A/N – This fanfic is completely independent of my other Inception fanfic, Chasing Mr X and is definitely not a sequel. I don't think my brain would cope with trying to negotiate all of those crazy levels again, as much as I enjoyed it at the time. Here's the latest thing to fall out of my brain. I hope you like it – Ellen

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception, but I do own a pair of Shaun the Sheep slippers that my dog has chewed the ears off.

Los Angeles, California, USA.

If fear had a smell, Walter Platt's office on the 64th floor of Aragon Construction would have stunk of it. The high-backed leather office chair behind the desk, the framed photograph of a sailing boat on the Northeast wall and the plush carpeted floor would have all expelled the same telltale stench of anxiety and fright.

While fear itself does not have a smell, sweat most certainly does and, as he felt the underarms of his crisp white shirt dampen as another wave of nausea washed over him, Dominic Cobb wished he'd though to bring some deodorant with him. He was pretty sure he hadn't begun to smell and, as he made his way over to the chair in front of the desk, he did a kind of nervous jig under the air-conditioning vent, before sitting down. He felt better - the problem was not yet critical.

The secretary in the waiting room outside had let him in without even asking to see any identification – something that seemed completely insane to Cobb. She'd simply informed him that Mr Platt's meeting was overrunning slightly and he would be with him soon before offering him a glass of mineral water. After smiling politely and accepting the water, Cobb had found himself ushered into the office at the end of the corridor.

He tapped his feet against the leg of his chair nervously, the ice jingling in his glass.

It was a long time since he'd been in an office. When working on jobs, warehouses had always been more convenient as they had enough space for everything – Arthur's research, Eames' rehearsals, Ariadne's models and Yusuf's experiments. Space had always been a necessity. Now he supposed he'd only ever need enough space for a chair, a desk and a few files.

He'd appreciated the fact that normal life would take some getting used to. What he hadn't realised was how hard it would be. How hard it was to not keep checking his totem every five minutes, how hard it was to not have Arthur next to him, giving him the stink eye whenever he made a mistake or gave too much away. Though Arthur's meticulous planning had sometimes got on his nerves, he'd lived with it for the last five years and now it was gone, along with his colleague, he had to admit the fact that he actually missed it.

Arthur was one of those people that grew on you. At first his precision, his seriousness and his irritating ability to be right all of the time had bugged him and they'd spent most of their time in silence, simply doing the things they'd needed to do. But then one day, during a job, a projection had almost shot Cobb, but Arthur took the bullet for him. Sure, he'd just woken up, but Cobb knew that, in that moment, something had happened and he could no longer simply think of him as just a colleague.

He'd started to pay more attention to the mysterious Point Man. Over the last five years, he'd discovered that, what he'd first dismissed as no sense of humour at all was simply just a very dry one and, when his partner's lip tugged slightly to the left he'd found something amusing. He also realised that the care Arthur showed for his work also extended to other things. People, even. He realised that, although it was hard to work your way onto the list of 'People Arthur Would Take a Bullet For', once you were on it, you were on it for life. Cobb wasn't sure what he'd done to earn himself that position but he was glad he had. Arthur had developed into a very good friend and, although he felt he didn't deserve such loyalty – especially after he'd lied to him during the Fischer job – he appreciated it and one day hoped to earn it.

He wondered if he'd ever see him again. Arthur had mentioned going to New York for a while, to lie low. Cobb knew he owned an apartment there but, from what he'd gathered, he didn't have any family. He wondered what could possibly have drawn him there, despite the fact it was the Big Apple. Now he thought about it, there wasn't really much he knew about Arthur's private life and he felt sad. He would have liked to probe a little deeper, declared a victory at bringing private Arthur out of his shell before retreating. But that would have to be someone else's job now. He wondered who.

He tapped his feet again, desperate for something other than brooding to keep him occupied. After a few moments, he moved over to the floor-to-ceiling window. L.A. seemed to sweat in the midday sun. The cars below looked like matchboxes, with wheels, their noise drowned out by the loud humming of the air conditioning. They seemed as if part of a different world.

"Not a bad view, eh?"

Cobb spun round, startled, to find a tall man standing in the doorway.

He was middle-aged, perhaps only a few years older than Cobb himself. His hair, once strawberry blonde, was now riddled with grey hair and his skin was very pale – seeming to portray a lifetime of always being on the side of the window with the heavy air conditioning.

"Mr Platt," Cobb said, crossing the floor quickly to shake his hand. He never remembered being this nervous. Perhaps at some point during the Fischer Job during one of the many moment he had faced imminent death he may have felt this same, nauseating fear in his gut. Maybe.

"You must be Mr Cobb," Platt replied, taking Cobb's hand and shaking it enthusiastically. "I've heard a lot about you from Miles."

"Good things I hope."

"Of course." With a smile that seemed rehearsed, Platt moved behind the desk and gestured for Cobb to sit down.

Cobb obliged, sitting back down in the chair he'd vacated only moments earlier.

"So I hear you've been in the business a long time," Platt said conversationally, pouring himself a glass of water from the decanter on the desk.

"Yes – architecture has always been something I've been involved with," Cobb replied, desperately trying to appear relaxed.

"So Miles said," Platt said, taking a sip. "He mentioned your last placement was in Paris."

"Yes, it was. Among other places."

"How did you find the City of Lights?"

Cobb chuckled cheesily, without really knowing why. Probably the nerves.

"Very well. I've always loved Paris – my wife was from there."

"Yes…I heard she passed away. I'm very sorry." Platt had adopted an expression he obviously thought was 'sincere, yet refined, pity'. Cobb felt certain he'd seen George Clooney model the very same one.

"It happened a while ago now; I came back to L.A. to try to move on. My children need their Dad back."

"Of course," Platt smiled, his face moulding into a dazzling smile - yet another staged look – this one possibly borrowed from Pierce Brosnan during his Bond era. "Now, down to business, what do you feel we can offer you as a company? How do you feel you'd excel as Junior Administrator?"

"Well-" Cobb rubbed his sweaty palms on his trousers, slightly unnerved by the rapid change of subject. "I've always admired the company's work. As an experienced architect, I believe I can fully appreciate the depth of the company's success and can bring my own expertise from those experiences to the company. I have good references from Saito Enterprises – they were very pleased with what I did for them."

"Yes." Platt's brow furrowed slightly. "We found Mr Saito's reference particularly interesting." He opened the file on his desk and pulled out a document before placing it carefully on the polished wood. Every muscle in Cobb's body was screaming at him to crane his neck and read it but he ignored his impulses and continued to stare, unblinkingly, into Platt's grey eyes.

"Oh?"

"Yes, especially the part where he says you are 'a man with no regrets, unlikely to die alone' with, and I quote, 'a good understanding of tourists and their needs."

Cobb laughed nervously.

"Oh yeah – inside joke."

Platt's mouth displayed no sign of betraying any sort of amusement. Cobb decided to carry on regardless, despite the feeling he was now fighting the inevitable.

"But I'm sure you were satisfied with the rest of Mr Saito's reference?" It came out as more of a question than a clear, definitive sentence. Platt seemed to study him for a second, as if weighing up his options.

"Yes," he said, finally. "We were satisfied. More than satisfied, actually." He glanced down at the document again before putting it carefully back inside the file. "Mr Saito praised your handling of his venture and claimed there was no better man to do the job. Coupled with your glowing reputation, we're struggling to find a reason not to hire you." He paused for a minute, tracing his lips with his forefinger gently. "If anything, you seem a little…overqualified."

The word seemed laden with double meaning and Cobb felt small beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"Why do you want this job, Cobb?" Platt asked. "Someone of your skill would surely be more suited to a job in management?"

"The kids need me here," Cobb replied, trying to pretend like he wasn't dying inside. "I just want to be near to them, you know. Catch up on lost time…"

He knew his answer wasn't quite sufficient, but it seemed to appease Platt.

For now.

"Well I suppose I can't complain," Platt said, smiling as he leant back in his office chair. "We've managed to snap you up before any other company has."

"So I've got the job?"

"You have. Congratulations."

The vice that only a few seconds ago had hold of his heart seemed to relinquish its grip slightly, allowing him to breathe properly again.

"You'll start Monday – I'll have Martin clear you a desk. I'll introduce you to your team then."

"Thank you very much, Mr Platt. I look forward to it," Cobb said, standing and shaking his hand, realising a little too late that it was still very sweaty. Platt betrayed no signs of discomfort however and grasped Cobb's hand with a similar amount of enthusiasm

"Welcome to the company, Mr Cobb," he said, flashing a Morgan Freeman smile. "We're expecting great things from you."

That night, they ordered a Domino's Pizza – a luxury normally reserved for birthdays – in celebration of Cobb's new job. Miles kindly volunteered to pay, seemingly unable to stop grinning at the idea of having a son-in-law with a job that wasn't illegal. His wife, Annette, although usually so adverse to all things Cobb, seemed slightly less hostile than usual and, after witnessing the excitement of the children at the idea of having pizza for dinner, agreed that perhaps a small celebration was in order. Within four minutes of the cardboard box being opened, the house stunk of garlic and James' face was completely covered in tomato sauce. While Cobb took him to the kitchen to help wash it off, he contemplated his new situation.

On Monday he'd have a boss, a paycheck, a lunch break. He'd have to get up for work at a set hour, drive the car down the same road nearly every day of the year, walk through the same doors. He was going to become a normal guy, with kids and a mortgage.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

He loved James and Philippa, even now as Cobb's attempts with the dishcloth seemed futile against the tomatoey mess that was James' face. He loved them more than anything.

But he also loved dreaming.

It almost hurt to imagine a life without it. A stubborn part of him scoffed at the idea of being 'normal'. He liked being special – knowing things the average Joe didn't. But he would have to overcome those feelings.

He wasn't that man anymore.

" …telling us about frogs today and how the mommy frog lays eggs called spawn and then the daddy comes and makes them into baby frogs and they hatch." James had been spouting pretty much the whole time although Cobb only caught the end of his monologue.

"Oh yeah?" he said, rinsing the dishcloth under the tap.

"Can we get frogs, daddy?"

"I don't think so, Jimmy."

"Why not?"

"Well… frogs live in ponds. We don't have a pond."

"Can we get a pond?"

"Erm…" This was suddenly getting a bit too serious for Cobb's liking. "Ask grandma." He'd leave the dream-crushing to Annette.

"Ok."

Taking his son's hand, he led him back to the dining room, where Phillipa, Miles and Annette were deep in conversation. He wasn't sure what they were talking about (probably horses: Phillipa's latest obsession) and he just let their words wash over him. Phillipa was growing more and more passionate, flicking her hair and hoisting herself up in her seat with her dainty little elbows. Miles disguised a chuckle behind his hand, not wanting his granddaughter to take offense at his amusement, and Annette's head was nodding over her glass of brandy – obviously a little worse for wear.

This was it, Cobb thought as he started at them all. This was the reason he had given up dreaming. If he hadn't, he wouldn't be here, watching them and he needed to be here watching them. He loved them all so much, even Annette, and he knew that if he had to abandon them again he would lose them forever. And forever was a long time.

He put the kids to bed a little later than usual, as he'd allowed them to watch a film with him. It was about a dinosaur trying to find his way home and involved a lot singing – he'd fallen asleep halfway through and had been rudely awoken by an elbow to the ribcage by James. For a moment, he'd swum in the disorientated sea of near-consciousness, unsure of whether the elbow was Eames, administering a finely planned kick, but then the face of his six-year old son had come into focus, he'd relaxed and he'd managed to stay awake for the rest of the film. It turned out the dinosaur did find his way home. How predictable.

Once he'd tucked them into bed and turned out the lights, he said goodbye to Miles and Annette. He called for a taxi as both of them were falling asleep and not in a suitable state to drive. When he finally climbed the stairs to bed, he found his own eyelids drooping. For the first time in a long while, he was genuinely exhausted. Being normal was tiring. As he hung his business suit up in the wardrobe, he felt something in the top pocket of his jacket. He reached inside and pulled out the small metal spinning top that had once been the sole thing tying him to reality. He stopped and stared at it for a moment, memories he'd tried hard to forget flowing through his mind. As if in a trance, he moved over to the bedside table, still clutching the totem. He rested it on the polished wood, about to spin it…

…and froze.

If this was a dream, it was one he would rather never wake up from. He wanted to stay here, with this James and this Phillipa – the ones he knew – even if they were figments of his imagination.

He didn't want to know.

Shaking his head, he opened the drawer of his bedside cabinet and shut it firmly, before sitting down on the bed and rubbing his tired eyes with his fingertips. He needed to sleep – the usual way.

After a minute he began to laugh.

He might have kids, car insurance and a mortgage, but one thing was for sure – Dominic Cobb would never be normal.

A/N - Not much action in this chapter I'm afraid, but I promise the next chapter is jam-packed. Thanks for reading, reviews are great - Ellen