Disclaimer: Inception is not mine, but I've been having a blast borrowing it (epilogue to follow!).
This is the place.
And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair
streams black, the merman in his armored body
We circle silently
about the wreck
we dive into the hold.
I am she: I am he
whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes
whose breasts still bear the stress
whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies
obscurely inside barrels
half-wedged and left to rot
we are the half-destroyed instruments
that once held to a course
the water-eaten log
the fouled compass
We are, I am, you are
by cowardice or courage
the one who find our way
back to this scene
carrying a knife, a camera
a book of myths
in which
our names do not appear.
-Diving into the Wreck, Adrienne Rich
Brown eyes opened; mouth gaped open, wide, taking in air dramatically, with purpose, independent, for the first time in a long time. The medical team rushed to assure the patient that all was well, he was safe. He was awake.
Dom sat up, instantly awake and alert, the other team members doing the same, unhooking themselves from the PASIV, going through the motions.
Saito, in a moment of rare openness, rushed past the team to his son's side, the little boy struggling against the medical crew, only comforted by the sight of his father, clad in blue scrubs like everyone else. For once, everyone was an equal in that regard.
The business man would thank them later, he knew that.
The small group of men was quiet as they got into the elevator, reserved. They didn't want to be there; their thoughts were all back in California, and they were tired.
Dom let his fingers graze over the plastic surface of the photograph on his key ring, and extracted it from his pocket to look at the three faces in the picture. He sighed, shifted a little, and looked out at the view that the elevator allowed them as it gracefully descended.
Ariadne would have wanted to see this, he had known she had wanted to see this; he missed her.
The flight from Japan to Nevada in the private jet was passed by sleeping, and despite this, when he landed, he ambled out to his car in such a bleary daze that Arthur and Eames offered to drive him to the house. He waved their concern off, but assured them he would call when he arrived safely.
The drive from the Reno-Tahoe Airport was much quicker than a drive from LAX to home; the roads were already salted, and the Jeep handled them well. Soon enough, he was pulling into his driveway. He walked along the side of the cedar shingled house and went in through the garage, hoping not to wake the girls, or the Miles in the guest room. The only lights on were on the Christmas tree, the presents all taken to their proper places in the two days since they had been opened. Sighing, he squatted and unplugged the tree.
The only sound in the kitchen was the hum of the refrigerator, and the low noise of the computer in the study was loud in the silence. Sock-footed, he climbed the stairs, and checked on the girls. They were sleeping peacefully, but he could already imagine the looks on their faces in the morning. Pancakes, he decided. He'd make them pancakes for breakfast.
Cobb didn't bother with a shower. He pulled his shirt over his head, slipped the slacks off, leaving them where they dropped. Socks followed suit, and then he was sliding under the sheets, disturbingly cold.
"Hmmm," hummed Ariadne as she rolled over and draped herself across his chest. "You're warm".
Sleep-slowed lips pressed against his, and he drew the covers over both of them, tucking them in. "Think you should ask Sonja if that's normal?"
"Did," she mumbled against his chest, and he was happy to note that at least her breath was warm against his bare skin. "Says chills are possible side effect of the painkillers, and that that's just how they effect me. The sooner I get cleared the better, because I'm not enjoying this and I hate being benched."
Ariadne sat up, and rolled over to turn on the bedside lamp. Dom winced, but after an instant his eyes adjusted and he could see Ariadne beside him. She was wearing one of his button downs, and he could see the edge of the bandage peeking out under the open, loose collar, but his eyes were caught by the small, happy smile on her lips, the sparkle in her eyes.
"I missed you," she said, out loud, and ran a hand through his hair before stroking his face. Involuntarily, his eyelids sagged, and he leaned into her touch, kissed the fingers as she started to pull them back.
"I missed you, too," he admitted, and between his hands at her hips – gentle for now, until she wasn't so fragile, until he knew she was truly doing better – and her legs straddling his lap, they ended up face to face, and he waited to wrap his arms around her waist until she had leaned in to kiss him.
The sex was slow, languid and sleepy, but the reassurance it provided each of them was what they needed, and when they settled back under the covers – Ariadne's skin now warm, he was happy to note – the quiet that surrounded them was easy, and allowed them to sleep.
He said the words into her shoulder, and allowed his arm to drape across the curve of her hip, a shape he could draw with his eyes closed, always would, and feeling safe, feeling that he'd finally gotten the words out, could say them again, he could sleep.
The visit to the cemetery happened at Ariadne's request; she had a grave blanket for Winston, and Cobb knew she saw him buy one, too. It was the reason she kept the girls with her as she started to trudge over to where the man was buried.
It was not his first trip to Mal's grave; it wouldn't be his last. The cold stone and the words on it were as much a part of him as his flesh and bone, and it was heavy, but it was permanent. He would always miss her, always love her; he had found a new person to love.
Comparing one relationship to the other was not fair, not possible; they were different instances at different times in his life, and he was a different person in each case. He had changed and found a love that reflected this.
With Mal, he had found someone clever, and light, someone who was a part of his world without the baggage or body count – Miles was an encouraging but protective father who would have never let his daughter participate in the things that Cobb had readily done before he met her. When he had married her, and he and Miles had started to develop the idea of the Institute, it was because of Mal's presence in his life. There was nothing hard about loving her, having those aspects of a life that many would consider perfect. They had been devoted to one another, utterly, hadn't they?
Ariadne...she was something else entirely. And he loved that, loved her. The reasons were there but not defined yet, a little vague and that in and of itself should have been frightening, not knowing the extent of his feelings for her, but it wasn't. They came from opposite paths – paths that were similar, paths they had forced themselves to walk in some instances, and maybe they had come out, in some ways, on opposite ends: one better for it, the other a little worse. But they were together, and that was something. Balancing forces.
The first time he had come, he had expected to see Mal step out from behind a tree. The stone was just a stone, now. Dom kneeled, placed the grave blanket down and when he stood, he felt lighter. His eyes watered and stung, but he ducked his head and tried to block them from view.
He walked back towards the three people at Winston's grave. The woman stood and started to lead the girls towards Dom, but then stopped. "We'll be right there," she called in such a particular tone that he knew, bless her, she understood.
Sitting in the Jeep, watching the interaction of the four most important women in his life, Dominic Cobb knew what they had to do, and what he had to do.
Phillipa, beside Ariadne, chattered away to her mother. Caroline played with Ariadne's scarf, held in the woman's arms. This wasn't the first time they had come grave site, and it wouldn't be the last.
Because Ariadne felt she owed that much to the woman; it was the reason she had flat-out refused to sleep in Dom's room, remembering that when she had first moved into the house it had still smelled like Mal's perfume. When she had first met her, she had been an Agency operative with dirty, empty hands.
Now? Things were so very different: she had a life, a family, a purpose.
Ariadne hoisted the little girl against her hip, and took Phillipa's outstretched hand in her own, prepared to walk back to the car. "Thank you," she whispered, and meant it with all of her being.
Ismene stalked angrily down the hallway to her home office, her heels clicking on the marble floors and echoing off of the pristine white walls. Her cellphone was gripped tightly in her hand. The sound of the small cocktail party going on in the other room faded as she neared the room. Her security guard couldn't even keep up with her.
"Can you tell me why I am getting a break-in message?" she demanded.
"Terribly sorry, but I'm going to need your security clearance code, Miss Maurer," requested the man on the other line, his tone apologetic and accented. She could hear chirping on the other side of the line. Chirping from a computer that did not sound good. Figures. All the good techs come from that country.
She said the number and letter combination slowly and loudly for him as she sat down at her laptop, and the man confirmed it and said it back to her. Then he let out a shaky breath.
"It appears there is a break in, a hack...oh dear God," he uttered and Ismene waited. "They've...oh God, they got in. In in."
"Explain this," she demanded.
"The information...I'm watching it...it's gone, oh no, no, stop!"
She could hear the clacking on the keyboard that he was clearly doing, and then another voice somewhere in the back, a scream, and a shot.
Ismene waited, but no one came on the line. She could hear footsteps, and then it was the phone was hung up.
Good thing she had the Ironkey; she leaned over and plugged it in, typed the password in without truly looking at it. Everything was safe; years of research and development saved in place. At the same time, she dialed the number for her friend with a freight shipping company. Perhaps it was time she left the country, at least until things died down. She still had a few members that she could trust, could use as her eyes.
The door to her office swung open, and a guard dragged a dark shape in, fighting against his grip. When it stopped moving and was forced to sit in a chair and handcuffed to it, Ismene sat back, couldn't help but smile a little.
She took in the sight of her daughter, in person, for the first time in twenty years.
She had her mouth that pursed when angry, the same sharp, watchful, calculating eyes. Somnacin use – or whatever the hell they used at the Institute – had left the tell-tale bags under her eyes, the slightest purple tinge to the skin. Physically, she was in peak condition, a small positive.
"Found her trying to break in, ma'am." The guard handed her a small black backpack.
Ariadne was dressed entirely in black, and she seemed to be content to quietly watch her mother across the desk.
"Leave," Ismene barked. The guard obeyed. The door shut. "Not the type of reunion I had in mind," she murmured.
"You didn't have one in mind," quipped the younger woman.
Ismene sighed and shook her head. She held up surveillance photographs that were sitting to the side of her desk; black-and-white glossies of Ariadne with that Cobb man, his children. Very domestic settings. "You've lost your edge. Perhaps if you had spent a little less time playing house..." she trailed off purposely, leaving it to her daughter's imagination to fill in the blanks.
Ariadne did not take the bait, merely sat and stared straight ahead.
"This isn't what I raised you for," Ismene criticized. "You could be – you had so much potential, Ariadne. And to see you waste-"
"-Raising those children, doing what I do, living the life I am trying to is not wasting it at all," Ariadne said, and bent forward in her chair as much as possible, her eyes connecting with her mother's. "And really, what you had to say with concern to my life stopped mattering to me a very long time ago."
Ismene, a long sleek shape in arctic white, settled back into her chair, as if she was to enjoy what was about to take place. "So why break into my house? You've taken out my right hand man and one of my operatives in the last week alone – though I really ought to thank you for the former, as he turned out to be a traitor – and your little stunt with the accounts means that financially, I can't touch any of my emergency funds without catching attention. And you dissolved the the company that gave my my crown jewel. That was quite apt, to be honest."
She drew a breath to speak again, but was interrupted by the arrival of a man in a black suit, hair slicked back, smooth and shining like copper. He had a gun trained on Ismene as he made his way to Ariadne's side and suddenly, the handcuffs were broken and the young woman stands up.
"Mr. Charles, I'd like you to meet my mother," says Ariadne, conversationally. "Mother, meet my subconscious' projection."
The projection is impeccable; he looks exactly like Cobb, and the flat expression he regards the older woman with is dead-on, from what Ismene remembers.
"Clever, very clever," Ismene croons, and looks to the door. "But I am not without my own protection."
"Already taken care of, actually," says a man from behind her, shutting the patio door, demonstrating that the locking mechanism is silent. He's an older, more casually dressed copy of the man pointing a gun at Ismene. "I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but..." he shrugged, and let out a small chuckle as he revealed his own handgun, "it really isn't."
What was her daughter trying to accomplish? "I'm not quite sure what this stunt is supposed to achieve, but you must realize that I've got multiple layers of security out there, and in here? Well," she trails off and looks over at the older Cobb, "I may not have gone through Project Minotaur, but I have my own ways of protecting myself."
"All taken out by the other various members of our team."
The guard reenters the office, but this time, Ismene can make out all of the details of his face, suddenly aware she hadn't been able to before. Grifter. Forger. Avery, or something. Ariadne takes the backpack back and pulls a folder out.
"This? I got to it within the first few minutes down here before my friend escorted me to you; locations for other Cobol clusters, as well as how to tie your group to Cobol Engineering, to take you out of the shadows and make sure you're all linked to this appropriately. Cobb just got your password for the Ironkey through his surveillance, and you gave our hacker your security clearance code. As we speak, he's up there, rolling out the welcome mat for any and all law enforcement groups that might want to take a look at your files."
Ismene cannot speak.
Behind Ariadne, the man dressed as a guard snorts. "Shit security down here, to be quite honest. You'd think it would be a little more prominent."
"That would mean going under, subjecting herself to the same things she orders others to do," says Mr. Charles, smoothly, words her daughter won't say.
The older woman is shaking with indignant rage, but before she can say anything, a man walks into the room with a bomb. Ismene tries to imagine more people to populate this dream, to come to her aid, but when she looks to the doors, she sees they are gone, as are the windows that Cobb watched from.
"Got everything?" asks the new man...Arthur. This is Arthur. Had Nancy followed him out to California, to investigate the John Doe. She had been right, so on the money with that choice.
Cobb seems to be thinking for a moment, searching, but then nods."We got it all."
Arthur places the device in the center of the room, almost cheerfully, and pulls the detonator out of his pocket. "See you up top," he says and hits the button.
Ariadne felt the phantom ringing in her ears slowly dissipate as she sat up and removed the I.V. line. Cobb checked the vitals on her mother, who, with less experience, took more time to wake. For someone who researched dreams, she had always been afraid to go under.
Tracking her mother had been surprisingly easy; a week of surveillance and a few days to break into the real house to get the details down. Part of her felt like it was already too much time wasted on the woman – she just wanted to go home – but the other, more logical part realized this was the only way to assure she was apprehended properly.
Arthur was downright gleeful when he realized how easy it was to bribe members of Ismene's security staff – the cut in their pay recently made them very much open to the exchange of money for a blind eye. Cobb guessed they had been loyal to Malone, and saw this as just another way to accomplish the same. They'd nabbed her as she was picked up from a salon appointment.
The warehouse they were in was just outside of D.C., but it was waterfront, which would allow DoD access in multiple forms. The old, crumbling building housed a small sleep lab, and had some interesting rust stains on the drains from improper cleanup. Combined with the photos, files, and various other Arthur and Eames had compiled in the last few weeks, and what Cobb and Ariadne had been able to supply, they were leaving Ismene for them, all but gift wrapped.
Ariadne found herself looking at a surveillance photo that would not be staying with the rest. A shot of a little boy – her half brother – and a nanny. Her mother had moved from obscure artist to European politician for paternity to ensure her next child the European ties that her daughter hadn't had, political ties, since she'd allowed the man to have the child some of the time, that might help Ismene down the road.
"You can always get in contact with him, when this is over," said Cobb lowly, appearing at her side to ensure everything was in place. Maybe, when things were different.
Her mother was awake now, tied to the chair, but watching Ariadne.
"You took everything from me," her mother whispered, voice harsh. "I've got nothing left and-"
Dom held up the surveillance photograph of the little boy. "Not everything. Not yet, at least. We've already contacted his nanny and told her to drive him to the airport; his father's flight should be landing shortly. Something tells me his father is going to be awarded full custody."
From the expression on her mother's face, this had little affect on her.
Arthur and Eames finished packing up any of the DreamShare tech they'd promised to remove, before the warehouse became an investigation site and people without clearance saw the PASIV. Cobol's actions, even without the mind crimes included, were enough for Ismene and anyone else they could scrounge up to be held on a variety of criminal charges.
It was already agreed; the team would spend the next few months trying to track down any other victims of Project Minotaur and Cobol, other men like Cobb. Miles was a little slow to allow it, but when they explained they would be surfacing the soldiers in exchange for their identities being protected in the investigation, he reluctantly agreed.
Yusef was already gone. The other four left Ismene behind, exiting out the side door. They walked a short distance before reaching the parking lot where the rentals were waiting. Arthur and Eames, both looking more than a little tired, left for the airport.
"We should stay," said Dom. "My contact knows to meet us here."
They shuffled in the cold for a moment, huddled together against the car. Cobb looked at her sideways.
"So Mr. Charles is your new projection," he prompted, slyly, and she nodded, eyes trained on the building.
"Mr. Charles is a good projection...well, he could be. A lot of what they taught us could be."
This seemed to strike Dom as being funny, because he smiled a little, and opened his arms. "No use freezing," he explained.
Ariadne wrapped her arms around Dom's waist, let her head rest against his chest, and her partner let his chin rest atop her head. Their breath came out in visible puffs, mingling in the winter air. They watched the flashing lights, and the officers milling about for some time, and then Ariadne murmured "Thank you" and knew he'd understand how she meant it.
"There's no need to thank me; we're a team, and this was necessary." He rubbed at her back, and Ariadne let herself relax into the embrace. There were still a novelty to them, these open displays of affection.
They were standing in that manner when they brought Ismene Maurer out of the warehouse, handcuffed and wearing a bulletproof vest and an extra helmet. They weren't taking any chances; they wanted her to be able to stand trial. The woman scanned the surroundings and let her cold, dark gaze settle on Ariadne, and she stared, even as they led her to the armored vehicle. Dominic allowed the arms around her shoulders to tighten, reassuringly, but Ariadne did not need it.
A car pulled into the lot, Cobb's former DoD supervisor strolled over, and the three followed the dirt cloud that signaled the armored vehicle's drive away. The portly man shook his head.
"She was a real piece of work, always was...excuse Cobb's horrific manners, we haven't been introduced. Richard Brigham."
They had not been, at her behest. Had the DoD known it was Maurer's daughter who was working to turn her in, Ariadne was concerned they would have not gone been so quick to accept Cobb's relayed plans.
She put her hand out to shake his. "Ariadne Maurer," she said, and the man covered his surprise with quick, admirable ease.
"You looked terribly familiar," he said, then announced "Well Christ, I feel old. Last time I saw you, you barely came up to my hip and I was carting you off to the car."
This was the face, beside Cobb's, in her memory. It was older, but it was the same.
"Brigham and I go back, way back," explained Cobb, and then he shook his head with a lopsided smile. "I guess the same could be said for you, as well."
From their spot in the parking lot, they watched the proceedings for a while, silently. After a time, Brigham patted Cobb on the shoulder. "I think you two have done more than your share, thank you...and tell Arthur the same."
They left, and took a silent ride back to the hotel, where Ariadne was already stripping her clothes off and heading into the shower before Cobb had completely closed the door.
"Company?" he asked, unable to stop himself from watching her through the glass door. She opened the door and they both ignored the shower water that soaked the towel on the floor until he was naked and pressed against her in the shower.
It wasn't sexual, just reactionary comforting, not at first at least; Ariadne scrubbed at her skin, allowed Dom to help her and run his hands along her skin, through her hair. His touch made her feel real, feel solid. For the first time in her life she was able to stand still, to be an anchor, to have an anchor in the form of another person, in bones and flesh. There was an amazing sense of loss at that, but a positive one.
"Hey," her lover said, gently, while his hand cradled her face. "Are you with me?"
Ariadne looked up at him, at the man before her: the water was causing his hair to appear darker, and slicked it back; his eyes were open, protective, loving; his body was not perfect, but he was growing healthier everyday. She loved the body. She loved the mind. She loved him.
"Yes," she swore, and pressed into him, kissing him, a chaste kiss.. He drew back, concerned, when she sobbed, close-mouthed against his lips. "It's just - it's over," she explained before he could voice the question, "it's over and she's caught and for once, just this once, I know it's going to be okay."
Ariadne lifted herself to her toes, slid her arms around his neck, flesh gliding easily from the water, and Dom curled around her, arms wrapping her, holding her. "I love you," she whispered against his mouth. "I love you," she gasped against the bathroom wall tiles. "I love you," she mouthed against his shoulder as he pressed her into the mattress, their skin and hair soaking the linens.
When they finally fell asleep, it was Ariadne's back against Dom's chest, their fingers entangled, their heads turned in the same direction.
"Please tell me you're joking," she asked with a tone of sinking despair despite the fact the Dom was pressing a trail of kisses up the inside of her thigh. She had pushed herself up on her elbows to look down at him, and found, from the look on his face – bashful, but aroused – she was right.
"No," he sighed, and crawled up the length of her body, and she could not help but kiss him. "We're grounded. Again."
"Did you try Saito? Any of your other contacts?"
"No one is leaving the city, Ariadne. I want to be home just as much as you but let's just make the most of it, alright?" The sheet was being pried from her fingers, her hips pulled down the bed, her head now resting once more against the pillowcase. "I made us reservations in the dining room tonight, and I'm going to wear a tux, and you'll wear that dress," he paused, and kissed the skin between her breasts before continuing, "the one that took my breath away, and maybe we'll dance, but at least let's try to celebrate."
Ariadne knew he was watching her for a reaction. "Well," she said, feigned reluctance as she started to imagine the night ahead of them, "if you went through all of that trouble..."
"...And you brought that dress 'just in case we steal a moment for ourselves'," he pointed out. "We're thieves, Ariadne. Stealing is second nature."
And that was how Ariadne found herself standing before the bathroom mirror, applying last minute lipstick and ensuring the straps of the dress were in place. Dom was leaning against the door frame, watching her, and she found that it wasn't unsettling. His gaze on her back was as warm and caring as the hand that he placed there when they walked into the dining room, and she had stopped dead in her tracks.
Phillipa and Caroline came running towards them, dressed in their holiday dresses once more. Miles and Florence were talking, easily, with Eames and Arthur at a large round table. Yusef looked up from a conversation with Sonja and they both waved; his leg was doing better, but he still needed the cane.
"What is all of this?" she whispered hurriedly, as she picked up Caroline. Dom squatted to grab up Phillipa, but when he stood, he beamed.
"Seeing as the last time we tried to have a holiday party, things went so badly, we decided we ought to try our luck again. Peanut and Care-bear demanded the Christmas Tree," he said and pointed at the holiday decoration in the corner, a tree wrapped in gold ribbon and ornaments. "Eames wanted the spirits, and me? I just wanted us to all have one decent, quiet, happy holiday. And to see your face, when you saw everyone? Well..." his voice faltered, voice tight. "That's even better."
Ariadne hid her face in his shoulder for a moment, blocking the others' view of the tears forming in her eyes.
Caroline kicked her legs. "Are those happy tears, Ariadne?" asked the little girl before pressing a small little finger onto the young woman's cheek, and the moisture there.
"Yes, baby, they are," she assured the child, and pressed her close, and kissed her. She pecked Phillipa on the cheek as well.
The dinner was fantastic, and having everyone there and the tree, made it even better. They record player in the corner of the dining room was functional; Dom held Ariadne close as they and the other couples danced to Sinatra, the girls waltzing and twirling around them. Sonja helped Yusef up and he was able to hobble through a song or two – there was nothing romantic going on between them, but they were becoming friends, and it seemed in the spirit of the evening.
Staff started to filter in to clean, and they figured that it meant it was time for them to leave.
Stephen and Dom had been whispering earlier in the evening, sitting at a point when Ariadne had been sitting with the girls in a serious discussion of the chocolate pudding. As they walked to the elevator, Flor gave Ariadne a quick embrace, and kissed her.
"Don't worry about them, we will keep them for the night," she whispered into Ariadne's ear. "You two deserve this."
They all bid one another a good night, and went their separate ways in the hallway. Ariadne let them into their hotel room, and after a quick, precursory check of the room, Cobb wandered over to where she was leaning against the dresser, pulling off her shoes. He held out his hand.
"Come with me?" he asked.
Ariadne gave her his hand with a questioning look, and he led her out onto the small balcony. The view from their room was beautiful, and she had not noticed that before. The city, in all its hectic, imperfect glory, appeared below and around them. The sandy-haired man wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her close, starting to sway.
"Another dance, Mr. Cobb?" she asked, facetiously. He simply kissed her and hummed against her mouth, some tune she didn't recognize, and she didn't need to. Her bare feet were cold against the concrete, but the side of her face, against his chest, was warm. His heart was pounding.
"Honesty time."
Ariadne looked up at him, frowning. He licked his lips nervously.
"I was supposed to do something earlier, but I decided against it," he explained. "Tonight was about all of us as a family, but this is something between the two of us, and well, I know you, and I figured this would be better."
She watched him started to reach into his pocket, heart rate skyrocketing because she knew, instinctively, what he was about to do. "You're shaking," she observed with wonder, stepping closer, as if to protect the knowledge from some outsider.
The ring was weighty, and bright, but she looked up into Dominic's eyes, wide and blue and bare and Jesus, she loved him, loved them, loved to see them when he opened them in the morning, still considered that concept to be precious.
"I know I'm not...I mean, we're already a family, and that could never possibly change, and if I spend the rest of my life waking up next to you, and there isn't a ring on your finger, then that's okay. And if you think this is too fast, alright, you're probably right, and I'll keep asking until you tell me to stop." He kissed her, shuddering, and pressed his forehead to hers, taking a steeling breath before asking her the question. "Will you marry me?"
Ariadne opened her mouth, knowing the answer to his question, having gone to bed knowing it, having known it, somehow, since they had woken up in that hospital room, equals, survivors, well on their way to lovers, to more, to everything. It had been hidden, had needed to work its way to the surface, unaided, had to appear like the sun on the horizon, had to catch Ariadne off guard and yet confirm her beliefs.
There was no hesitation when she answered.
Playlist (with links if you're on Livejournal)
Cobb returns home: Dustin Kensrue - Pistol
In the Cemetery: Thea Gilmore – Listen Snow is Falling (Yoko Ono cover)
"I love you": The Swell Season – Falling Slowly
The Christmas Party Redux: Hawksley Workman – Merry Christmas (I Love You)
Dom proposes: Brooke Fraser - The Thief