Author's Note-VERY IMPORTANT!:
I showed this to my friend and the first thing she said was, "Why does Fischer recognize them?"
I realized the hole in my plot.
But it's too late to go back and change it, since the entire dynamic and story centers around them knowing each other.
So, here's my verdict:
SCREW STICKING TO THE MOVIE. FISCHER RECOGNIZES THEM. LET'S LEAVE IT AT THAT.
I don't mean any offense to people who pointed this out. This just means you're smarter than me.
Anyways, thanks again for the reviews! God I love this movie.
There were footsteps, the thuds of many pairs of feet thundering up the stairs. Arthur was irritated, a feeling that would surely morph into panic. They didn't have much time to do this.
"Here." Eames, back in his regular form, yanked a thick, leather-bound book out of the bookshelf and it swung aside, revealing a set of stairs that led downward.
"I could kiss you," Arthur said sarcastically.
"I think there's someone in this room you'd rather kiss," Eames murmured under his breath.
Arthur shot him a death glare and glanced to see if Ariadne had heard. She was standing at the other side of the room, conversing quietly with Fischer and looking worriedly at the barricaded door. Arthur felt a prick of envy at the pit of his stomach, but ignored it, turning to the doorway.
"Come on. The safe's got to be down here."
Ariadne looked up. Arthur noticed that Fischer's eyes lingered on her still.
"What about the projections?"
"Well, hopefully, they won't catch up to us. Come on." He gestured for everyone to go down the steps. Yusuf and Eames, Browning in tow, started down, Browning blathering about "what had happened to his wife" all the while.
Fischer grinned at Ariadne. "After you."
"Thank you." She smiled at him over her shoulder and strode in. Arthur rolled his eyes.
"Come on, Casanova," he said. "Get in."
Fischer raised an eyebrow and followed her in. Arthur went last. He saw a switch on the wall next to the steps and flicked it, and sure enough, the bookcase swung back into place behind him. The moment the shelf was in place, arrow of electric lights spaced evenly apart along the walls flickered on, illuminating the stairway. The group migrated downwards, Arthur looking behind them every so often, gun in hand.
The staircase ended in a long hallway. Each side was lined with metal doors, each with a red number on them, going from one to nine. They had no handle or knob, but a plastic control panel at the foot of the stairs had nine numbered buttons on them, and an ENTER key at the bottom.
"Where's the safe?" Arthur asked Browning.
"Why should I tell you?" the businessman snapped.
Arthur rolled his eyes, tucked his gun into his belt, and punched Browning in the face. The man staggered backward, blood flowing from his nose.
"I'm only going to ask you one more time," Arthur announced, his voice seething with mute fury. Ariadne shuddered.
"Why don't you figure it out for yourself?" Browning croaked, defiant even as he winced in pain. "There're nine doors. One of 'em's got the safe behind it."
Arthur looked as though he wanted to sock Browning again, but instead he turned away, pressed ONE and then ENTER. The door with the one on it swung open, and a projection with a machine gun jumped out, sending a spray of bullets out.
Yusuf and Fischer collapsed like rag dolls, blood oozing from their chests and stomachs, respectively. Ariadne screamed, still not accustomed to watching her comrades die in the dream world. She watched the life flicker out of the chemists' warm brown eyes, and then Fischer's steely eyes went blank as well.
Eames managed to tackle the projection, sending him down, but not before he got a bullet flying towards Browning, who fell to his knees, bellowing in agony.
Eames wrestled the gun from the thrashing projection, and Arthur dispatched him with a shot to the chest.
"Why did his own projection shoot him?" Ariadne demanded, whirling around and taking in the carnage at her feet.
"It was a defense mechanism," Arthur explained. "The projection was preventing Browning from telling us where the safe is."
Browning crumpled to the floor, wheezing as blood filled his mouth and dribbled down his chin. Eames checked for a pulse in both the chemist and the young heir before pronouncing them both dead, and then hurried to Browning.
"He's fading fast, Arthur. The dream'll collapse if we don't find the safe soon."
Arthur cursed under his breath. "I guess we'll just have to open all the doors." He entered the other eight numbers and hit ENTER.
The other doors popped open, revealing nothing but closet-sized rooms behind them.
"So what–" Eames began. He was cut off by the sound of gunfire.
The forger and the architect turned around. The projection with the machine gun had stood up with one hand over the bullet wound in his chest, and with the other hand pulled the trigger one more time, riddling the point man with bullets. Arthur stood perfectly still for a moment as four red spots bloomed on different parts of his shirt, and then he fell to his knees.
"Arthur!" Ariadne shrieked. The projection aimed the gun at her with a shaky hand and she reacted without thinking, raising the gun and firing. The projection looked dazed for a moment before falling dead.
Eames whistled. "Not a bad shot at all, darling."
Ariadne ran to the point man, who lay on his stomach, shuddering as blood seeped through his white shirt.
"Arthur!" She sank to her knees beside him. "Arthur, we have to find the safe. We can't–"
"We–don't have–time," he sputtered, eyelids beginning to flutter. "You and–Eames find–the safe before Browning–dies. Wake me–up."
"I can't…I mean, I don't…" she ran her hands through her hair.
"Just do it," he rasped.
Ariadne closed her eyes, feeling two tears stream down her cheeks as she did so. She raised the gun and pressed the cold muzzle to Arthur's forehead, and then squeezed the trigger.
The soft clicking noise was the only indication of her having fired. Arthur's dark eyes were wide open, fixated on nothing. Gray, gelatinous mounds of brain matter pooled around his open skull.
Eames watched Ariadne stand up shakily. "Come on, darling. We don't have much time to waste." Briskly, he turned around and felt at the walls of the little metal compartments until he reached number seven, where the back wall swung around like a panel, revealing the safe attached to the other side.
The moment the wall clicked in place, the floor began shaking. The walls creaked and groaned in protest, thick clouds of rubble spraying down. Ariadne coughed as dust coated the back of her throat and shielded her eyes from falling hunks of rock and metal.
"The dream's collapsing," she wheezed.
"Get the combination!" Eames shouted, his voice sounding far away through the sounds of the house coming down.
Ariadne crawled on her knees, dodging the debris as she reached Arthur's cold corpse. Gingerly, she rolled him on his side, grimacing at the feel of the sticky blood on her hand. She thrust her hand into his pocket and felt around until her fingers brushed against the slip of paper. Pulling it out, she staggered across the trembling floor to the forger.
"Read them off to me," he ordered, trying in vain to steady himself against the wall.
Ariadne found she had to shout to be heard over the din. She began calling out numbers, oblivious to everything else until she smelled something slight and floral.
It was a woman's perfume, coming from behind her. She turned around and came face-to-face with Mal. The woman took a step towards her, silver gown seeming to glow in the low light.
"Eames, open the safe now," she instructed, not looking away from Mal. She knew exactly why Cobb's wife was here, and this only limited their time more.
The corners of Mal's mouth twitched, as though she might be trying to smile. She raised her arm. In her manicured hand was a small silver pistol.
"Mal, NO!" the architect screamed. She heard the bang, even through the symphony of terrible sounds around her, and let out a little scream as she heard Eames fall behind her.
The projection watched the forger die with mild interest, before turning to Ariadne again and tossing the gun aside. Ariadne hurried to the safe and managed to open it. Inside, a tiny gray velvet box sat in the depths of the safe. She snatched it up, even as she felt Mal's cold hands curl around her throat. The hands tightened, and black dots popped up in Ariadne's vision. Sputtering for oxygen, she tried to fight as Mal spun her around and threw her.
Ariadne's back collided with a metal wall, the collision creating a long, drawn-out ringing sound. She slumped to the floor, rendered senseless by the pain for a moment, as Mal's heel came down on her hand, sending the little box skittering across the floor. She threw herself onto her good hand and legs and crawled after it, but the heel came down on her already-tender back, sending her onto her stomach. She looked up and saw Mal move slightly aside, as the falling dream sent a large metal beam crashing down onto her.
The ache of the collision, the agony of her neck being snapped in previous dreams was small potatoes in comparison to the mind-blanking, wrenching pain that gripped her. She could hear herself screaming deliriously, but she forced one trembling arm to reach for the little box, the one that lay only inches from her fingertips. She managed to grab it and drag it closer to her face, where she undid the tiny clasp.
The box sprung open. Inside, two sapphire cufflinks nestled. Ariadne stared at them long and hard, struggling through the hazy wall of pain in her mind to absorb the details of the links, before she felt the now-familiar sensation of death crawling over her.
…
Everyone else had already woken up, and had quietly begun to move about the room, trying their best to ignore the jerking of the still-dreaming architect.
"We should wake her," Fischer said softly, eyeing the girl.
"We can't," Arthur replied brusquely, feeling a prickle of annoyance. Since when had Fischer been her keeper? "She's our last hope of getting into the safe. We can't break into Browning's dreams again before the conference."
"She'll wake up soon," Yusuf broke in, casting Arthur a warning look.
The point man turned away, mouth set into a hard line.
And wake up she did. She bolted upright, a terrible, blood-curdling scream tearing itself from her throat.
The rest of the team rushed to her. Arthur knelt beside her, detaching the tube from her wrist and taking her by the shoulders. "Ariadne, you're awake. It's alright."
The room was silent as a tomb as Ariadne's breathing gradually slowed. Arthurs hands tightened around her shoulders, and he couldn't help but be amazed at how delicate she felt, like he was cradling the body of a small bird.
"It's alright," he repeated, lowering his voice and trying not to sound so harsh. He could feel the group's eyes on his back, but he didn't care.
Ariadne nodded, swallowing, and stood up. She had taken half a step when her legs gave out and she tumbled downwards.
Arthur reacted fast, catching her and scooping her up.
"Why…"
"You've taken large amounts of sedative, and you've probably had a fairly traumatic experience. It's to be expected," Yusuf spoke up, a reminder to Arthur that he and Ariadne weren't the only ones in the room.
"I'll get you somewhere you can lie down," Arthur murmured, hoping to comfort her. Exhausted, she nodded, slender fingers gripping the lapels of his jacket as he carried her out the door and into an adjoining room, a small lounge. He laid her down on one of the couches and took off his leather jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders.
"Did you get inside the safe?" he asked softly.
"I did. There was a…" she closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. "A pair of cuff links. Sapphire and gold."
Arthur grinned. He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, tracing the length of her cheekbone with his finger. Her skin was as white and soft as a lily petal. "Good job."
She smiled faintly back, and closed her eyes. "Mal was there," she confessed. "She shot Eames."
The grin dropped off of his face like a hot rock. He could hear the thudding of his heart in his chest, a sound so loud he wondered if she could hear it too.
This was bad. This was very bad.
"Don't worry. It doesn't matter," he lied, keeping his voice soft and comforting. "Now relax. You've got a lot of work to do later."
She sighed contentedly. "You're a good guy, Arthur. You know that?"
"I try."
Propping herself up, she leaned forward and gave him the lightest of kisses on the cheek. Then she flopped back down.
Arthur sat there, frozen for a moment, before he remembered how to move again and stood up. Her lips left the faintest tingle on the side of his face, only fuel for his imagination, of all the other things they could do. He could shove her down onto that couch and fuck her if he so desired.
But right now, the only thing he felt for her was fear. An icy fear that gripped him like a hand from the inside.
And he and fear were strangers. In his line of work, you got what was thrown at you and you didn't fear it. You accepted it or you overcame it.
In this case, he felt as though he could do neither.