Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.
Reviewers inspire me to keep writing- Laura-xx: I don't know how the 2nd person thing happened, but it was fun. haha, thanks for the kudos. theonlyredhead: what no! thanks so much, I worked hard on that chapter. Yuumii: yeah, that was the idea. I wanted it to feel really personal/real. danastarry: you can literally not give me a higher compliment than about my writing. I'm so flattered. and I adore that song... WordsofWhimsy: oh hello! Are you a new reader/reviewer? and whatever do you mean, the one you've been waiting for? in. blue. 85: luckily for me, this chapter was about a third finished before I even posted the 1st chapter of this story, so it helped speed up the update. :) thanks! knuckiducki: yes yes yes review asap! hahaha. I'm not sure about the song... and thanks for the PM; it's been fixed. rcool98: hello, welcome! your dedication is wonderful; thanks so much. jgutts98: thanks! and I'll answer any questions you have, assuming they aren't spoiler-related. ;) Marianne 16: aw thanks! I try... InvictaAnimi: well hello! thanks for dropping a line.
yeah, so it's been a while... (a whole frigging month!) I won't bore you to tears with excuses, but it looks like I will have some optimum writing time in a few weeks when I go on vacation whoo hoo!
108 reviews! Huzzah! and I just checked my outline, and last chapter was the halfway point of the story, so there's that.
chapter title from the Rolling Stones song. classic.
Paint It Black
Friday, May 24, 2013: Chicago, Illinois: The Cobb House: Eames
Dear Mr. Christoph Andela,
I am a doctor based in Chicago, specializing in infectious disease, and it is my great sorrow to confirm that Ms. Chopin has become afflicted with a serious illness and will need to go on immediate medical leave from her work at your company, Achtung. I cannot, at this time, disclose the nature of Ms. Chopin's illness in the name of patient-doctor confidentiality. In fact, the only other information I can readily give you is that Ms. Chopin's treatment will last at least three months and she won't be able to work at all in that time.
Attached are the required documents to officiate Ms. Chopin's medical leave, along with all my contact information. Much of Ms. Chopin's immediate care will take place at my clinic in Chicago, though she will be in New York for short periods of time for other methods of treatment. As standard the nature of her illness, I must recommend you do not come into immediate contact with Ms. Chopin.
Please, feel free to contact me with any questions and concerns.
With warm regards,
Charles Eames, M.D.
"Charles? What old relation is that?"
Eames finished signing the elaborate signature of Charles Eames, M.D., and looked up. Micah stood before his desk, arms crossed, frowning down at the business letter in front of him. Eames carefully folded the letter and placed it in the ivory envelope, not looking at Micah. He brought the envelope to his mouth but hesitated. A moment later, he held it out to Micah.
Micah stared, eyebrows raised. Eames sighed.
"The U.S. government happens to have my DNA on hand," Eames explained. "I'd rather not take the risk."
"Oh, so I'm the sacrificial lamb?" Micah retorted scathingly. "You didn't even answer my question."
"As far as I'm aware, I'm not related to a Charles Eames," Eames replied. "But I've always liked the name. It can be very formal and intimidating- Charles- but also fun and light- Charlie."
Micah considered this. "Um... I guess?"
"I don't want to intimidate poor Mr. Andela and put Ariadne's burgeoning career into jeopardy," Eames said cheerfully. Micah licked the envelope closed and returned it to Eames, who beamed at him until the younger man rolled his eyes. "But I do want to establish my-I mean, Ariadne's doctor's authority. I would really hate to see Mr. Andela become suspicious and confront the sick girl."
"What is it that Ariadne is afflicted with, anyway?"
Eames shrugged. "Not sure. I'd rather not put the research into something like that. What do you think?"
Micah barely hesitated. "What's it called... Takotsubo cardiomyopathy."
Eames looked away, glancing outside the window of Cobb's study, which he and Micah were currently ensconced in. Outside, a still-completely bald Arthur was lying on his back in the tall grass of the backyard, still so unusually casual in jeans and a t-shirt. His eyes were closed, as Philippa leaned over him, covering his chest in ornately weaved daisies. Nearby, James was yelling something as he rammed two toy trucks together. And a little further away, Ariadne sat on the back porch steps, her head on her hand, watching the scene.
"Broken heart syndrome," Eames murmured, voicing the common name of the affliction Micah had suggested.
"It's certainly plausible," Micah said softly. "And heart failure isn't something to be taken lightly. Though, broken heart syndrome isn't really contagious..."
Irritated (though if he was being honest, the irrational annoyance wasn't directed at Micah), Eames rose to his feet. He picked up the finished envelope, turning it over in his hands.
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Eames muttered. He walked out of the study, Micah following him quietly.
In the kitchen, they found Cobb on the telephone, his back to them as he looked out the window. On the counter were the makings of the sandwiches he was preparing for the children's lunches; jelly and peanut butter stains littered the hard marble. Miles was sitting near the mess, carefully reading the newspaper and ignoring Cobb's discussion.
"... We're here," Cobb was saying, unaware that Eames and Micah had entered. "Yeah." He paused, as the person on the other end spoke. Eames exchanged a bemused look with Micah. He ran through his mind all the potential people Cobb could be talking with, but found himself coming up blank. "Yeah, yeah, I won't-" Cobb broke off and turned around when Micah, attempting to steal a spoonful of peanut butter, knocked the jar over. His face maintained a casually neutral expression. "Anyway, we'll talk about it when you get here. See you soon." He hung up the phone with a click.
"Who was that?" Eames asked.
Cobb gave him a look, and Eames ascertained that he was trying to determine whether lying was wise or not. Rather than giving an honest answer, he cryptically replied with, "You'll see."
Miles lowered the paper. "Why the mystery?"
Cobb didn't reply. Instead, he returned to making his children sandwiches. "Could someone call in Pippa and James for me?"
Everyone's brooding today, Eames thought darkly to himself, as he voluntarily turned and opened the door to the backyard, Micah following him outside. He let the younger man approach Arthur and the children, uttering a few words to the kids that sent them cheering and giggling into the house, the door slamming shut behind them. As Eames watched, Arthur sat up and Micah settled onto the grass next to him. Rather than join them, Eames strolled to the steps and sank down next to Ariadne.
She glanced at him. "Hey Edward."
"Soaking up some sunshine?" He asked.
"Sure, why not?"
Eames reached into his pocket and handed the sealed envelope to her. "As you wished."
Ariadne frowned, but accepted the letter. "Thank you. This means a lot to me."
"Anything for you, my love," Eames said lightly. Ariadne stilled and looked at him from behind a curtain of dark hair.
"Edward..."
"I know," he said tightly.
"I'm just... I worry about you. I asked you to forge a medical leave for me so I can focus on helping Arthur, and I just, I don't want you to think-"
"It doesn't matter what I think, Ari," Eames said tightly.
She turned away, casting her eyes back on the lawn. Micah was speaking to Arthur, who tore apart chunks of grass in front of them. Even from this distance, Eames could tell Arthur was tense, his shoulders hunched like the weight of the world rested on them.
"He doesn't call me that," she said suddenly.
Call you the weight of the world? God I hope not. "Pardon?"
"Ari," she repeated. "He only calls me Ariadne now. No... Nothing else."
Eames picked at his nails, suddenly wishing he'd stayed in same, protected from this intimate conversation by children and peanut butter sandwiches. "I'm sorry."
She shrugged. "I shouldn't be surprised, right? He isn't really himself."
"Yes, but... It can still hurt," Eames said. He wondered how the hell he'd ended up counseling Ariadne about this. He opened his mouth to change the subject-to anything really, even the weather again-when the porch door banged open. Both he and Ariadne jumped in alarm, spinning around. Beside him, Ariadne gasped.
A woman, in her mid-sixties or so, stood framed in the doorway. She was short but willowy, with shoulder-length dark brown hair that was tinged with bright white strands. She wore a green dress that matched the color of her emerald eyes nearly perfectly, even hidden behind thin-framed glasses. As Eames looked at her, he discovered he had an uncomfortable sense of familiarity, like he knew this woman but just could not place how in that moment. He opened his mouth to offer a greeting when the woman moved.
She was unexpectedly fast for her age and stance, and Eames dived out of the way of her clacking heels as she practically jumped off the porch. On the lawn, Micah was scrambling awkwardly to his feet, his eyes not on the woman, but on Arthur, who stood tall, very still. The look on his face froze Eames on the spot.
His auburn eyes were wide with shock, and his hands were clenched into fists at the sight of the woman rapidly approaching him. Gone were his hunched shoulders; now Arthur stood with a purpose, a certain sense of alarm on his features. Eames could not stop staring, just as the woman finally reached him. She was half a foot shorter than him, but held her head high to stare into Arthur's face.
And then she slapped him.
Eames and Ariadne were immediately on their feet and moving towards the pair. Micah seemed to be paralyzed with shock, his mouth dropped open. The woman slapped Arthur again, who took another step back from the assault. She stepped with him and hit him a third time, the sharp sound of her palm on his skin reverberating through the yard.
"Mom!"
Eames was roughly shoved aside as a tall, thin man with neat brown hair sprinted to the scene. Without hesitation, he stepped in between Arthur and the woman, seizing her upper arms and forcing her to halt her attack on Arthur. For one wild moment, Eames was convinced he was seeing double, for how could a second Arthur suddenly arrive to save the first?
It was another moment more before he caught up to what was really happening.
"Mom, what the hell are you doing?" Adam demanded, his voice sharp in shock. He glared at the woman, who stared back until he reluctantly released her. She sat back on the heels of her shoes, crossing her arms over her chest. He looked at her for another moment longer, before sighing and muttering, "Jesus Christ."
"What..." It was Arthur who spoke at last, standing several feet behind Adam and the woman. His jaw was slack with surprise, his cheek an unnaturally bright shade of red from the multiple slaps. Adam and-there was no denying it now-their mother turned to him.
Arthur swallowed once. "Mom?"
His voice, a mere croak, seemed to unleash something in his mother. The next thing anyone knew, she'd darted past Adam and thrown herself into Arthur's arms, sobbing. He held her tightly, and Eames' heart stopped beating at the sight of Arthur brokenly crying with her, burying his face in her hair.
The last (and first) time he'd seen Arthur cry had been days before the Browning job, when Arthur had driven him to an isolated beach next to the Pacific Ocean, where he'd explained his end goal: that he was going to die, and that as a last favor to him, Eames would take Ariadne back to Paris. The moment had been overwhelmingly sad and difficult for both men, but there was something even worse about watching this version of Arthur cry. Last time had been the tears of losing something.
This time, Arthur was crying because there was nothing left to lose.
Cobb, Miles and the children stepped onto the porch. Cobb and Miles were solemn, while the children were simply confused, their eyes darting from Arthur to Adam and back. Eames couldn't blame them; the only thing different about the two men at this moment was the lack of hair on Arthur.
Eames glanced at Ariadne next to him. Her eyes were locked on Arthur and his mother, her eyes shimmering with emotion. He wanted desperately to say something, to know anything logical and reasonable that could reassure him that the world was still real, but his throat was dry.
Arthur's mother was murmuring to her son, and Arthur was nodding defeatedly in response. They broke apart, and this time when she touched his face, it was all gentleness and compassion and devotion.
"No more," she said, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "No more."
He nodded again. "I'm sorry, mom."
Adam slipped past the old woman, and without comment, he and Arthur reached for each other, arms around shoulders and necks. Adam pressed his forehead to Arthur's, but didn't say a word. To Eames, the simple gesture alone spoke volumes. They didn't call it twin-tuition for nothing.
Eventually, Adam turned away, finally acknowledging the small crowd that was staring at them. His eyes flickered over Micah, and Eames, before settling on Ariadne. He smiled, and shivers erupted up Eames' back at how familiar that grin was.
"Hey, Ariadne," Adam said.
She beamed and raced over. He hugged her warmly, shoulders bent, as Ariadne began to babble.
"How did you know? When did you get here? How're Lily and the kids? Did you get time off work? How long will you be here-"
"Slow down there," Adam said gently, straightening up. Arthur's eyes were focused on Adam, ignoring the relief that was practically radiating off Ariadne. "I think we have to clear up something else first." Both he and Ariadne looked at the woman next to them. She stretched her hand out, and Ariadne took it gently.
"Hello, Eva," Ariadne whispered.
The woman, Eva, smiled, squeezing Ariadne's hand in both of her own. "Hello, my dear. It's wonderful to see you again."
Again? Eames thought in bewilderment. As far as he was aware, Ariadne had never met Arthur's mother, just as he'd never met any of her family. There must've been some sort of development since Arthur's most recent death.
"Everyone, this is Eva Beckett and Adam Zaleski," Ariadne spoke up. "Arthur's mother and brother. Eva, Adam, this is Micah Harper, Edward Eames, Dom Cobb, Stephen Miles, and Philippa and James."
"You all work with Arthur?" Eva asked. Unable to come up with anything more accurate, Eames could only nod.
A soft breeze blew across the yard, and everyone noticed Arthur's unusually violent shiver. Concerned, Eva rubber her hand along his bare arm, the prime example of a coddling mother.
Cobb cleared his throat. "Why don't we go inside?"
It took hours to get Philippa and James to calm down enough to accept Adam and Eva. They were stunned that Arthur had an identical twin he'd never mentioned, and beside themselves that they had never met his mother either. Arthur gave the perfect responses, assuaging their concerns by pointing out that his brother was a very busy surgeon and they both lived in Southern California, which was still far from the Cobbs' old house in San Francisco.
Adam watched with amusement as Arthur interacted with the children, smiling at the way he got the children to laugh and chuckling at how the children clearly worshipped him. But Eva was less impressed. She kept her eyes on Arthur all day, always near his side. As the day progressed, her green eyes grew more and more worried. There was no fooling a mother; she knew something was terribly wrong with her son.
Eames had managed to corner Ariadne to ask when she'd met Eva. She'd explained that she had gone back to California during spring break at Beaux-Arts, at Adam's request. He'd then invited her to dinner with his family, including Eva.
"She's interesting," Ariadne said of the older woman. "She's very, very smart. And tough. She can be pretty intimidating because she has a certain way of doing things and doesn't like backing down to others." She smirked. "Explains a bit about Arthur."
After dinner, it was Miles who came up with the perfect excuse to steal Arthur away so Eva and Adam could understand the full reality of what had happened to Arthur without Arthur being around to downplay anything. Miles dragged Arthur upstairs under the pretense of helping him put Philippa and James to bed (complete with storytime, of course) while everyone else gathered in the living room.
"You have a lovely family, Mr. Cobb," Eva said as Eames presented her with a cup of coffee.
"Thank you. And please, Eva... Call me Dom."
Eva's lips twisted into a thin line that reminded Eames eerily of Arthur's disapproving scowl. Adam and Micah walked in from the kitchen, chortling about something. As soon as Adam had settled down next to her on the sofa, Eva spoke.
"What exactly has happened to my son?"
Wasn't that the million dollar question. Eames exchanged a look with Cobb, willing the extractor to take the lead.
"Arthur has been... for lack of a better term... hijacked." Eva looked blankly back, so Cobb took a deep breath and proceeded to explain everything that had happened since the Browning job in Los Angeles.
When he was finished, Eva was in tears and Adam looked murderous.
"So he's psychologically 'not here'?" Adam demanded. "What does that mean? How do we help him?"
Eames shrugged helplessly. "Your guess is as good as ours."
"But... you work in dreams! Hasn't this happened before?"
"Nothing like this," Eames said. "Nothing this advanced or cruel."
"So... What?" Adam said blankly. "What do we do?" His hands twisted in his lap, obviously distressed.
Across the room, Micah was uncharacteristically solemn, arms folded neatly. Cobb was perched in the armchair, pinching the bridge of his nose in stress. And then there was Ariadne, so small and full to the brim with anxiety.
"He needs to see a professional," Eva said briskly. Everyone looked at her. "I made that mistake once with Arthur. I didn't give him the help he truly needed after Eli passed away. I know better now." She surveyed the group, looking like the epitome of a strict teacher, glasses and all. "Do anyone of you have any possible contacts?"
Ariadne cleared her throat. "I'm seeing-or, I was seeing a psychiatrist who, um, specializes in dreams... He's very good."
"Okay. That's who Arthur will see then." Eva looked at Ariadne. "And will you stay with him in New York?"
Ariadne stared right back, her eyes hard and determined. She spoke only one word, but to Eames, it rang of a million reassurances: "Always."
anyone still reading?
next chapter preview: some Depeche Mode, a not-so new location, good old present Arthur POV, Arthur and Ariadne sit down and have a little talk and then maybe a kiss or two; but it might not be between who you expect.