AN: It's certainly been awhile since I did the fanficton thing. Cheers to another round.
Disclaimer: Inception is the creation of Chistopher Nolan and co.
Aspettami.
"You know," Eames drawls in their shared hotel room, depositing floral patterned dress shirts into drawers and shelves, "you look as if you might vomit, Arthur."
Arthur continues to glare at the paisley bed cover, rummaging through his organized-by-color-gradient sock drawer. He refuses to rise to the bait, the silence stretching between them, until finally…
"I thought it was just going to be the four of us."
Eames throws his head back and laughs, a sound that is full and bright, filling up the room with its dimensions.
"We needed an Architect," the larger man defends gamely; "she was getting antsy for another assignment. You've worked a few jobs together already. I didn't think there would be a problem. Neither did Dom."
Arthur breaks the zipper when he closes his suitcase, the excess force lost to no one in the room. Eames snickers.
"You can't be possibly be bent out of shape about New York, mate" Eames continues, flopping down onto his bed, "it's not her fault that she outsmarted you-"
"She did no such thin-" Arthur begins hotly, Eames level gaze silencing his instantly.
"You were working for her client's competitor, Arthur. It's not as if what she did was personal," Eames begins again; "I know she feels remorse over the whole thing. Much more than she should, for God's sake…"
Arthur snorts in disbelief, rifling through his drawers in agitation. His silence is vitriolic; Eames glances at his watch in annoyance, whistling at the pass of time.
"Almost go time, mate," Eames declares, making for the bathroom, "what is it in there you're looking for anyway?"
Arthur smiles in triumph as his hands close around its handle, pulling it triumphantly from a pile of undershirts.
Eames wonders out of the bathroom, toothbrush dangling from his lips. His eyebrows raise in mild surprise, followed by a shake of the head. He returns to the bathroom, the sound of rushing water and gargling flooding the hotel room.
"Is that really necessary, love?" he queries, pulling on his dinner jacket as Arthur slips the gun into his side holster.
Eames grins. Arthur doesn't.
"I'd bring a tank if it didn't draw so much attention," Arthur replies, holding the door open for his suitemate.
Eames laughs again as they depart for the team meeting; downtown Sydney's lights filtering through the glass balcony doors.
Prologue: Wait For Me.
They reconvene in a hotel bar.
Ariadne isn't surprised, though she fidgets in an uncomfortable suit and heels as though she were. The bar is filled with proto-typical businessmen, silken Japanese and British accents slithering around native Australian cadences. They speak in numbers and deadlines; careless arms slung over young escorts that toast one another in an endless round. The celebratory clinking of champagne flutes makes Ariadne smile; the flight from the Netherlands had been smooth and the air attendant had kept her own sparkling glass full the entire trip. Liquid Courage, she had rationalized. It had paid off; the place is an elegant but, for once, she doesn't feel out of place.
Ariadne admires the hard lines of the bar, eyes following the sweep and flicks of contoured tables and chairs. The paneled walls and floors are teak and the space feels like a cloistered place of worship more than the playground of ruthless stock traders. The piano in the corner is the polish to the soft gold lounge in her opinion, its succinct strains soothing her frayed nerves. A hand fights the ghost of a fidget, brain reminding wrist that there is no longer a scarf to clutch at with nervousness. She swallows and surges forward through the large glass double doors, the ebb and flow of the patrons swirling in around her.
She uses her briefcase as a paddle in the tide, the black reflecting in the bar lights. Everything about her outfit is fitted and reflective with purpose, fashioned like gunmetal when combined with her dark gray three piece suit. Ariadne finds the thought even more fitting than the suit, refusing the maître de's offer to take her overcoat. If she looked ready, then she was ready and it had to be as simple as that. She wouldn't make it through if it wasn't.
Yusuf is the first to spot her and he does so with surprise. He notes the longer hair and form-fitting pencil skirt, tilting his head in interest. It is entirely different than what he is expecting: infamous scarlet cardigan, skinny jeans and bright scarf nowhere to be found. He can't fight the feeling that something is off, but he reminds himself that it has been a few years since they've physically shared the same space and that she's recently come into a huge sum of money working with that extraction team in Amsterdam. Everyone's entitled to change, he reminds himself, the glint of his wedding band bolstering the thought.
She waves warmly at Eames, their shared tans giving away the fact that she too had just come from Mombasa. Ariadne hadn't been much of a fan of Eames favorite hideaway, but it was a place to lay low after the Het Muziektheatre job and a place where she would have help if there was trouble. Eames replies to her wave with a wolf whistle, his grin the seed to her blooming blush.
Arthur does his best to remain impassive, waving for yet another scotch. It's the second drink he's had since texting her directions to the hotel; the fifth since Cobb announced she had agreed to moonlight as their Architect for this job.
He supposes it would be a fair accusation to say that he wasn't taking the news well and he rather felt that Eames would agree. But Eames had a point. She was the best at what she did. No matter the stakes and who was involved. In a way, Arthur supposed he's proud of her. Partially disgusted and little hurt, but proud nonetheless. She's too good, he thinks, but being too good at your job wasn't a crime and if it was, Arthur guessed he was as guilty as she was.
It was enough to rationalize with, Arthur decides, but he's discovered that scotch helps too.
Cobb rose to pull out a chair for her, the brush of his shoulder closing the door on Arthur's reveries. She gifts the lead extractor with a ghost of a kiss on his cheek, settling herself securely between Cobb and Eames. She warmly greets them all in turn, eyes hard. She's shut herself off, Arthur noted with amusement, barely listening to the pleasantries. Her carefully constructed composure was for naught when it came to him: she may have dressed like a professional, but Ariadne would always give herself away with her eyes. She was nervous and afraid of him and his reaction. Her greetings shook with uncertainty.
He found himself nodding abruptly in return, avoiding her pointed gaze. He had no desire to see what her eyes were conveying now. In fact, he had no desire to be in this bar, with this team, or even in the country.
"So," Cobb begins, thanking the waiter for refilling his glass, "everyone's here than. It's been too long."
"It certainly has," Yusuf echoes kindly, "how are Philipa and James?"
Cobb smiles, pulling their latest pictures out of his wallet.
"They're great," he supplies, passing their photographs around "Philipa starts the fourth grade in a few weeks and James has gained a fondness for bugs. He's been hiding the Raid cans and I've never seen so many ants in my life…"
"We won't talk details until after dinner," Cobb continues, pocketing the pictures after they've circulated around the table, "I just wanted to make sure everyone got here safe before we started."
"All safe," Ariadne replies, Eames grinning at her chipper response.
"Thank goodness too," Eames follows jovially, "your last project was quite daring, love. However did you pull it off?"
Ariadne blushes prettily at his praise as she waves off his inquiries.
"I can't go into specifics," she replies, "but not without a lot of improvising. I suppose I have all you to thank for that!"
They all laugh good naturedly and Arthur allows himself a small smile. She protects her job and flatters her employers in the same twist. He's almost jealous of how easily she bends other to her will.
"Miles had mentioned you managed to construct London in reverse…how was that?" Cobb questions, eyes gleaming. His absence in their field wavers in those eyes at that moment: never has it been so obvious to Arthur that he missed shared dreaming and all its potentials.
Ariadne smiles in understanding, turning toward him as she speaks.
"Well, it all started with reversing the flow of the Thames…"
Arthur watches her hands as she talks, animatedly measuring lengths and dimensions. The nails are longer than he remembers and he wonders what they would have felt like if they had been as long on Shanghai job…
"Earth to Arthur," Eames chimes abruptly, "the lovely lady just asked you a question!"
He finds everyone staring at him. Ariadne included. She looks uncomfortable. It bolsters him.
"My apologies; I was thinking about something. What was the question again?" he replies smoothly, picking up his glass.
Ariadne reddens.
"I was congratulating you. I heard the Capetown…project..went well." Her tone is carefully neutral.
"Yes and I didn't have to trap and abandon anyone in a maze to do it." His is clearly not.
Ariadne rolls her eyes. She finds him childish, but is flattered by the provocation. At least she affects him still. It's a start.
Cobb looks about the table, confused. Eames grins.
"Did you hear about the Shanghai project," asks the forger, borrowing Ariadne's euphemism.
"Eames!" Ariadne beings reproachfully, but is waved off. His grin expands at the shake of Cobb's head.
"Essentially, Ari here played for Team A. Arthur, as I'm sure you remember, was hired to play for Team B."
A flicker of understanding lights Cobb's face.
"Is this when you showed up my house in a sling?"
Arthur drains his drink in response.
Ariadne orders her first as an afterthought.
I've been lost.
AN: Reviews are nice, if you've got the time.