I know you
I walked with you once upon a dream.
I know you
The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam
Yes, I know it's true
that visions are seldom all they seem
But if I know you, I know what you'll do
You'll love me at once
the way you did once upon a dream
-Once Upon a Dream, Disney's Sleeping Beauty
"How long do you think we have before he figures it out?"
"Until he realizes he's dreaming you mean?"
"Yes, Arthur."
"Maybe a day, maybe more."
"Maybe less," she finishes for him. He takes her hand in hers, and runs his smooth hands over her own. He plays with the callouses that formed over years of using an exacto-knife and using her hands to turn ideas into walls and windows and arches. And more recently entire worlds. He was always mystified how hands so small could contain such wonders. He pulls one up to his face and turns the palm towards him. His kiss is so gentle on the inside of her wrist that she wonders if the dream is already fading. If he is fading. She can't stand the thought that she will never see him again after this dream ends. She hates Cobb for doing this to her. Hates him for doing this to Arthur.
"Let's make the most of the time we have left," he whispers to the freckle on her wrist. He can hardly look her in the eyes, knowing how abruptly this little affair will have to end. She nods and looks at the pavement. The dream shifts and an asphalt staircase rips itself from the ground, winding upward until it meets one of the buildings along the street. He stands and pulls her to her feet and they walk up the staircase, wishing that they could have more time.
They sit in a smoky jazz bar, as close as they could possibly be in public. Her legs are straddled across his lap. His fingers are making their way through her hair and her lips are on his collarbone, his pearled buttons undone, and he is wishing that this stupid world wasn't so temporary—that she could stay here in his arms forever. She breaks away at last and rests her forehead on his, their noses a few degrees from touching. Her hands grip the lapels of his jacket and she bites her lip.
"Is any of this real?" she whispers. She shuts her eyes, as if bracing herself for the answer. With the gentle glide of her lids, the world around him changes again. The room shifts to a desert plain: cactus and scrub and sand and sun blossoming all around them. A red canyon cuts the sky on an otherwise clear day, but neither of them see it: they are too caught up in the heat of the moment. It is not until the heat cuts into her back that Ariadne finally pulls herself away to see what she has built in a split second this time. It's flat, no maze. But neither of them has to worry about projections any longer. They are the only people for miles. "It feels real, but dreams always feel real while you are in them," she continues after a cursory examination and rejection of the landscape. She blinks again and the world is enveloped in darkness. He grabs her a little tighter, unsure of what she is doing. But then light starts to flow around them, upward and outward, knitting and molding a church of light to glow around them. And then the light fades until it glows like moonlight. The light is so intricately interwoven that he cannot help but feel awed by the talent of it. A talent that will be gone soon.
"I just don't think it's fair," she says, looking up at the ceiling in a vain attempt to prevent her watery eyes from spilling over. When at last they slip over her lids, they shine brightly in the reflection of the light. "Why do we have to be the way we are?" She is demanding and he wishes he had a better way to answer her than the truth.
"Are you referring to the fact that we are projections in the subconscious of a dreamer who is about to wake up or the fact that you will have only had me for a couple of weeks before our existence is over?" Arthur wants to cry, just as much as she is, but the nature of the part of Cobb's brain he projects prevents him from doing so: his face is a mask of unhappy perfection while she rages in her chaotic creation. Rationality is trumping his own emotions, just like it always has and like it will until he is done in a couple of hours. He knows that Cobb will check his reality when he gets home and that he will realize that Mal was right and end this dream and return to her arms. He wont remember the projections who were with him and guided him out of his nightmare.
*\*\*
Dom didn't look at the totem for a long time. It wasn't until his Phillipa brought his attention to it that he even thought to look to it at all. He didn't think he was capable of recreating something as perfect as the laughter of his children.
"Daddy, look! It wont stop spinning!" She reaches for it and he stops her.
He stares at it for a few moments, feeling the world shatter and break around him. He can hardly believe that he was powerful enough to create a whole world. Projections that were strong enough to stand alone and operate independently. He reaches for the top that still revolves in the same even rotation that began five minutes ago. He can barely force his hands to close over it: everything that he has worked for was for nothing. And he could have been with Mal instead of this painful life without her.
How could he have been so blind?
How could he not have known that Mal was right all along?
He plays with the little projections of his daughter and son until their bedtime—its the least he can do for the children he thought he had been fighting to get back to. James smiles at him and clings to his chest. Dom whispers that he loves them and slips out of their room, down the hall, and into his study. He slides a key into the lock on the drawer of his desk and it clicks open with a turn of the risk. He pulls out the rifle inside and opens it up. He loads an extra bullet into it and presses the barrel to his temple. He sets the top spinning again and watches as seconds pass. Minutes. An hour.
And then he closes his eyes and with a smile, pulls the trigger.
"Its breaking down," he whispers in her ear. He is watching the light and darkness dull to a gray around him. Cobb knows and the creative power of the dream is fading, The landscape can't hold its shape and forms diffuse around them. The look on Ariadne's face tells him that it is not her to doing, but, with the collapse, her crumbling face is replaced by a complete and utter calm. There is no use fighting, only acceptance of what has to come next.
"At least we got him home."
"Goodbye, Ariadne."
"I'll miss you, Arthur."
"No, you wont."
She buries her face in his chest, wishing time with him wasn't so short. She looks up at him and he leans down and places his lips on hers until the dream explodes around them and they are no more.
Mal is waiting for him when he wakes up. She cries when his eyelids flutter open at long last. An IV trails out of his arm and he looks around bleary eyed, trying to understand where he is. And then he sees her soft eyes and her warm smile and a tear lands on his hand. He almost disconnects the needle in his haste to crush her to him.
"I thought I'd never see you again," he cries.
And then they dissolve into silence and love that has been on hold for too long, his creative spirit blending with her simple perfection.