For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.
Previously: Arthur argues with Cobb over the part of the improvised plan where the extractor shot at his sister. Penelope starts asking Eames questions which he shouldn't answer, and he tries another ploy to keep from revealing too much, wherein the forger becomes the point man. The illusion doesn't last long, and the trick doesn't really work. He's forced to tell her that she's the victim of an Encapsulation, and that she needs to trust them. Ariadne sees waterspouts on the horizon which trouble her. Yusuf gets ready for the kick.
Arthur had checked all open rooms in the hotel. Thankfully there weren't too many. He'd perused the lobby and the restaurant, the bar and the exercise room coming up empty. Only a few suites on the upper floors weren't occupied. His last stop had been the penthouse.
It reminded him of somewhere, though he couldn't put his finger on the place at first.
He searched through the living area, the bathroom and the kitchenette. He scoped out the smaller bedroom before finding his way to the master suite.
It was decorated a little differently. The Spanish influences were gone, replaced by something decidedly more French.
"Cobb," he muttered. He pulled his gun, searching the room more carefully.
The very last thing he wanted to deal with on this mission was the former Mrs. Cobb putting a bullet in his knee.
He remembered his military training, working his way through the room methodically. His back was always covered, and he always had an idea of where he was going to move should he find a threat.
It was the best way to stay alive, having a solid plan.
The jacuzzi bathroom was empty, however, as was the walk-in closet. There was no one hiding behind the curtains or under the bed. Aggravated, he opened every drawer he came across. As was typical in American hotels, he found a Bible, a television listing, and various information about the hotel and surrounding areas.
Beneath the telephone, however, he found a small safe asking for a four digit code.
He tried the first four digits off the chemical bottle but received an error. He tried the first four digits off his baseball glove but came up empty handed there as well. Taking a slow breath, he tried the four digits that corresponded to his sister's birthday, but again nothing.
Frustrated, he sat on the ground in front of it, staring at the mocking red letters asking for the code to be entered.
He tried his sister's birth year. He tried his birthday and year. He tried the digits off Lawrence Dillon's Defense Department ID. He tried the last four digits of his cell phone number, of his sister's cell phone number.
Everything he entered, it didn't matter. It always came up the same error message.
When he was about to take the whole safe with him, he took a moment, closing his eyes. Maybe the safe was the clue. Maybe it correlated to a date when Penelope was safe.
Narrowing his eyes at the keypad, he punched in a date in April, when Penelope was fourteen.
The red lights beside the keypad turned green and the door swung open slightly. He pulled it the rest of the way opened, swallowing hard when he saw the doll resting in the darkened cubby.
Embroidered on the bottom of the dress was a series of eight digits.
As soon as he'd hit play, the storm clouds gathered.
"Oh, c'mon," he muttered as he climbed out of the back of the limousine. The rain began to pelt down lightly at first, growing quickly into a steady downpour.
It wasn't the damned free champagne that time. Thankfully no one was awake to make that crack again. After all, there hadn't been any champagne at all, not before the mission. He imagined that Eames and Penelope might've gotten a nip or two at the party, but that shouldn't have affected the weather.
He slid behind the wheel again, looking at his soggy suit in disgust. "All right. Here we go," he said to no one in particular as he started the car again. He backed the long vehicle slowly toward the dock.
As he did so, he noticed another gathering of projections.
He sighed, closing his eyes. He'd really hoped to avoid the whole falling business this time. After all, he didn't actually need the kick. All he needed to do was wait for the PASIV device in real life to run out of time. As such, he'd decided he'd just put the car in neutral and wish the rest of them a bon voyage into the icy cold waters below.
Now that he was surrounded, he was glad that the duffel in his passenger seat still had his oxygen tank and respirator. He just wasn't looking forward to the dip.
He glanced back at Penelope, who looked more scared than she had before, more agitated. "Please calm down," he said, though he had no hope of her being able to accomplish that task, not before he had to throw the limousine off the dock.
She couldn't figure it out. She couldn't wrap her brain around it. There was nothing taken from her. All of her memories were in tact. How could Arthur say her mind was damaged somehow? How could he tell his entire crew that? How had she walked, so unknowingly, into a mission that was designed for her and not someone else? She paced, unable to look at him.
He could tell that he was losing her. Because of that, he could only imagine the kinds of fun the rest of the team was having with projections, with a militarized subconscious. He was sure he'd never hear the end of it from Arthur, particularly if the mission ended in failure. "Penelope?" When she didn't respond, he tried something a little different. "Penny."
She turned at the diminutive.
"Just breathe," he told her. "I need you to take a deep breath and I need you to calm down."
She inhaled shallowly.
While it wasn't quite what he'd hoped for, it was a start. It also gave him the confidence to move closer to her. "Your subconscious is now highly aware of our presence, because you know the truth. It isn't exactly making our job easier."
"There should be no job!"
"That's not calm," he reminded gently. He hesitated only briefly before touching her, easing a comforting hand onto her shoulder. He'd seen the effect his touch had on her before, in the earlier levels of the dream, even on her projection in Arthur's dream.
It still worked.
"There shouldn't be a job, no, but there is one," he told her quietly. "The only way out is down. We have to keep moving, we have to figure it out, and we don't have a lot of time left to accomplish it."
"Mr. Eames, I really..." She huffed. "I really think you're barking up the wrong tree."
"If that's the case, fantastic. We've all had a horribly bad dream and everything will be as it was before when we wake. If that isn't the case, if there's something else going on, something far more sinister... you'll thank us in the morning."
"There is nothing," she insisted.
"On the last level, the man at the casino..."
She shook her head. "He wasn't-"
"Oh, he was someone, love. Someone with the Pentagon. How do you know him?"
"I..." Her mouth slammed shut. "I don't," she said, shrugging off his hand.
"I think you do."
"I don't," she insisted.
"He wasn't interested in your research? He didn't come round your lab, he didn't make time to see you at a conference?"
She felt under attack by his questions. "Stop it," she whispered.
"Lawrence Dillon. That's his name. Why would he be in your dreams, why would you have a projection of him if you didn't know him?"
She tried desperately to backtrack, tripping over her tongue in the process. "Th-the subconscious is... it's a peculiar thing, something no one fully understands."
He advanced on her, backing her into the support post of the swing set. His voice softened, however, when he spoke: "It's something you understood. It's something you knew. It's something you've forgotten, something that's been locked away."
She swallowed hard, looking up at him. "I didn't. There's no way."
"Trust me, there's a way."
"Trust you? I... I don't even know you."
"What do you have to lose? You're in a dream. You're asleep at this very moment. There's nothing else to do, no pressing engagements. It's Friday night. You might be missing out on drinks at some nightclub, but you don't strike me as that type."
She felt a mess of emotions knotting in her stomach when he spoke, when his blue-green eyes flickered, looking down at the rest of her body before meeting her gaze again. Anxiousness and fear mixed with attraction and desire, topped off with a healthy dose of confusion. What was he doing to her? What was she allowing him to do to her?
"Eames!"
The moment broken, both turned to see Cobb motioning to them to join him.
Penelope hesitated but Eames slipped his arm around her, pulling her close and guiding her through the park and toward sidewalk where the extractor waited.
"We've got to go," Cobb explained. "Arthur's waiting for us at the hotel." He looked between the forger and the scientist, frowning. "What's wrong?"
"We should get off the street," Eames said simply.
Cobb glanced over, as the projections all seemed more interested in the there of them than anything else going on in an otherwise bustling night out. "You told her?"
"What was I supposed to do? She's smarter than that." Eames didn't particularly care for a replay of the conversation he'd had with Arthur on the boat, not now, not ever. "No mission this long goes according to plan. We can either get off the sidewalk, get to the hotel, and get off this level, or we can end this dream walking right here. It's entirely up to you."
"Move," Cobb ordered, nodding to the hotel.
Eames rushed forward, keeping Penelope close to his side. He held her protectively away from the projections. It was a little more difficult to protect her once they entered the hotel. There were several smiling, happy-looking people that grew very dour the moment they walked through the large glass front doors.
"Penthouse," Cobb whispered.
"We're taking the elevator," Eames commented.
"I'll take the stairs," the extractor returned.
Eames brushed a chaste kiss against Penelope's hair lightly. "Pretend like I just said something funny," he whispered.
"What?" she asked, looking up at him curiously.
"Laugh."
She offered a cautious one, one that wasn't convincing in the slightest.
He winced a little, glancing at the display above the elevator. It was stuck on the third floor. While the thought had entered his mind first-a certain option he was about to put into play-he felt like it was a cheap shot, a desperate move. Given the intense gazes from the projections surrounding them, however, he wasn't about to take a chance at failure. He spun her to face him, pulling her close.
"Wh-?"
He cut her off, pressing his lips to hers.
She struggled against him at first but he was insistent, going so far as to snake an arm around her back, slipping a hand beneath her sweater. She stiffened at the unwelcome contact but he held her body flush against his.
He hoped that it was just stubbornness that kept her from playing along at first. While he wasn't necessarily proud of his actions, he continued to caress, to kiss, to seduce her.
The jumbled feelings she'd had for him earlier returned and intensified. She didn't appreciate being manhandled but she'd seen another side of him, the flirtatious, softer side. They'd almost kissed two dream levels ago and she'd actually felt disappointment, that her brother had shown up so suddenly, ending what might've been. There was a warmth to him that she couldn't deny, one that was enticing, one she wanted.
He knew it was working when she started kissing him back, when her hands gripped his jacket. For a brief second, he let his guard down. For one brief second, he allowed it to be real. When he heard the elevator ding behind her, however, he opened his eyes and cupped her face in his free hand before looking past her. Sure enough, the display read the second floor and descending. He reluctantly ended the kiss when the doors opened.
She looked up at him dazedly, breathless.
"C'mon," he murmured, guiding her onto the elevator. A few other projections started to get on, but he blocked them. "Sorry. Ocupado," he said. He looked back at her, battling his own hungry emotions. As soon as the elevator doors closed, however, as soon as they were making their ascent alone, he closed his eyes tightly.
She started to ask something but stopped. She'd seen his eyes, in those brief seconds before he'd closed them, and she realized they were dark again. She felt her cheeks catch fire, burning red hot. It had all been an act. That was all it had been since they had fallen asleep, since before they'd hooked up to the PASIV device in the warehouse.
How could she be so stupid?
Cobb was halfway to the penthouse suite when someone else entered the stairwell. A suited someone, an armed someone. He tried to slow his gait, to look like a casual projection, nothing more but it didn't work.
The projection aimed the gun square at him.
"There's no need for that," Cobb said, shaking his head.
"You're not supposed to be here."
"Funny, I was going to say the same about you." The extractor rolled out of the way, pulling his weapon as he ducked for cover. It wasn't much of a fire fight, but he knew the loss of one of the militarized subconscious projections wouldn't go unnoticed, particularly as it thudded on the stairs.
After leaping over the fallen projection, he took the stairs two and three at a time, desperate to reach the penthouse. By the time Arthur was letting him into the suite, he'd shot another half dozen projections along the way.
"You look like hell," Arthur commented.
"We don't have much time. We're going to need to rush the lower levels."
"What are you talking about?"
"Penelope knows."
"She knows what?" Arthur asked.
"About what we're doing, about what's going on."
Arthur's anger came to a quick, steady boil. "Eames."
"Doesn't matter. What matters is getting out of here, fast, and in-tact. All of us."
"Where are they?"
"They're not... they're not here yet?"
Arthur didn't waste any time grabbing his gun and heading out into the hallway.
"Elevator. Maybe it's just a slow ride," Cobb said, trying to catch the point man's arm.
Arthur evaded the extractor's grip. "Maybe I can speed things up." He'd almost reached the elevator when the doors opened.
"Whatever you're thinking... please don't."
She looked up at him, shaking her head. "This whole time, it's been nothing but lies and deceptions and..."
"The more you think about it, the more you dwell on it, the worse off we're all going to be. Keeping you distracted, that's the only thing keeping your projections from ganging up on us, all of us, on getting rid of the dreamer. We aren't ready for the kick yet. If they kill us, we're done for. Stuck in Limbo for who knows how long. I won't let that happen. So, if that means..." He hated the hurt look on her face. "If that means upsetting you in the process, then so be it."
She looked away from him, at the steel walls surrounding them instead. She felt trapped, stuck in a dream she didn't want to have, like a prisoner in a cell.
Eames slowly inched closer to her. "You needed a distraction. You still do."
"I don't need anything from you," she said quietly, spitefully.
When the doors opened at the penthouse level, she immediately stepped out, heading down the hall. Eames wasn't far behind.
"There you are," Arthur said, lowering his weapon.
"How could you?" she demanded.
"Penelope..."
"No! How could you do this to me, Arthur?"
Cobb looked questioningly at Eames, who was rubbing at the back of his neck guiltily.
"Whatever he told you," Arthur began, pointing at the forger.
"This doesn't concern him," Penelope said. "Or Dom. This is between you and me, Arthur. How could you bring me in here? How could you lie to me like this?"
"We don't have time for this," Cobb interrupted. "We've got to keep going."
Eames watched as Penelope was about to turn her explosive reaction to the extractor. "You're going to need help setting the charges," the forger said quickly. "With the subconscious on alert, you can't watch us and prepare for the kick, not without something happening."
Cobb realized that the Brit had a point, but he didn't want to admit it.
"Give Penelope a moment to talk to Arthur. Don't worry, we'll speed through the other levels," Eames said.
Cobb sighed. "All right, fine."
Eames nodded at Arthur, who led Penelope back into the suite. For a brief moment, he caught her eye.
Unlike Arthur, who could hide his emotions, Penelope's were easy to read. She was still frustrated but she was, however briefly, thankful.
Relief washed over Ariadne like a wave when she heard the haunting voice of Edith Piaf on the wind. "Thank goodness," she murmured. "We can get out of here." But, she wasn't close enough to the waterfall, not yet. She sped the boat along faster.
She'd be so relieved when this dream was over, when she could wake up, when she could put this mission behind her. She'd do anything for Arthur, but she was ready to be done with this particular job.
While she kept a cautious eye on the waterspouts in front of her, she never saw the threat coming from behind. She didn't even have an inkling that there could be something approaching the boat. After all, she'd been very specific in her dream specifications. There were to be no ships, no boats, no inflatable life rafts. There were no jet skis, no canoes, no kayaks.
What she hadn't thought to exclude from a city on a river were maritime shops at the marina.
When the snorkeling projections opened fire, she screamed, gunning the engine even harder.
Glancing over her shoulder, she could see the security projections in wetsuits firing at the boat. "Worse than armed dolphins," she said, her eyes landing momentarily on Arthur's sleeping form.
Returning her attention out the front of the boat, toward where she was, essentially, supposed to drive the boat off the edge of the map, she could still see the waterspouts and they were getting closer.
"Weather and guns protecting you?" she asked, referring to Penelope. "Your research better be earth shattering."
She held onto the wheel tightly as the seas became churned up, rough. The boat skipped along the growing waves.
"We're almost there," she said quietly.
"Penelope, we don't have time for this," Arthur began.
"You're going to have to make time. Because this isn't right, what you've done to me."
"What... What I have done to you? I've done nothing except try to protect you."
"Bringing us into this dream? With the threat of Limbo? Do you honestly think this is protecting me?"
"Somebody took something from you, Penelope. Something that was yours and yours alone, and I'm not about to let that someone get away with it."
"What are you talking about?"
"Do you remember Clay?"
She was momentarily stumped at the question that he asked out of left field. "Who?"
"Clay? Nordic-looking guy, tall, blonde wavy hair, blue eyes... beautiful little girl named Mia."
She shook her head. "I don't... I don't remember anyone named that."
Arthur nodded slowly. "No. I expect you wouldn't remember your lab partner of six years."
She laughed mirthlessly.
"Y'know, the guy who invited you over to every holiday meal, every celebration because Dad was still in Nevada, I was always gone, and you were always alone?"
"Arthur-"
"His wife, Alice, she had a sister, Susan. I happened to be home one Thanksgiving, you and Alice tried to set us up; it didn't take."
"You're... you're making stuff up now?"
"No. I'm reminding you of something you've forgotten, something someone took from you."
She shook her head.
"What did you do last Christmas?"
"Last Christmas?"
Arthur nodded.
Penelope stopped to think, trying to focus on the holiday, but nothing was coming up, nothing was surfacing. "I must've... Must've worked through it."
"The one before that?"
She sighed. "This isn't... This isn't about me, Arthur, this is about you lying to me."
"Answer the damned question!"
She shot daggers at him, angered that he would raise his voice to her. "Why?"
"Just..." He sighed. "Just try."
She'd give him an inch of leeway. Closing her eyes, she struggled to think about it, to remember. The harder she tried, the more mental blocks seemed to crop up.
"What about the Christmas before that? Or the one before it?"
She couldn't remember. The harder she thought back, the worse it was, the more she realized there was something wrong.
"Somebody took something from you," Arthur said, "Encapsulated it so deeply, that you've lost more than just your life's work. I'll be damned if I ever let anyone try to take your life from you again."
Coming Attractions...
Lines from the next installment:
That silence again concerned Cobb, who watched as Eames seemed to withdraw into himself. It was happening more and more often and he didn't like it. "What's going on?"
The forger seemed genuinely caught off guard at the question. "What?"
Cobb lowered his voice, piecing together the context clues. "What's going on with you and Penelope?"
"I'm doing my job. I'm not doing it particularly well," he admitted, "but I'm going about it the best I can."
"Romantic entanglements within dreams-"
"Don't, all right? Just... let's leave it right there."