It's been way too long since I last did this. But I am determined to see this story through to the end. So close now... For those who return to this tale, I am beyond grateful. For first time readers who make it this far, thank you.
Chapter 10: The night
Prohibition needed to end. Preferably, sooner rather than later. Arthur was in sore need of a ready and available supply of alcohol. But without a speakeasy to move through, it was too risky to drink and stash booze personally, and far too expensive to drown his uncertainties at other establishments. Instead, he resorted to cigarettes. More and more, he noticed, but it couldn't be helped. Especially after last night.
The things he'd said to her. The look on her face. The lies he wove. Was the Backroom still worth it?
He took another deep drag of his cigarette as he waited for the other two to arrive. The rundown warehouse had long since lost its ability to keep the rain out, and Arthur fought a shiver as he turned his coat collar up against the wet chill. Another pull of smoke helped steady his nerves as he let himself hope the others had good news to share. This could be it. They were so close.
Rusty metal sang out to his left and with a sharp glance, he saw the door open to admit Eames' solid frame, obscured as it was by a trench coat that was easily two sizes too big for him. He cocked a wry brow in silent question as the Englishman approached, shaking the lingering raindrops from his fedora.
"Hello, Arthur," a smile flashed across Eames' face, his eyes remaining strangely pensive, "you look positively tense." The corner of Arthur's mouth lifted in faint amusement. Yes, he could admit to that.
"Astute, as always," Arthur's tone conveyed no hint of praise, only irritation, "did you steal that coat?"
"Perish the thought. I like my overcoats big."
"Well, that coat is not only monstrous on you, but also a monstrosity."
"Oh, I have you missed you, darling." His smile was all cocky playfulness, but his eyes still held their seriously appraising edge. Arthur's only response was another drag of his cigarette before discarding the smoldering end. He turned back, a scowl marring his features as Eames refused to look away from him. "Look, Arthur…I don't pretend to know what this is like for you. You look like utter hell, which says enough. But we'll get her out."
"But will I get her back?" The words left him on impulse. It was the most revealing thing he'd ever said to Eames, and somehow, it lightened the tightness in his chest. The heavy weight of Eames' hand that fell on his shoulder was more comforting than he could admit.
"There's no way to know that now, but you need to unwind to stay sharp. This won't work without you." Arthur bristled on the implication of Eames' words.
"My head is right where it needs to be for this to work. We already agreed I'm too close to this to go in with you and Dom. Saito—." Both men froze, falling silent as the door opened on its squeaky hinges. Dom ducked in out of the rain, a low curse on his lips as he brushed the water from his coat.
"Sorry I'm late," his voice carried just a little too loud in the derelict space for Arthur's comfort, "the radiator broke in the apartment and the landlord was being difficult."
"We haven't been waiting long." Eames simply said with a small smile, letting his hand fall from Arthur's shoulder.
"Good," the frustration fell from the lines of Dom's face, replaced by the cool look of the consummate professional, "so where do we stand?"
"There is general unrest amongst our suppliers," Eames started. "Apparently, Fischer hasn't been paying them nearly enough, but they have no other option."
"With Saito's cut going forward, I'm not sure we can offer them the same rate as before." Disappointment tinged Dom's words.
"They'll take some convincing, no doubt, but they're no less eager." Dom and Arthur both nodded in response. At least Saito hadn't yet destroyed everything that made the Backroom's existence possible. "Has Browning left yet?"
"Yes, he left by train for New York this morning," Dom supplied, shaking his head almost uncertainly, "word is tensions between him and Robert have never been higher, but I'm not sure I believe that. We know Maurice & Robert are at odds, but Browning was always the supportive type."
Eames licked his lips, speculatively. "So you're saying let him return to New York with his news, and let Maurice take care of Robert from there?"
"No," Dom quickly corrected, "no, I think positive emotion trumps negative emotion every time. We all yearn for reconciliation." The words stabbed right through Arthur's heart. "Even at his most desperate, Maurice won't betray the love of his son, no matter what truce he's broken. No, we still have to move forward. What did Michael have to say?"
"He'll do it." Eames' eyebrows lifted in sheer surprise on Arthur's words.
"Just like that? The honeypot was sweet enough for his rich blood?"
"Obviously so."
"And he won't turn back the other way?" Dom hadn't been a fan of involving Michael Flynn from the beginning. The man was too fickle in his allegiances and alliances. But with this plan, it was necessary.
"No," Arthur gave a quick, succinct shake of his head, "we provided enough incentive, and he's sweet on her, even if he laughs it off." The other two men fell still, unsure how to respond. For despite his serious, poised demeanor, there had been something infinitely sad in Arthur's voice.
"Arthur, I'm so—."
"Not now." He cut Dom off with a swift, unapologetic look. Arthur, the point man, had a job to do. Arthur, the distressed lover, could wait. "The seeds of doubt were planted at the Backroom. Robert put on a good show of not believing me, but Ariadne responded just as we knew she would. It shouldn't be difficult, now." A heavy silence fell between the three men. Had all their planning just payed off?
"That's it then," Eames was the first to give it a voice, "the pieces are set."
"Just tell me when." Arthur looked to Dom with devout determination. Fear ate the edges of Dom's eyes as he offered a silent nod. Eames blew an anxious sigh, shaking his head almost in disbelief.
"Since there's a big chance this whole thing will go up in flames," a serious smirk lit Eames' face, "it's been a pleasure. They say there's no honor amongst thieves, but they lie. And clearly, they haven't met us."
"Why Eames," Arthur teases with a light smile, so reminiscent of the early days in the Backroom, "I didn't realize you were so sentimental."
"Old age." Eames shrugs absently as Dom chuckles softly.
"If nothing else, I would miss this. But Eames is right," he looks between his two closest friends, "I wouldn't have worked with anyone else in the business." The smile on his face is suddenly strangely peaceful. "We'll move tomorrow night, and put an end to this whole thing for good, one way or another."
"Dom," Arthur starts softly, "if the worst happens, we'll look after Mal."
"And that means everything to me. Thank you, both." With a final nod, he turned and started back towards the door and the falling rain.
"Tomorrow night, then." Eames words carried a slight edge of anxiety. "Be ready."
"And to you. Be careful." With one last gaze and a silent nod, Eames turned from him and disappeared into the wet, gray beyond.
Arthur didn't want to think about how many people he could potentially lose from his life tomorrow night. It was just easier to light another cigarette and keep moving forward with the plan.
xxx
It was impossible to study. The exam was in two days and she couldn't bring herself to focus on her notes. She just kept hearing Arthur's spiteful words replay in her head, and Robert's whispered warning echoing on its heels. If she were being honest, she didn't know where she stood with either of them.
Arthur had left the Backroom without so much as a backwards glance. She hadn't heard anything else from him or Jillian or anyone, and not that she honestly expected to. Seeing him last night was the first time she'd spent so much time with him since this whole thing started. And Robert…he hadn't spent last night at the Sydney. It was the first night he never crawled into their bed, no matter the late hour. The thought rotted in her stomach – just two days engaged and already they were sleeping apart. If he let himself believe Arthur's words, if all this fell apart, what then? Would he have her killed? Or just tossed aside, reduced to the penniless life she lead before?
She caught her breathing picking up, feeling herself get worked up in the nervousness and frustration. Oh, what she wouldn't give to just ask straight questions and receive straight answers. Her eyes drifted to the window for the umpteenth time, watching the rain splatter the pane. She immediately thought back to the glittery bank across from her old dreary apartment, remembering her envy for a life such as this. But was losing Arthur worth it? Would she even be here, though, if not for him? Why, oh why, did he trust her with something like this? He had to have known she couldn't do it. She couldn't do this. Her eyes prickled with unshed tears, forcing herself back to her notes with a hard swallow.
How could she possibly pass this test with her head so jumbled? When she sat down to start studying, she was convinced this would prove a welcome distraction from her troubled mind. But that was nearly two hours ago and she didn't even want to know how little progress she had actually made. She sighed, turning the page in her textbook, sniffing as she numbly read the words.
The door clicking open was an unwelcome distraction, drawing her attention as it admitted the sleek form of Robert's seemingly ever present point man. She furrowed her brows as she met his smile of greeting.
"You're not Robert."
"Agreed," Michael simply answered, "he must still be on his way. I am supposed to meet him here."
"Oh," she felt her cheeks flush, mildly embarrassed at her earlier accusatory tone, "I haven't seen him since dinner last night." She knew Michael already knew that. He was waiting for her at breakfast and had, until the last few hours, always hovered close. It did nothing to ease her nerves. In fact, she wondered if it wasn't by design…if he was under orders from Robert to watch her or wait his word to finally do her in? The worry from that thought gnawed at her.
"It looks like you're diligently at work," Michael ventured, moving more into the room, glancing over the notes and books strewn open before her, "I'm sorry for interrupting you."
"It's not necessary to apologize—I'm having trouble studying today—but thank you, anyway." She offered a weak smile, lingering on the relaxed set of his jaw, the lazy smile directed at her. "I think it must be the rain." It's a poor excuse even to her own ears and of course, Michael picks up on it the more he studies the worried lines of her face.
"How are you holding up after last night?" The words stuck in her throat and tears well in her eyes. Oh, how she longed to let go, to get answers.
"I'm…I'm alright." She found her voice, at last, turning up to him with what she hoped was a convincing smile. "I am concerned, though, that Robert hasn't been back since dinner. He's always been there when I wake up…and now, so newly engaged…," she sighed a shaky breath, "I'm worried our marriage may already be in trouble."
"Well, he is shaken," Michael almost sounded annoyed, "and I can't blame him, honestly. Any man who comes into other's man joint spouting the ideas that St. Clair did last night must have a reason for it. And Robert is nothing if not meticulous in sealing his deals."
"Is that all I am to him?" The heartbreak on her voice wasn't entirely fake. "I'm just a deal for him to win and close?"
"You know you're not." She tensed slightly as Michael's hand fell to her shoulder in a gesture of support. "Yes, maybe he's been more impulsive with you than one would deem prudent so he is pursuing cautionary measures."
"What sort of cautionary measures?" Her nervousness ratcheted a notch higher on Michael's word. What was Robert possibly planning? She jumped under Michael's steadying hand as the door opened, jarring her attention. Robert's face was impassive, but it was still possible to read the mistrust and displeasure lurking in his azure eyes.
"Oh, Robert," she rose from the chair, forgetting about the point man, "I'm so happy to see you. I was so worried when you didn't come to bed last night."
"Yes, I'm sorry about that, darling." There was an overly gentle tone to his words, but it carried the smug undercurrent of possessing knowledge that she didn't. "I was up all night making new arrangements for our future."
"Our future?" Confusion creased the lines of her face, her chest tightening as all the implications of 'our future' started to manifest in her mind.
"Yes, I've realized I made a big mistake by keeping you here and letting you visit the Backroom. There are just too many memories, and too much unpleasantness for us to build a happy future on if we stay here." A pit opened in her stomach as she started to pick up on his meaning. "So, we're moving to New York. In two days."
"Two days?" Her eyes widened at the suddenness of it. "But…but what about my classes? I have an exam." She limply motioned to her study materials spread out on the table. "I can't just leave."
"That's easily sorted once we're settled," Robert waved dismissively towards her materials, "I'll just talk with admissions again. You will have your degree, eventually. This will only be a minor setback."
"But, New York? Really? I've never been that far from home." That part was true. Something about just being that far away…being on the coast. It didn't sit well with her. Not to mention everything with Arthur. She felt her breath pick up as she struggled to process what a move to New York really entailed.
"I know it will be a change for you. But I'll be right there with you to see you through it. I will, of course, have to make several trips out to Chicago to oversee operations here, but at least, I know you'll be safe in New York." Anger started to leech in around the edges of her utter disbelief. "And Michael will be around to keep you company, from time to time." There was something unsure in Robert's voice, his eyes moving warily between his point man and fiancée.
"I'm rather looking forward to going back." Michael said calmly, a small smile lightning his face.
"You knew this was happening?" She turned back to Michael with an incredulous look. His smile merely widened, not betraying his guilt or innocence. She couldn't stop the sigh that blew past her lips as she fought to figure out what to say.
"Well, goodness…there's so much to do." She shook her head as if making and keeping track of a long list. "I want to make sure I have lunch with Jillian and let her know so she doesn't worry."
"No, I'll send Michael to let her know." Robert casually said, though his tone held a deceptive firmness. "I don't want you so exposed where someone else could so easily upset you again. Not after yesterday." She fought to reign in the panic rising within her.
"You mean…I can't even see my friend before I leave? I'm just supposed to leave…with you?"
"We are engaged to be married." Robert's smile was downright predatory and it rippled a shiver down her spine. "It's not unheard of."
"So, I'm supposed to sit around here for the next two days? What about a farewell visit to the Backroom tomorrow night? Just one last time?" She didn't really know what a visit to the Backroom would buy her, but at least, it might be something. Otherwise, without getting word to Jillian, she was completely at his mercy and no help would come for her.
"Consider it two days of relaxation after all the stress and ugliness from yesterday. I do hate to see you so upset." Robert looked over to his point man with a slightly mischievous edge before turning back to her. "And perhaps, if you're good, I'll let Michael take you down one last time. In a celebration, of sorts."
"In a celebration." She gulped nervously, forcing a smile to her face.
"Yes, my dear. Of new beginnings and old endings."
xxx
With little else to do, she did the only thing she could do – she did what he asked. She attempted to study even though it really didn't matter if she was indeed going to New York tomorrow. She put on a smile and tried to hide the worry in her eyes. Time was running out and she had no outlet.
It didn't seem possible that this was going to be her last time in Backroom. The music, the smoke, the gentle twitter of laughter and conversation were all too achingly familiar to the first night she ventured down those velvet laden stairs.
Except this time, the liquor was going down so easily. Too easily. She took another big pull, trying to drown out the misery and the nerves. She didn't know where Robert was or if he was even here. Michael had left her at this booth and disappeared. Typical point man. But she had to concede that he had offered a strange sort of comfort in the last couple of days. Around Robert, he was all business as usual. But just around her, she could sense a sympathy lurking in the edge of the voice, in his pale eyes. He was always quick to offer a supportive hand on her shoulder or arm – an implied 'buck up, you have nothing to worry about' message coming through. She couldn't deny it was all quite endearing.
She reached for her smoking cigarette resting in the tray before her. What she wouldn't give to see—or even just call—Jillian. Surely, her friend would know just what to say. Ariadne couldn't help but smirk at the irony that she was the weary one back when Mr. Eames and the fabulous Backroom first entered her life, yet here she was, neck deep in this world. Her eyes strayed to the diamond on her left hand, remembering Robert's words.
'But for your sake, I hope he's not right.'
She could only guess exactly what that meant, and none of the scenarios she conjured up were good. Maybe she could just stick it out with Robert in New York—be the faithful, willing wife, live the easy life. She took another strong pull of her drink, trying to drown out the accompanying feelings of misery on the thought. But on the other hand, she was no longer sure Arthur still wanted her.
At first, she told herself it had to be a performance – his drunken Backroom visit. But the more she thought on the personal things he said and his bitter parting words, she couldn't help but wonder if he actually meant it. Marrying Robert was never part of the plan, and she knew that if she did, it would no longer be a simple matter to go back to Arthur. Did Arthur really believe she intended to marry Robert?
The questions were endless. And the more she sat, stewing and worrying, the less clarity she found. Her eyes fell to the tabletop, eyeing the glass of whiskey and cigarette in-hand. Sadly, her eyes lifted and drank in the surroundings of her plush, circular, corner booth, the swanky interior of the Backroom, suddenly feeling disgusted with herself.
Wasn't this everything she'd been warned against as a child? To stay away from jazz, booze and bad men? Her eyes fell to her lap, studying the pretty silk, sky blue gown that she wore. It flashed a fair show of her legs, baring her arms and shoulders to those willing to look. Her hair was flawless in its auburn curls and her face painted to perfection. She looked every bit the part of the fanciful woman who knew nothing of life's hardships.
Her mind instantly drifted back to that first afternoon she returned to the Backroom, determined only to speak to Eames regarding Jillian and beat a hasty retreat. She remembered the wistful looks she gave the glamorous women in the lobby, wishing desperately to be like them. And now, here she was. And she'd never been more miserable.
She reached for the cigarette, drawing one last breath before stubbing out the remains. Somewhere, she knew she shouldn't drown her sorrows and uncertainty in liquor and cigarettes, but it sure felt good.
"Hey kiddo, you don't look so good." She looked up at the warm, almost soothing voice, her eyes still downcast as Michael's lean form slid into the booth next to her, invading her senses with the smell of smoke and cinnamon.
"'Kiddo?'" She mocked sardonically, questioning his oft used nickname as she raised a lethargic eyebrow at him, watching a sad, placating smile grow on his face.
"It was meant to be endearing." The corner of her lips pulled up to a small smile, knowing she shouldn't love the gentle tone on his voice quite so much. "This doesn't look much like a celebration." She held back the sigh that she wanted to exhale.
"No, I'm afraid it isn't. I'm…I'll miss this place." It seemed as good an excuse as any.
"I don't believe that for a minute. You've been troubled since Arthur visited us here that night." She wanted to acknowledge it, to say yes, to let it all go. "You don't hide it as well as you think." Her eyes widened on his words, terrified by the implication as she turned towards him. Did he know? Had he given her up? The look on his face was inscrutable and did nothing to bring her any comfort.
"What don't I hide?" She wished her voice sounded stronger, but her heart was starting to pound too fast.
"That you don't want to leave Chicago." She gulped in a wave of relief, allowing herself to relax against the back of the booth.
"No…you're right. I don't like the idea of living in New York. Especially not without saying goodbye to my friend."
"She wished you well, when I told her." Michael's voice wasn't overly warm with sentiment. It was more perfunctory business. "She was sad to not get to see you again." Hope sparked in Ariadne's chest. Had Michael told her exactly where she was going?
"Did you tell her she could come visit in New York?" She forced a calm note to her voice, despite the hope threatening to burst in her chest. The sly light in his eyes told her she wasn't so lucky.
"No, Ariadne. She doesn't know where to visit you. Eventually, I'm sure Robert will let you return to Chicago. If only for a visit." Her brow furrowed in displeasure. Did Robert really think he could control her life so completely? She shouldn't have to receive his permission for every little thing. On the surface, she had done nothing to violate his trust. Perhaps if he knew the truth…though, him knowing the truth lead to too many other unpleasant outcomes. She looked back up at Michael, curiously noting the distant, amused slant of his lips. "Do you know you're at your most beautiful when you're lost in that head of yours?" Her cheeks heated at once, embarrassed flattery pulling her lips into a sheepish smile.
"Thank you. You're probably the only one to see it that way." He nodded softly, his face falling almost sadly.
"It's a shame that Robert doesn't see it." All at once, he seemed so close. Too close. Had he been moving towards her this whole time? Or was the alcohol catching up to her? "I'll tell you this – even if he never sees it, I always will." The smoke and cinnamon about him were clouding her senses, stirring the memories of his fingers on her hips on the night of her engagement. The temptation of his presence.
"Will you, really?" She distantly registered the breathy tone of her words, her heartbeat picking up as he drew the tiniest bit closer. Was this her out? Her chance to make things better? Arthur had spoken his piece, and Robert was trending away from her. Was Michael truly the answer, or just the next in line? Would kissing him now make her everything Arthur said she was?
She closed her eyes, not stopping him as his lips met hers. She melted into the kiss, gentle at first, letting him take control to slip his tongue between parted lips to meet hers.
"Ariadne." The voice cut through her mind like a razor blade, her eyes flying open, head simultaneously turning to see Robert standing on the other side of the table. His brow was drawn in a tight line, his lips pursed in anger that blazed in his icy eyes.
"Oh no," she breathed, trying to catch her breath, "I—it's not what you think."
"How is it not?" He bit out, white-hot anger on his usually controlled voice. "Because I think it's exactly what it looks like. I withdraw from you, and you move on to the next one. However, I thought highly enough of you to not go after my point man."
"I didn't go after him," she grit out, almost pleadingly, anger mixing with her shame, "it takes two to make this situation."
"He knows I've never trusted him with you," Robert started coldly, "but I never warned him to stay away from you, just as I never warned you to do the same. I shouldn't have to warn you, and it should be a non-issue for him, assuming your love for me was genuine."
"It is," she near pleaded, her eyes filling with remorse, refusing to drop his gaze, "I don't want to lose you over this." Her heart wasn't breaking necessarily, but she knew she'd just thrown everything away. A hard swallow worked its way down Robert's throat, heartbreak seeping into the angry lines of his face.
"You have until closing to get out. I don't care where you go, I don't care what you do—but after tonight, I never want to see you back here again." His bottom lip quivered ever so slightly, quickly pursing his lips in a tight line to stop it. "I was going to give you the world, but apparently that isn't enough for you." His eyes settled to the sparkling diamond on her left hand. "Leave the ring with Michael before you leave, or I will send him after you." With one last piercing glare, Robert turned from the woman who betrayed him.
He had loved her and believed she loved him in return. How could he not? She was so upset that morning in the hotel lobby, her bruised face an absolute disgrace. He had vowed then and there to always protect her from such ruffians. Her innocence was endearing, and he was not going to see it corrupted any more than it already was.
He loosed a heavy sigh, glancing around the room as the pain in his chest grew, his stomach twisted in sick knots. He'd been so close to giving her everything. He wondered how long it would have taken for her to milk him dry and move on to the next one if they had actually wed. How was he ever so foolish to not see it? His mind flashed back to the dinner at Chez Paris, Uncle Peter's words mixing with Arthur's from two days ago. Both men had tried to warn him, and he'd been too blinded by love to see it.
He froze as he spotted a table occupied by a most familiar, unwelcome face. The man sat, casually sipping a drink as if he still owned the joint, clear eyes locking to Robert's over the rim of his glass. Robert steeled his determination, doing his best to shove the heartache aside and channel his anger for a more useful purpose.
"You do know that you're not welcome here?" Robert's controlled voice betrayed just a hint of his displeased anger.
"I know." The flippant tone on Dom Cobb's voice incensed him further, his hand clenching to a fist at his side.
"Then give me a good reason why I shouldn't throw you out?"
"Because this is my place." Dom casually tossed the rest of his drink back, Robert's disbelieving guffaw of a laugh reaching his ears.
"I ousted you as owner months back," Robert started, incredulously, "and now you think you can walk in here and just claim you own it? Has something happened to your head since we last met?"
"Nothing, thank you for your concern," Dom continued unfazed, offering a small smile, "and it's not my problem if your boys can't keep me out. If I were you, I'd invest in some new employees"
"Well I'm not you, and I've never needed anyone's advice to do my job. I sure as hell don't intend to start with you." Robert glared daggers at the other man, almost daring him to continue speaking. Dom shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, leaning in his chair to look around Robert towards the bar.
"Ok." Robert's brow furrowed on the simple word, trying to understand just what it meant. Quickly, he turned his head to see the bar behind him, eyes instantly landing on the Brit—Eames—lounging expectantly on a barstool, looking at him with a smug smirk.
"How did he get in here? With you, no doubt?" Robert's voice was pure displeasure as he turned back to Dom with an irritated look.
"Do you even have to ask?" A hint of a smile played about Dom's face as he continued to look up at Robert. "I have a story for you. It's a bit of a little known secret about this place." Dom's voice was casual, as though just chatting with an old friend as he reached into his suit jacket pocket, producing a silver cigarette case. "But when we first opened this place four years ago, and got Chief Walter's buy-in—promised him a rather sizeable kickback for his cooperation—he had legitimate concerns about this location."
Dom paused, looking down to the case, extracting a slim cigarette to dangle between his lips.
"He said it was too confined, inaccessible—especially in the event of an emergency. Fire was his biggest concern. With the only visible entrance being the main staircase, he refused to see this place become a human oven in the event of an accidental fire. And you know how potent bootlegged liquor can be with heat and just a little bit of pressure." A match appeared in Dom's hand, his eyes landing back to Robert's with a mischievous edge.
"So Chief Walter made us put in fire protection measures—if you can believe it," Dom continued, watching the almost imperceptible confused knit of Robert's eyebrows, "probably not something you ever thought to look into, right? Well, Mr. Eames has had a hell of time disabling those safety measures, so now all it would take," Dom struck the match against the table, his face lighting up in the faint glow as he lit the cigarette, "is one strategic spark to set this whole place off." The smoke from both the cigarette and extinguished match weighed heavily as a threat between them.
"Burning down the Backroom hardly seems advantageous to you, if you hope to reclaim it." Robert's gaze never wavered.
"No, it doesn't appear to be on the surface," Dom agreed, taking a lazy drag, "but I wouldn't risk the wellbeing of my establishment without suitable insurance." Robert cast a quick glance around the joint, still only noting Eames at the bar.
"May I venture a guess that's where your Mr. St Clair is at the moment?"
"Good guess."
"And you really think I don't have the funds to rebuild and reopen?" Robert continued, almost offended, trying to exactly understand Dom's implications. "You really think a fire will force me to surrender the Backroom?"
"You really think Chief Walter will let you have it back after all these innocent people die?" Dom's voice turned razor sharp, leaning over the table with steeled blue eyes. "He can only ignore the requirements of his duty so long as no one gets hurt. Don't think for a minute he won't turn on you and see you punished for negligence and murder, if it comes to it. You should know how fickle his loyalties are….you swayed his support away from me. Don't think I can't get it back."
Robert huffed an annoyed sigh, glancing around the room, thankfully noting nothing amiss amongst the patrons. He turned back to the bar, meeting the wicked smile on Eames' face, a cigarette now poised between his lips.
"So you signal Eames to blow up the bar?" Robert turned back to Dom for confirmation. "Is that how it starts?"
"Like I said, you know the inherent danger of bootlegged liquor. You get a bad supply, and it doesn't take much." Dom finished up the cigarette, stubbing it out in the table's ashtray. "So the choice is simple."
"Your bluff is considerably admirable, but I don't really believe you would blow up a bar with yourself and Mr. Eames trapped inside."
"Truth be told, I'm considerably nervous about that part, too." Dom's face creased in concerned lines. "But letting you run unchecked with Backroom sets a bad precedent."
Both men locked gazes, each searching for weakness in the other. Trying to determine which man would back down first. Or call the other one's bluff.
"Ok, I'll call," Robert deadpanned, eyes unflinching, "this is really the best plan you were able to come up with? After all these months?"
"You should be proud; you play things close to the vest, keep business pretty airtight. Our hardest challenge was getting someone close to you. But fiery explosions have a way of making private business very public, and making popular opinion play in our favor." Dom leaned around Robert, with a quick salute to Eames. "I don't think it will be too big, but with Eames…well, he's never afraid to dream bigger." Dom rose from his table with an almost cheeky smile, impressing the other man with his calm exterior. Especially if Eames was indeed about to set off fire and explosions.
"Michael, let me go!" The feminine, familiar voice reached Dom's ears, making his throat go instantly dry. She wasn't still supposed to be here.
"Ariadne?" Dom's brows creased in confusion as he watched her approach, breaking free of Michael's grasp on her arm, her face set in hard lines.
"What are you doing here?" She demanded, her face streaked with tears in the faint light. "You don't get it—it's all over."
"Nothing's over, but you have to leave. Right now." Dom's voice held a barely contained note of panic, his eyes wide, as Robert turned towards the bar, a first ripple of fear working its way down his spine to see the bartender gone from his post and Eames missing.
"Robert's already kicked me to the curb, thanks for your concern, Dom" Ariadne spat, turning to Robert with a fierce glare, "I just wanted to give him this." She held up her left hand, the diamond catching in the light. "You should consider it as much a lesson for yourself—falling so hard, so fast—asking a girl to marry you when—"
"Not now," Robert cut her off with an angry glare to Michael, "get her out for good! And find Eames, now!" Michael wrenched her arm in his hand, dragging her across the room, her unwilling protests catching the attention of nearby patrons.j
Dom and Robert froze as the smell of smoke reached their noses, sharing an unbidden nervous glance.
"Go, all of you!" Dom called out loudly in the space, moving towards the main staircase. "Run!"
Flames and splintering wood exploded on Dom's call, smoke billowing forth to obstruct everyone's eyes.
x
The explosion rang loud in her ears, smoke fogging her senses as she took in her newfound vantage point. Her chest hurt from landing stomach-side down on the floor, her head swimming from impact. Flames were engulfing the velvet draping, pieces of the flaming bar scattered around the room. A few bodies lay around, but she couldn't tell if they were injured or dead.
She braced a hand on the carpet, pulling herself into a sitting position, looking for any sign of Robert or Dom, but finding it impossible from all the smoke. A violent cough filled her throat as she continued to breathe the putrid air, fighting back growing tears in her eyes. The room was spinning ever so slightly, making it impossible for her to find the main staircase.
Her vision suddenly dropped to the body next to her, a gasp passing her lips to recognize the ruggedly handsome face. Michael wasn't moving and she could just make out a small pool of blood growing next to his head. Another cough racked her body as she squinted through tears of pain, blinking heavily to make out anything through the smoke.
She could just barely see something - a thin, faintly lit gap in the wall nearest her. Had that always been there? Her mind and body protested as she dragged herself across the carpet, seizing in another fit of coughs as the smoke intensified. Her hands pulled at the gap, finding the wall sliding easily under her fingers, revealing what might be an office. The smoke was rapidly pouring in as she tried to make sense of her surroundings.
Her eyes settled back to Michael's unconscious form, unsure what to do. She turned back to the office, scanning the walls, rubbing irritated eyes, squinting at what looked like a door. But a door to what?
She stumbled to her feet, the room spinning faster as she staggered over to Michael, grabbing hold of his lean arms. Nausea overtook her from the exertion as she pulled, drawing deeper breaths of smoke as she reached the office, fighting not to let the pounding in her head win just yet.
She fell against the door in the wall, fumbling for the handle, the movement of her limbs uncooperative. The door fell open, the scent of foul sewage a welcome, burning reprieve from the smoke as the dingy sewer stretched out before her.
Finding just a hint of clarity, she turned back to the office, towards Michael's body. She sure hoped he was alive. He just had to be. She groaned in effort, pulling his heavy form, her head exploding as Michael's body slid along the grimy concrete.
Her lungs rebelled against the tainted air, the smoke following her out, rapidly filling the sewer tunnel in a white haze. Haphazardly, she waved a hand in front of her face to clear the smoke, turning back to the door. Darkness ate at the corners of her mind, threatening to overtake her.
Onwards she forced her feet, breathing uneven as she reached out for the door. Her fingers contacted with the wood, just enough to push it in its hinges towards the frame. She drew another ragged breath, sputtering and coughing, her legs giving out.
She crashed against something hard, yet soft, warm, her eyes closing on impact.