Slow Kicks
A/N: Hello, peoples! And since I always, always forget, here's for all the chapters: I don't own Inception. I probably never will. But I can love it, so there. A/A love! I dream about these two at night. And I know what you're thinking: no one ever said I was NOT crazy. Okay, enough of me. And thanks to PurplePlatypus96 for being my first reveiwer! Thanks to ALL of my reviewers, you made my day. I think I nearly died. Okay, NOW enough of me.
Soundtrack: Sweet dreams- Beyonce
'Every night I rush to bed, with hopes that maybe I'll get a chance to see you.' - Beyonce
Chapter Two: Dreamers Will Always Dream
It sounds crazy. Ariadne had thought it impossible, but now she's not so sure.
To perform an Inception and an Extraction at the same time. She hisses it to herself like a mantra. She's falling asleep in the dim warehouse. Before she does, she sees Arthur at his desk, flipping through the manila folder.
It all feels real, so very, very real.
The gun pressed to her temple is cold. The cigerette held between two fingers feels there, the circular shape rolling between bright red fingernails. The carpet on the hotel floor is extremely lush, she notes, and my knees are sinking into it. The gun under my dress is biting into my skin. And that certainly looks like Arthur is checking the safety of his gun. The moment he removes the gun from her temple, Ariadne whips out her own. Once again they are contemplating each other over the barrels of their guns. Ariadne checks her own safety on her gun. It's on, but Ariadne is a damn good bluffer and Arthur doesn't know it's on. So and so.
He puts his gun down first, sliding it to the hotel room door and watching her carefully. Aha,she thinks, this is the catch. I may shoot or do the same. She thinks of the gun pressed to her temple earlier, then the haunted look in Arthur's eyes. She sighs and puts the gun down on the bed.
It's then he wraps her in his arms and kissing the tender spot behind her ear. She melts like silly putty (Damn you, couldn't you be less hot?). Skin brushing skin, lips brushing even softer lips, and his fingers playing with her silky green scarf. It feels like heaven, and her fingers are studying every contour of his face. Murmuring "I love you" into his neck, and hearing him say the same. She has shivers, and she can't breathe for a second when he stops kissing her. Then he kisses each and every one of her fingers before kissing her collarbone, then her neck. This is her heaven, and she honestly wouldn't mind dropping into hell. As long as Arthur comes with her.
That's before an armed gun man burst into the room and fires off three shots. Arthur screams bloody murder before dropping to the floor. Ariadne would have caught him, but she has her second gun out in miliseconds, but the attacker is faster and she's engulfed in flames of pain. Next thing she knows, she on the floor next to Arthur and he is holding her hand. She feels comforted, and everything is going fuzzy. Blood is everywhere. Her blood? His blood? Or both?
"She won't wake."
"Slap her."
There's a muffled suggestion as to where Eames can slap instead, and then a moment of pregnant silence. "What the bloody hell? It's possible, but a lost cause, because-" There's a sound of someone being punched, and none too lightly. There's muffled cursing. Ariadne wants to laugh. Most of these curses she's never heard before. She takes in a deep breath before opening her eyes. If this is another dream, and she sees Arthur with a Glock 17-
Eames and Arthur are peering down at her. Not exactly peering- more like staring with morbid curiosity. Another dream? Ariadne is about to reach for her totem and check when she remembers she left it at the University, and all the events of the day come rushing back. "Here." Arthur supplies her totem, and she takes it, staring. "You left it, and when I was leaving I saw it. So I took it for you." She nods her thanks and tips the totem over on the table next to her. It falls.
Eames leaves, with something that sounds suspiciously like "you two lovebirds". Ariadne'll have to corner the Forger later and ask him to repeat that particular sentence. Arthur's staring at her with a look that she can't quite name. Envy? Close, but that's not it.
"Where you dreaming?"
She nods. Not exactly dreaming, more like nightmaring, but there's not a very big difference. She always dreams of Arthur, whether nightmare or dream. He's always there, and the reason she rushes to sleep. That's the closest she can ever get to him. In real life, her fantasies are absurd wishes. Arthur looks at her through his lashes. His eyes are beautiful, she realizes. Dark and endless and dangerous and vulnerable and...beautiful. Suddenly she can name the feeling in Arthur's eyes: jealousy. But why?
"Sorry to disturb you, then. We just need to start planning-"
Ariadne suddenly wishes they were alone, without the prying eyes of Eames and the silent shape that is Yusuf. Gentle, steady Arthur. He moves a hand to her wrist and helps her stand. Her heart flutters, stops, then starts again.
Sunset finds the team (minus Cobb) on assorted lawn chairs, Eames tapping a pen on a blank notebook page and Arthur holding an uncapped marker in front of a white board.
Inception/Extraction
Arthur has neat handwriting, exactly like Ariadne would've thought. It has no needless scrawls and unidentifiable letters. She fiddles with her scarf. Her own handwriting is scrawly. Like someone dragged a chicken across the page, Professor Miles often tells her.
"Okay."
They all look up once he talks. Ariadne was possibly the fastest.
"Any ideas? We'll have to do the dream within a dream all over again. Like the Fischer job." There are nods of assents while Arthur writes dream within a dream on the board. Eames looks around, then holds up his pen. "Two levels. First we Incept that he'll retire early. The second level we Incept that he'll leave it to whatshername? Maka?" Arthur writes two levels on the board, then caps his marker. "Makla," he corrects. He uncaps his pen again and twirls it between two fingers.
"How about we Extract on the first level? We split up and do the Mr. Charles gambit," Ariadne suggests. She couldn't care less about the Mr. Charles gambit; she wants to be able to kiss in a hotel lobby again. Arthur smiles at her and writes Mr. Charles on the board. That's the smile Ariadne has been dreaming about. She shivers. Eames writes something in his notebook.
"So the first level we do two things: Incept that he retires early, and Extract the bottle designs. The second level we Incept that he leaves it to Makla," Arthur confirms. "Eames could impersonate her," Yusuf suggests. Eames is glowering. Arthur goes over to his desk and picks up a picture, and hands it to Eames, who looks at it fleetingly before passing to it Yusuf. Yusuf, in turn, passes it to Ariadne, who studies the picture.
She's pretty, she thinks almost immediately. With stark-red hair and gorgous blue eyes, a beautiful complexion, and a long and tapered figure, it's not hard to see. But there's a blankness behind her eyes. She's looking hard at the cell phone in her hand, and Ariadne would bet that she doesn't even know half the words being texted to her. Stupid, she thinks. Beautiful but stupid. Still, Ariadne can't stop the jealousy burning in her chest. She isn't ugly, but she isn't that pretty, either.
She passes the picture to Arthur, who glances at it briefly before setting it on the table.
"On to setting."
Ariadne sits up straighter. Her element. It almost makes her forget Makla. Almost.
"After looking through the folders, I've deduced a few things." Ariadne can hear Eames muttering under his breath -"Deduce? Who the bloody hell says deduce?" - and tries to tune him out.
"He went to Our Lady of the Snows, where he was bullied-"-here Eames muttered something about Arthur being bullied- "as a child. Ari, can you design a Catholic school? With statues?" He pauses to rifle through the absolutely huge folder, but all Ariadne can hear is Ari (AriAriAriAriAri). No one's called her that in a long time. She nods, but Arthur doesn't see it, and the overwhelming sense to be alone with him crashes over Ariadne like a wave. She busies herself with her scarf.
He passes her a few pictures, and his fingers brush hers, but all she can see is the school.
"Holy f-," breathes Eames. "That is one hell of a school."
It is. Ariadne raises her eyebrows at Arthur, who shrugs. "He's rich. Rich enough to buy out Hispanola." Yusuf lets out a whistle and leans closer to the picture. It's amazing- statues in corridors and plush velvet seats as chairs, this is obviously a school Ariadne would die to go to. But Arthur's right- you'd need to be filthy rich, bleeding money.
"Is the man black market? Because you don't get rich selling economical water bottles." Eames says. He lights a cigerette and leans back in his chair. Yusuf nods. Arthur shakes his head, looking troubled. "That's exactly it. He's not. Doesn't even dabble in drugs. Strictly clean. "
He doesn't need to say it, but Ariadne can hear his unspoken fear. What if his subconcious was trained, too? She would comfort him, but Eames is right there. She wonders what would happen if she knocks him out and drags his body outside. The three of them would whip out unseen guns, she muses.
"Maybe it's inheritance money," she suggests. Arthur's eyes light up. "Maybe," he breathes, and rifles through the folder a bit faster then nessecsary.
"The second level," he finally continues, "will be a hotel in NYC, where he and Makla went on their annual vaction. Here, Eames will impersonate Makla, and get Mr. Turnser to give the company to her when he retires. A five star hotel. Where they literally bow when you enter. Eames, how would you like a dress?"
Yusuf snorts into his elbow, and Eames, clearly affronted, doesn't answer. He instead changes the subject. "Let's plan this out level by level. What happens on the first level?"
"We split up into two," Ariadne says at the same time Arthur says, "We Incept and Extract." They glance at each other, then at Eames. Ari lapses into silence; did she just see Arthur blushing?
"Okay, on the first level, we'll do as Ariadne suggested. We split into two teams, and one team will Incept he retires early." He pauses a moment and taps the marker against his chin. "That will be Eames and Yusuf." He turns to the board and writes Eames and Yusuf on the board. "The second team will-Ari and I-" there's that Ari again- "...Extract what new designs he has for a new economical water bottle. Then we'll all meet up in an old classroom or something and go into the secind level."
Eames nods as he writes this down eagerly in his notebook. "But we need a kick," he says after several moments of scribbling furiously, "strong enough to take us back up. What'll we do? Not bombs, please," he adds after catching the expression on Arthur's face."I'd rather be shot in the head."
"Possible, Eames. Very possible. In fact," and here Arthur smirks. Eames' hand drifts to his waist, where, Ari assumes, a gun is stashed. "...we can go into a dream right now and I'll shoot you as many times as your heart desires."
Eames visibly shivers.
Yusuf looks shocked.
Ariadne can't find any words to say. Arthur surveys the team, then caps his marker and sets it down on his desk. "I think we're done for today," he says, fixes his tie, and sits down at his desk. Ariadne goes to her own desk and pulls out a sketch pad. She impatiently flips through all of the drawings of Arthur (to her credit, there is one of Mal, too), to the back, where she starts to draw straight lines and curves of statues and hallways.
.later.
He's quietly flipping through the huge manila folder. He doesn't hear his name being called until Eames comes up to him and roughly shakes his shoulder. When Arthur looks up, Eames points to a slumbering Ariadne, her sketch pad held loosely between her fingers and about to fall. The pencil has already fallen. She fell asleep. Yusuf had too, but woken himself and managed to get to his car before falling asleep again.
But Ariadne? Arthur's loathe to waking her.
"Hmmm. I'll bring her home."
"Are you sure? I mean, the trails and everything. They might-"
"I'll stay with her."
Eames shuts up with an audible snap. Then he shakes his head and saunters off to his lawn chair, humming something under his breath. Arthur shakes in his resolve for a second, then stands up and crosses over to the slumbering girl. Not girl, Arthur tells himself sharply. A young woman. Ari would have my head if she heard me call her that.
Eames is now whispering something to Yusuf: they both look at the sleeping Ari, then at Arthur. Yusuf hisses something to Eames, who roars with laughter and slaps him on his back. Yusuf fixes his now-crooked glasses. Arthur clenches his teeth and squares his shoulders, and marches the rest of the way over to the slumbering girl. But first he wants to see what she's done. He picks up her sketch pad and is about to open when Eames cautions him. "I was gonna do the same thing, mate. Like if she'd draw any pictures of me. No such luck. But she nearly punched my arm off." Arthur sighs and sets it down, the lightly shakes Ari's shoulder.
"Ari? Ari, it's time to go."
She wakes with a jolt and backhands Arthur across the face; he stumbles backwards while Eames is writhing on the floor, gasping and holding his ribs. His face is steadily turning red. Arthur abruptly wonders if she saw him with her book. Ariadne is on her feet, looking as if she's ready to smack Arthur again. Or much worse. He surrenders insantly, holding his hands up to shoulder length and edging away. "Sorry! Sorry!"
"I'm freakin' sick of sorry, how many times do I need to be shot in the head, if you come near me and take out-"
Arthur follows this monologue with intrest: she had been dreaming about him. Well, maybe not just him. Maybe the whole team. But the team included him, didn't it? He feels his heart spatter against his ribcage. Ari fishes for her totem in her jeans pocket and sets it on the table. She takes a deep breath and pushes it.
It falls.
She's turning pale, the blood draining from her face and mouth popping open as she looks from the totem to Arthur. She tips it over once more for good measure, then scrambles to where Arthur is still standing, hands in the air. She touches his cheek, checking for any bruises, and his eyes find hers. Then she recoils, blushing, as if Arthur had whispered something dirty in her ear. He spares a moment to feel offended. That was Eames' department. He puts his arms down.
He can still feel her hand on his cheek.
"Sorry," she murmurs so low Arthur has to strain to hear her. "I just- you know. Self defense." She shoots a furtive look at Eames, so pointed one would have to be blond not to see it. Arthur takes a step back and angles his head. His cheek feels sore. He'd have to admit she had a good arm. Just on the wrong side of the punch.
"What was that?" Eames snickers. "You nearly bloody took his head off."
She blushes even more. She looks beautiful when she does, Arthur notices,then tries to concentrate. His line of work didn't include love; look how it turned out for Cobb and Mal. And yet, if he allows himself one kiss, it will blossom into something more. Arthur fixes his tie. Why couldn't he have been a dentist?
But he knows that even if he were, he would never be happy. He would've never met Ariadne.
"I was waking you up," he says to her now. She glances at him, biting her lip. "To take you home."
Eames whispers something under his breath that Arthur can only make out two words form. Liar and rapist. He'll have to corner the jokester later. And his accomplice, who is sniggering quietly. Arthur narrows his eyes at them. Yusuf has the good sense to shut up, but Eames keeps on laughing, keeping a steady eye on Arthur. In case the point man might suddenly lash out with his Glock 17 and bash him over the head, Arthur muses. Very aduquate.
She nods at him, glares at Eames. "I should go home," she says, then snatches up her bag, fallen pencil, and sketch pad. Arthur feels a pang of almost guilt- he's nearly invaded her privacy.
They drive home in near silence. Ari gazes out the window and fiddles with her scarf (green, with blue and red polka dots, he's noticed). Arthur concentrates on driving until they get to the door of her apartment building.
"What if...they...they come back for me?"
She's shaking, shaking so violently that Arthur's reminded of a buzzer. She looks up into his eyes, and Arthur thinks she stops breathing. Then she takes in a huge shuddering breath. Her face is pale.
"They won't." He wants to reassure her more then this small peice, wants to tell her he'd never let anyone hurt her, not without murdering him first. He takes her hand and she slowly stops shaking. "I'll stay," he offers. "In case..."
He suddenly realizes what he sounds like. He drops her hand and looks away.
.Ari.
At first there's blazing anger, at how dare he try to play her like that, she's been brought up in New York City: like there wasn't a man trying to get into her house for one reason or another. She draws herself up, ready to spit the words in his face. Then she sees his dark eyes, his infinite eyes.
"Okay" is all she says, and leads him into her apartment without another word.
"You can sleep on the couch. Or that chair-" she gestures with a hand, "but I'll bet you'll like the couch better."
Arthur chuckles dryly at her humor. She tosses a bundle of blankets at him and hears the "oomph" as it hits him. She shuts the closet door. "Don't go through the fridge," she warns him. "I have a bat under the bed and it's been used. I bet it still has blood on it," she adds witha glance on Arthur's disbelieving face. He manages to form a question, and she locks the closet and leans against it to think.
"I don't know. It's been a long time since someone was over. And I was brought up in Brooklyn. All I know is it takes a lot for me to trust somebody."
She goes into her room to change into her pajamas.
Her dreams are different.
A/N: This story is like my baby. Honestly. And for the format of the top of the page, I use lines from songs. I'll tell you which songs: Chapter One was What the Hell, by Avril Lavigne. This chapter is Sweet Dreams, by Beyonce. And thanks to the reviewers for Kicking Slowly and A Lifetime of Kisses. You made my day. Seriously, I nearly died. Thanks! And please keep an eye out for chapter three. Here's an expert:
She's floating. Or drowing. Something to do with rivers of blood and a evil looking Mal, advancing with a huge knife. Just as she's advancing, about to lunge, Arthur takes the dive out of nowhere and is suddenly twisting on the floor in agony. As if to rub salt in his wounds, Mal pulls out a gun and shoots Arthur three times in the leg. It isn't pretty.
She held him as he died.
Then she was running. Running from something, running to something. But what?
LADADADALA!
love you guys. a lot.
-cass