Part 4: Markings
It was the yellow that caught Mal's eye.
She sat up quickly, wavy hair brushing his cheek as her delicious scent washed ran over him.
"Dom-" her voice, so soft. He couldn't see her, but he could feel her. She wanted him to look at something.
There was a bird-it's feathers were the color of enlightened daisies, or rays of sunlight on steroids; it stung his eyes.
Extending its wings it leapt off its perch, rising into the air gracefully. Against the sky blue it was jaw-dropping, climbing higher and higher. He was marveling at it, as the wind tugged its pinfeathers…that are when he noticed it was looking at him. His stomach sunk as he forcefully locked gazes with the bird. That's when things began to crumble.
The sky-like some over-use, watery paint-bunched swirled and bunched together fluidly, revealing a blank grey back-drop. The blue unfolded itself, dripping in streaks down the grey background-and yet the bird was still floating, still refusing to break eye-contact as its demise neared.
"Dom…" she sighed, but he couldn't look at her-he couldn't look away from that bird. The bird's feathers, before his very eyes, began to degenerate from the bottom up. The feather-tips brushed into lemon lily petals that erratically flew away…
The black eyes stayed on him as they disappeared-it were then that he heard a familiar scream.
"Wake me up! WakemeupwakemeupwakemeUP-"
It was cut off with a tremendous scream-and besides he couldn't look away from the spot the bird had vanished…He needed to help that person, this had happened before-but he was left alone, surrounded by grey.
The words stung his throat, desperation and pain turning them red.
"NO MAL!"
The sky spent a great deal of energy dosing the surroundings outside the sedan windows pale silver. Rain slid down the panes, the big, fat drops lazy in their descent. Cobb peered out the windshield, his heart heavy and low within his chest. It had been only a day since Arthur had called him, his voice not unlike white knuckles on Cobb's message machine. He was worried about Ariadne, naturally-he had never meant for her to be hurt-though his own ambition to get home during the Inception job had slightly clouded his judgment in that area…
Looking back on the millions of ways he'd put the young woman's life on edge caused shame to well up in him-he should protect her most, out of all of the Inception team. Shivering slightly he recalled her scream, reverberating through his earlier nightmare.
"Wake me up! WakemeupwakemeupwakemeUP-"
Turning left at the light he reflected on the previous dream. He had not been drunk, or under any sedative-but the dream was a sure haunting form of a memory. A memory from a balmy July years ago…when he and Mal had lunched on a red and white checkered blanket before reclining under in the shade of a tree… How Ariadne had ever come into it was a confusing subject.
The softness in her eyes, the desperation-the pure determination. "You need to tell the others, what I just saw." Her words had been sharp, blazing ice, although her eyes were the color of warm caramel… Suddenly everything about her was worth remembering-because for some reason he'd been trying to forget her…
Her eyelashes fluttering when she was confused (rarely), the light flashing up behind her irises when she figured something out, her quick, silent knowing smiles that let him know that she understood everything all too well…
Remembering all these things caused him to beam-for he felt calmer thinking about her. As if he could just be with her, everything would be fine. It wasn't until he almost rammed into the back of a minivan, the jerking stop saving him and the van's occupants from peril that his stomach twisted. The thoughts were tainted with danger-with this sense of pure wrong he couldn't seem to place. Bowing his head he ran an unsteady hand over his hair.
"Jesus…" he whispered-and then the light was green.
Minutes later, Cobb found himself in front of Apartment Number 5. It wasn't normal that his palms were itching to burst in, to check on her-Arthur would call him if drastic developments had taken place…this thought was not comfortable. Straightening in his navy blue polo and jeans he rapped twice on the door, calling out: "Arthur?"
The silence inside the apartment was heavy-not a noise rustled behind the still wood for one prolonged moment-and then there was the undeniable sound of the knob turning. The door swung open a crack-Arthur peered out of it for a moment, checking to see who the visitor was. Cobb nodded at the dark eyes that peered out at him.
"Arthur." He acknowledged-then eyes disappeared, and with a click the door swung all the way open-and Cobb's closest co-worker and famous Point man was in front of him.
Arthur's face was strained for a moment, the muscles stretched all wrong-but before Cobb could comment Arthur's face cleared completely, returning to its usual blank expression.
"Cobb."
"You called?" Cobb stuffed his hands in his pocket-when all of a sudden a faint voice could be heard.
"Cobb?" Her voice was scratchy, but it was completely recognizable-Ariadne. Eyeing Arthur Cobb took her call as his chance to step in silently. Arthur moved around him as he walked into the living room, the apartment door shutting and locking behind his back. The apartment was extremely spacious-to the left was a rounded kitchen that opened to the living room in which they now stood. Sun poured through a sliding glass door and across the Maplewood floor, highlighting the velvet maroon couch, white shag rug, and table. The table in the center of the room was hardly recognizable-drawings covered it in stacks, charcoal and paint smearing into other portraits, distorting the images. Beyond the table was a doorway-and in the doorway was the Architect. She leaned against it for support, her arms crossed tightly across a ripped and bloodied white blouse. Her tan jeans contained streaks as well, her feet bare upon the wooden floor. Her head lay against the cherry wood of the doorframe, the light waves of her hair clashing against it tremendously. Her wan face was full of weary lines, yet her eyes soft as she gazed at him. She grinned wearily-he couldn't seem to smile back-as she said: "Hey, Cobb. Long time no see."
The amount of blood on her clothes was frightening-he blinked quickly, trying to remain in control. How was she alive?
Fury and fright were rushing through his veins like an ocean-roaring and blocking out every other noise.
"Who did this?" He heard himself ask-his voice sounded dreamy, far-away. Vaguely he was aware of Arthur reaching his side, coming to a halt somewhere in between Ariadne and him.
"She didn't see him very well, apparently." Cobb's eyes stayed on Ariadne's face-her lips tightened at Arthur's 'apparently'.
"Him?"
"The shooter. We think…well I think Ariadne is on to something."
Ariadne's face clearly morphed into a grimace-she stayed focus on something in the distance, venting her silent anger at Arthur's words out on them. It was strange-for suddenly things were making sense. Sapphire eyes dashed to the paintings on the wall, to the drawings on the table, to Ariadne's strained face.
Within seconds he had crossed the room till she was right in front of him. Startled she stood up straighter, eyelashes fluttering in temporary confusion. "What-"she didn't get the words out. He grabbed her left wrist with gentle fingers, pulling it towards him before he flipped it, face up. Behind him, Cobb was aware of Arthur's intake of breath at the sudden action, of Ariadne's mouth popping open with a little snap. Pulling back the cuff of her blouse he exposed the pale skin of her wrist, the dark vein that highlighted it: and all the red puncture dots that stood across it. Out the corner of his eye he could see Ariadne's chest start to drop and fall faster, as she was afraid. He had told her to stop…and she knew that. The day after they had gone separate ways, he'd left a message on her phone clearly explaining how he wished she wouldn't get into it…and now she was in too deep.
Looking up he caught her gaze-her eyes were wide, absolutely floored by his analysis.
"I thought I told you to stop." He whispered, his voice low enough so that Arthur, who was behind them, couldn't hear. Her eyes hardened minimally. "I didn't give you an answer, did I?" she replied, her words crisp and sharp. Emotions poured out of their eyes into the others-sapphire battled caramel for too, too long. During this moment, Cobb came to a realization.
He'd known she wouldn't have stopped.
This didn't bother him like it should…because he knew.
Because it's what Mal would've done.
She wouldn't have listened either.
And the fire blazing behind the young Architect's eyes was just enough to prove it-that he had no control over Ariadne either, no control over this intelligent, absolutely stunning being before him.
The independence, the creativity, the passion-he recognized it, accepted it in her as he done his former wife. As he came to the realization he began to see all sorts of similarities, patterns that they both shared.
It was too much to think about at the moment-he was comparing them side to side, as if he was window-shopping, and it stunned him into silence with unannounced pain and desire. This wasn't right…
Mal wasn't her. Ariadne is her own person.
And, God, it was true in so many ways-
It was when Arthur was coming up behind them, desperately wanting to know what was going on, when a knock sounded on the door.
"That should be Eames." Arthur yelled over his shoulder; his staccato footsteps were heard all the way to the door. Cobb took a shaky breath before breaking eye-contact with Ariadne, turning his back on her in order to look at Arthur answer the door.
Ariadne blinked three times before pulling her blouse down and over the markings, crossing her arms once more.