AN: Thank you for the continued encouragement and interest in this little project :') I can't tell you how much each single follower and fave means. I hope this satisfies another week-long wait!
Disclaimer: Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan and Warner Bros.
The Absolute Basic
Chapter Six
The underground basement was dingy and damp, with a whiff of cobwebs and dust. Eames stood in front of the cracked mirror, brooding silently. Arthur had requested Eames' assistance on a particularly tricky case, and had also unexpectedly invited Clara to witness what went on in his 'career'. Eames had overheard him talking to her a week ago, saying how Clara didn't have to go into the field but was welcome to watch and observe. She had been a part of their world for over a month now, but Eames wasn't sure Arthur had made the right call. She was just too simple, and didn't seem to fit in with the tasks ahead of them.
Right now, though, Arthur was somewhere else, doing background checks and hacking into sophisticated security systems in preparation for the Extraction. Clara and Eames had been left to their own devices. Arthur had given Clara the job of evaluating Eames' activities. She was seated on a desk chair, legs folded beneath her, and was watching Eames practise being someone else.
He was trying his best to ignore the young woman behind him. Under normal circumstances, he would be alone in a room, free to experiment and fail as he so wished. Unfortunately, he had a guest with him today, and he wasn't used to the way her eyes bore into him so critically. Just get on with it, he thought to himself, sighing sharply. He was speaking under his breath in front of the mirror, trying out gestures and expressions, walking around in circles. On this particular occasion, he had been asked to impersonate the nineteen year old son of a wealthy but difficult mother, the subject of Arthur's Extraction. He was finding it quite hard to slip into the young man's mindset, which was a desire to outcompete his own mother in their shared line of business.
"What's that?" Clara pointed out suddenly, breaking Eames out of his low, murmuring monologue.
Eames followed her gaze to the wallet he had stolen off the lad. "This thing?" he questioned, picking it up and giving it a twirl. "It's the kid's wallet."
"You stole his wallet?"
"So what?"
"That's terrible. I'd hate to have my wallet stolen."
Eames rounded on Clara. "Will you give the goody two-shoes act a rest? I'm trying to concentrate here."
Clara pouted and hugged her knees to her chest, but said nothing further.
Eames grunted and turned back to face the mirror. But in the corner of the glass he could see Clara trying to drill holes in his back purely through the power of her glare.
He turned around to face her again. "Listen, I'm trying to help the fella without him knowing it, all right? His business partner asked us to steal the mother's business agendas and he simply can't afford to let his buddy's mom outcompete them." Eames waved the wallet in the air. "This shows a lot. Where the kid spends his time, what's important to him, the lot."
Clara shrugged. "Why can't you find that out by spying on him?"
"Well, I sometimes do that, but we're running short on time." Eames chucked the wallet back onto the table. "This is faster."
"Still isn't right to steal."
Eames raised an eyebrow at her. "You act just like an annoying conscience, y'know that?"
Clara narrowed her eyes. "I don't like your tone of voice."
"What's wrong with it?"
"It's patronizing."
"Well, sorry love, but you're making it rather difficult not to be with all your questions," Eames replied curtly.
Clara stood up and moved closer to him, hands sifting through the papers. "I bet I could do your job better than you could," she laughed.
"Don't flatter yourself."
She smirked. "You've been giving me lessons on Forging, and you yourself said I'm improving quickly."
"But I'm still the best Forger around." Eames sighed roughly and faced her fully. "And, to be perfectly honest, darling, the only reason I'm giving you those private lessons is because of that drop-dead gorgeous body."
He had meant it as a joke, a laugh. He was always teasing her, teasing everyone. It was his way of hiding his own damning flaws. And he had seen much more curvaceous and sensuous women, anyway. But somehow - maybe because he had been talking to himself for so long, practising his new role - his voice had suddenly dropped, and had come out raspy and quiet. As if attempting to be seductive. Or maybe it had just been the poor lighting in that basement, and the earthy scent that clung to their clothes. Or it could have even been the fact that they were entirely alone. It was just the two of them in that limited basement, separated by a few intimate steps that she could have taken toward him, and he lost all logical thought in the beat after those words came out, feeling both cunning and mistaken at the same time.
But all the conscientious girl did was grin and look back down at the pages. She didn't even blush. She didn't fall for his trap, which - really, truthfully - had never been intentional. She was unfazed.
Didn't even stumble.
That really pissed him off.
So he let out his frustration and kissed her bittersweet mouth.
Clara waited by the Arrivals gate in Heathrow Terminal Four. She leaned against the metal railing, which ran parallel with the far wall and guided the travellers out of Baggage Reclaim. Even though it was noon on a Tuesday, there were still too many people crowded around her. She could hear them shifting from foot to foot, waiting to pick up loved ones, old friends, co-workers...
Digging her hand in her jeans pocket, Clara took out the photo of the girl she was waiting to pick up. The creased photo showed the brunette - Ariadne - with her wavy locks and inquisitive brown eyes. Clara smiled. She had to admit, Ariadne did remind her a little of herself. Ariadne was just about done with college and was already immersed in the world of Dream-sharing, just like how Clara had entered this whole fiasco. She felt a little surge of relief to know there was going to be someone so similar and relatable nearby. Arthur was friendly enough, but it had always been difficult to connect to him on a personal level.
Clara looked up and propped her chin on her fist, tapping her foot lightly. She had volunteered to pick the girl up because Arthur had looked extremely busy, and Eames had been pouring over Trollope's personal information and history. Clara's job only started once she had all that information, so she thought she might as well pick up Ariadne and brief her on the way to the warehouse.
At last, her eyes landed on a flicker of bouncing brown curls. Clara waited until the person walked a bit closer, then called out, "Ariadne?" She gave a little wave to the younger woman.
Ariadne spun on the spot, nearly knocking into several other people. She quickly apologized, then walked briskly around the railings and up to Clara.
"It is Ariadne, right?" repeated Clara. Ariadne nodded, smiling graciously. Clara offered her hand out and Ariadne shook it with a firm grip. "Hey, I'm Clara. Thanks for agreeing to work with us. I'm sorry we're distracting you from your course."
"Don't worry about it," replied Ariadne with a grin. "To be honest, ever since the Fischer job I've never really been able to concentrate fully."
Clara chuckled. "It definitely does that to you."
They started walking toward the exit, making their way out the sliding doors and toward the taxi stand. Clara helped put Ariadne's small suitcase in the trunk and gave the driver the closest street to the warehouse. The two women settled back in their seats, Ariadne sighing softly and leaning her head against the headrest.
"Long journey?" Clara asked, secretly observing the student.
Ariadne shook her head. "Not really. I flew in from Paris." She grinned toothily at Clara. "Arthur told me you flew in from Hong Kong."
Clara laughed, straightening out some wrinkles in her jeans. "Yeah. Freaking eleven hour flight. It was hell."
Ariadne made a sympathetic tutting noise, and Clara was about to start briefing her when Ariadne then piped, "I've never been to Hong Kong. What's it like there?"
"Really, really hot," Clara confessed. "But really friendly, too. And the food's amazing. Ever tried dim sum?"
She watched as Ariadne's eyes flashed. "No, but my friends have tried it. They said it's like sushi."
"It's nothing like sushi. They're two completely different things."
"What's dim sum then?"
Clara tried to describe the unique Hong Kong cuisine. "Well, they're like dumpling things that you have with Chinese tea in the afternoon..."
They talked like that, all the way till they got to the warehouse, so that when they arrived at the warehouse and Arthur asked, "Ariadne, got any ideas on how we're gonna do this?", both women were a little stunned and guilty.
Arthur frowned at them both. "I thought you were gonna brief her," Arthur directed at Clara.
She shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry. Let's just say I can see why you like her now."
Ariadne beamed while Arthur puffed out his cheeks irritably.
Eames walked up to their little gathering and flung his arms open at Ariadne, grinning broadly. "Come here you little bugger."
"Pleasure to see you again, Eames," Ariadne replied and cautiously hugged the strange man. Clara felt something twitch in her chest, but she ignored it.
"Eames, did you talk to Yusuf yet?" Arthur asked, and Clara wondered if she was the only one feeling a seedling of jealousy.
"Yes, I have," Eames replied smoothly, relinquishing Ariadne and turning to Arthur. "He said he'd help us out as soon as he's done with whatever he's doing at the moment. I'll bring him over when I fly back from Chicago."
"When are you leaving for the States?" Clara asked, almost too quickly.
"Tonight. I need to start getting those references and learning about our Mr. Trollope and ex-Mrs. Trollope."
"Why're you focusing on his ex-wife?" Arthur interjected, creases appearing between his eyebrows. "They're divorced, there's got to be a lot of negative emotions in there. Cobb said to work on positive ones instead."
"Well, that's just the thing. What if Trollope still loves his ex-wife? If not, I'll focus on the two kids, but we can play on those lost-love feelings to give the idea more depth and motive. As Cobb put it, a bigger catharsis."
"The problem is," Clara added, ignoring Ariadne's thoroughly confused look, "we don't even know what idea we're gonna plant yet. So we can't decide what to focus on."
"I need to know more about Trollope as it is," Eames argued. "And I'll be in Chicago for a week. I'll do a broad spectrum of things but keep low." He tilted his head to the side. "Happy?"
Clara bit the inside of her cheek and ran a hand over her neck. "No. Just make sure you don't get caught. And bring this Yusuf over when you're done. Arthur told me the drug needs working on, and I can help with that."
"Aye, aye, ma'am."
It had been a long day, what with welcoming and briefing Ariadne as well as gathering all the relevant files Eames needed for the next week. The sun had set (it was always dark before six o'clock in London), and the cracked warehouse windows showed a deep purple sky. They hadn't bothered with turning on the main lights; only a few desk lamps were on, creating small arcs of yellow light.
Eames checked his shoulder bag one last time. He had personal files, lists of information, fake passports. Everything seemed to be in place for tonight's flight. He quickly swept up his watch. Five-thirty five. He had sufficient time to get back to his apartment, pack a few sets of clothes, and head out for the airport. It was going to be a long flight, and Eames wanted to travel light.
Zipping up the bag with a final yank, Eames slung it over his chest and headed for the door, but he stopped in his tracks.
Clara, Arthur and Ariadne were huddled around a lamp like children by the fireplace, going through some blueprints and trying to come up with a plausible idea to plant in Trollope's mind. Even from afar, Eames could see the way Clara's eyes would light up whenever she looked at Arthur to exchange thoughts.
She had always admired him, Eames knew that. She had always preferred Arthur over him, because Arthur seemed proper. More human, even. And that was stupid, really. Arthur, the man with no imagination. How could he have ever seemed more human than Eames? Arthur was a good man in Eames' eyes, a dependable figure, but robotic, minimalistic, and too intelligent for his own damn good. And yet, because he had that professional, watered down look, Clara was fond of Arthur in ways that were totally foreign to Eames. Eames was not as narrow-sighted as her, to so easily think so good of someone, yet Clara was always able to summon up the most ridiculous reasons to trust, no matter how dirty, how cheap, how stale their past was.
Except for Eames.
Maybe that was why he had fucked her in the basement.