Disclaimer: Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Christopher Nolan, Legendary Pictures, Syncopy, and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. All others belong to me, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.
The opinions expressed by characters in this story may or may not be those of the author.
Zombie bunny is still dining on my cerebrum. Or wherever the sleep center is located. However, the high almost offsets the exhaustion. *grin* Please note, I still have not read any other Inception fic besides Cincoflex's. Any coincidences are just that.
She has also encouraged, enthused, and enlivened this story. I couldn't do it without her!
Production notes for this and other chapters are available at vr-trakowski dot livejournal dot com/tag/production notes
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Chapter Two: The Empty Corners of the Evening
It was hard to get back into real life, afterwards.
She'd known it would be, almost from the moment Cobb had asked her to conceive a maze; but the idea of drawing back had never really been a consideration. For one thing, she'd needed the money; but more importantly, she needed the adventure.
After all, she hadn't come all the way to France just for the architecture program.
Suddenly possessing more money than she'd ever had in her life - total - was more unnerving than she'd expected. Ariadne paid a few outstanding bills, bought the chic winter coat she'd been drooling over and a couple new pairs of shoes, and put the rest in the highest-interest account she could find - Eames had given her a few tips on how to make it look as if it came from a legitimate job.
And she'd gone back to class as if nothing had happened, as if she'd never spent the better part of several weeks learning to build dreams, nor that she'd descended to what could easily have been a private hell…and come back…all in the time it took to get from one side of the world to the other. Professor M gave her some knowing looks, but he didn't ask any questions, and it was really kind of a relief.
Until it wasn't, and she finally sought him out during his office hours, though he never used the little space as anything but an oversized filing cabinet. The well-steep lecture room still had the last class' diagrams on the chalkboard, familiar and comforting.
He didn't look up when she descended the wooden stairs, but his voice carried as he wrote. "Come to talk about it at last?"
Ariadne huffed, and sat down at the closest desk. "You knew."
"Of course I did." He set down his pen and leaned back to look up at her. "I taught Dom, after all."
She shrugged helplessly, wishing she could talk to Cobb himself, or even Arthur, who had been surprisingly kind. "Yes, how did you get into this anyway? I mean, it's…"
"Illegal? Immoral?" Professor M regarded her with the gentle half-smile that could conceal anything from compassion to a readiness to pounce. "Too technologically advanced for an old man like me?"
Ariadne gave him a dry look. "I didn't say that."
He laughed. "True. You are ever respectful to my grey hairs. Well, my dear, the truth is that I…was involved in refining the concept some years ago, and later I trained Dom and Mal to build Dreams." The amusement sank away. "To my eternal regret, I must add."
Ariadne could appreciate that. "But you introduced me to Cobb anyway."
Professor M sighed. "Yes, well, he thought he'd found a way to clear the charges against him, and the children needed their father." He looked up at her again, his eyes piercing. "I owe you for that, Ariadne."
She dropped her gaze, embarrassed. "I'm glad he got to go home," she said, half-stifled. "He's a good guy."
They were silent a moment; Ariadne could almost feel Cobb's presence in the room, but if he was a ghost he was at rest.
"Dom's not why you're here," Professor M said then, voice brisker, and she looked back up. "You want to know what to do next."
"Yeah." Ariadne bit her lip. "I can't get it out of my head."
"Of course not," he said gently. "It's wish-fulfillment of the deepest kind; building what you imagine, truly building it, with no constraints. It's terribly addictive."
"More so than the drugs?" Ariadne asked, a little sourly. "That's what they kept warning me about, that if you dream too often on the machine you can't dream without it, but I'm starting to think that's the least of it."
Professor M raised his brows. "It depends on what you do in the Dreams; for instance, I doubt young Arthur shares your problem. But - " He continued as she snickered at the image; young was not a term she would apply to Arthur. " - My advice is, bank your profits, place the whole thing firmly in the past, and go on with your life. Call it a fabulous adventure if you must, but a once-in-a-lifetime event."
Ariadne leaned forward. "Then I can't do both?"
He hesitated, letting out a long breath. "It'll eat you up, Ariadne, this life. I've seen it happen too many times. People get sucked in, and they live for the next Dream, and nothing but. You're smart, you're prudent, or you wouldn't be here. Walk away."
She regarded him, seeing through the professorial gaze to what lay behind it. "You did, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did. I had a family."
Ariadne cocked her head. "But you regret it."
He snorted. "Child, you can't reach my advanced age without regrets. But I still think I made the right choice."
Her eyes drifted to the diagrams behind him, potential in grainy white lines, and she nodded. "Thank you, Professor."
His lips tightened. "Ariadne…"
She gave him the wide-eyed innocence that worked so often, but his face didn't soften. "I promise I'll think about what you said."
Picking up her bag, she smiled at him and left. The grumble behind her wasn't loud enough to hear what he was saying, but she could guess.
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It was chilly and gray when she emerged from the school. Ariadne wrapped her sweater a little tighter and walked to her favorite park, claiming a bench and sitting down despite the autumnal cold, soaking in the feeling of the ancient city around her.
It was something she loved to do, had done as far back as she could remember; reaching out when she got to a new place, feeling it, taking in the way the buildings grew, the way the streets connected them. Paris was by far the richest she'd ever encountered, but coming from the New World as she did she put it down to age; there were no cities so old where she had grown up.
Her hands fiddled with the ends of her scarf. Normally she would have a portfolio in them, or a sketchbook at the very least, to draw and imagine and write down ideas as they came to her. But she left her bag unopened, and thought.
Professor M was sure she'd already made up her mind. Ariadne had to admit that he was very nearly right. Ethics aside, the world of the Dream was seductive. It was, literally, god-like; conceiving a world and creating it, without having to bow to the constraints of time or money or laws or even physics. Ariadne knew that as an architect in the real world it would be years, if not decades, before she would be in a position to build solely what she wanted to build, unless she displayed a rare genius. Chasing that dream lost a lot of impetus when the possibility of more was right at hand.
But what about those ethics? She stared blindly at the ubiquitous pigeons milling around the gravel walks nearby. It's theft.
Corporate theft, another part of her pointed out. Stealing from mega-companies that could well afford it. Hell, the inception was supposed to prevent a dangerous monopoly.
But it was an invasion of privacy, of the deepest, most unprotected part of someone. Who says it hurts them? the whisper asked. Look at Fischer - he thought it was all exactly what it was, a dream.
It's dangerous. That one she couldn't pass by. Sedation aside, there was the possibility of growing addicted to the machine, and while Saito had seemed nice enough, she'd heard Eames' story about gunmen pursuing Cobb in Mombasa. Mega-companies might be able to afford the losses, but that didn't mean they would ignore them.
And yet…
The worlds she'd created haunted her. New York City had been more a copy than a creation, but the hotel of the second Dream had an entire world surrounding it, because she'd imagined it - even though Cobb had told her to construct the building so that the only way out was through the front door.
The third one she'd been most proud of, because so much of it was exteriors rather than buildings, and it had been much harder. Being there had been a revelation - she'd created it, the huge vistas, the mountains and the sweeping sky, the icy air and the trees. They existed because of her. And if they didn't exist for long, well, it didn't seem to matter so much.
It's almost the inverse, Ariadne mused, nudging the gravel with one toe. We design buildings to endure, but the Dreams only last a few minutes in real time. But the Dreams are far more complex than even the most meticulously designed city.
Well, most of them only lasted a few minutes. She was still dazzled by what Cobb and his wife had created in their fifty years in Limbo - an endless, impossible city, subject to their whims and desires, without limits or constraints.
But the price for that was too high. Fifty years… And that was in company. Being there alone would surely drive one mad, or madder. Ariadne shivered. Limbo held no attractions for her.
Her cellphone rang, jerking her out of reverie, and she fumbled for it, grateful to be pulled back to the real world. The name on the display was familiar, and she smiled as she lifted the phone to her ear. "Bonjour, Maryse," she said. "What's up?"
Her friend was excited, but then Maryse always was. Ariadne listened to the excited babble about grades, clubs, and Maryse's newest boyfriend, letting the words flow over her in a comforting rush. They'd met sharing a class, and Maryse, gregarious and energetic, had taken the culture-shocked Canadian under her wing, helping her navigate Paris and all its quirks. Ariadne was grateful; she'd made other friends, but Maryse had, as she said, made it her mission to be sure that Ariadne didn't lose herself studying. Concealing her job with Cobb and his people had taken some fast talking on Ariadne's part, but she'd managed to convince her friend it was a work placement with peculiar requirements.
Much as she enjoyed Maryse's company, Ariadne knew that the woman would not understand the world of the Dream.
"…And you're coming with us tonight," Maryse finished. "I insist, and Tomás will be there too. He has been asking about you."
"Tomás? Well, then, I'll have to," Ariadne teased, grinning at the idea. She and Tomás had gone on a few dates together, outside of the mob of friends who seemed to surround Maryse most of the time; he was as foreign to Paris as Ariadne herself, and had charmed her on their first meeting by not mistaking the origin of her name for the legend of Arachne, as most people did.
Times and places were chosen, and Ariadne shut off her phone just as the first drops of rain began to fall. Sighing, she dug her umbrella out of her bag and set off for the cramped little flat she called home.
The rain had stopped by the time she met Maryse and the others at one of their favorite bars. Ariadne pulled herself up onto the stool that had been saved for her, exchanging kisses with the rest of the group and leaning into Tomás when he slid an arm around her waist. He was a beautiful young man, with dark blond hair and a charming accent in both English and French. He smelled of turpentine, she noticed, which was normal; he was an art student, struggling to bring his vision to canvas as she did hers to paper and models. What would he do in a Dream? she wondered suddenly. Could he create as she had, and would it be canvases beyond imagination, or actual scenes and objects?
The idea gave her a mild headache. Ariadne put the idea firmly from her and ordered a drink.
They spent a merry evening, drinking and talking, pausing for supper and then going dancing, but through it all Ariadne found herself feeling a little detached, as if she were not really a part of the group. It was puzzling; these were the best friends she had in Europe, and closer than most of those she'd left behind at home. But there was so much more inside her head now, crowding up behind the usual talk of romance and art, ambition and politics, that it kept squeezing her attention away. Tomás was as attentive as ever, and Ariadne felt bad spacing out on him, but she couldn't seem to help it.
It wasn't as though they were serious, she comforted herself. She knew Tomás saw others, and that she was free to do so if she wanted to; they'd shared a few kisses, but neither of them had seen fit to formalize anything just yet.
It wasn't just the Dreams that were preoccupying her. It was the faces in them. Cobb, gentle and troubled; Eames with his wicked smile and equally wicked wit; Yusuf, who hid wisdom behind a slightly foolish air; Saito, whose gallantry had moved them all; and Arthur, whose control intrigued her. She could still summon up that kiss he'd tricked out of her, a chaste press of lips that had given her a glimpse of his humor.
And yet -
Ariadne laughed out loud, the sound almost lost under the thump of the club's music. Reaching into her pocket, she brought out her totem, standing it carefully on the tiny table at which she sat and knocking it over with one finger. It fell precisely as she expected, and she tucked it away, just as Tomás returned with bottled water for them both.
"What amuses you?" he asked, taking the seat opposite. "You have been not here all night."
She looked up at his smile - at her height, just about everyone was up, though Tomás was only a few inches taller - and returned it. "Sorry. I've just had a lot on my mind."
His expression was fond. "Cariña, you always have a lot on your mind."
"True." Ariadne accepted the bottle of water he offered her. "Let's just say, I've just solved a problem."
Telling yourself you'll do it again is fine and dandy, but you have absolutely no way to get in touch with any of these people. They had been using disposable cellphones to keep in touch, properly disposed of in Los Angeles. She hadn't even so much as an e-mail address.
And while she might figure out a way to put her skills up for sale on that very exclusive market, there was really no reason to believe that she would ever see any of them again.
The thought made her unexpectedly sad - disappointed, even. She'd felt so close to them, especially Cobb, but that was probably to be expected given the nature of Dreaming. But if there was one thing Ariadne knew how to do, it was to move on.
She smiled again at Tomás, setting aside the sorrow for the moment. "Come on and dance with me. Take my mind off things."
He grinned back. "With pleasure."
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Ariadne lay awake for a long time that night, trying to sort it all out in her mind. She was used to feeling out of place among her peers - she'd been doing it all through school, where her fellow students rarely looked beyond the confines of their small town for their futures. She'd always dreamed bigger.
Dreams. She muffled a laugh in her pillow. Maybe Professor M is right. Maybe I should just let it all go.
She stared up at her ceiling, hidden in the darkness. Maybe you should take another trip, get out of the routine for a while. You've been meaning to see the Cathedral at Wells for ages now…take a long weekend and go. But the thought held little appeal.
In the morning, bleary-eyed, she took herself off for a long day of classes. When she turned her phone back on after the last lecture, a message was waiting.
It was brief and businesslike, almost cold, but it left her leaning against the nearest wall, feeling the world open up around her, wider and wider. Smiling, she called the number and left a return message.
"Hi, Arthur. Yeah, I'll be there."