I only own Inception in my dreams.
PROLOGUE:
When the team performed Inception on Robert Fischer, we never expected, or wanted, any further contact with him. In fact, I went to great lengths to make sure that something of this nature would never happen. I erased all evidence that any of the team had been involved in the life of Mr. Fischer. I went through security tapes of the office, smoothed over any ruffled feathers at the office left by Eames observing Peter Browning in order to take note of his quirks. Endless hours of research, spying, sneaking, and clearing of browser history and hacking... and I thought I was done with Inception, and that I could move on with my life.
Wrong.
Dead Wrong.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Browning." I said, shaking her hand gently and moving to push in her chair for her, only to be waved off as she shook off her jacket and eased into a relaxed position and sipped daintily at her Starbucks green tea. (Which coincidentally was my regular order, I would recognize the aroma of their tea anywhere.)
Lucille Browning had an air of expensiveness. Her perfume was light and her clothes tastefully luxurious. She carried herself with a grace that only women of status possessed. You could tell within the first couple of sentences exchanged with her that was used to getting what she wanted, and she got what she wanted by making people want to do things for her. She had black hair streaked tastefully with gray, pulled back into a perfect bun. Her features matched her body, dainty and petite. Sher skin was very pale, and looked as though she had never seen the sun. She oozed elegance and poise.
"Now, I'm not one to beat around the bush, Mr. Leroy. I asked for an appointment with you for a very specific reason. I want an honest answer from you, and in return I will give you my honest motives." She took a moment to take a deep, shaky breath, steadying herself.
"I am dying, Mr. Leroy." She reached to grab a tissue from the box on my desk, and when I expected her to wipe a tear from her face, she began to wipe make-up from her cheek to reveal red, pealing skin. She reached a hand to her black hair and pulled off her wig. Another deep breath sent her into a coughing fit. After a sip of her tea, she seemed to regain control over herself and went on with her speech.
"Cancer. Fifty nine years of smoking seems to have it's toll on my lungs, and a lifetime of tanning has betrayed my skin. And forty years of marriage seem to have deteriorated my husband's memory. He doesn't seem to recall the vows he took, how he loved me then..." Here was the tear I was searching for earlier. It took a long stroll down her cheek before dropping off the end of her chin, and she regained the strength to speak again.
"Of course, these are only suspicions." She said hastily, wiping the offending tear viciously off of her face, and I watched her wince at the action of touching the irritated skin.
"But I want to know before I die... was he loyal to me? Why did he always bury himself in his work, why does he take interest in the things he takes interest in. He loved me when he noticed me as a lowly secretary and rose me up and married me... but now I am questioning his motives as the years have gone by. I miss the Peter that I fell in love with. I want to die in the arms of someone I love. I want to find out if he was faithful, if he still loves me... and if he was, I want him to love me again, even if you have to convince him of that somehow through trickery. I need someone by my side through all of this shit that is going to happen to me at the hospital. I can't do it alone. I need him. Or at least I need to be able to hate him."
She looked at me with pleading eyes, trying to see if she sensed my meaning. I acknowledged her with a nod, handing her the tissue box.
"Mrs. Browning, I will discuss the matter with my associates personally. Please, I think you should go home, get some rest. I will email you by the end of the day." She bobbed her head, and I helped her into her jacket, taking the tissue box as she whispered a thank you and swept out the door.
Running a hand through my hair, smoothing any strands that may have fallen out of place, I paced the room's length before pulling out my phone, and scrolled until I found the names I was looking for.
Ariadne.
Yes.
Eames.
Yes.
Dylan.
Yes.
Architect, forger, chemist, and point. The team was nearly assembled.
Cobb, my longtime friend was never going back into the field. The year he'd had with his kids have left him as the happiest man in the world. I've never seem Dom so full of life since Mal was alive. He was out of the question.
Scroll.
Scroll.
Liz Leroy.
Send.
Ring.
Ring.
"Hey big brother, what's up?"
A/N: I would beg you to review, but I know you've already pushed that lovely, lovely button. Thanks guys :)