Capitulation
Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. I could never handle the immensity of owning something so...epic. :P
Summary: Falling. The bishop falls because she made it so, the die because he tosses it from his hand. It's a kick, pulling them up for air when another job threatens everything they don't realize they've found in each other. :Arthur/Ariadne:
Note: So it's definitely the most unoriginal plot ever created, but I think we all realize that there's only so many places one can go after the film. I mean, the whole thing was just a mental rollercoaster. I guess what I'm saying is that I hope it's my delivery that makes this...stand out somewhat.
Chapter Two
She didn't realize how hard it would be to go back to reality, back to normal things like rent and class and coffee shops. Ariadne buys (not rents) a new apartment with more room, relishing in this one luxury she allows herself with her copious amount of money. She sets aside the amount necessary to finish school and sees that she still has enough to last comfortably for at least a year. Probably more.
Professor Miles is (understandably) understanding of her lapse in work, even going so far as to ask if she's doing alright. Ariadne responds in the affirmative. She's overwhelmed with the need to ask about Cobb, but restrains herself. Instead, she covers the walls of her apartment with designs and sketches that refuse to leave her mind until drawn out. Most of them can only exist elsewhere than solid ground.
At least it's somewhat cathartic.
Ariadne has also taken to carrying her totem with her everywhere. That too, is comforting. As she drags herself to (fitful) sleep each night, the weight in her hand is reassuring. She returns to a steady, stable routine, and it's only inside her mind that she isn't exactly as she was the day she met Dom Cobbs. She can't let go, unhealthy as that is.
When she buys a new scarf she thinks of Arthur, when she hears a laughing English accent (sparse as they are), Ariadne looks up expecting Eames. When she sees a large, white van she is reminded that she never got a chance to thank Yusuf for keeping them all alive (only to throw them over the bridge and into the river, but still.) Ariadne silently thanks Saito when she pays for the rest of the semester, but can never look at Professor Miles (Cobb's father in law) in the same light. She's pretty sure he doesn't her, either.
Almost eight weeks pass before she's startled out of Mal's fury by the shrill ringing of her phone. Putting a hand to her heart, Ariadne watches her bishop on the nightstand before answering.
"Hello?"
"Ariadne. It's me."
"Arthur?" Ariadne sits up, now fully awake. "What is it?"
"We have a job. Well, a prospective job. Saito is coming in with the details tomorrow. Are you in?"
Was she? The architect lets her gaze flicker to the dozens of broken, impossible designs littering her room. "Yeah. I'm in." She listens as he inhales, waiting for some kind of warning or reprimand. But nothing comes.
"Alright. I trust you remember where the warehouse is?" She smiles to herself. Of course she did. "Tomorrow. Eight."
"Thank you, Arthur." It comes out before she has time to ponder the multitude of meanings. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Ariadne."
Her last thought before succumbing to sleep again is how long he's been back in Paris.
.a.
Ariadne is up long before eight, trying to quell the flutter in her stomach by taking her time with the morning routine. She blow-dries her hair with care (which she usually just forgoes most days), letting her natural waves settle onto her shoulders. Today's scarf is an inky blue, detailed with wispy, abstract silver designs. Despite all this effort, the architect looks remarkably similar to how she did on the first day of 'work.'
There isn't really anything she can do about that, she reasons, and heads out into the cool Paris morning. It takes her about fifteen minutes to make the journey from her new apartment building, and in her head she decides that no, she did not consciously make that decision. She did not decide to move closer to the warehouse, closer to the job, closer to the dreams.
In retrospect (when she'd thought of returning there) Ariadne knows that it was probably empty. There were probably no chairs, no desks; no signs that five people had spent weeks working there. But now there's another job, she's curious (albeit somewhat wary) of what she'll find now. Will things really be so different without Cobb? She sincerely hopes not.
Standing before the old, rusted door, Ariadne pauses. The nervous flurry in her stomach returns, and she grips the bishop inside her jeans pocket before knocking. Arthur, looking also remarkably similar to their first meeting, appears with slicked back hair in a light shirt and dark pants, a perfectly straight, dark blue tie around his neck. They match. Ariadne almost laughs. The sight of him is a bit of a relief. She isn't sure what she would have said to Eames or Yusuf. Or even Saito.
"Morning," she says, realizing they've been standing there, looking at each other. He smiles, and then his face recedes into seriousness.
"Morning. There's actually something I'd like to talk to you about before we go in."
She waits expectantly. Arthur exhales, and it's in this moment that (despite his unfailingly calm expression) Ariadne knows he misses having Cobb around, if only for the fact that he could be counted on to order and be followed.
"I know why you want to do this, and you know why I'm hesitant to let you."
Ariadne nods silently. Arthur watches her carefully, his dark eyes calculating. "Before I let you do this, I need you to promise that you'll listen. No matter what, if I tell you to do or not do something, I need you to swear that you'll listen without question. Understand?"
She nods again. "I promise."
Looking reassured, the point man steps aside. The blaring familiarity of the warehouse envelops Ariadne in a rush of excitement. Despite everything, she knows that she loves this. The dingy lawn chairs still rest in a ragged circle in the centre of the room, and she's pleased to find her workspace untouched. The large couch, on the other hand is a pleasant surprise, as are the two men currently occupying it.
"Eames! Yusuf!" Both men glance up, and the architect is unable to curb the smile on her lips. "It's good to see you both."
"Ah, the prodigal daughter returns." Eames is grinning as he draws Ariadne into a quick embrace, planting a stubble-filled kiss on her cheek. She's startled, but not uncomfortable. Yusuf on the other hand, just smiles, clasping one of her hands in both his own. She tries to communicate the depth of how much she's missed them, despite the connotation of what they had to endure.
"Nice couch."
"It's about time we sat in something comfortable," defends Yusuf, and Ariadne laughs. "It's a futon, too."
"Point taken." She turns back to look at Arthur, standing at his desk several feet away. It—like him—is immaculate, orderly, so unlike the ever ravaging hurricane of ideas that litters her own workspace. "When is Saito getting here?"
Arthur glances down at his watch and then up at the door. "Any minute now." She can see a muscle twitching in his jaw; in this line of work, time was essential. But, as always, the point man is correct. Not thirty seconds later, knocking is heard.
"Got it," says Eames, bounding towards the entrance with all the enthusiasm of a small child. Ariadne stifles more laughter as Arthur crosses the room to stand beside her, in better view of the door. She turns to look at him.
"Why does it seem like Saito is always the one hiring?"
The barest of smiles brushes across his face. "This isn't actually him, technically. It's an associate of his."
She 'oh's noiselessly. Eames reappears, leading Saito (why did everyone look exactly the same?) and a decidedly younger man, who looks about Arthur's age (whatever that is). He wears a dark grey suit of obviously high quality, bringing out the sharpness of his blue eyes. The man is smiling, although it comes across as more of a pompous smirk (in Ariadne's opinion.) At her side, Arthur stiffens.
Saito opens his arms in a gesture of introduction and welcome. "My friends. It is good to see you all again." Ariadne is somewhat surprised to realize she's kind of glad to see him, too. "Please allow me to introduce—"
"Connor."
The muscle in Arthur's jaw is practically leaping. The woman at his side glances from him, to 'Connor,' and back. Even within his perfectly tailored suit, she knows every muscle in his body is tense, taut like a coil ready to spring. Arthur's face however, is still deceiving calm, unless discounted by the way it had frosted over like an unforgiving winter. Unconsciously, Ariadne reaches into her pocket to grasp the bishop.
"Arthur." Connor's smirk has turned into a sneer. Everyone in the room has caught onto this sudden tension, but to their credit, every team member still looks perfectly impassive. "I guess the rumours are true. Best in the business. But where's Cobb? Surely you two haven't broken up the dynamic duo."
"Retired,' the point man replies curtly, obviously not in the mood for pleasantries. "Did you come here with a job offer, or just for small talk?"
Saito steps in swiftly, to Ariadne's relief. "Mr. Connor here would like to request your services in the extraction of information from a rival businessman."
"And that business would be...?" prompts Eames.
"Weaponry," is the reply. Connor's eyes travel over the rag-tag team, descending swiftly onto Ariadne. "My my, Arthur. I wasn't aware that business could be mixed with pleasure on the clock." His growing smile causes her gut to squirm and hairs rise on the back of her neck.
She bristles, opening her mouth to tell him exactly where he can shove that idea of his, but stops when she feels Arthur's arm brush ever-so slightly against hers. She rocks back on her heels, eyes alight with fury.
"Ariadne," says Arthur coolly, "happens to be our architect."
"Oh?" Connor's eyebrows raise, his eyes quickly betraying interest. "Well then. Beautiful and ingenious. Just where do you find them nowadays?"
The disgust rises like bile in her throat. Connor's eyes glitter as his smirk widens. "Down to business, I suppose. David Michelson has been trying to best me since before I came into 'not so legal' business transactions. Now, there are rumours floating about he's come into possession of some very rare stuff, things you can only get overseas, deep under the table. I'm hiring you to find out exactly what he has in his bag of tricks."
It sounds simple enough, although after her first job Ariadne figures everything will sound simple in comparison. There is a long pause as the team digests this information, and Saito speaks again.
"Of course, Mr. Black is willing to pay whatever sum you deem fit, to be wired upon proof of success."
Eames's gaze flickers to Arthur, who nods imperceptibly. The Englishman voices his price, sounding almost like a challenge. "One million. Each."
They all take a somewhat twisted delight in seeing Connor's gaze falter. "Very well then. Mr. Michelson and I will both be attending a formal function at the Champs Élysées Plaza in two weeks time. I expect my answers the following day."
He says nothing else, sweeping away as Ariadne glares at his retreating back. Saito looks back at them, something like remorse in his gaze.
"I am sorry. I was unaware there was...history." Seeing the lack of reaction from the team, the man takes his leave. "Goodbye. I wish you all luck and thank you for everything you have done."
He too disappears, and Ariadne releases her vice-like grip on her totem. "What was—" She turns to Arthur, only to find him gone. Ariadne whips around, catching only a glimpse of the point man as he vanishes through the back door of the warehouse. She moves to follow, but catches Eames's gaze and the shake of his head. Effectively stopped in her tracks, Ariadne just frowns, taking one last look at the door before moving to her desk to figure out where to begin.
Author's Note: Obviously a lot shorter than the previous chapter, but I have yet to figure out how exactly Arthur and Connor are related, er...connected. They're not related, that much I know for sure. Too cliché. Oh, and I do not own the Paris hotel that I googled.
How am I doing so far?
Annie
