A/N- I haven't written anything for Inception in a very long time, but I couldn't get this beginning out of my head. I know it's short and stunted, but it has the potential to become something much more. I can lengthen it later. If you guys like it, let me know. Maybe I'll actually flesh something out.
Disclaimer- I do not own Inception.
There are days when she feels trapped. Suffocated. Drained of all the things that made her life interesting.
It feels like a lifetime ago. Her current life as a college student pales in comparison to the vibrant and exuberant world of shared dreaming. Instead of building fantastic mazes in impossible locations, she turns in her homework. Instead of racing down imaginary metropolitan streets in the pouring rain, she attends class. Instead of seeing her teammates every day, she trades empty smiles back and forth with her roommate on the off chance they actually see each other.
She craves it—the feeling of creating something out of nothing. Playing God. Maneuvering through a person's mind as easily as she would the aisles in a grocery store. With every passing day, her hope of sharing another dream becomes fainter. Occasionally, she has a small blossom of hope that comes in the form of hearing a British accent in the marketplace or seeing a pair of children that look suspiciously like James and Phillipa. She's learned to stop getting her hopes up at the sight of a well-kept man in a suit—that happens too often in this part of the city. It only sets her up for disappointment.
She sat by her phone day and night after she returned to Paris from her excursion to Los Angeles. She expected the call. She yearned for it. Dreamt about it. It never came, though. She spent the next year in her own personal limbo, not really processing what was happening around her or even bringing herself to care about any of it. She couldn't. Instead, she devoted herself to schoolwork and finishing up her degree.
It is exactly one year, three months, and twenty-one days after touching down at the airport in Los Angeles. Ariadne is in her university library, sitting at a table nestled in between the towering bookshelves near the psychology section in the very back. The light isn't great, but the smell of musty pages reminds her that she is in the oldest section of the library and, more importantly, away from prying eyes. The foot traffic is minimal at best. The only people she sees are two older students browsing through some shelves about thirty feet away from her, not paying her a bit of attention. The only interaction they have is the offering of a "bless you" after she sneezes. She thanks him and they go back to their separate tasks.
She shouldn't be doing this, but she doesn't care. As she delves back into the book laid out in front of her, she takes notes over the theoretical practices used by therapists and the US military. Shared dreaming is a difficult subject to track down in such an enormous library. She's lucky she found this book at all. There's an entire chapter on shared dreaming and how it was a "failed" experiment that ended up driving the test subjects crazy. If only they knew.
The library is suddenly quiet. It takes Ariadne a moment to notice the change. She places one last post-it note in the margin of the book and closes it gently, not wanting to break the illusion the silence has provided. She looks around. The fans above her are slowly coming to a halt, despite the fact that it's still quite warm in this back section of the library. Frowning, she turns in her seat and opens her mouth to ask the two men that were previously standing over by the shelves devoted to Freud, but the words die before leaving her mouth. There's no one to be seen in any direction. For some unknown reason, Ariadne becomes uneasy. She feels very alone and very exposed—a feeling she hasn't had since the airport after the Fischer job. Without making a sound, she faces forward in her chair and reaches down to grab her bag.
Ariadne is interrupted by a pressure on her shoulder. The man's grip is firm and warm, but the contact still makes her jump in her seat and suppress a shriek. Illusion of silence broken, she turns violently to chastise whoever it is that's touching her, but her brain short-circuits before any sound escapes.
This isn't real.
"Didn't expect to see you here," Arthur murmurs, taking the seat next to her. He sets his bag on the floor against a table leg and leans back on the feet of his chair, the picture of relaxation. His hair is still immaculate and slicked back, but his typical three-piece suit has been replaced by a brown leather jacket over a dark green button-up and jeans. The outfit makes him look younger. More relaxed. More like a college student. One that belongs in this library. Ariadne has trouble remembering to breathe.
It's been too long—this can't be real.
"Ar-," she begins, a thousand questions forming in her brain. A gentle pressure on her toes makes her mouth clamp shut, however. She holds his gaze with unabashed shock and tries to communicate with him silently. What are you doing here how did you find me why are you here is everything okay? Ariadne gets the feeling that he understands what she's trying to ask, but disregards it for the time being.
Arthur takes his foot off of hers and leans forward, casually pulling her book over in front of him. He leans over it, flips it open to her marked page, and begins to scan the section about shared dreaming, quietly asking, "What time are you going to dinner?"
"Five," she blurts out, not processing any of this.
Arthur nods approvingly and exhales deeply, his eyes looking over the post-it notes placed in key places of the text. If he is surprised about her research on shared dreaming, he does not show it. Instead, he pushes the book back over to her and makes eye contact once again. With a lightness that does not match his expression, he says, "I think I'm going to miss dinner tonight. They scheduled me to work."
"Work," Ariadne repeats dumbly. Her fingers grow numb from holding onto the edges of her chair. This isn't happening, this isn't happening.
"You should drop by if you feel like it. A visit is always nice."
Ariadne nods stiffly, swallowing down the knot in her throat. "I'll see what I have planned. No promises."
A small smile plays at the corners of Arthur's mouth and his dark eyes twinkle with something she can't quite put her finger on. Nostalgia? She's not sure. At this point, she doesn't care. All she knows is that Arthur has come looking for her and is asking to meet her at the warehouse. If she hadn't left her totem at home, she would have tipped it over at least a dozen times by now.
Arthur's demeanor changes. The change is subtle, but swift. His eyes harden just a fraction and he purposely looks off in the direction of the emergency fire exit before looking back to Ariadne. "You look like you're finished with studying. I'll walk you back to your apartment."
Ariadne understands and nods, gathering her things and shouldering her bag in the most casual manner she can manage. With all that is happening, her brain is in overdrive and can't help the jerkiness of her movements as she stands with Arthur. He still towers over her just like she remembers, but something is wrong about the situation. It's not just his abnormal fashion choices, either. She tenses a little bit as Arthur takes her elbow and directs her at the fire exit, making sure that she walks in front of him.
Something is very wrong. She knows it even before it happens.
Love it? Hate it? Please tell me so I know whether or not to pursue this. Thanks a lot!