AN: Apologies for the wait! I had mock exams this week and blergh my wrist feels like lead. Thanks to smashley007 and SARAHBABE215 for reviewing. :)
Disclaimer: Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan and Warner Bros.
The Absolute Basic
Chapter Ten
Where was he?
Clara sat up in the small serviced apartment bedroom. The feel of the thin bed covers was still strange and unwelcoming. She stayed still, letting the chill in the room sink into her bare arms.
Slowly, she got out of bed and took a shower, her mind elsewhere. Worrying.
Where was he?
"Dom, where's Eames?"
Dom looked up from his plate of pasta. "Upstairs helping me fix that damn window, I think. Why?"
Clara tried to look casual and sat opposite him by the dining table (she was always self-conscious at the mention of Eames' name, even now, days before he would take advantage of her). "He's giving me Forging lessons."
Dom smiled and bit into another forkful of his lunch. "Wonderful. How're you finding them?"
"Difficult, but incredibly interesting. I had my first one on Monday. It's basically acting, isn't it?"
Dom nodded and swallowed. "Yes, acting. But more than that. It's very in-depth, very detailed, very...creative." He took a sip from a glance of water. "Who are you trying to impersonate?"
"Eames."
Dom blinked, then laughed. "Very good. You'll learn all there is to know about him. You'd make the perfect second Eames."
Clara laughed with him. "Oh I don't know. I couldn't keep such a egoistic head on my shoulders."
"Why are you Forging him, though? Why not choose one of the targets for one of his jobs?"
A part of her brain struggled to explain: Because I want to know who he really is, and what goes on in his mind when he laughs or frowns or looks at me. Because I want to be able to understand his metamorphic thoughts, the ones that would form sentences with those lips and throw me into confusion. Because I want to at least pretend to be able to see the real person under all those layers of faces and costumes and skin, to see if there is actually anyone there. Because I want to find out if I'm right about this one thing: that Eames is drowning inside himself and can't remember who he is outside those dreams.
"Because it just sounded fun."
With the Thames running along her right, Ariadne traced the all-too familiar path to the warehouse that morning with a loaded mind. She couldn't quite understand why Eames hadn't arrived yesterday. She didn't know what to feel, because she had never known what she felt for the Forger. He was loud and humourous, but was also very subtle in what he did as a job.
She knew that there were dangers with working in the Dream world. After her run with Cobb and the team, Arthur had persuaded her to lie low for a good few months till there were no more questions asked about the Fischer Morrow fiasco. She had laughed at his concern, but now was seeing just how quickly one could be caught by certain enemies...
No. Eames hadn't be caught. It was impossible. He was fast, slick, and knew his way around the world. References. Hadn't he said something about references? There should have been no real threat to his returning. Maybe he really did oversleep and miss his flight back to London.
Footsteps up ahead brought Ariadne's attention to the present. Her eyes landed on Clara's figure. She was walking briskly, too far to notice Ariadne, but close enough for Ariadne to see that she was wearing a thick hoodie. Very casual, very fake.
Ariadne had steered clear of Clara after their talk about Clara's past. Ariadne had thought Clara would be all smiles and jokes, but she could feel something inside her just waiting to burst out. And Ariadne wasn't sure she wanted to find out what it was.
There was a blur of movement to her left. Ariadne's eyes left Clara and instead focused on a hazy figure. By the person's build, Ariadne could tell it was a man, but she was too far away to identify the face. The stranger was walking forward, in the direction Clara and Ariadne were going. They approached the warehouse. Clara entered, and the man stopped. He was simply standing there, as though observing the architecture of the run-down warehouse. His head was tipped back, staring upward.
Then, abruptly, he walked into the alleyway that was squashed between the warehouse and the next building, and disappeared from sight.
Ariadne quickened her pace and reached the entrance of the narrow alleyway. She stood between the two towering walls, but the man was nowhere to be seen. A part of her thought that this was odd. She had never seen anyone pass down this alleyway before, and she had walked to the warehouse everyday for over a week now. The only thing different about this morning was that she had spotted Clara up ahead.
Eyes darting around nervously, Ariadne left the alleyway and walked into the warehouse. Arthur was already in, and was just talking to Clara before smiling invitingly at Ariadne.
"Any news of Eames?" Ariadne asked, wrapping her arms around herself; the sleeves of her sweater were like gloves around her hands.
At her question, that neutral expression took over Arthur's features again, and Ariadne's heart throbbed a little. "No. Nothing."
Clara was watching them warily. Ariadne caught her eye. "I just saw something strange," she told Clara.
"What is it?"
"I'm...I'm not sure if I'm just feeling a little paranoid 'cus of Eames, but I saw a guy outside the warehouse today." She gulped. "I think he was following you."
Arthur stood up immediately. "When did you see him?"
"Like, just now. Five minutes ago-"
But Arthur was already dashing across the room and out of the warehouse. Before his suited figure disappeared, both Ariadne and Clara saw a flash of a gun hilt by his waist.
"That's odd," Clara muttered, and Ariadne saw a trickle of fear cloud her eyes. "Was a guy really following me?"
Ariadne hesitated, then nodded, and Clara shivered.
After a quick minute, Arthur returned. "Didn't see anyone," he stated, sitting back down.
"I'm sorry," Ariadne blurted, "I didn't mean to worry you."
"No. It's okay. It's good, actually. Now at least we know someone's definitely onto us. They may be responsible for Eames." Arthur was visibly brooding, and that just made Ariadne sicker.
"I'm not sure. It might've been a random guy."
Arthur peered up at her, then half-shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."
Clara sat all alone in the middle of Dom's backyard. This in itself wasn't strange; she often visited his house - especially his generous garden - to share their dreams or to learn something new from Arthur or Eames (don't think, don't remember). But one look into Dom's eyes when she had arrived on his doorstep that day was all it took to tell him that she really didn't know where else to go, and that she didn't need to talk. And, as always, Cobb was warm and far-removed in helping her. He had showed her to his backyard and left her alone.
She supposed a part of her loved Dom. It was a complicated and simple kind of love. The sort of love you might feel for a guardian or a brother, but it wasn't too far off from the type of affection she had felt for one of her teachers back in school. It was the sort of doting, unconditional type of affection. She couldn't quite understand it - she never had - but it didn't matter. He was there in her life, and that was that. She wasn't stupid enough to make everything fall apart.
"Claaara!" came a squeaky little girl's voice, carrying itself with ease across the grass like a butterfly.
Clara smiled as she spotted Mal standing on the back porch, with the two years old Phillipa cradled in her arms. "Hey," she greeted them softly, trying to infuse some light into her voice.
"What are you doing here, Clara?" Mal asked, walking over the grass in her bare feet. She set Phillipa down lovingly and let the toddler wander a few steps around them. Mal sat herself next to Clara.
"Just needed to clear my head a bit," Clara confessed, feeling a little intrusive.
As if she was reading her thoughts, Mal asked, "And you needed to come to my house to do that?"
Clara blushed. "Sorry..." Mal had always made her feel foolish and clumsy. Maybe it was her smooth, accented voice, or her electric blue eyes that gazed unwaveringly past those dark locks. "It's just - er - peaceful here. I-I can leave if you want-"
"Don't be stupid. You are welcome here." She leaned back, hands on the grass, and smiled coyly. "You are stuck on Eames."
Clara picked at her collarbone. Urgent kisses, papers crumbling underneath them. "It's not like that."
"There is no use in denying it, Clara. You cannot hide these things from me," she chuckled, the sound like pebbles skipping over a forbidding lake. "I can tell."
"How?" Clara was mystified.
Mal shrugged nonchalantly. "I cannot explain it. But I can see you are angry with him. You want him to come back from this job."
Clara let out a rough sigh. "He said he'd be back last Thursday. It's been more than a week."
"You are worried?"
"About him?" Clara laughed (painfully). "No."
Mal's voice was suddenly poisonous."Do not lie at my house."
"I'm sorry."
Mal tilted her own chin up. "You are afraid to show it."
Clara could only stare at the entrancing woman. "Excuse me?"
Mal smiled again, her eyes like scalding, surgical daggers dissecting her thoughts. "Do not be scared to show him how you care. If you cannot show him how you feel, then what would be the point in trying?"
"Well, maybe I'm not trying," Clara said waspishly as a bubble of courage swam to the surface. She did not like how Mal could manipulate her like this, as though her soul was nothing but a plaything to her. "Maybe I've just given up."
Mal didn't even blink. "Of course you are trying. You are not strong enough to forget, to leave him, so you try, regardless of how he acts and how you feel. You try, because that is the only thing you can do."
Clara tried to defend herself one last time. "I don't love him, Mal."
Mal smiled knowingly. "I never said you did."
The older woman stood up and beckoned for Phillipa to take her hand. The toddler waddled over to her mother and hugged her leg. They made to return to the house.
"Oh, one more thing," Mal said, facing Clara once again, her tone like honey, "Dom is a married man. Please do not forget that." She waited for something, then smiled. "We are thinking of having another child. A boy."
"That's-" Clara realized she had stopped breathing. She swallowed. "That's lovely."
The warehouse doors creaked open with an alarming screech.
Clara bolted out of the old deck chair she had been sitting on. She glanced instinctively at her watch. Five past three. Ariadne and Arthur jumped to their feet close by. All three stared at the doors as they swung open. Clara saw Arthur's hand drift to the gun on his belt.
"We're home," sang a deep voice, and two men appeared in the wide doorway.
"Eames," Arthur murmured in a carrying whisper, and went up to the pair.
Clara followed - Ariadne close by her heels - feeling relief and pent-up frustration burst through her. She glared at Eames' broad back as he dumped his bag on a chair. Unable to help herself, she fired, "What the hell took you so long? We thought something - oh my God!"
Upon hearing her first few words, Eames had faced her and turned toward the light. The overhead bulbs revealed his usual stubbled face, but it was now accompanied by a wide gash on his forehead, just above his left eyebrow. It was bruised and slightly swollen, and gave the impression that blood might pour from the scabbed wound any moment. It had a murky brown and violet complexion.
It was heart-wrenching.
"Eames, Jesus Christ, what happened to you?" Arthur demanded while Ariadne clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and staring at Eames.
"It was my fault," said the burly man who had followed Eames inside. This had to be Yusuf. His bearded face showed guilt and nerves. "We were planning to meet at my workshop, like before, but one of my apprentices gave us away for a large sum of money." He sighed heavily. "COBOL Engineering still wants revenge. They've heard of the two of us aiding Saito's company."
"Wait, COBOL's tailing Eames?" Ariadne inquired. "But I thought-"
"Saito may have done enough to secure Cobb's and my safety," said Arthur darkly, "but it looks like COBOL's hunting down anyone else who helped Saito's company with the Fischer job."
"And hence, one of their goons gave me a good beating for it before we managed to run away," Eames supplied, gesturing at his forehead with a bit of a grin. "They were standing guard at the airport, so we had to wait them out. We got onto another flight the next day." His eyes met Clara's. "Sorry for keeping you waiting, love."
Clara had taken none of it in. All she could see, all she could think about, was that protruding blaze of dark red above his stormy eye. It did not belong there. She was choking on the sight.
"Clara?"
She shook herself out of it and broke into a shaky smile. "Welcome back."
AN: Please leave a review! :')