and forgery. It was a wonder getting to wear another's face for a day, use their voice, conform to their tendencies. He had shelves littered with folded up masks of the human beings he impersonated and sometimes he feared that he would lose himself to his cons but the thrill was too great to pass up. It was like a drug. So dangerous and any one job could be the last, a single forge could be the end of him, but he needed it. It intoxicated him.
His trouser pocket began to vibrate only a second before an obnoxious ringing sound reached his ears. Puffing out a smoky breath, he took the device from his pocket. Only six people had his personal number. His old team and his mother-much to his displeasure. Flipping it open, he mumbled, "'Ello?" into the receiver.
"Eames!" the voice on the other end of the line exclaimed. "How are you? I can't believe it's been five months already! Where've you been?"
The British man chuckled. "Oh, I've been here and there, darling. What about you? Been in contact with my dearest Arthur?"
"I've been alright. I went back to Paris for a while and I have been in contact with Arthur, thank you very much!" Her voice sounded so indignant and he could picture, perfectly, the face she made when she was annoyed. How her eyes would narrow slightly and her nose would scrunch up just a bit. "But you'll never guess where I am now!" she continued, her words jumbled with her haste.
"Where are you, Ariadne?" he asked lowly to humor her.
"I'm in L.A.!" the young architect nearly screamed over the phone. Eames had to hold the device away from his ear and force himself to keep from cringing. "Cobb's house is so beautiful!"
"L.A.? Cobb? Are you calling me about work, love? Or have you realized I am a much more intriguing alternative to that stick-in-the-mud that you adore?" Eames played on teasingly.
She giggled. "Oh, you know how much I want you, Eames."
"I've known, pet. I've known." He sighed theatrically. "Oh, the distance that separates us!"
Breaking the act out of her excitement, she carried on. "When can you be here? Yusuf and Saito are flying in next week. And Cobb won't tell me anything when I ask him about it but I overheard him talking to Arthur and we have a new teammate."
"Eavesdropping?"
"Of course not!" Ariadne argued.
"You would never do such a thing, would you, my cheeky monkey?"
She scoffed in response. He could picture her face again. Her guarded posture.
He chuckled again, a deep sound that reverberated through his broad chest. "I'll be on the next flight out, Ari. Tell Arthur darling not to miss me too much", he teased, his reward being another amused laugh from the architect.
"I'll see you soon then, Mr. Eames."
A/N: This is my first Inception fanfiction. I started it a few months ago and lost my spark with all the craziness of college. I'm on vacation now so I have some spare time to pick up where I left off. I tried my best to keep the Inception characters as in character as possible. Criticism and reviews would be greatly appreciated.