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.
As always, Cincoflex looks after this story (and me) with the best of care!
Production notes for this and other chapters are available on my LiveJournal.
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Chapter Seven: Worth a Shot
"Time for a break." Ariadne stood in the middle of the loft, hands on her hips. "I'm starving."
Arthur barely glanced up. "It's Eames' turn to fetch."
The forger stretched on his chaise longue, folding his arms behind his head. "No it's not."
"Forget takeout. We're going out for dinner." Ariadne trotted over to the coatrack and pulled off Eames' jacket and Arthur's overcoat, tossing each on their respective laps. "Yusuf, you coming?"
"Who died and made you Blake?" Eames asked dryly, but Ariadne ignored him, looking past them to the bench where the chemist was working. Yusuf shrugged and set down his pipette.
"We need a break," Ariadne insisted, giving them all a stern look. "We've been working nonstop since Yusuf got here, and tomorrow the job starts. Besides, I'm buying, because that means I get to pick the restaurant."
"Oh, well then, I'm in," Eames said, rising and shrugging into his jacket.
"I also," Yusuf agreed. He came over to join them, grabbing his own coat on the way. "Are you coming, oh fearless leader?"
Clearly they were going with or without him. Arthur stood, more amused than annoyed. "This goes against protocol, you know."
Eames rolled his eyes. "Protocol, my ass. The only time we don't want to be seen together in public is right after a job." He zipped up his jacket, adding to Ariadne, "It's just an old bad habit. He's too used to having a price on Cobb's head."
"All right, all right." Arthur pulled on his coat. "Dinner it is, if it'll make you shut up."
Eames gave him a cheeky grin. "Never," he said, and held the door for Ariadne, who was snickering.
She chose a quiet bistro a short Métro ride away, known more for its food than its atmosphere. Dinner was unexpectedly pleasant; Yusuf was an excellent raconteur. Eames could charm when he wanted to, and by unvoiced agreement, he and Arthur kept the sniping light, the three of them somehow ending up in a competition over dessert to make Ariadne laugh.
And laugh she did, cheeks red as poppies, as Yusuf countered Eames' hilarious tale of multiple mistaken identities in Syracuse with the story of the singing gorilla that had broken into his calculus final in college. Arthur, feeling expansive, topped them both with a droll recitation of a job gone wrong and Cobb ending up bare-assed naked in a packed Dreamed baseball stadium. He had the pleasure of watching Eames in a classic spit-take, while Ariadne shrieked into her napkin, tears running down her face.
"Home plate?" she finally managed, waving one hand weakly.
"Nope. Center field," Arthur replied, and she lost it again, laughter gasping through the cloth while Yusuf leaned back in his chair and roared. Arthur smirked at them, well satisfied.
It was a little strange to realize that he was enjoying himself. He was by nature fairly solitary, and never would have considered an evening spent dining out with a man he didn't know well, one he didn't actually like, and the woman who stirred his hormones to be easy, let alone fun. But it was, even if he didn't know why. There was still the low hum of tension when he looked at Ariadne, or felt her looking at him, an ache he recognized; but like the ongoing gibing between him and Eames, it was muted for this little while, overlain with a camaraderie he hadn't felt since -
- Since Mal had died, actually.
Yusuf left after dessert, claiming jet lag again; Arthur wasn't quite sure he believed the man, but personal matters weren't any of his business. The three of them remaining lingered over coffee to talk, enjoying the evening a bit too much to let it end just yet.
But eventually even that was finished, though they'd drawn the meal out in proper French fashion. "L'addition, si'l vous plait," Ariadne requested when the waiter stopped by, and when he dropped off the bill Eames rose, pulling on his jacket.
"Ta for a marvelous supper," he said, bending to kiss her cheek. "See you in Belgium."
The way she leaned into the kiss made something in Arthur's chest twist, but her glance up at Eames was nothing more than affectionate. "Sleep well."
Eames tossed an insolent salute in Arthur's direction and left. Ariadne watched him go, her expression fond, and Arthur felt suddenly petty.
"He'll be gone as soon as the job's finished, you know." He sipped at the last bitter dregs in his cup.
Ariadne turned her gaze to him. "I know," she said patiently. "He said he would be heading for Morocco this time." She shrugged. "He wouldn't tell me where, specifically, but I think I'm probably better off not knowing."
The casual words made Arthur feel like an idiot. He set down the cup, sighing. "I'll walk you home."
The fresh air outside the restaurant seemed to clear his head a little, and if Ariadne had noticed anything she gave no sign, pattering along next to him with her hands in her coat pockets and a faint tuneless hum drifting up to his ears. Her cheeks were still red, from alcohol or cold he didn't know, but gradually Arthur relaxed.
They took the Métro again, further this time. The car was almost deserted, so they had their choice of seats as the train rattled and roared its way through the tunnels. The lights sliding past gave it all an insubstantial feel, and Arthur fished his totem out of his pocket, rolling it around his palm before casting it across the hard seat next to him. It performed as expected, and he scooped it back up.
"Do you think you're in a Dream?" Ariadne asked, sounding bemused, and he glanced up at her.
"Subways…they always feel a little strange to me." He returned the die to his pocket. "One of the few dreams I can remember involves riding a train somewhere, though I think it's actually supposed to be New York City."
"I can see that," Ariadne said judiciously. "I haven't really had to use mine much yet."
Arthur gave her a somber look. "You will."
The night was still but cold when they emerged from the Métro, and Ariadne started to shiver almost at once despite her heavy jacket. Taking guilty pity on her, Arthur extended one arm and wrapped the edge of his greatcoat around her, snugging her close and leaving his arm across her shoulders. She hummed happily, stumbling a little, and he shortened his stride to match hers.
It was dangerous. He knew that. Camaraderie was well enough - it made for a more cohesive team - but this was skirting way too close to his own desire.
No involvement, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. You know what happens when you get involved. Tears, and recriminations, and chaos. And then the ringing, empty silence.
"That was a great story," Ariadne said, and he felt her arm slide around his waist. "If I ever see Cobb again I may not be able to look at him with a straight face."
It made sense for her to hold on to him, Arthur told himself; it would help her keep her balance. "You want to know the funniest thing about it?"
She glanced up at him, face alight with curiosity. "Sure."
"It wasn't Cobb, it was me. But I couldn't say that in front of Eames."
He expected another burst of laughter, but though her lips curved in a delighted smile, she didn't so much as giggle. "You know," she said after a moment, "somehow I can't picture you doing anything else but just carrying on."
That made him smile, and he looked away down the street ahead of them. "Well. Let's just say that a poker face can be an asset in that kind of situation."
There was her giggle, and they walked on through history and modernity to the pre-war building that housed Ariadne's flat. She hadn't used her payoff from the Fischer job to move anywhere nicer, Arthur noted, and had to wonder why, though he approved of frugality. When they reached its stoop he withdrew his arm, shrugging his coat back into its proper folds across his shoulders.
Ariadne hesitated, then climbed the two shallow steps to turn and face him, almost eye to eye. "Do you want to come in?"
Her meaning was clear, as was her gaze, and Arthur felt a huge, almost unmanageable longing rising up despite all the reasons he had to say no. He opened his mouth to turn her down, and midway to his tongue the words changed. "Not…not tonight. Tomorrow's going to be busy."
She nodded, almost solemnly. "You're right, it's pretty late." Dropping her gaze, she pulled her keys from her purse. "Thanks for the company."
"Thank you for dinner," Arthur said mechanically, and watched as she smiled and turned away to unlock the door.
Why didn't you just tell her no? he berated himself on the trip home. Just inform her that it can't happen.
But he couldn't. Part of it was pure self-interest; they had a job to do, one that was intended to save his neck, and if he upset Ariadne too much the team's cohesion would be disrupted; she might even leave.
Part of it was that he didn't want to hurt her. It's just sex, he told himself desperately. Nothing more. There's no reason to think that she wants anything more than a quick fling -
His thoughts went around and around, and he still hadn't found his way out of the circle by the time he reached his practice space. Torn between anger and frustration, he threw himself into music and tried to forget.
xxxxx
Getting into Ms. Fitzhugh's suite was a relatively simple task. Arthur's meticulous research had uncovered, among myriad other facts, that her hotel routine was almost as rigid as his own. Habit...the asset of the extractor. She would arrive, change clothes and go down to the gym, work out for an hour, and then order a light meal before bathing. Then she would retire. She was not a sound sleeper, to judge from the frequency of her complaints to various hotel managements about noise, but that was a non-issue; once they had access, Yusuf would make sure that she slept quite well indeed.
It had taken some persuasion to get Yusuf to agree to field work for this job; Arthur had made an executive decision and sent Eames to do the talking for him. Whether it was the forger's charm, the friendship between the two, or - most likely - the promise of a hefty payout, Yusuf had come, bringing his kit and his wicked jokes. "But monitoring only," he'd warned Arthur when he'd arrived. "I don't Dream more than twice a year, and I've reached my limit."
"Just keep an eye on us, and we'll be fine," Arthur had replied, and Yusuf had grinned at him and gone off to mix his drugs.
Now they were trailing into the hotel one by one, checking into the rooms Ariadne had booked through four separate transactions. They were hardly more than staging grounds, a place to change clothes; they would spend much of the night in Fitzhugh's room, and leave as soon as possible afterwards.
It was somewhat unsettling to see straightforward Ariadne transformed into a gum-chewing extrovert who wore the skimpiest of the most cutting-edge fashions, but Arthur had to admit to a certain fascination as he watched her check in. She was definitely memorable - but no one watching her would think she had anything heavier on her mind than the next party. He was just grateful that Eames was already in his own room, and thus not ogling Ariadne's…assets.
Despite the simplicity of the setup, Arthur couldn't quite settle. He set up the machine in readiness for later, but that was a familiar task quickly finished, and he decided it would be wise to check up on the others.
No one answered Yusuf's door, but when he listened Arthur could hear a voice faintly through the door and the hiss of water, and realized with some amusement that the chemist was singing in the bath. Eames, on the other hand, opened his door almost as soon as Arthur knocked.
"What's on? Change of plans?" Eames asked, stepping back to let Arthur in. He was wearing most of the hotel's food-service uniform, and in the process of fastening his shirt cuffs.
"No. Nothing's changed," Arthur said, closing the door behind him. Eames had already been into the minibar, he realized with distaste; a gin and tonic, half-drunk, sat on the dresser next to the television.
"Then why are you here?" Eames asked with exaggerated patience.
He didn't really have a good answer, so Arthur ignored the question. "Let's go over the outline one more time."
Eames secured his button and grimaced. "We've been over it a dozen times already. I know it like the back of my hand."
"So? I need to know that you're prepared to handle whatever might come up." Arthur frowned, irritated. "Once the three of us are under, we'll be out of the loop. You won't have back-up if the situation changes."
"And if it does, I'll do what I think best," Eames snapped. "Bloody hell, Arthur, you can't micromanage a Dream you're not even in!"
"Yes, but - "
Eames cut him off. "You're just going to have to trust me, as difficult as that seems to be for you."
Arthur's fists tightened, because the accusation under the words had more truth than he wanted to admit. "I do trust you."
Eames' look was patently disbelieving. "Like hell you do. You don't trust anybody but Cobb, and Cobb's gone."
Arthur took a deep breath, refusing to flinch. "If I didn't trust you, you wouldn't be here," he said as patiently as he could.
"Bollocks. I'm here because I'm good." His expression eased slightly. "Look, Arthur, I know you mean well, but at some point you're just going to have to unclench your sphincter and let us do our jobs." He folded his arms. "Now get out of here and go bother someone else until it's time. I have things to do."
He wanted to argue, but the jab about Dom had been all too accurate. Arthur gave Eames the coldest look he could manage, and left.
x
The water was very soothing. Ariadne stroked back and forth through the indoor pool, letting the mindless movement ease the tension she felt at the upcoming…caper seemed too lighthearted a word, she mused. Extraction, then, though that still sounded like a dental procedure to her.
She had to give Ms. Fitzhugh points for the hotel she'd chosen. As Arthur had said, it was quite high-end, and the rooms were a treat; Ariadne rather regretted that she wasn't going to spend very long in hers.
With the money you'll make doing this, you'll be able to afford to stay here on your own dime, she reminded herself, but the truth was that she was too frugal to indulge. She still had what felt like a stunning amount left from her first two jobs, but she had been pinching pennies ever since she'd first understood the meaning of the word "tuition" and habit was hard to break.
Finally she was relaxed enough to quit. Ariadne climbed out of the pool and wrapped herself in the luxurious hotel robe, giving the Jacuzzi a regretful glance as she passed it. It'll put you right to sleep.
The elevator was just down the hall from the pool. Its doors opened as Ariadne reached it, and a small woman, older and blonde, emerged. Ariadne almost flinched in surprise, because the deceptively soft-looking face was straight from the dossier Arthur had handed out, though the workout clothes were a far cry from the severe, expensive suit she'd worn in the photo.
Ariadne managed to not react, passing the older woman with the standard bare flicker of a polite nod, which wasn't even returned. As she turned in the elevator to press the correct button, she saw Ms. Fitzhugh disappear into the gym.
Despite the thick robe, the air conditioning was chilling her. Ariadne hurried out of the elevator when it reached her floor, and was startled again to see Arthur outside her door, glancing impatiently at his watch.
"What are you doing?" he asked brusquely as she neared. "We don't have time - you should be ready by now."
Facing down an Arthur dressed to the nines while damp and bedraggled made Ariadne self-conscious. Her wet hair and robe made her feel like a child, not the confident adult she wanted him to see. "We're not due to start for two hours," she snapped back. "There's plenty of time."
Dipping her hand into the robe's pocket, she brought out her keycard and jammed it into the lock, opening her door with a jerk. Arthur followed her into the room, practically treading on her heels, and the need for discretion was the only reason she didn't shove him right back out.
"Plans can change," he said, voice low and angry. "Just because she has a routine doesn't mean she won't vary from it tonight."
"Relax. I just saw her go into the gym." Ariadne grabbed a towel from the bathroom and wrapped it around her head; she still meant to take a shower to wash off the chlorine, but the dripping tendrils of her hair were driving her crazy. "Your precious schedule is still good."
"For now," he retorted. "This is a professional operation, Ariadne. If you can't meet the standards…"
That stung. Ariadne glared at him. "This is theft," she said scathingly. "You may have imposed a…a dress code, but we're nothing more than sneak thieves. And if you think that everything is going to stick to your plan down there, you're more naïve than I am!"
Arthur's face tightened, his irritation shifting into an anger so cold that it almost made her quail. But then he blinked, looking down at her, and the fury was replaced by a weary desolation. Turning away, he dropped into her desk chair and said a word that would have made her brothers blush.
Her own anger faded. Letting out a breath, Ariadne rubbed her cold nose with the back of one hand and made her voice gentle. "What's the matter, Arthur?"
He stared down at his hands, linked loosely and hanging between his knees. "I'm not Cobb," he said bitterly.
That made her blink in turn. "Why would you want to be?"
"Because he knew how to run a team. I'm just…winging it."
The corner of her mouth curled up. "And if there's one thing you hate, it's not having a structure. Arthur, you're doing fine."
He laughed without humor. "Bullshit. First Eames, now you…the only reason Yusuf hasn't argued with me is because I haven't talked to him yet."
It was unsettling to see the unshakeable Arthur so upset, but his sudden vulnerability made a warmth gather beneath her breastbone. Stepping forward, Ariadne touched his shoulder. "And did you all obey Cobb without question?"
She could only see part of his face from that angle, but it was enough to see the muscles slowly shift, and she knew he was smiling. On impulse she moved her hand to the back of his neck. "You're doing fine," she repeated.
Arthur sighed, and to her astonishment leaned sideways until his forehead was pressed against her hip, just below the thick belt of her robe. Ariadne let her thumb creep up to caress his nape, where the soft dark hair began.
It was an oddly quiet moment, devoid of the sweet tension that usually sang through her when she stood close to him. She felt almost as though he were a wild creature, come unexpectedly close in a breathless gift.
And then she sneezed.
His laugh puffed against the terrycloth wrapped around her. "You'd better get in the shower," he said, straightening; her hand fell away and they were back to normality, team members on a mission. Ariadne realized she was shivering with cold, but she paused to check the water carafe on the little bar; it was full.
"Here," she said, and tossed a paper-wrapped teabag at him. "Make yourself a cup and try to relax, okay?"
He picked the teabag out of the air, one brow climbing, but she spared him only an impatient glance as she scooped up her outfit and shut herself in the bathroom. Sniping aside, she prided herself on punctuality, and she wasn't going to be late for this gig either.
Ten minutes later she was dressed in the same ultra-trendy, expensive outfit in which she'd arrived, and her hair was rinsed, blown to a malleable dampness, and styled. Ariadne hastily applied the makeup she needed to look the part, and opened the bathroom door.
Arthur had taken her suggestion; she could smell the steam from the tea. He was seated at the little table at the far end of her room, absorbed in the sketchbook she'd left lying open there. She felt a small pulse of annoyance at him going through it, but it had been out in the open. Plus… Pot calling kettle, she reminded herself. She was no better at boundaries than he was.
"If you spill tea on it, I'll kill you," she said lightly, and Arthur glanced back over his shoulder, though she knew he had to have heard her emerging.
"God forbid," he said, equally lightly, and stood. "Ready?"
"As I'll ever be." Ariadne smoothed her shirt nervously and stepped into the shoes waiting by the door. "Let's go."
Fitzhugh looked small and harmless, Ariadne thought as they gathered around the suite's enormous bed. She was huddled under the sheets, sleeping on her stomach and looking older than her forty-plus years, and for a weird moment Ariadne felt like a vampire, settling in to steal the woman's essence while she slept.
Then she shook the thought off. She'd done some research on Cobol, and no one who made it to the executive level in that company had clean hands; Cobol took advantage of the weak laws of the Third World to do pretty much as it pleased without regard to human life, or really any kind of life at all. If anyone in this room is a vampire, it's her.
"You'll have the usual time," Yusuf said quietly as they set up chairs around the motionless figure on the bed. "An hour in real time will give you plenty on the first level."
"And way too long on the second," Eames grumbled, settling into his chair and accepting the line Yusuf handed him.
"It's not your concern, Eames," Arthur said, but as far as Ariadne could tell the forger didn't take offense.
She leaned back in her own chair, making sure she was as comfortable as possible; if all went well they wouldn't be under long enough for her body to cramp up, but it made sense to be prepared. Yusuf took her extended wrist in firm fingers, and gave her a smile as he slipped the needles in. "I'll have the musical cue set up," he said, mostly to Arthur. "But at the slightest hint of trouble I'm dumping all of you at once."
Arthur nodded. "Keep an eye on Ms. Fitzhugh," he warned. "I don't want any bad reactions."
"Teach your grandmother to milk ducks," Yusuf retorted cheerily. "Ready?"
He pressed the button -
