This song came on and practically begged me to write something with it. So here it is. Sorry that it's so brief! And no I'm not French so I relied on a translation for the lyrics.
Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or Quelqu'un M'a Dit. Those belong to Chris Nolan and Carla Bruni respectively.
He was already a block away from the warehouse when he realized he had forgotten his wallet. Cussing violently (because it was late and raining and he just wanted to go home) he set off back in the direction of the warehouse.
The door was still open (thank god.) and his wallet was where he had left it, on the windowsill. He turned to head back out into the rain when he could have sworn he heard music.
Curious, he walked further into the warehouse, turning the corner to where the team had set up their stations to work.
The space was lit by an industrial lamp on the floor. There was indeed a radio, playing softly in French. It was seated on the architect's desk amongst the clutter—books and three dimensional models, sketch pads, spare bits of paper, pencils and pens. The chair to the desk was pulled out slightly, a navy jacket and a scarf draped across the back of it.
The architect herself was standing in front of a rather large chalkboard. Her hair was haphazardly piled atop her head in a bundle of curls. A few stray pieces had escaped their confinement and hung freely.
The chalkboard was already halfway covered in various buildings and room designs. Ariadne stood with a piece of chalk in one hand, ruler in the other. She was rocking back and forth on her heels.
She was also singing along to the music he realized suddenly. He had figured she must speak some French seeing as she went to school here, but he personally had never heard her speak anything other than English.
"On me dit que le destin se moque bien de nous, Qu'il ne nous donne rien et qu'il nous promet tout" she sang, her voice mingling pleasantly with the singer's.
The lines that would form the side of a building began to appear. Straight lines, curved and crisscrossed, they created the side of a tall office building.
"Parais qu'le bonheur est à portée de main, Alors on tend la main et on se retrouve fou,"
The front of the building was coming into being and he could almost see this flat drawing becoming a tall, glittering structure in the dream.
"Pourtant quelqu'un m'a dit ..."
Doors.
"Que tu m'aimais encore,"
A couple of windows.
"C'est quelqu'un qui m'a dit que tu m'aimais encore."
A sidewalk.
"Serais ce possible alors?"
A street.
"Could it be possible?" said Arthur translating the last part, recognizing the French phrase.
Ariadne turned and yelped, her ruler clattering to the ground. Her expression showed extreme shock and she clutched a hand to her chest.
"Christ! Arthur, I didn't know anyone was still here!"
Arthur walked towards her, coming into the harsh glow of the lamp.
"Sorry, there was no one here but," he leaned against his own worktable, "I forgot my wallet" he said indicating the leather object in his hand.
"It's no problem, just—startled me." She said bending down to pick up the fallen ruler.
"Clearly." She gave him an exasperated look.
"I get enough smart ass replies from Eames you know."
"I apologize then, darling." he said, in an uncanny impression of the forger. Ariadne giggled.
"So since when do you speak French?"
"You pick things up on the job. And could that be possible?" he asked, pointing to the sketch on the chalkboard.
"In dreams or reality?" He grinned.
"Both."
She considered the question for a moment. The music had stopped playing and all that was audible was the sound of rain hitting against the warehouse.
"Definitely in dreams. Possibly in reality."
"Well, I think your beautiful," he was interrupted by a raised eyebrow. He ignored it and finished his statement, "Your beautiful work could easily come to life in reality. Cobb was right about you."
She flushed slightly at her incorrect assumption but still glowed at the praise. "Why thank you very much Arthur."
"No problem," he grabbed her coat and scarf off the back of the chair. "I also think you should go home and get some rest."
Gratefully, she took her possessions from his hand. They shut the light and walked to the door, staring out into the pouring rain.
"Could it be possible," she asked smiling, "that this rain will stop sometime soon?"
"Unfortunately, the chances of that as of now are zero to none. Which leaves us only one other choice."
"What?"
"Run for it." he said, dashing out the door of the warehouse. She sprinted after him, slamming the door shut behind her.
And they both ran down the Parisian streets, laughing like children, ignoring the looks of other pedestrians. It didn't matter really, that they were both getting soaking wet. It mattered that it was the first time in weeks that they could possibly dream of forgetting the reality of fast-approaching Fischer job.
"Serais ce possible alors?"
Slightly cheesy ending. But hey. And for those of you who were wondering, the translation of the song (or at least the bits I used) is below .
I'm told that fate makes fun of us,
That it gives us nothing and promises everything,
When happiness seems to be within our reach,
We reach out and find ourselves like fools.
Yet someone told me…
That you still loved me
Someone told me…
That you still loved me.
Well ? Could that be possible?
And there you have it.