AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't know if I agree with Cobb being stuck in Limbo either, but this story kind of depends on it, so I'm trying it out. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews!
The conference room reminded Ariadne of the lecture halls she sat in so many times in Paris. The seats formed a semi-circle, each row a tad higher than the row in front of it.
She watched business types mill about, talking and laughing and schmoozing, the way those corporate types always did. Her eyes scoped the room, searching for someone acting the least bit suspicious.
Nothing really seemed out of the ordinary. Ariadne massaged her temples, tired and frustrated. She had woken up on that sofa with a killer headache and a dry throat, only to be told that they needed to hurry back to the hotel because Fischer was going to give a talk there in half an hour and God only knew what could happen down there.
A half hour later, the architect sat alone in her corner, feeling ridiculously out of place in her jeans and scarf as people in business dress surrounded her. Arthur and the rest of the team, naturally, blended in seamlessly, and were conversing with different groups of people, subtly gathering as much information as they could. Ariadne glanced to her right and caught Arthur talking to a gorgeous blond in a tight black suit. She laughed at something he said, brushing her hair over her shoulder coyly, and he gave a smile. Ariadne felt her stomach twist with envy before realizing that the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
Someone bumped into her. A low voice murmured, "Oh, sorry."
She looked over her shoulder. "It's fi–"
Her breath caught in her throat. The voice belonged to a middle-aged businessman in an immaculate navy blue suit. As he apologized, he reached down to adjust his cuff links.
His sapphire cuff links.
"Something the matter?" he asked, and Ariadne realized she'd been staring at him.
"No. Nothing," she replied quickly, flashing a smile. She waited for him to pass her by before standing up and hurrying to Arthur.
"Arthur, I need to talk to you–"
"Who's Arthur?" the blonde interrupted, her pretty face a mask of confusion. "I thought you said your name was David."
"It's my last name," he told her, shooting a muted death glare at Ariadne. "If you'll excuse me, I need to talk to my associate for a moment."
Ariadne smirked at the blonde and looped her arm through Arthur's. "Come on, associate. Let's talk." The blonde's glossed-out mouth fell open, and Ariadne led him away.
"We have to keep a low profile around here," Arthur hissed as they wove their way through various throngs. "We can't risk anyone knowing our real identities. And what is so important that you have to drag me away like this?"
Ariadne raised an eyebrow, feeling the ugly jealousy grow. "Oh, I'm sorry. Were you busy secretly getting information out of her? Like her phone number?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Are you going to tell me what's going on or not?"
She gestured to the man, who was now shaking hands with other people, confident and smiling like a politician. "Remember how I told you the box in Browning's safe had sapphire cuff links in it? That man right there is wearing them."
Arthur squinted. Ariadne watched his jaw set, and his face was suddenly the picture of business. She had seen that determined look many times before, when he was shooting out of the window of a car or scanning files for information. "Good eyes. I'll alert the rest of the team."
With that, he turned and strode away. Ariadne caught the blonde staring after him longingly. She looked at the floor so as to avoid shooting her any eye daggers.
Retract the claws, Ari, she told herself. He doesn't belong to you. He kissed you once. So what? He's probably kissed tons of women.
…
The team posted themselves around different areas of the room, avoiding making eye contact with each other. Arthur sat in the back row, his eyes trained on the man with the cuff links three rows in front of him.
Arthur was a very organized person. And very organized people could think about two things at the same time.
Thus, Arthur thought about two things.
The first was the man in front of him. He kept his hand at the ready, in case he should need to pull out his Smith & Wesson model 632. Every time the man sneezed or fidgeted in his seat, Arthur was ready to have that gun pointed directly at the back of his head.
The second was the situation with Ariadne. Somehow, Mal had crept into the architect's subconscious, just as she had Cobb's. This would mean that Ariadne had ventured deep into Cobb's head–inside his most private dreams, somewhere Arthur had never been, in all the years he had worked with Cobb.
Arthur couldn't help but suppress a pang of envy at the thought. Why had Cobb chosen to entrust this to someone he barely knew?
And what could they do about Ariadne? They didn't have time to get another Architect on such short notice–certainly no one nearly as talented.
He slowly rolled his shoulders back and sighed. He needed fresh air. Standing up, the Point Man signaled to Eames, who was sitting a couple more rows back, to take over the watch on this man and stepped out of the conference room.
Arthur walked down the hotel hallway, his stomach filled with a sinking sense of dread. He knew that keeping Ariadne out of the mission was impossible–she was the only person who could create these dream environments the exact way they needed to be made, and the mazes she had come up with were brilliant. Therefore, he could only keep her in the dream and hope that Mal didn't decide to show up.
Naturally, she would.
What does she want with us? He wondered, leaning against one of the paneled hotel hallways. Just being in a hotel reminded him all too clearly of running through a tilting corridor, pursued by gun-toting Projections. She must know that Cobb's stuck in Limbo. What could she possibly need us for?
Arthur recalled Eames' description of the woman whilst they were waiting for Ariadne to wake up. He had woken up with a start, face ashy. "She had the emptiest eyes," he managed to choke out. "But there was something about her…something full of anger…"
The cocky Forger's state of disorientation was enough to give Arthur pause. He and Eames turned to the sleeping Architect at the same time, both watching her. They both had worry in their eyes, but only one of them tried to conceal it.
Arthur's train of thought stopped in its tracks when he spied the businessman with the cuff links down the hall, leaving the conference room. Pushing off the wall, Arthur jogged after him, the carpeted floor muffling his footfalls.
The man rounded the corner and cut across the deserted lobby. Arthur dove behind the reception desk as two men in black suits emerged from the men's room to meet him.
Thankfully, the marble lobby carried sound wonderfully.
"Where'd you set up?" the businessman asked.
"We're in the security office. Don't worry. The guards are all taken care of."
"Alright, let's get this over with."
As soon as they started moving, Arthur was up and following after them. They went down a narrow corridor and into the last door on the right. Arthur heard a lock click behind them and cursed under his breath, rummaging inside his suit pocket for the skeleton key he had swiped off the reception desk earlier. Luckily, a Point Man was always prepared.
Well, usually.
Arthur slid the key into the lock with one hand and pulled his gun out of his belt with the other, quickly turning off the safety. The door swung open and the two black suits were on him immediately, firing. Arthur ducked down as two bullets embedded themselves into the wall directly where he'd been standing a moment ago. Hastily, he fired a round into one of their kneecaps, sending the suit down, howling in pain. Arthur aimed a bullet at the other suit's hand, the shot sending the gun flying out of his hand, along with one of his fingers.
The suit did not scream. Rather, he bit down on his lip and staggered towards the Point Man, holding a four-fingered hand gingerly in front of him. With animal rage in his eyes, he used his good hand to grab Arthur by the throat and slam him against the wall.
Black dots swam in the Point Man's vision for a moment as the suit wrestled the gun out of his hand. He let Arthur go, only to punch him in the stomach, doubling him over. Groaning in pain, Arthur straightened out slowly and aimed a kick at the suit's ribcage. The man flew backward, and Arthur sank his knee into the suit's stomach, shoving him onto his back on the ground. It was Arthur's turn to grab the suit by the collar.
"Whatever your boss is thinking of doing to Fischer, he can forget it. I've got people on the lookout for anyone armed," he hissed.
The suit laughed, though it sounded more like a gurgle. "Too bad…" he rasped. "…none of them are on the lookout for micro-explosives."
Time, itself, felt as though it had come to a halt. Arthur drew in a sharp breath. "Impossible. We swept the room for explosives."
"One of our men slipped it into Fischer's jacket pocket before he came into the conference room," the suit snorted.
"When is this going to do off?" Arthur demanded.
"Guess you'll have to find that out for yourself."
Arthur scowled, picking the man up by the throat and smashing his head down against the floor. "Tell me, or I'll rip your jaw clean off."
"Even if you do, I'm not the one with the detonator," the suit sneered weakly, condescending even as he was barely coherent.
Arthur hauled off and caught the suit with a right hook, knocking him unconscious. Climbing off of him, Arthur picked up his Smith & Wesson and made sure it was loaded before scanning the room for another door. There–a gray steel one. Arthur coaxed the lock open, all the while running through different solutions in his head–evacuations…dismantling…
The door opened to a room whose walls were studded with security monitors. Two men in security uniforms, obviously subdued with chloroform, slumped against the wall next to the door. The man with the cuff links sat in a swivel chair, eyes fixed on the bird's eye view of the conference room until Arthur barged in, pointing the gun at him.
He turned around. "What the–"
One of the screens next to him exploded in a shower of sparks as Arthur fired at it. "I've got a question, and if you don't answer it correctly, the next bullet will land in your forehead." He took a moment to sweep the room with his eyes.
"Wondering where the bomb is?" The man's voice was calm.
"I know where the bomb is. I want to know where the detonator is."
"Ah. That's simple." The businessman raised his left wrist. The pointer finger of his right hand inched slowly towards the left cuff link.
"No!" Arthur dove at him, knocking him out of his chair and onto his stomach. The Point Man yanked the man's wrists behind him and pressed a knee against the small of his back. Holding his wrists with one hand, Arthur groped for the handcuffs around the belt of one of the unconscious security guards and snapped them onto the businessman's wrist.
And then, with trembling fingers, he reached for the cuff links...
...
"–therefore, I must conclude that my decision to break up the old Fischer Corp was not only personal, but in the best interests of all employees. A newer, stronger Fischer Corp is on the horizon, one I hope you are all here to witness," Fischer finished. The conference room applauded, and he inclined his head slightly, acknowledging everyone. His eyes slowly slid over the rows of audience members, making sure to make eye contact with every single one of them. Entrepreneurs are as much actors as anything else, he remembered his father saying once. Engaging the crowd is always important.
However, as important as engaging was, he couldn't stop his eyes from stopping at a certain young woman. Her warm brown eyes flickered upwards to meet his, and Fischer looked away, swallowing as a blush rose to his cheeks. The moment she turned, his eyes were back on her, watching her hair sway, her throat undulate as she swallowed, her pale pink lips purse and slacken.
Quit being an idiot, Robert, he chided himself. You're being unprofessional.
Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Fischer watched as Eames and Yusuf came barreling down across the room, Ariadne in tow. As they cut through crowds of well-wishers and ass-kissers headed for the young entrepreneur, the Forger shouted apologies. When they reached him, Eames yanked him aside.
"Take your jacket off."
"What?"
"There's a micro-explosive in your jacket. Someone planted it there before you started your speech."
Fischer's mouth dropped open.
"Come on!"
"Oh–sorry–" he scrambled to work, yanking his jacket off with panicked movements. Eames growled something under his breath and helped him out of it. As soon as the offending article of clothing had been removed, the Forger bolted, sprinting out of the room with the jacket in tow.
Yusuf's cell phone buzzed. He pulled it out and flipped it open, pressing it to his ear.
Arthur's voice came on. "Did you get him out of the room?"
"We got his jacket out. Eames has got it."
"Call him. Tell him to meet me in the security office down the hall from the lobby."
"Alright."
"When I call again, bring Fischer and Ariadne down here. Do you have the compound?"
"It's in my briefcase."
"Good. Wait for my call."
The line went dead.
...
Twenty minutes later, the Chemist's phone went off again. Ariadne watched him turn away with it pressed to his cheek, murmuring something in a low voice.
When he hung up and turned back to them, his eyes were dark. "You," he said, addressing Fischer. "Arthur wants us down in the security office. Come with us."
Wordlessly, Fischer followed Yusuf. Ariadne brought up the rear, half-running to keep up with the two men.
When they reached the room, Ariadne saw two men in black suits lying on the floor. They were both dead, their blood red and fresh. One of them still clutched a four-fingered hand, the blood on the stump where his middle finger would be older, brown and sticky. Ariadne's stomach clenched as they sidestepped the corpses and opened a gray steel door, leading into a room full of monitors. The businessman with the cuff links was on the floor, heavily sedated. Arthur and Eames conversed quietly in the corner. When they came in, the Point Man looked up. Even in the low light of the room, Ariadne could see how tight his jaw was.
"We managed to disarm the explosive. I called some of your men down to sweep the conference room again. You should be safe for now," he informed Fischer.
"Are you sure?"
Arthur nudged the businessman with his toe. "That's what I managed to get out of this guy. But be warned, it's attracted a lot of attention. The press is going to be all over this."
"So now what?" Ariadne demanded.
"We use Yusuf's compound to knock him down. Lock him up in one of the hotel rooms and wait for the buzz about the bomb scare to die down before breaking into his head. We'll do it first thing tomorrow."
"So we get the night off?" Eames asked, hopeful. Ariadne knew he meant to make a beeline for the hotel bar.
"I guess so."
"How convenient. Fischer Corp's hosting a banquet and ball in the hotel ballroom at six," Fischer announced. "Naturally, you're all invited."
"I don't think that would be wise–" Arthur began.
Eames slapped him on the back. "C'mon, Arthur. Don't be such a wet blanket."
Ariadne smiled. She had never really been to a fancy ball before, and the prospect was enticing. "Can we? Please?"
Arthur sighed, feeling (and looking) very much like a parent surrounded by small children. "Alright," he conceded. "Fine."
Ariadne was about to thank him when something occurred to her. "I...don't have anything nice to wear," she realized aloud.
"I can have something delivered to your hotel room," Fischer said.
Ariadne's stomach did a little flip. Whatever Fischer got her would probably be worth thousands of dollars...and gorgeous...Ariadne wasn't the kind of girl that played dress-up.
But she had always wanted to. "Well, okay," she replied.
The team made their way out of the room, Arthur dispatching more of Fischer's men to clean up the bodies. As they stepped out into the lobby, Fischer fell back to walk with her.
"Ariadne," he said.
She turned. "Yeah?"
"Could I...perhaps escort you to the banquet tonight?"
Oh my God. He just asked you out. Robert Fischer just asked you out. To a ball. Like in a Disney movie.
"S-sure," she stammered.
"I'll pick you up at six," he murmured, smiling at her before hurrying forward to meet with a team of his men, who had come to him with questions about security.
Ariadne couldn't help but glance over at Arthur. Yusuf was saying something to him, but his eyes were elsewhere, watching Fischer's back. Ariadne saw them narrow momentarily.
Wonder what that was about.
A/N: Aaaaa! Chapter attack! I hope you liked this chapter. I just went to see Inception for the third time with a friend who hadn't seen it, and I found myself inexplicably cracking up at some of the most serious parts. Ah, well. I'm insane.
WARNING: Rating will most likely go up in the next chapter, due to some sexytimes.
Rate and review!