This is sort of mini-chapters all into one chapter, yeah? Like a chapter within a chapter. O.o

Sorry….I had to.

Anywhoo, thank you for all the support and for reading this. And I'm not even Chris Nolan! (See how I did that there…clever, eh? For two in the morning anyway)

Peter Browning was not stupid, contrary to popular belief. He was gruff, crass, rude and unconventional. But he knew how to get things done- and he knew which buttons to press to do it. One didn't become the right hand man of Fischer-Morrow on "work ethic" and "people skills"- one became the real force behind one of the world's leading industries by getting shit done.

"Have a team assembled by tomorrow, or I blow your cover to the National Security. You work for me. Act like it."

He ended the call and smirked slightly. Theoretically, this would now be a working vacation- he could charge it to the company.

Robert Fischer stood in the penthouse suite of his new home- a magnificent skyscraper hosting under one roof the new Fischer-Cobol Corporation. His arms behind his back; he looked out the window in silence; remembering a father who loved him and wondering if he was proud of his son now. He'd never fully believed in the afterlife, being the son of a wealthy business man, but he certainly hoped for a brighter tomorrow in his own life. He adjusted his cufflinks and smiled slightly. Maybe he'd start a charity. Hell, maybe he'd start two.

He thought of Peter Browning, who would try to stop him; urging him instead to recreate the company Browning had been a part of under Maurice. As Maurice had grown weaker and weaker, finally beginning to die, Browning had basically seized control of the corporation while acting under Fischer Sr.'s name. At the time, he'd been too busy with his father to fully comprehend just how used to power his godfather had gotten, but he could see it now.

The Peter Browning Scholarship for Business Ethics had a nice ring to it, Fischer decided with a grin. As did the Peter Browning Charity for Underprivileged Arts Programs.

And they'd thought he didn't have a mind for business.

Nash shut the phone with as much self-righteous anger as he could manage- which wasn't actually very much at all. He was the oily type, who would seek out much stronger and fiercer people, and then stab them in the back but never in their face, or in the company of his enemies. He was weaker than most members of the illegal extraction community- Arthur honestly believed Ariadne could outsmart him in a heartbeat. He had been a decent architect, but never did more than he had to, or flesh out the world like Ariadne needed to, before she could feel it was complete. And he never wanted to go into the field unless he had to. He just liked the money.

"New plan." He said, looking straight ahead. His voice was softer now, like he'd been knocked down a few pegs (probably had, Eames thought with a saucy grin) and he refused to make eye contact with anyone. "You'll complete the extraction for me."

"And in return?" Eames asked, almost lazily. Nash smiled, but it wasn't pleasant.

"You live a little longer."

It was the way he said it, like he couldn't care less, that gave Ariadne chills. There was nothing threatening about it- except for maybe the fact that it wasn't threatening, but she instinctively shifted closer to Arthur.

"And if we decide not to help you?" Arthur asked calmly, his eyes darting from Ariadne to Eames and back again.

"We don't really need two architects," He said, indifferently, turning his head out the window. Ariadne realized he wasn't evil- he wasn't anything. He honestly didn't care. And that was the most horrifying thing she'd ever seen in her life. The guards both smirked at her.

"I'm the best architect there is." She said firmly. "You don't have me- you'll fail at the job."

"It's true," Eames added for support, though it was quite unnecessary. Nash didn't say anything, just stared out the window.

"We'll need an Extractor." Arthur said after a moment of silence.

"Then get one." Nash replied. "We'll be in contact in three days. Trying to run will make it worse."

"Who's the Mark?" Ariadne asks desperately, as the car slows to a stop and the door is opened for them. Arthur and Eames waste no time in exiting the limo, straightening themselves out and looking haughty and bored in front of the guards.

"Robert Fischer." Nash replies, and the door shuts. The limo drives away, but Ariadne doesn't move.

They were, to put it gently….

….fucked.