a/n: Recently, I started a sort of fanfiction battle with a friend of mine, and this was the only one I felt confident was appropriate for the vast majority of my readers, considering many of them are under 18. Yes, ladies, you know who you are, and you know that I will NOT be posting anything on this account which you do not need to be reading. The prompt is perhaps the most obvious: What if Mal was right. After rewatching the movie, I became obsessed and this story happened.
Disclaimer: If I owned any rights whatsoever to Inception, I don't think I'd be at the supermarket meticulously determining which can of soup will give me the most bang for my buck.
o-o-o
The first time she went under alone, she felt like an intruder. It was a ridiculous notion, of course. She and Dom shared everything, including their minds. They spent decades together in limbo; learning, exploring, growing old. He was the other half of her, he made her whole. It wasn't right that she felt like an uninvited guest.
Dom sat in the ruined hotel room, shaking and sobbing. Not for the first time, Mal's heart ached. She should have gone about it differently, she knew now. She shouldn't have given him a choice. She should have dragged him out with her, if only so he wouldn't feel so betrayed. He is a shadow of his former self, broken open and leaking his vigor and vitality with every move. Soon he'll be completely empty. She has to get him out, she has to drag him back to reality before that happens.
He pulls her close and kisses her temple, presses his wet, red eyes to her curls. She wraps her arms around his waist.
"You know what you have to do," she whispers in his ear.
He shakes his head, dragging a gun from his pants. Mal's breath catches and she closes her eyes, knowing that he's already pressed it to his temple. In the other hand, he fingers a small, pewter top. Her top. The fool! He'd never touched it in reality, so it would never work for him in a dream. God, he'd be trapped here forever, thinking the top revealed truth and not his own subconscious belief.
For the first time, she began to fear that she would lose him.
The gun goes off, and, like the rattle of an earthquake, the hotel room begins to collapse around her. He's escaped to a higher level of dreaming, while she has only reality to return to.
o-o-o
"How many levels down do you think we can go?"
Dom's eyes sparkled, making Mal's heart skip. This was why she loved him, her father's eager student. It was years, now, since they'd met in her father's office. They'd been married and established successful careers in dreamshare. They'd shared an apartment, then a house, had children and were even discussing adopting a puppy. Mal was no longer the dewy-eyed professor's daughter, and yet Dom never made her stop feeling like a schoolgirl in love for the first time.
"I don't know," she teased. "Three."
"Four," he challenged. "Five."
"Six," Mal giggled.
"A dozen!" he shrieked.
Phillipa and James were visiting their grandparents, and they had no other pressing matters. It seemed the perfect day to experiment, then to share their findings when they woke. It would be brilliant, they just knew it. They would write books about the things they would discover in just one afternoon.
Mal quivered with anticipation as Dom pulled out the PASIV device and prepared the somnacin. He added a sedative, just to be safe. No sense in slipping down two levels and waking suddenly. They were far too ambitious for that.
She offered him her wrist, beyond flinching as the needle slipped in, and returned the favor for him. As the sedative began to take effect, she lay down on the floor, Dom's smiling face the last thing she saw in reality, and the first thing she saw in the dream.
o-o-o
Dom had become a criminal. Mal cursed herself for fabricating the abuse charges before her escape. Innocent as he knew he was, of course there would be a small part of Dom's subconscious that would believe himself to be guilty. Why else would he be so determined to play the role of the villain?
He didn't trust her anymore. It didn't surprise her, really. She'd lost count of how many times she'd tried and failed to wake him. At this point, she was only reinforcing his belief that she was a projection he'd summoned to torture himself. Ever the dramatic one, and growing steadily worse in her absence.
He asked her to stay put in a chair and aid him in his criminal activity. Well, she was certainly having no part in that. With a sigh, she rose. Time to end this charade, find the projection of the mark, and see if jolting Dom awake here couldn't help at all.
Arthur was certainly flattered when she told him how Dom relied upon his projection. She tactfully elected not to mention how very similar to the real Arthur the projection was. They all knew he was a little straight-laced and, as such, not the most difficult man to replicate. Still, there were subtle flaws. Here and there, he failed to move when he should have, failed to react quite as freely as the real Arthur would. In the months since Dom had become trapped in his own mind, Arthur had picked up a few new phrases and habits. None of them were earth-shattering, but they were enough to remind her that this wasn't the real Arthur. So she had no problem shooting him in the leg.
What she hadn't counted on was how unstable Dom had allowed the dream to become. It was one matter to believe the dream belonged to a projection and allow it to manifest the projection's tastes. It was quite another matter to actually tie the dream to the projection. As the castle collapsed around them, Mal's heart sank. He was growing worse each time she visited him. For all she knew, his own projections were hopping deeper into his subconscious by now, forming elaborate dreamscapes without his knowledge. Even now, there could be projections of her, or her parents, or anyone, really, creating wantonly in his subconscious.
As the roof fell in upon her, she thought; he has less control than any dreamer has ever had.
o-o-o
It was ironic, in retrospect, that Dom had been the one to catch her in limbo. When she'd hidden her top, it had been stationary. When she'd returned to check on it, it moved. Dom was the only person around her, the only one she knew would have dared to touch it. She watched it spin, her breath catching in her chest. Dear God. How could she have forgotten?
They held hands and set their heads upon the cold, rusty tracks. Her heart leapt into her throat. She trusted him. She knew he was right, but the distant rattle of the train made her doubt herself. What if they were wrong? She didn't want to die, not like this. They were going to die in bed together, happy and satisfied with a life long lived. Dom squeezed her hands and smiled at her.
"You're waiting for a train," he began.
She gasped and started awake in their living room. Cold sweat chilled her exposed skin. It hadn't been real, she knew that, but death in a dream had never been so terrifying, and yet it had felt so real.
Dom wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to her neck. Mal couldn't relax, though. Something felt wrong. Every other time she'd died in a dream, she'd always woken with relief to be alive. All she felt now was the cold hand of fear.
But Dom was so happy, so convinced they were in reality that she tried to smother her fears. Her world was real, her world was solid. She was with her husband and her children, and she had no reason to doubt it.
But Phillipa and James never fought, never tantrummed, never even pouted. Their children were well behaved, but no child was so perfect. The days melted together far too easily. But Dom… he was so happy to be home, he didn't see it.
Maybe it was because it had been so hard for her to accept before, but she couldn't stop wondering if they were still dreaming. When the evening came and Dom took the children out to stare at the stars, Mal remained in the kitchen, clutching the top in her hand. She knew before she threw it that she would see, but that didn't stop her cry of horror when it spun ceaselessly.
o-o-o
"Mrs. Cobb."
Mal smiled tightly as she set her bag down upon the floor at the foot of Dom's bed. Dr. Schreiber straightened, eyeing the silver briefcase Mal clutched in her other hand.
"His status hasn't changed," the doctor continued, hugging the clipboard to her chest. "I have to admit, it's the most remarkable thing I've ever seen."
Mal sidled up to the bed and sank down into the stiff, plastic chair.
"He's one of the most remarkable men you've ever seen, Doctor."
"Have you considered whether or not it's even worth it at this point?" she sighed.
Mal whipped her head around, and she must have glared more than she intended to because the doctor grit her teeth.
"You said yourself, he is dreaming," Mal objected. "Have you ever heard of someone in our line of work dreaming naturally at his level of experience?"
"The exception doesn't mean your interference will help him."
"What about a coma patient dreaming?" Mal demanded. "You have never seen anything like this, so there is nothing you know that you can do. I, at least, have some idea of what he is going through, so please let me try to help him to the best of my ability."
Dr. Schreiber shook her head and left before she could protest. Kind as she'd been over the last few months, Mal was glad to see her go. Her heart leapt into her throat as it always did when she looked at him. A tube snaked down his throat, breathing for him in the days since his lungs had long forgotten how. Needles and sensors decorated his pale, thin arms. Heat prickled behind her eyes and she took a shuddering breath.
"Hello, Dom," she murmured, running her fingers through his lank, dry hair. Dark rings stood out under his sunken eyes, shining against his sun-starved skin. When he finally woke, he was going to have such a dreadful time recovering.
The heart monitor slowed. He was slipping down into a second level again. When all this was said and done, they would win a nobel prize writing about how Dom had subconsciously learned to do that. Together. She couldn't dream of writing it alone.
"I'll see you soon," she told him, flicking the briefcase open.
o-o-o
Mal was beyond being gentle. Projections rioted around her, objecting to the damage he inflicted upon himself through the girl Ariadne. She wanted to scream. Did he think he was just meeting her? Did he think he was just training her? They had met her months ago during their annual trip to Paris. He had even signed on to take her on as an apprentice before he'd lost himself.
It looked like he was going on with his life in some way or another, even down here. The thought terrified her and made her draw the knife.
The first thing she needed to do was kill the projection of her father's student. That would calm the projections enough for her to get to Dom. Without a sedative, it should jolt him back to reality, back to her and James and Phillipa.
Dom watched in horror as Ariadne's body fell to the ground. Mal pulled back, prepared to shove the knife in his gut, but her limbs froze. This was Dom.
It was ridiculous. She had done this dozens of times. Dream workers had to de-sensitize themselves to this before they could even begin to explore their own minds. But it had been months since she'd seen him alive. As much as it hurt that she could only speak to him in a dream, it was more than she ever had when he was awake. Everything she did, she did for the chance to save him. She couldn't kill him.
Dom suddenly held a gun to his temple. Mal squeezed her eyes shut. Once again, he would escape her. She woke, cursing her own weakness.
o-o-o
The shattered remains of the hotel room stretched around her, a callous reminder of her own cruelty. Dom suffered because he thought she had betrayed him. Maybe he was right.
Clever of him, really, trapping her down here. It had taken him a while to learn the trick. The first time he'd lured her down to the hotel and abandoned her, it had hurt. She didn't try to escape, though. His mind was already so fragile, she didn't dare damage it by creating a hidden door or a route to the higher levels. When the time stretched on too long, she simply leapt out the window. It had become so easy at this point, she probably should have been disturbed.
Selfishly, she began to anticipate Dom's visits to the hotel room. By this point, she'd given up thinking she had it in her to kill him. So she tried desperately to convince him, even though his own guilt wouldn't let him listen. Still, it felt so good when he held her hands in his, when she touched his warm, full cheek and saw a reaction in his eyes. At moments like these, she was beyond anger or desperation. She just wanted to hold him and pretend this really was reality, not the cold hospital room or the pale husk of her husband.
When that girl came, though, the old anger ignited in her again. His projections had grown too powerful, too independent. They were almost separate entities. If he woke at this point, they may very well manifest in multiple personalities.
She lost control at that moment. She was not proud of herself for that, but it had been months and she was losing Dom to a figment of his imagination.
o-o-o
The wind whipped around her. She perched herself on the windowsill and watched as her shoe plummeted down, down, down until she couldn't see it anymore.
Dom pleaded with her to come inside. How could this be real? Weeks ago, he'd managed to convince her that they were trapped in a dream. Perhaps her method was neither simple nor elegant in comparison, but it was thorough.
Dom begged. Mal closed her heart to the desperation in his voice. She was doing this for him, for James, for Phillipa. He would see, soon. He would understand.
Mal closed her eyes and pushed herself away from the windowsill.
o-o-o
"Mommy, is Daddy any better?"
Mal bit the inside of her cheek to stop the tears from falling. With a small smile, she scooped James up into her arms and buried her nose in his sandy hair. His father's hair.
"Non, my dear. But he is not worse."
"Why is Daddy sick?"
"Because he did a very silly thing. But you mustn't blame him, because I did it, too."
His small fist fisted into the loose cotton of her blouse. Mal sighed and rubbed his back.
"Where is your sister, my love?"
"She's still outside."
"Don't you want to go and play with her?"
James shook his head and buried his head in her neck.
"Mommy, why aren't you sick?"
Mal's breath hitched. She squeezed him tighter.
"Because I had your Daddy to guide me home. And I'm doing everything I can to guide him, too."
o-o-o
Mal started awake on the hard floor of the living room. Everything was so sharp, so real, it couldn't possibly be anything but reality. Shakily, she released Dom's hands and laughed. Hot tears sprang to her eyes. She was awake. Decades later, she was awake. Dom was right; it was absolutely brilliant. They would revolutionize dreamshare together. With a wince, she pulled the needle from her arm. It felt like forever since she'd done this small thing.
She stretched and pulled a pillow down from the chair. Her whole body ached, and she laughed. How stupid. They should have done this on the bed.
She settled on the pillow and stared down at Dom's sleeping face. The clock ticked slowly in the kitchen. Any second now, he'd wake, flushed and excited about what they'd accomplished in such a short amount of time.
Seconds stretched into minutes. Mal shook him roughly. Minutes multiplied. She slapped him. An hour later, she screamed his name and shook him violently.
By the time her parents returned with the children, she was sobbing and shrieking into the phone as the paramedics tried to comprehend her bizarre panic.
o-o-o
Dom's heart slowed dangerously. He'd never trapped himself so deeply in his subconscious before. Another level might kill him. Ignoring Dr. Schreiber's protests, Mal leapt in.
Snow swirled around her. Dom couldn't have consciously mapped this out. He hated the snow. It must have been that projection, the student to whom he'd given so much control. It couldn't be her dream, though. Dom already knew that Mal would kill the girl without hesitation; even in his desperation, he wouldn't be stupid enough to risk that.
Projections swarmed around the complex. They were so intent on Dom, who played so dangerously with his own mind, that Mal was able to slip into the fortress, holding the gun in her own gloved hand. The dreamer would be here, more protected than anyone else.
She paused only a moment. One man she didn't recognize. He could have been anyone from a picture Dom had seen in a newspaper to a man he'd roomed with at the university. The other, though, she knew all too well. Eames. Of course. If Dom was fabricating the perfect crime, he would naturally want to involve their most shady –and often most brilliant- colleague.
Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but maybe killing the stranger was the best course of action. If he was anyone in this scenario, he was the mark. Without the mark, there wasn't a job. Without the job, Dom had nothing left but to consider how all of this could have happened if he really had any control. Surely he'd realized by now that his dreams were wildly out of control. No dreamer with any grasp on reality could be so cursed.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she lifted the gun and shot the stranger at point blank range. Sudden pain exploded in her chest.
No.
It couldn't happen like this.
Mal came back to reality with a gasp. Nurses swarmed like bees around the bed, haphazardly ducking around her. A sharp, steady tone filled her ears. His heart had stopped.
"Clear!"
Mal's world slowed. She watched as Dom stiffened under the sudden jolt of electricity to his system. He'd gone into limbo. She choked, hands flying to her mouth in horror. What if he was trapped down there? He'd conjure a projection of her and the children, settle down and live for a lifetime in the span of the minutes it took for him to die up here.
Her vision blurred. She'd lost him. She'd as good as killed him. She should have called in Arthur or Eames or her parents, anyone who could have added to her argument. She should have had the strength to kill him a dozen times over, before he could do it himself.
"Clear!" the call came again.
Mal buried her head in her hands, violent shivers running down her spine. She couldn't do this. She couldn't survive without him. If he died, he would take half of her with him. She wouldn't be enough for the children anymore. Oh God, the children…
Beep. Beep.
Mal gasped. His heart rate had returned to that steady beat of the first level of his dreaming. He must have completed the job by some miracle, which meant that, in his fantasy, he was home with his children. He'd never retreat into a deeper dream again.
He was alive.
She still had a chance.
Trembling, Mal shut her eyes and whispered a fervent 'thank you' to the heavens.
o-o-o
Dom's veins stood out sharply in his translucent skin. His once healthy, muscled limbs were emaciated. Stubble stood out sharply on his jaw where Mal had neglected to shave for the last few days.
Arthur inhaled sharply. Mal's stomach squirmed with regret. She should have brought him into her plan ages ago. He was Dom's best friend. If anyone had the right to know, it was him.
"He looks bloody awful," Eames muttered humorlessly. Her father sighed and settled down in the chair.
"Sweetheart, why should he respond any better now than he has for the last six months?"
"Because he pulled himself out of limbo," she told him. "Papa, this is unprecedented."
"The fact that he's dreaming on multiple levels in a coma could just mean it'll be all that much more impossible to bring him back at all," he argued.
"He'll come back," she insisted. "He wants to come back. And this time I won't be alone."
Ariadne sank awkwardly down into her seat. Mal offered her a small smile.
"Don't worry. You may be most able to get through to him."
Ariadne clearly doubted this. Mal couldn't blame her. What impact did she seriously expect to have on a man she'd met twice before he'd gone off the beaten trail and lost himself in his own mind?
Well, Ariadne was one of her father's most brilliant students. Maybe she would catch on quickly to the power of the dreamer who wanted to wake. Dom would have so much to teach her, to teach all of them, when he finally let his own dream end.
Her chest ached in anticipation. Finally, she was going to feel whole again. Finally, Dom would welcome her rather than fear her.
"Here we go," she breathed reverently, pulling the first line from the PASIV device and slipping the needle into her wrist.