Author's Note: I hope everything in the plot is clear / the continuity is ok. It's hard making sure things translate! Christopher Nolan is a god among men for making Inception make as much sense as it did.
I would love it if you reviewed! I'd love to hear your feedback C: Tell me if you want less Eames and more hot awkward Arthur/Ariadne non-lovin'!
New York City was plunging into the sweltering dampness of summer, which was Arthur's least favorite season. He and Ariadne had avoided leaving the apartment as much as possible during the heat wave which was engulfing the metropolis, but today one of them had to brave the outside world and Arthur, being a true gentleman, had bitten the bullet. Of course he wouldn't be caught dead in shorts and a t-shirt, but one thing he loved about New York was that even on a day like today, which spurred mobs of grubby children to hijack fire hydrants and release jets of icy water into the streets, he was not the only person in a suit.
Arthur returned to the chilled relief of the apartment, drenched in sweat and grumpy. The studio smelled like air conditioner coolant.
"He hasn't picked it up yet," Arthur said, walking briskly to the bathroom to wash his face.
"Really?" Ariadne was sitting right in front of the AC vent on a bean-bag chair which had belonged to one of the college kids they were renting from. Her hair whipped around her face and she had to yell over the noise of the machine. "It's been what, four days now? That's strange."
Arthur emerged from the bathroom with the wet towel around his neck.
"It's very strange. I have never known Eames to delay in retrieving free money. And he hasn't been picking up his phone either."
Ariadne looked up at the point man, and he was momentarily distracted from the matter at hand by her very pretty face.
"What do you think we should do?" She asked.
Arthur sighed, trying to think. He wished he could just call Cobb and ask him what to do, but of course that was impossible. Since the inception job, Cobb had been very clear: he wanted nothing to do with the criminal life anymore. He had strongly urged every member of the team to get out of the business as well, but for them there was much less incentive. Sadly, he had said his final goodbyes to the team a year ago before changing his address, phone number, maybe even his name. And even though Arthur could most likely find his former partner somehow (he was good at his job after all), he knew Cobb did not want to be found.
"I guess we'll have to wait a few more days," he said at last, not meeting Ariadne's expectant gaze. "If he hasn't picked up the money by then, well…we'll look into it."
In a dingy pub in foggy North England sat a stout, weathered farmer, aged beyond his years by hard labor and alcohol, staring into his drink with purposeful ferocity. He did not like the looks of the men in suits who had just entered the pub, who were now striding through the room, being careful not to step in the frequent puddles of vomit or urine. Men in such nice outfits did not belong in a pit such as this. And the patrons of the bar knew it; they glared over at the swank gentlemen looking ready to start a fight.
One of the more inebriated ones stumbled over to the first well-dressed man, poking his finger into the man's chest. The man brushed the drunk aside, but immediately two more leapt up, ready for the brawl. Before it could get ugly however, the well-dressed man pulled a gun and pointed it directly at the farmer.
"Is this the best you could think of Eames?" He said quietly. He blinked, and the stout farmer had instantaneously changed in to the hunched figure of his captive. Eames stumbled off of the barstool, his hands up in the face of the pistol. He had been trying to lose Tamamoto and his goons in various dreamscapes for hours it seemed, but somehow they always found him. He was exhausted, and he was getting sloppy, he knew. He sported a nasty looking bruise on his left cheek from where a crony had pistol-whipped him earlier, in another world, and several of his ribs were broken from a nasty tumble down the stairs he had taken trying to evade them.
He wanted to wake up.
But they had him under a sedative and they would not let him. They were forcing him to design dreams which they could use to infiltrate Cobb, and until he made one that satisfied them, they would not let him wake.
Even Eames' projections seemed beaten down; they cowered from the gun uncharacteristically, going back to their drinks in a melancholy gloom.
"You're right," Eames said, trying valiantly to maintain his smug grin. "This is shit, isn't it? Don't know where my touch has gone. Though they do have all my brands," He gestured to the bar.
"Stop fucking around with the disguises," Tamamoto said venomously. "And make us a goddamn dream for Cobb, or-"
"What?" Eames interrupted belligerently. "You'll shoot me into limbo and lose the only contact you have with your mark? Brilliant plan, mate,"
Tamamoto fired the gun into Eames' foot. The forger let out a howl of pain, crumpling to the ground instantly.
"I'd hate for you to think I am not serious, Mr. Eames," Tamamoto said, reloading his pistol with an ominous click. "You seem to have a problem in that department, but I hope I've cleared things up."
Eames was clutching his leg to his chest, willing his vision to return to normal as it had faded to black when the bullet hit him.
"Look," Eames said through gritted teeth. "If you want this done right, shooting me is not going to help. Wake me up, give me a fucking night's rest for fuck's sake, and I'll get designing fresh as a spring daisy tomorrow morning."
"How can I know that," Tamamoto asked with a hint of frustration. "This game of cat and mouse we've been playing all day has not amused me. I will need some form of assurance that you will be more constructive tomorrow."
That was when Eames got a brilliant idea.
"I can't take it!" he yelled in fake anguish, as very well-rehearsed tears began welling up in his eyes.
"Tell you what," Eames leaned forward dramatically, feigning a pained expression. "I tell you now where my most precious, prized possession is. And if I don't deliver tomorrow, then you can go and take it. I swear to you that I will not be able to do without it."
"What is this possession?" The businessman asked skeptically.
"You ever hear of a totem, pet?"
"Refresh my memory."
Eames had to stop himself from grinning. Putting on a mask of anguish, he forced his voice to sound choppy and tortured. "It's the personal, physical token that every extractor has with them on the job. I haven't got mine at the moment; obviously I wasn't really expecting to be dreaming. But if you take away my totem, well frankly I'd be out of a job. You can't really expect to be a proper extractor without one. And besides all that, it has certain sentimental value that I'd be unwilling to part with.
"All in all, I would much rather design you a stupid dream than lose my totem, so there you are. That's how you'll know."
It was a stunning performance on his part, and he would have to congratulate himself when he got out of this situation with first class tickets to New York, funded by a certain point man and his lovely lass.
"Fine," Tamamoto said shortly. "You tell me where it is, I send some men to fetch it. If it's not there as you describe it, we'll have to negotiate some other terms."
"Right-o," Eames said. "But you'll have to give it back to me once I do design the dream for you. It's very important."
"Of course," Tamamoto smiled slyly.
Eames went about describing the location of a certain playing card, an Ace of Diamonds to be precise, which he had hidden under a loose tile in the men's room of that same Johannesburg café that had gotten him into this situation.
"Alright Mr. Eames, I will send someone to fetch it. And now we wake up." Holding the gun to his own head, Tamamoto fired, his cronies doing the same. Eames watched as their bodies fell limply to the floor, wishing it were real. Soon after he felt the kick and disappeared from the grungy pub which had still been so much nicer than the waking world. He awoke alone in a small room, the IV having been removed from his wrist seconds before. Looking around to make sure no one saw him, he carefully withdrew his poker chip totem and flipped it. Black. This was no dream.