After being away from his children for so long, Dom Cobb certainly hadn't planned to be leaving them any time soon. He needed his family. He needed peace, quiet, time to mourn Mal and be with his kids, come to grips with reality. Cobb had wanted only to stop running. But Cobol Engineering didn't care what Cobb wanted.
He had barely been home a month when the doorbell started ringing at two in the morning. Alone in the master bedroom, Cobb awoke with a start, struggling to bring his mind to an alert state. Groggily, he felt for his spinning top and gave it a twirl, waiting for it to assure him of reality. He'd left the blinds open while he slept, and the light from the moon was barely enough to illuminate the object. It fell, accompanied by the sound of the bell ringing a second time. Cobb sighed heavily through his nose. Visitors in the middle of the night rarely came bearing good news.
He grabbed the top, jumped out of bed, and padded down the carpeted stairs until he reached the front hall, not bothering with any lights. The bell rang again. In one move, Dom opened the door, pulled the bell-ringer inside, then shut and locked it. He wasn't worried about his visitor turning on him. If they'd had any harmful intent, they wouldn't have bothered to ring the bell and inform the household of their presence.
For a moment, the two stood appraising each other in the dim light from the picture window. Flipping a light switch, Cobb blinked rapidly, then immediately identified his visitor. He glared at the man.
"For God's sake, Arthur," he hissed, voice thick with sleep. "Why the hell are you ringing my doorbell at two o' clock in the morning?"
Arthur dropped a travelling bag on the wood floor, squinting in the sudden brightness. His face was exhausted and haggard, his normally slicked hair a rumpled mess. His clothes, Cobb noticed absentmindedly, were wrinkled, and his tie was coming undone. When he spoke, he sounded even more tired than Cobb felt.
"I had to come," he said slowly, "because Cobol's after me. And if they're after me, they're bound to be after you as well."
Dom clamped down tightly on the panic that threatened to rise up in him. So Cobol Engineering had found Arthur, and he'd had to make a run for it. And if Cobol had found Arthur, it was only a matter of time before they tracked him down, too. And when they found him – found him here with James and Phillippa –
He crossed the hall to the kitchen, where he sat at the table by the picture window. Arthur followed, noticeably favoring his right leg. He sat across from Cobb, his tired eyes staring at him intensely.
"Cobb," he said. "They came with absolutely no warning. I was stupid, I wasn't watching for them. I was living in an apartment in New York, I wasn't being careful enough. I didn't think they'd find me here. But yesterday afternoon a couple of their thugs broke into my apartment. They were waiting for me when I got home.
"I noticed the lock had been tampered with, so luckily I was somewhat prepared when I went inside. I killed one for sure, and might have killed the other – I don't know. Then I left as quickly as I could, and made my way here. To see if – "
"Daddy?" a small voice broke in. Dom's head snapped around. "Daddy, I heard noises."
Phillipa stood at the base of the stairs, wearing pink pajamas and a sleepy expression. She blinked in the bright light as her father had, glancing wide-eyed at the disheveled Arthur, who was nearly a stranger to her. "Daddy?" she asked again, more hesitantly. Cobb swallowed hard.
"Go back to bed, please, Phillipa. Daddy has business to do." His voice came out rough.
Her eyes flickered toward the window, Arthur, her father. "But it's nighttime." The little girl lifted a hand to her mouth, yawning.
"I know, sweetheart. I know," Cobb replied. He stood up slowly, making his way down the hall, and knelt in front of his daughter. "You need to sleep, Phillipa. Go back to bed, and Daddy will come and say good night again in a little while. How does that sound? Okay?"
She nodded, yawning again, reaching out her arms for a hug. Her father embraced her gently and kissed the top of her head. "I love you, sweetheart," he whispered. "And I would never let anything happen to you."
"Good night, Daddy," she replied. He let her go, and she climbed the stairs slowly, half-asleep, already retreating to the world of dreams. Cobb watched his little daughter disappear up the steps, wanting nothing more than to hold her safe in his arms. The look he gave her was almost desperate.
At the kitchen table, Arthur observed the whole exchange without comment. When Cobb returned, he couldn't meet his gaze.
Arthur sighed wearily. "So I came here. I had a head start on them – no one's tailed me, I'm sure of that, but I haven't got any reassurances. Cobol's thugs could be closing in on us any second."
He paused here, waiting for the other man to reply, to state the obvious so that he wouldn't have to. When Dom didn't comply, he continued. "Cobb, you have to leave," he said. "We have to leave. Right now."
Dom said nothing for a moment, glancing up at Arthur, and then back down at the table. When he spoke, he sounded like he'd aged a thousand years. "And leave James and Phillipa here alone? Without any protection?"
"Call your mother-in-law. She lives up the street."
"She's not the kind of protection I was talking about."
"It's for their sake we've got to go. It's not them Cobol's interested in – it's you. They'll give the house a pass once they find out you've run."
"You don't know that."
"No, I don't. But it's their best bet." Arthur tapped his fingers on the polished wood of the table, not taking his eyes off Cobb. "Look, I wouldn't be telling you this if it wasn't the only solution." His words came out hesitantly, as if he were trying to think of the best way to convince Dom. "But it is. If we don't leave, right now, Cobol will track us down and they will kill us. Sure, we could put up a fight, maybe we'll get lucky, but they are ruthless and they will keep coming. And they will not stop until we are dead, and they'll most likely kill your children too, just because they're here."
"Just because they're near me," Cobb said slowly.
"Yes."
"But what you're saying is, if we run, they'll follow us and leave James and Phillipa alone."
"Not necessarily. But it's the safest plan. We'll have a better chance of evading them when we're out of the states."
"You want me to leave my children. Again."
"I'm sorry, Cobb," Arthur said, and he meant it. "I know how hard this is for you."
"You couldn't. You couldn't possibly know," Dom replied, but there was no venom behind the words. It was merely a statement of fact. He looked up, finally staring straight at Arthur. His eyes burned with a fierce, broken sort of desperation: they almost had the look of glass that had been shattered and then re-fused. "So we leave, we go abroad, and we hide. Until, eventually, they track us down and kill us and hopefully let my children live."
The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched in the barest semblance of a grin. "That would be the best possible scenario, I guess. We could always weasel our way out after they get tired of chasing us."
"Out of a death sentence? You weren't in Mombasa, Arthur. The price on my head was ten thousand dollars a few months ago, I hate to think of how it's gone up. Corporations like this are not to be escaped, merely evaded."
"Give it some time. I'll work something out. That's the best thing about the big corporations, actually – they get bored," Arthur said.
"No, they don't get bored. They're more patient then you think. They let you sit for years and years until, finally, one night they come for you," Cobb said ominously. He stood up, stretched, yawned. "All right. Let me just get some stuff together."
Arthur nodded, propping his chin up with his elbow. He watched as Cobb went upstairs, then lay his forehead on the table. He could feel a dull headache throbbing in the space between his eyes, the need to sleep tugging at his consciousness. Today, he'd killed at least one man. He'd managed to escape his apartment soon after, but not before a spectacular brawl with the second thug. Arthur had disarmed him, but then he'd done likewise. They were resorted to kicking and punching, fighting without style or grace in the compact space. Arthur had tripped over a low-lying table, twisting his ankle, but somehow knocking the thug's legs out from under him at the same time, inadvertently smashing the man's head against the same table and knocking him unconscious. He could have been dead. Arthur hadn't had time to take his pulse. He'd grabbed the necessities – clothes, cash, the PASIV device – and left before the police showed up, with more thugs close at hand.
It had been a horrible afternoon, that was for certain. As logical and detached Arthur as could be, he was not without emotion, and killing real people was rather different than gunning down Projections. And then he'd had to endure hours of travelling to make it to Cobb's home in California, worried that every person he saw was a Cobol employee, that there'd be hordes of cop cars and Cobol thugs waiting for him at LAX. The airplane had touched down at eleven, and Arthur had had little trouble making his way upstate. Still, he was a nervous wreck. The visit from Cobol had shocked him. He hadn't bothered with any precautions, hadn't put up more than the usual security. He'd been cocky. Not to mention stupid. The success on the Fischer job and Saito's assurances that he would keep the team safe had gotten the better of Arthur. He'd dropped his guard, and he'd paid for it. And he'd keep paying for it, until Cobol got tired of trying to find him and Cobb. Either that or he'd make some sort of plea bargain with them.
The pain in his head was awful, and his ankle ached where he'd twisted it. Arthur rotated the joint, wincing as the movement sent spasms of pain up his leg. Nothing was broken, but he'd have one hell of a bruise in the morning.
At least his bruises would heal. He'd feel better once they were out of the country, once he'd had some time to sleep. He wasn't so sure about Cobb.
/
Cobb walked down the upstairs hallway as silently as he could, poking his head into James's bedroom and then Phillipa's. The children were fast asleep, breathing deeply and evenly, locked off in some faraway dreamworld. He didn't want to wake them, didn't want their sweet little faces convincing him to stay when he'd already made up his mind. But he couldn't resist stealing inside each room and kissing his children on the forehead. He already missed them more than he could bear.
Cobb's throat felt thick. He ignored the choked-up feeling and entered his bedroom, packing a small suitcase as quickly as he could. He hated this – this running away. He had thought he done with it: the hiding, the sneaking, the constant fear. He'd thought it was over.
The man grabbed a slim cell phone off his nightstand and braced himself. He punched in the familiar number and glared at the screen display as the call was made. Unsurprisingly, it went straight to voicemail. Dom didn't leave a message, just pressed redial. He would keep calling until someone picked up.
After three tries, a woman answered on the other end. "Yes?" she said, the word barely recognizable due to her French accent and groggy intonation.
"It's Dom," he replied, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Cobb already knew this conversation would not go well.
"Dominick, what are you doing calling here? It is so early in the morning," his mother-in-law demanded, too tired to work up the proper frustration.
"I'm sorry, Marie, really I am. But I need your help – I need you to look after the children."
"Oh, no, Dominick," Marie answered. "Not again. You cannot have returned to them just to leave once more. I will not allow it. It will destroy them. You have already killed my daughter. You will not take my grandchildren from me as well."
"Look, I don't want to go," he replied, struggling to remain calm. "It can't be helped. Some complications have come up – "
"Complications? What, have you murdered someone else?"
" – and it's not the safest thing for James and Phillipa to have me around right now. If I stay in the US, they could very well be killed."
"And what if you leave?" Marie asked. "How am I to explain to them that their father is a criminal who has put his life in danger? Has put their lives in danger? And he has left to ensure their safety? I cannot do this. I must say you are away on business. And they will only know that their father has deserted them. Again."
Cobb could feel his self-control slipping. "Listen to me, Marie. I don't want this either. I'm not doing this by choice. Do you think I like to leave my children? Do you think I like the idea that I may never see them again? But I'm not asking you for a favor. You must look after them. Don't do it for me. Do it for my children, your grandchildren."
"Oui, I will do it for them. I will care for your children, Dominick. But do not expect them to forgive you for abandoning them a second time." Cobb heard a slight click, and then the dial tone. Marie had hung up on him. He threw the phone onto the floor and sat down heavily on his bed, burying his face in his hands. She was right. They would never forgive him.
/
Arthur was normally an excellent driver, but not at three in the morning.
The two men had left Dom's house as soon as Marie had arrived. She had nodded coldly to Arthur, refused to acknowledge Cobb, then headed up the stairs, presumably to the guest bedroom.
The highway to LA consisted of long, windy roads that meandered along the edge of sea cliffs, and Arthur was so exhausted that he was having trouble staying alert. He tried blasting the radio to keep himself awake, but the noise just intensified his headache and he had to turn it down. He opened the window in the hopes that the fresh air would wake him up, but the sea breeze was bitterly cold and difficult to endure. Finally, he pulled over to a gas station in order to buy coffee and a pack of Marlboros. Arthur hadn't smoked anything since high school, but he feared he'd fall asleep at the wheel without the stimulating effects of nicotine.
He was starting to worry about Cobb. The other man had hardly said a word since they'd started the drive, sitting and staring off into space, eyes open, not sleeping. He barely sipped the coffee Arthur purchased for him, proclaimed it "worse than dishwater" (it was) and then turned his face towards the window, watching the sky gradually lighten over the ocean horizon. Arthur let him have his silence, but he needed Cobb to be as attentive and functioning as possible when they got to the airport. Cobol's employees could very well be camped out there, waiting for them.
They drove like that for a couple of hours, Arthur struggling to keep his eyes open, concentrate on the road, and try and formulate a plan all at the same time. He weighed the risks and benefits of cities all over the globe, thinking of the contacts he'd established in different places, the ones he could trust, the ones he knew weren't reliable. If they went to Japan, Arthur could seek out Saito and solicit his assistance, if he would give it. He wasn't thrilled about the idea of relying solely on Proclus Global for protection, but he'd do it if the need arose. If they went to Moscow, where Cobol held almost no sway, they would almost certainly be safe, at least for a little while. But Arthur's Russian was terrible, and he knew Cobb had never learned the language.
He considered Paris (too obvious a choice, Cobol knew Miles lived there), Greenland (it was too cold for Cobol that far north, but Arthur didn't have any connections in the area, and they'd be utterly without allies in the event of an emergency), even Mombasa (Eames could probably hide them for a while until they came up with a better solution, but it was ultimately too risky a gamble to make).
Now truly in danger of dozing off despite the coffee and cigarettes, Arthur turned up the radio again, paying no mind to his pounding skull. He threw his fifth cigarette butt out the window, letting the biting wind blow the smoke fumes out of the enclosed space. The cigarettes certainly hadn't helped his headache, either. But if he'd timed it right, they'd arrive at LAX in less than half an hour and he could sleep off the migraine as soon as they were on a plane, flying off, away from this mess. Or possibly into an even bigger mess, if Cobol somehow managed to find out where they were going and arrived first. But he'd already accepted that as a possibility. Fleeing was the safest solution.
Headlights sparked against the windshield. Arthur glanced in the rearview mirror, startled by the abrupt flash: another car had appeared behind them on the road, zooming along at a dangerous speed. The car soon caught up to Arthur and Cobb, practically riding their tail, honking incessantly. Arthur did his best to shift over, allowing the other vehicle room to pass them. It didn't even bother trying, just kept the horn blaring.
Irritated, Arthur beeped back, but the Prius he'd rented had little in the way of a rude horn. He shifted over more until the car was driving along the shoulder. The other car had plenty of room to make their way around them. It didn't. Even more annoyed, Arthur slowed the Prius until it was practically crawling along the side of the road, hugging the cliff face. He snapped off the radio, silencing Freddie Mercury mid-lyric. The other car had stopped beeping the horn. The air was still and quiet.
A whisper cut through the silence. "Arthur. Drive." Cobb's first words in over an hour. "They've got guns."
As fatigued as Arthur was, the word gun had never failed to send adrenaline spiraling through his system. Behind them on the road, two men exited the other car and rapidly approached the rented Prius. Even in the dim light, it was obvious the bulky shapes they cradled were machine guns.
"Shit," Arthur spat, then jammed his foot onto the gas pedal. The car lurched forward just as the men started firing.