Title: Le Famille
Author: A Crazy Elephant
Summary: Or "Five Times Ariadne Met Her Team Members' Families and the One Time They Met Hers"
Category: Family/Friendship
Word Count: 1,422
Disclaimer: Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan, not me. Sad.
Author's Notes: I lied. This is my favorite so far. There seems to be a few very clear ideas of the point man's childhood floating through this category – spoiled, but neglected east coast prep school brat, trouble orphan or abused rebel from the wrong side of the tracks – and I don't much care for any of them. So I went with something completely different.
Again, you guys are amazing, thank you so much for your reviews, favorites and alerts. Hits passed 1700 today; this is now official my most popular piece on . Thank you! ^^
5 – Arthur
1 Year, 1 Month, 3 Weeks and 5 Days After Inception
They have to run after the Venice job.
The employer turns up in the river, the extractor they've teamed up with sells them out and she and Arthur are on the next flight to Rio with three sets of false papers courtesy of Eames. They have a layover at Heathrow and while she's sitting on the uncomfortable modern benches inhaling a fast food hamburger, Arthur receives a phone call.
It isn't a long call, but something like disbelief with a twinge of pain and sadness crosses his face and he fumbles in his pocket for what she assumes is his die. Then he pulls himself together and returns to her side as he explains that something has happened and he has to go home rather than to the safe house as they'd planned. He offers to send her to Eames or Cobb, someone who'll know how to keep her safe – after all, she's still relatively new to the whole business of corporate espionage and illegal activities and while she can build labyrinths to rival Daedalus, hiding from vengeful and well connected adversaries isn't something she's particularly good at yet – unless she'd prefer to stay with him. She opts for the latter – she knows the Cobbs are on holiday in the South of France and Eames did quite a bit of grousing the last time she spoke to him about his required attendance at his fearsome mother-in-law's birthday party that takes place tomorrow and she isn't keen on putting either of her friends at risk for her sake.
They have to rearrange their flights to throw off their scent. They fly to Rio, Buenos Ares, Mexico City, Los Angeles, Vancouver, Denver, Chicago and burn through two of their false IDs before they land at Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport. Even as he steers her out to baggage claim and the rental car kiosks, she still can't seem to shake the surprise that erupted at Chicago O'Hare when he handed her the final boarding pass to Texas.
The shock and awe persist as Arthur loads up their rented sedan and drives southeast, out of the city and into increasing patches of nowhere apologizing for dragging her all the way out here. He still hasn't said what precisely has happened or what exactly constitutes 'home' - he's been his usual tight-lipped self through their marathon of flights, but the closer they get to their final destination, the more agitated and uncomfortable he's become and she's not sure she's ever seen him so on edge.
The patches of nowhere are broken up by towns smaller than her apartment that have maybe a Wal Mart or a Piggly Wiggly at best, but mostly are only distinguishable by the welcoming signs that proclaim the town's name before they pass back out into the expanses of open pastures. Arthur's still not saying anything, nor has he touched the GPS and if each turn were not so deliberate as though he's driven them all his life, she'd be concerned that he's finally gone and snapped like Eames is always predicting he will.
"If anyone asks, and they will, tell them you work for an architectural firm." It's the first thing Arthur's said since they left Dallas and she jumps at his words, too focused on the snaking gravel road they've taken in favor of the two-lane highways that wound through the towns. He doesn't specify who exactly 'they' are and he goes back to silence as he turns into a narrow gravel drive that end with a copse of trees and an old farmhouse she recognizes as American Foursquare with a wrap around porch. There's even a barn off to the back and her jetlagged brain finally puts it together that this isn't just 'we're in the country of our birth' home; this is 'the house I grew up in' home. They park next to a second shiny rental car and the moment they open the doors, are greeted by three overly friendly pugs each with their own little bandana and one old and slobbery bloodhound who follow them, tails wiggling excitedly, up to the front door.
Inside, it seems 'Country Homes and Gardens' has thrown up calico, quilting and strategically placed antiques over turn of the century heirloom furniture and framed photographs line the walls. Each quilt and blown glass oil lamp has been meticulously selected and neatly hung and every picture, many featuring photographic evidence that the point man was not in fact born in Armani carefully framed and placed about the house. She's particularly fond of the large portrait that sits on the family room's piano of a little boy who is most assuredly Arthur in a wrinkly miniature suit with two toothy little girls in matching ruffly dresses that she knows Eames would kill to get his hands on and she has to fish out her bishop, just to be sure. After numerous overseas flights and half a dozen time zone changes, she wouldn't put it past her exhausted mind to dream up something so downright domestic and comforting.
But her bishop says reality and she follows the point man dumbly into a quaint apple themed kitchen with a lovely matched dining set and a fridge covered in Christmas photos crica 1992, graduation pictures of the girls, an official looking army shot of Arthur and fading children's artwork. 'Wheel of Fortune' blares from a squat little television on the counter, where more than a dozen casseroles and lasagnas sit packed in Tupperware and she's half tempted to ask what's going on when a startled little squeak from the back hall interrupts.
"Jesus H, Junior! Think you could have called first?" It's one of the girls from the piano portrait, she's sure and it's unbelievably surreal to see Arthur's sticking-out ears and chocolaty eyes on a curly haired, albeit sharply dressed woman with a thick Southern drawl. "Hell, brother, what'd you think you're doin' creepin' in like a spook?"
"Hello Charlie." Arthur looks a little bit relieved as the woman pulls him into a quick hug and suddenly Ariadne feels out of place and intrusive.
"And who's this?"
"Ariadne, my sister Charlotte. Charlie, Ariadne," Arthur offers no explanation of her presence and Charlotte doesn't seem to need one. She just shakes Ariadne's hand without question and offers them lasagna.
"Where is everybody?" Arthur asks taking a seat at the kitchen table as Charlotte dishes the pasta into cereal bowls, which she hands over unceremoniously before hopping onto the counter with her own dinner.
"Funeral home – final arrangements and all that." Charlotte explains. "Bobbie Lee's drivin' in tomorrow and Mama's practically fallin' to pieces as much as Mama can, so Daddy's finishin' everything up. I've been stuck here collectin' casseroles all afternoon – hell, I didn't even think this many people actually liked Granddad-"
"Charlie Ann! I don't want to hear another word against your granddaddy! He was a good man – Junior! Baby doll, how come you didn't call when you got in?" It's no wonder the point man has made sure every aspect of his adult life is perfectly planned and pressed because the round little woman the a pastel suit that interrupts is no less than a force of nature. Both Arthur and Charlotte stiffen at her appearance and the older man with the point man's ears and sharp jaw that follows her in looks almost defeated and distant and entirely unsurprised. Ariadne has absolutely no doubt that this is the woman responsible for the quilts, the bandanas on each of the enthusiastic dogs and impressing a near pathological need to dress smartly on her children.
"I-" Arthur can only rise from his chair before he is pulled into a tight hug and a rash of scolding and Ariadne is feeling awkward and invasive again. Charlotte and her father don't seem to mind – she offers him a bite of lasagna as the older man with his shined cowboy boots and bolo tie shuffles past his wife and his son to stand out of the way and neither seem overly offended by the complete stranger sitting at their kitchen table.
"Oh, and who's your friend, Junior?" There is a pause in the scolding when she is noticed. Ariadne stands obediently and Arthur begins to introduce her, but Charlotte interrupts.
"Come on Mama, Junior ain't got friends," She grins and Ariadne learns precisely where the point man perfected his death glare.