Part 12-Torture by Narcolepsy
The wind was making it difficult for him-Ariadne's body swayed limply in his arms, her head leaning against his chest, her pale lips parted as if in midscream. Everything, it seemed, was breaking to pieces around him and he could only do the best a Point-Man could. Ask questions later, act now.
A particularly nasty blast of wind tore hair out of the clutches of her butterfly clip, the strips covering her face like dirt over an open grave. The morbid thought was like a razorblade on his already thinning patience-he couldn't stand this anymore. Coming to a halt in the middle of the parking lot he brushed the strands away with trembling fingers (trembling? Him? Her powers seemed to still be in affect despite her deep slumber…) only to hear shouting coming from the open door behind them.
"What are you doing, man?"
"Arthur come back inside, please, Yusuf can take care of her-"
"She needs to be monitored here-"
"Arthur! For God's sake, I'm sorry I didn't-"
Amid all the yells, Lacey's was the most obvious, a bright pinprick of red amid the predictability of the other team member's calls.
He couldn't bring himself to respond just yet; he was too shaken up, his normally blank, sculpted features snatched away and replaced with something he had yet to experience. A facet of something completely wild, unpredictable, unnatural, right, artistic, vulnerable-something up to the rim with caramel eyes, vanilla scents, and the tinge of crisp flames-Ariadne.
Reaching the side door of his Camry he shifted her weight to one of his arms-desperately he watched her face for any sign of movement. His stomach dropped, his chest tightening in an expression of utter desolation-there was nothing, it was just Snow White here, in front of him.
Snow White, who had killed every spark of creativity and unpredictability and replaced it with ash and snow-the predictability of the wounded or dying. Unlocking the side door with a chirp, he opened it with one arm gallantly-he could feel every one of the team members gaze on him as he slipped the Architect into the back-seat. His panic made him take everything into account, just as it had during her phone call, and he found himself desperately wishing to just go to sleep with her, just so that he wouldn't have to know all these seemingly meaningless things that all pointed to somewhere he didn't dare look.
She was extremely light, maybe a little over 100 pounds (did she ever eat?) and her heart rate was still wild-he felt it's reserved power in the small of her back as he placed her upon the leather cushions. The heart beat-maybe 102-meant that she was alive, but barely. How much more could it take before it exploded? He'd never heard of anything like this in dreaming before-but then again he'd never attempted to erase someone's memory either. And God forbid she was the first to volunteer. He and Cobb had tried to discourage her-but she hadn't looked at Arthur when she'd entered that morning. It was Cobb that she had looked for, her eyes shining with a trust and understanding that made Arthur long to punch something. He couldn't help but feel the acidic irony of this-Cobb hadn't saved her life, ever-in fact, the Extractor practically threw her in harms way any chance he could. It was if his honed thievery skills were ranging outside dreaming, attempting to steal away what little Arthur yearned to understand. For Cobb saw her in every way, knew why she did what she did, but Arthur couldn't comprehend her. Shouldn't he, the Point-Man, understand the intricate mystery that made up their Architect as well?
Making sure she was in a secure position so that when the car took off (it could go up to 200 and more, surprisingly) she wouldn't tip over. As he began removing himself from the vehicle he couldn't help but catch one last glimpse of her shirt, ridden up so that her bandages, soaked in gore, jumped out at him. (At the rate her heart was going the blood had to be pouring out of the stitches) Cursing he swung the door shut, only to find his team members present and in varying positions near his car.
Eames was studying him with astounding sympathy(where in the hell did he start to care?), Yusuf was gaping as if Arthur had just desecrated some sacred Chemist code, Cobb was staring at him with hardened navy eyes, and Lacey was up front, first and foremost as usual.
Her orange curls were whipping into her face so hard that she was unable to see, but she spoke despite the mouthful of hair. "I never would have done this Arthur if I had known. The team I was with, when we tested it the subject had minor side effects. Ariadne told us the memory was small-I mean you know I said the smaller the memory the less painful, but Idon'tthinkshelistened-"
At Lacey's rare genuinely apologetic tone Arthur found himself assaulted by memories of them. Lacey on the park bench, smiling up on him disarmingly, that damn dish set they had bought together, 'fancy and casual, don't you think'? she'd said. Of nights they'd shared where she would be telling him everything he wanted to hear and more, the few evenings where they'd just sat in silence and he'd wonder if she was the one. But there had always been something missing, always.
"The experiment was a success, as far as we know." Yusuf noted, trying to comfort Lacey as well as put a more business-like light on things. Suddenly, as if he had been backstage and his act was now, Cobb spoke up. "I need to talk to Arthur alone, if you don't mind." The team stared for some while-Eames was eventually the first one to walk back to the warehouse shouting out: "You heard the man. Class dismissed." Yusuf followed obediently, Lacey casting one look at Arthur before turning her back on them both.
Arthur warily watched Cobb, whose arms were crossed over his chest as he patiently waited. As soon as the team was out of earshot Cobb turned on Arthur, his face grim.
"Did you two talk about why the dream collapsed the other day?"
"Yes. Briefly-she claimed I shot her. But that's not possible-I was with Lacey the entire time."
"It's possible if it's her projection of you."
Arthur nearly choked-clearing his throat loudly he searched Cobb's gaze for any hint that the previous statement was a joke. No sense of comedy crossed the Extractor's face as he awaited Arthur's response. For another long moment Arthur ran the concept across his mind; with a triple encore of heavy heartbeats he came to the realization it made sense.
"You mean like Mal and you." The words were low, for he was afraid to speak them out loud; Cobb's nod confirmed it, and that action alone wounded Arthur more than words could say.
Cobb noted the lightning strike of pain behind Arthur's eyes with removed remorse.
"After I took her home she broke down -you know how she is, always trying to cover everything up. It shocked me and I knew I had to stay with her."
"Did you tell her about…your theory?"
"I did."
Arthur tried not to blanch as his lips formed the words: "What did she think?"
Cobb seemed to be struggling as well, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he answered.
"She said…that that might be a possibility."
Arthur let out a long, low sigh, bowing his head in a gesture of belief before meeting Cobb's eyes once more. "Why would I ever…did she explain anything to you?"
"She didn't. When I tried to press her for information she said she'd rather not share. That's where you need to talk to her…for all I know, your evil projection-"
Arthur could feel the blood sliding out of his cheeks this time, his hands tightening on the terse air as he completed the sentence. "Is in Limbo with her? Right now?"
Cobb's features tightened, almost as if he was in physical pain, before nodding.
"Lacey explained to us very clearly how this works. You reenact a memory of the subject's choosing…you change it in such a way that the subconscious catches on, and attempts to destroy the intruders. The intruders, having disguised themselves as people in the memory, confuse the subconscious so it erases the entire memory in order to get rid of the infection. While it's attacking itself-"
"The subject will drop into Limbo." Arthur finished numbly, running a hand through his hair. "Dammit. Why didn't you tell me this beforehand?" His voice had suddenly risen as he dropped his hand, as the sun set behind the warehouse. (The sun was setting exactly at 6:10, as the Parsian Almanac for the year had predicted-stupid, senseless details…)
Cobb, tense as well, didn't hesitate, glaring full on at Arthur. "Don't yell at me Arthur. You two should have talked it out."
"You could have said something."
"Ariadne trusts that I won't share her personal details. It was up to you to ask her."
The words set Arthur livid; Ariadne trusts Cobb, the crazy Extractor.
"I'm sure she does."
"What is that implying?" Cobb's voice was dangerous, reflecting Arthur's tone back at him.
"Cobb let's not beat around the bush…how much should people tell you anything? Someone who would do anything for his family?"
"What are you getting at-"
"That if your family was being tortured that you wouldn't mind spilling information on the best Architect in the business."
Cobb turned enraged, his eyes sapphire daggers, his voice rising as he viciously tried to fend for himself.
"That has nothing to do with this. I just wanted you TWO to work it OUT-"
"OR MAYBE YOU JUST WANTED TO COMFORT HER AGAIN!"
Arthur couldn't seem to help raising his voice-he had trusted Cobb, just as Ariadne did. He thought he knew the Extractor, he had thought that Mal was important enough to remember…No one should trust unpredictable Dominic Cobb.
"THAT'S NOT IT GODDAMMIT-"
"THEN WHAT IS IT." Both of the men exchanged baleful glances, almost eye to eye and breathing heavily with withheld fury. Cobb didn't respond, his eyes wandering away from Arthur's with what Arthur was sure was guilt. Arthur nodded slowly, continuing on.
"This fight wouldn't be happening if there wasn't anything there Cobb, and you know it."
Cobb's eyes zipped back to Arthur's not unlike a piece of defiant prey gazing upon its hunter. The dangerous ice that laced through Cobb's face briefly was enough for Arthur to know that the Extractor would've punched him had he not turned away. Running a hand over his face, Cobb muttered: "Take care of her."
Arthur watched his formerly close co-worker stride back into the ware-house, Arthur's own harsh breathing not softening until the warehouse back door finally slammed shut.
Mind numbing dark caressed the glass windows of Ariadne's apartment, save for the few lights that decorated her vast ceiling and the millions of sketches that consumed almost every wall of the place. Arthur had taken to studying the sketches meticulously, pleased to find that her talent had not worn off, but rather had improved since the Fisher job. The impossible buildings and land forms distracted him slightly, tipping his attention to a duller, more skewed angle. Needless to say, Ariadne had not awoken and that put him extremely on edge.
When he'd left the warehouse 4 hours earlier his first intention had been to take her to a much needed safe house that lay to the West of the Seine. The owner of the safe-house, at the mere age of 28, was already a wealthy and retired physician/surgeon. However, as Arthur was heading in Gregory's direction, he had caught sight of the Architect's prone form in the rearview and couldn't think of anything else but that she looked tired. And home was always a place to rest…or maybe he was just insane. As Arthur studied a particularly bright rendition of another, more efficient and modern Eiffel Tower, he heard gasps seeping out of the open door nearest to him. Always quick on his feet Arthur made his way into the bedroom, peering upon the scene before him.
The bed sheets Ariadne lay upon were the richest of satiny blacks-once they had gotten to her apartment and Arthur had made sure her heart rate was painstakingly stable, he had quickly run out the nearest store and bought her the best available. (Egyptian cotton 89.99-he figured simple was best) At the moment the sheets that had previously lain on top of her were scattered, one deathly white hand gripping the loose fabric in a fist as she slept on. His stomach sank as Cobb's words echoed in his head, as he heard his own words with a bloodstained tinge: You mean like you and Mal? Pulling up a chair he had dragged from the kitchenette to her bedside he found himself watching her movements, waiting for the sure indications that she was still with him. It was with little surprise that the whole scene had practically been done before, a week earlier.
The pink of her eyelids fluttered faintly- he almost wanted to grab her, shake her awake, but that was illogical and not needed. Only the small breaths, the smallest twitches of her fingers, kept him hoping she would wake up soon.
"Pleaaa…" The words were so perilously subdued he found himself leaning in, her vanilla scent overpowering as her eyelids continued to flutter. "No." The word was feathery light in comparison to her regular deeper tone of voice but it sent a ramrod of ice down his spine. "Arthur…" His name flew from her lips unhindered, and for the love of God he wished he didn't relish in that. Because if anything, the Arthur she was referring to was not him. "No, Arthur. Please don't, don't-"
Arthur that very day was wearing a grey button-up with a light blue tie, yet he found himself wanting to desperately loosen the neck-piece as her silent turmoil went on. The words came to a stop as her mouth stretched wide, air scraping palely against the walls of her throat in a desperate effort to do something-Arthur almost puked on her cherry wood floor as he caught on. Bowing his head he placed it in his hands, trying to remain cool as his fingers tightened in his gelled up hair.
It was at that moment he remembered her injury-glancing up he caught sight of the crimson web on her light tan sweater. Taking in a deep breath he came to the decision that it was the least he could do for her, given the state she was in-he briefly adjourned to the kitchenette to grab some things. Returning a few seconds later he whipped the essentials onto the bedspread: whiskey from the fridge (sterilization), scissors, and a roll of fresh bandages. It only took one more breath of air (1.9 seconds passed) to ice his brain over, to cool any thought or feeling as his hands began to daintily uplift her sweater. He snipped through the bandages swiftly, exposing the bullet wound. The wound lay betwixt her abdomen and hip bone, the bullet having stopped its travel somewhere in-between, which was where had removed it previously. He peeled the bandages over the hip slowly, his fingers tingling where the delicate bone brushed his hand… Letting the gory ends of the bandage plop unto the sheets he gazed upon the bullet wound, noting the navy blue stitches that held the scabbing mess together. It was seeping around the edges (due to her near stroke) and so he worked from there. Raising the whiskey bottle to his mouth (and loosening his proud blue neck piece so that it lay limp upon his chest beforehand) he twisted the cap off with his teeth, spitting the black top onto the wood below his feet. Uplifting the Mcarthy's bottle high he withheld a wince-this would burn like hell-and with that he put on a brave face, slowly tipping the bottle and ready to pour. It was then that the caramel eyes snapped open wide, a deep breath drawn to her lips in a rush. And then, to Arthur's utter horror, Ariadne's glazed eyes caught sight of him and she froze, the tears in her eyes shining like crystal.
"Why?" she whispered.