Chapter 8
Arthur had to continue reminding himself that they were in a dream.
With the decadent and the wealthy right outside their door, Arthur closed it shut, shutting out the orchestra and the chatter, the clinks of champagne glasses, the noise. He closed it all off and stepped closer to her, until he was almost chest-to-chest. He breathed in her scent. That familiar scent that he took comfort in remembering. He took comfort in it not changing.
His heart pumped rapidly in his chest as he took in her expression, her wide eyes, searching his demeanor. The room itself seemed to pump, to shake slightly, and he felt almost claustrophobic in it. It was his emotions running away with him. He needed to breathe. Breathe.
Was the room shaking?
He exhaled.
It wasn't.
She didn't flinch as he invaded her personal space.
He brought his hands onto her waist, then towards her face. His gestures slightly frantic as he tried to make sense of this. He felt her smooth skin beneath his fingers, and began to come closer, their faces almost touching. "My dreams would never compare to this," he whispered, feeling that pull towards her. "Or this." He ran his fingers across her back, and his lips began to descend of their own design. "This has to be real."
"Arthur." Her voice held warning now, a slight crack of order, a break from—
Immediately he took a step back and searched his pocket for his totem. Debating the weight again, he looked accusing at her. "I knew it." Whatever spell happened died as he looked at her.
Immediately he reached for his gun, but at the same moment, she reached for hers. Though where in that floor-length navy dress she hid it, he wasn't really sure. He pointed it directly at her head. She did the same. "You're hijacking my extraction, aren't you?"
"What makes you think that you didn't just put me here?" she asked in a clipped tone that didn't sound very much like Ariadne. He almost doubted himself.
She had a deadened expression and her eyes were slits as she focused the barrel at him. Their bodies mirrored one another.
"This isn't real, but I know that you are," he said. He held his gun up.
She angled her gun at his head. Dream Ariadne would do that actually. "I wouldn't, Arthur," she warned with a serious smile.
"If I shoot you, you're out of the dream."
"You wouldn't shoot me Arthur," she said, so sure of herself.
He held it at her. "Not unless you were real. If you're just a projection, then this solves things easily." And Arthur almost believed that, though he had never shot any version of her before. Ever. She didn't need to know that though.
Ariadne looked worried, but her gun never wavered. "I wouldn't do that," she repeated, though he could tell her resolve wavered.
And Arthur kept his finger tight on the trigger as he studied her. "Give me a reason not to," he suggested.
She kept hers aimed at him too, her mark so sure as her arm kept steady. Her expression debated him for a moment, before sagging slightly. "I'm real," she admitted quietly, almost like a sigh amdist the built up tension.
"I knew it." He held the gun up and cocked it, aiming. For some reason, this made it all better to. "We'll talk later."
Ariadne's eyes held real fear at this, making him hesitate. "Wait! I wouldn't do that."
Arthur bit down his resolve and tried to not follow his initial instincts, but her eyes looked genuinely frightened at staring at the loaded barrel. "Why?" he asked, suspiciously. His arm was still extended.
"This isn't normal soma. This is Yusuf's own brand," she explained. He saw her arm waver as she spoke. "And you know what happens there." There was no need for any elaboration at that. Ever since the inception job, Arthur came to know Yusuf as an artist with what the man could do with SOMA. Yusuf often spoke about making different compounds that catered to a variety of needs, but they always came with a price. They all learned that the hard way on the inception job.
Ariadne resorted to this extreme measure in this case, and Arthur needed to figure out why, and what exactly this version did.
Arthur saw in her expression and stance that she wasn't kidding. Hijacking a dream was careless and risky to work well. The brain worked faster in dreams, so even a millisecond of difference to attempt interference—hijacking a con for example—could mean a disaster.
It was like trying to jump onto a moving train that was well on its way. You never knew where you would end up in the landscape or if you'd end up near the dreamers even. You'd have to find them without attracting too much attention from the projections.
But with the right drugs, he knew, you could do it. You just needed the right stuff and the right motivation to even attempt it. Placing an extra sedative on top of that to slow down the initial dreamer's time frame, maybe.
"I'm not keeping you here Ariadne. You're not going to take my job and God knows," he added as an afterthought. Ariadne, at least this one standing before him, was completely different from what she once was. The same one he remembered leaving all those years ago. And the fact that she would take that impetuous step—a step that even Cobb selfishly made—made her dangerous to everyone and herself.
Her face revealed nothing at his comment, but she rolled her eyes, breaking into the scowl at least. "Well that sucks, because I need this job."
It was in the way she said it, hardly pleading but with more conviction that made him replay her words over and over. Curiosity getting the better of him, Arthur couldn't help but ask, "Why?"
The drastic measures in which she entered this dream already told him that it was necessary, but hearing it only fueled him further. Ariadne walked over to the door and then back, her gun still rose at his head all the while. She purposefully wasn't going to say anything.
"Eames is here isn't he?" he asked, a little conversationally instead as if they weren't pointing barrels at one another and having a normal conversation. As if they had just run into a party like old chums or something.
She posed her gun, rather than answer.
Yeah, chums wouldn't have firearms.
"Well, good luck," he said instead. "You forget that this isn't your dream. You won't be able to figure out where he hid anything."
"Why do you think I'm aiming a gun at your head?" she asked sarcastically.
He held his gun more firmly as he realized the threat. He smiled, feeling like he gained the upper hand. "Threats are not going to work with me, sweetheart," he replied just as noncommittally back.
Ariadne's face looked a little miffed and he knew he was right.
Her audacity at even suggesting bargaining his mind was laughable. He taught her everything she knew about dream con. He taught her how to act with cold blood precision, and even then he didn't believe it when she attempted it. She may be the more imaginative and the more amazing and open, but she wasn't cold and calculating. Arthur loved her for that.
During the inception job, he took it upon himself to show her.
"Shooting a gun is not fun," he chided as Ariadne stood yards away and looked at the various targets in front of them. They were in a constructed gun range bunker, something she concocted from the movies, she told them, for target practice.
Her arms wavered and after each shot, her shoulders reacted. Her face broke into a grin when she would do a good job, and when she was concentrating, she squinted her eyes to make sure she hit the mark. She was still a novice.
"Let her enjoy herself, Arthur," Eames said, studying a particularly admirable bullet hole in one of the shadowed targets. The Englishman walked over to where Ariadne pointed at another proud shot and he applauded her. Ariadne feigned a curtsy before laughing.
Arthur never knew what to do with these moments between these two. He felt slightly shut out from their fun, desperate to join in, and simultaneously jealous of the mismatched Forger for being able to make her laugh.
"We don't have much time," he heard himself say, then hated for how pragmatic he was.
Eames placed his hands on his hips and made a grumpy looking face that chewed out voiceless reprimands. Ariadne started to laugh, before daring a look at Arthur, who just scowled.
Arthur waved them off, placing the gun to his head, and all he heard before he woke up was Ariadne telling him to wait.
When he woke up, she was sitting in her lawn chair looking at him. "You shouldn't let him get to you," she chided softly. Arthur looked over at the dreaming Forger nearby. "We were just playing. I'm sorry, I'll be more prepared next time."
"It's fine," Arthur replied, turning to face her. "But I'm not like him, Ariadne." Once the words were right out of his mouth, he wanted to swallow them back up. He felt his face heat up.
"What do you mean?" she wondered.
"I'm not," Arthur stopped to search the word, feeling like he had dug himself a hole and was just digging deeper. "I'm not light, like him. I take what I do seriously."
"And that's admirable," she said. "I respect that."
"But I'm not fun or—"
"Arthur."
"And I can't be that way with you," he struggled to say, peering at her, his heart beating slightly in his chest. He never realized attraction like this before. It was subtle in how he wanted to impress her or be near her or just talk to her. It was so subtle a feeling, but Arthur, perceptive to details like these, even within himself, knew that something was different. He knew it was her.
He wanted her, and Arthur, understanding details and calculations as he did, felt things to the smallest detail, read into things acutely, and hid his own desires until they felt too overwhelming that they'd just spill out of his mouth. Like in awkward professions that had nothing to do with shooting guns.
Ariadne licked her lips, carefully considering what to say next, and Arthur watched her, noting how her fingers tapped lightly in her lap, how she looked anywhere but at him, before she leaned forward. She was close enough to his lawn chair that she could reach him, and she laid her hand over his. She smelled wonderful.
"I wouldn't want it in any other way, Arthur," she assured him, and Arthur felt almost defeated at this. Any other way, she had said. But as if she heard his thoughts or heard her own words, Ariadne hesitated, then she looked at her fingers, and Arthur felt her start to grip his own. Her thumb deliciously running up the back of his palm. Their wrists were still linked with the plastic tubing.
"Actually, Arthur. I—" And Arthur felt his breath hitch as her words, seeing her eyes soften at the edges.
"You two are no fun," Eames interrupted, worming his way into what Arthur was starting to consider a very important moment. The Forger wasn't winning any points with the Point Man today.
Ariadne pulled her hand back slightly and smiled at the Englishman. Her tone was a total 180 from what it was a second ago. "I don't think we'll need you any more during target practice," she said lightly. "We've decided that you're a distraction."
Eames laughed. "Ah, yes, you should keep your eyes on the targets, rather than me, darling," he teased, and Ariadne didn't bite back but looked at Arthur.
And Arthur felt that maybe the Englishman did have his uses after all, even if his comment was making the architect blush. It was Arthur's hand she reached for again.
In the room, Ariadne wasn't the same novice with the gun. Her arms held steady and her eyes never faltered from his face as she poised the gun at herself.
His blood ran cold. He took a worried step towards her. "Fine." She held it to her temple, a little more assuredly, and out of reflex, Arthur began to lower his own. "If you don't tell me, then I might as well ransom something," she said so casually, like she might as well eat a grapefruit or go do laundry.
"What are you doing?" Though he already had this weighing suspicion of her plan.
"I'm not going to shoot you Arthur, I told you we used Yusuf's stuff. I wouldn't do that to you," she promised, "but I need you to tell me the layout and I'm going to gamble the only thing I think would matter to you."
Arthur schooled his features and raised his gun slightly. "You think so highly of yourself that you would—"
She cocked it. Her eyes never once blinked, and for that second Arthur realized how much she changed as the sound echoed in the vibrating room. She changed not only in appearance or in manner, but in her entire person. She was a liar, a thief, and a low person, using something he cared about so much in this world, something he still cared for, against him.
He debated calling her bluff, but something in her face told him that she would do it anyway.
She stood there with the gun aimed right at her temple.
"You really hate me, don't you?" he asked in her hotel room. Though now he knew that that was a careful ploy. He remembered seeing the nicely folded towels still sitting in the bathroom, how he thought it odd.
She never answered him straight, he realized as he walked out to meet Trevor. She never refuted it, even a little.
Ariadne still stood there with the gun aimed at her temple. "Well, Arthur?" she posed.
And Arthur lowered his gun grimly. "No. Don't. Just don't."
Ariadne didn't move her gun away. "Who's dream is this?" she asked, still holding herself hostage.
He knitted his eyebrows. "Ariadne—"
"Just tell me," she ordered.
"We should talk about this."
Ariadne stood up straighter. Her hand tightened around the trigger. She looked like she was about to take a bitter pill.
And Arthur reacted in the best way he knew how. "Trevor's," he told her reluctantly yet quickly.
At that moment, the door to the room creaked and Arthur and Ariadne's guns rose in perfect timing. Behind the door, the figure made a careful step into the room, revealing himself to be a suited Eames. He held his arms up when he saw the two barrels pointed in his direction. "What the bloody hell is going on?" He looked at Arthur then at Ariadne, who posed her gun back at her temple. "Well, that's certainly one way to figure this out, but I guess the old team's back together, eh?" he joked, his eyes shifting from Arthur to Ariadne.
Arthur didn't lower his gun. "What's going on?"
Eames walked easily into the room, as if Arthur wasn't pointing a gun right at his face, and as if Ariadne didn't look like she was being suicidal. "You see, Arthur dear. We're hijacking your dream."
Arthur remained alert. "I've noticed. Where's Trevor?"
"I shot him."
Arthur looked at Ariadne then at Eames. "What?"
"Just with a tranquilizer," Eames reassured him. "I can't have two loose canons around here."
"But you won't hurt him?"
"Well, see—" here, Eames scratched the back his head. "That's just the thing, Arthur, that all depends on you, doesn't it?"
"You tell us where the safe is, we'll read the contents, and we all get out of here safely," Ariadne added. He noticed how she still held herself hostage. "Trevor's fine."
Arthur looked from her to Eames. "How about we do it together?"
"Two against one, Arthur," Eames supplied unhelpfully.
"As fun as that sounds, you forget one thing." The party sounds seemed to grow in volume. Arthur never flinched. "Micah's brain is militarized."
xxxxx
Ariadne narrowed her eyes at the point man. "Eames?" she asked without diverting her attention. The fact that her gun was still aimed at her was now almost comical, having lost its tension when she got the necessary information.
"It never came into my research," he said with a shrug.
"Mine neither." She looked at Arthur, assessing the truth in this.
Arthur had the audacity to sound condescending. "Well, it was in mine," he insisted with a careless shrug. "I've been doing this for years. That sort of information isn't just open to everyone." He watched them take this information, and Eames had a smug look about him, while Ariadne continued to sear her eyes onto him, studying. "You can lower that now," he said, nodding towards her aimed hand. "I told you what you wanted to know."
And Ariadne looked straight at him as she pulled her arm back to her side, like she was trying to make him out. At the same time, Arthur felt easier at seeing her gun away from her head. He relaxed slightly. In his gambling days, Arthur got better at reading people. He could usually tell if someone was bluffing or not. The basic human traits of avoiding eye contact, an over compensation of confidence, a tremor, these set off Arthur's bull shit signals all the time, but as he stood in front of Ariadne, he felt himself hesitate, distrusting that part of himself that wanted to risk it.
She could be lying, and the past twelve hours have shown that she wasn't holding any sort of conscience when it came to dealing with him. He could've tried it, but the rapidity with which it became a resort startled him. The fact that Ariadne was willing to use his own consideration for her against him offended him.
But he did relax at least, because, goodness, he still had that impulse to protect her. Even if it was from herself.
The feeling of ease didn't last long though as he picked up on the way Ariadne turned to Eames in a semi-private consultation. Her large eyes looked worried, but only for a moment. In the next second, she was back to business.
She was never low in confidence. On the contrary, for someone who was just thrust into this alternate world of dream con and strangers, the first time he met Ariadne, he was struck by her confidence—especially as she walked out on Cobb—but her comfort in the dream world was different. She was tactful, taking in each issue as it came, commanding the situation, rather than harping out suggestions.
She manipulated him quite well too.
Ariadne smirked and headed to the window. She looked at Eames and he nodded. "We're going to do this my way then," she concluded, unhindered, studying outside.
"And what's that?" Arthur demanded.
"Micah Roebuch is the heir to a multi-billion dollar corporation," she said simply, turning to face him as she leaned on the window frame. "We'll just play off a fear. We'll kidnap him." She said it so casually, and when Arthur turned to look at Eames, the damn Englishman was nodding along. He was even making suggestions of his own, which Ariadne was agreeing to and laughing.
They were also doing this incredibly annoying bit that set Arthur on edge.
"—like in the Wiggins job—" Eames started.
"—except without the elephant this time?" she said with a raised eyebrow that set Eames to laughter. A gleam caught her eye, and she jumped slightly as she added, "We could go with a Señor Rubens, and—"
Eames shook his head, his lips pouting, "I thought we agreed—"
"—oh come on! You do a wonderful flamenco!"
"One time—"
"—two times," she stressed, "and once was sober—"
"—and the other wasn't," Eames continued. "Why don't we keep it simple, hm? Ridley and—"
"—oh yes!" Ariadne nodded and looked at the ground, lending her ear.
It all sounded like a jumble of words and codes to Arthur, and his ears began to burn at the attempt to dismantle their conversations—clearly they've worked together for a while, have been drunk near one another, and were on such cozy terms to be able to—
"Be so damn annoying."
The pair looked up at Arthur, who realized that his own thoughts escaped his lips. He shook his head.
"Is there anything you would like to add, Arthur?" Ariadne asked, though her tone wasn't welcoming. It sounded downright condescending actually, and as he thought that word, his eyes caught Eames', who smirked as if he too was on the same line of thinking.
Children.
Arthur scoffed. "You sincerely want to kidnap him?" He ame to stand beside the architect, leaned on his palms on the window frame as he looked at both of them. "That's insane. He'd never buy it."
She either looked like she didn't care or that this had no bearing on whether or not she was going to continue with this hi-jacked up plan of hers. "His brain's militarized and the only people they'll be after is Trevor," she went on. "From what I can tell, this is plenty doable. Almost helpful."
"It will start turning against us," Arthur pointed out. "We can't risk it. You've already upped the stakes too much using Yusuf's serum."
She looked annoyed, like he was this gnat in her eye. "Yeah, well," she said calmly, "you hijacked my date, so let's call it even."
Arthur tried to not look surprised at her bald, yet accurate accusations. "Besides," she added. "You really don't have a choice, right?"
Ariadne watched as he hesitated, his anger held in check as he looked from her then at Eames. "I knew you two were working together," he said instead.
Eames shrugged, picking at his nails as if he had better things to do at this moment. "Yeah, well, we figured you couldn't be kept in the dark for long."
Arthur eyes flickered back towards Ariadne, his patience lessening at their overt tranquility. He knew what they were doing, and he also knew that it was working. "And I gave you so many opportunities to tell me," he said to the girl across from him. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Up until this point, Ariadne began to relish in his unease, that worried expression that came over him when she pointed the gun at her own head, his unheard protests as she and Eames planned, but right now, with that question directed at her so blatantly, she felt a tremendous amount of guilt surface. "You don't have the right to know any more Arthur," she said a little dumbly, because while it may have been the real reason why she justified herself in her lies, she knew it sounded off. She didn't even look at him as she said it, holding her elbow a little self-consciously and dying at the fact that Eames was there with them.
"The hell I do," he bit back, and Ariadne was startled enough to face him. "Just because we aren't together anymore, doesn't mean that I can't care about you."
Ariadne looked guiltily at Eames, who stood there, observing the scene with tight lips but an intrigued expression. She felt her face flame up at Arthur's words, blatant and surprising as they were. And maybe it was Eames' teasing expression and maybe it was Arthur's raw emotion, but she had enough.
"That's just the problem, though, isn't it?" she asked, emotion cutting her attempts at a cold tone. "I don't need you to worry about me, at all, Arthur. I've got more of this under control than you do." She looked at Eames, then at Arthur, and she took a deep breath. "So if you would just excuse me," she announced. "I have a plan to get in motion." And she stalked out of the room and back into the large hallway, attempting to bring herself in check, wondering at how easily seeing Arthur in the flesh—relatively speaking of course. More like dream-self.—could affect her this much.
She was hardly three strides out when she heard a familiar pair of feet trail after her, calling her name.
"We don't have much time Arthur," she rebuffed, walking at a fast pace. It helped carry the dress up at least and the slight burn in her lungs made her feel a smidgen better.
He followed closely, matching her speed, but he was close enough that she could feel his legs interfere with the fabric of her skirt. She was hyper aware of that contact, even if it wasn't her own skin. "This is hackneyed and impetuous."
"It's a plan," she threw back blandly. "It's more than you have right now." What a loaded lie.
He still had her, she was realizing. Right at that moment when he freely admitted that he cared about her. She felt that swell in her gut that reminded her of so many things that made her fall in love with him in the first place. Right until he left her like a hypocrite.
She swallowed. He narrowed his eyes in her direction before grabbing her arm to stop her.
It was funny how often they kept touching one another, how easily they assumed these small rights when it took both of them forever to even touch before. Pats on the shoulder, handing pens, even inserting the needle for the PASIV were hardly done without any self-conscious awkwardness.
Maybe it was because everything he did was sexy. Like how he would just watch her build and practice in dreams, hands in pockets, shoulders slack, as she created mazes and paradoxes. He'd have that stupid smile on his face, the one with the dimple to the side and where his eyes creased into slits, and she'd make sure they'd end up in a dead end, just to see what would happen.
Sometimes, he'd stammer just slightly at how much closer their bodies would be in the maze of hallways or alleys, and he'd even stop talking when their hands would touch briefly as they walked side by side. Ariadne found it adorable at these small off-kilter moments, finding true emotions on the calculated Point Man who always seemed extremely so sure of himself everywhere else. Though, she probably wasn't better than himself.
She blushed when she first fumbled with the PASIV needle and he sat next to her on her lawn chair, their thighs nearly touching, as he held her wrist so carefully and showed her the proper way to do it. There was something in her mind that couldn't let go of the fact that this was just odd. A self-conscious awareness that she shouldn't be sticking needles into herself.
She didn't mind shots, though she hated to look, and she donated blood a few times. But sticking a needle into her own skin was something she wasn't used to, and she usually had to take her time to go under.
"You have really tiny wrists," Arthur noted as he held it in his own hands, sitting next to her.
Ariadne looked confused. "Um, thanks?" she replied, playing with her rolled up sleeve, waiting for him to give her arm back, but Arthur still held it over his lap, one hand at her pulse, the other on her forearm.
"You should probably eat more," he informed her, though judging from his damnable expression right after this, she could tell that he had no idea what he was saying too.
And to help the poor smhuck out, she made a joke about waiting two hours after eating before entering dreams. It made Arthur laugh and it cooled the odd tension down as she pulled her arm back. Arthur shuffled off to his own lawn chair, averting her eyes.
Right now, Arthur held her arm.
"Were you really going to shoot yourself?" Arthur asked right before they got to the ballroom.
Ariadne didn't waver in her expression, only looked at the hand on her arm. It was the arm she usually used for the PASIVE needle. The memory was fresh in her mind, despite of her work burying it deep to be forgotten. "Were you really going to stop me?" she asked, lifting her gaze.
It was a challenge. A cold, calculating challenge that Arthur felt stunted by. An image of her in the wan morning light came to mind. She sat on the edge of their bed. Her hand held over her mouth. Her other hand held a yellow sheet of legal paper with his handwriting on it. Would he have stopped her?
"You know I would have," he said.
He still left that morning.
"That's why it was a good threat," she said a little grimly. "Why did you think I wasn't real?" she asked, taking advantage of the open air. "You kept insisting that I was real."
To this, Arthur shook his head. "I think this is a half-assed plan, Ariadne. This is never going to work. You're insane."
Ariadne turned to him and smiled. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him closer, a few steps into the ballroom, where the lit chandeliers glowed and the music was in full swing. Out of nowhere, she pulled out her gun and cocked it, pointing it to the open air. "You shouldn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, Arthur," she said with a knowing look, before she shot the chandelier off the ceiling.
And he knew her eyes never left his as he watched thousands of crystals and a spark of raw electricity come dropping down onto the main dance floor. It would've been beautiful had it not ignited something much more dangerous.
All of a sudden, projections began running away from the wreckage. Some saw Ariadne but looked too shocked, rather than hostile. Screams of fright and yells echoed into the room as the hundreds of guests began running in confused circles, all headed for exits.
He looked at Eames, who had just caught up with them. "You two have been working together too long," he said, watching the chaos.
"At least someone follows my advice," Eames said with a smile and a shrug.
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A/N: Thank you, Lauraa-x, mbarca, and Audrey for the review love. Enjoy these cyber s'mores I made to show my appreciation. And thank you to those who followed and favorited or are just reading. You can have the extra s'mores.
