Author's Note: The plot thickens in this chapter :') Please enjoy and let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan and Warner Bros.
The Absolute Basic
Chapter Sixteen
"We're in a mess here."
"We sure are."
They were in a hospital corridor. Visitors of all ages sat around them—reading magazines, staring at their phones—whilst nurses walked past, shoes clicking against the sterilised tiles. Arthur was fast asleep in the ward opposite and Ariadne was perched on a chair by his bed; she had refused to leave his side ever since the doctors had wheeled him out from surgery. Every now and then Arthur moved in his sleep, at which Ariadne would lean forward eagerly, only to realise that he was just dreaming and she would sit back in her chair again, crestfallen.
"I just wish he'd told me," Clara breathed, shaking her head. "I could've stopped him."
"Don't be silly," Eames replied. They were watching Arthur and Ariadne through the open doors. "He's as stubborn as they come. You wouldn't have changed his mind."
"I could've tried. I mean, all this time he was looking out for my safety, and now this."
Eames turned his eyes on her. She still looked pale, her hands clasped tight in her lap. He wanted to comfort her, but wasn't sure how.
"It's not your fault," he said eventually.
Clara said nothing and stared at her hands.
Eames sighed and turned away.
He was not as shaken as the rest of them. He had been in the army, after all, and he'd seen a lot worse than any civilian (or dreamwalker, for that matter) would ever come across in this life.
And yet, moving Arthur from the warehouse to the hospital had filled him with a sense of dread that he could not shake off, even now. He remembered the way the Pointman had felt in his grasp: a heavy, limp weight, and every rough movement had made his wound bleed more.
The man's blood was on Eames' clothes and his hands, but that was hardly anything new. It had happened many times before. Cat and mouse chases, sprinting as fast as their legs could carry them, the echoes of gunshots chasing them down stairwells. Makeshift tourniquets and grimaces of pain. It was just that, this time, there had been no warning. The most unnerving enemies, Eames found, were the one who liked to lurk in the shadows, pulling strings from afar.
"D'you think the police will question us?"
Eames shook his head. "I reckon they'll be given a generous donation to leave us alone," he replied quietly.
"Why would Golden Clovers pay for our anonymity?"
"It's not for us. They're protecting themselves, this investment."
"We're their assets now."
"That's right."
Another silence lapsed over them, but this time Eames persisted. Maybe she would feel better if he kept her talking.
"Where's Yusuf?" he asked.
"I think he went to get some water."
Eames hummed. "I could use a drink."
"An alcoholic one?"
"You know me so well, love."
At this, Clara laughed. "They wouldn't let you."
"You don't know that."
"I do know. I've been in this very hospital needing a drink four years ago."
It took him a second to register what she'd just said. He raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I just realised, but this is the same hospital they took my dad to after the car accident."
He blinked at her. "Oh." She had never told him.
Clara was playing with her necklace again. Her words seemed to surprise her just as much as they did him.
"What happened?" he asked.
"I'm not really sure to be honest, but I got a call from my mom and she said he'd been hit by a car. I came here as soon as I could. He was in a coma."
"Is he okay now?"
Clara shrugged, and Eames was sorry he had asked. "He's alive. That's something, but his mind isn't the same. He doesn't recognise me when I go to visit, can't remember much of his life at all. He's at a care home and he's like, one of the youngest there. But it's not like my mom can take care of him on her own."
Eames didn't know what to say, and he knew even less why she was telling him all this.
"Clara…"
He made to place a hand on her arm but she stopped him.
"I think you should wash your hands first," she said hastily with a small laugh.
Eames glanced down. "Good point."
Clara seemed to sense his discomfort. She shook her head and laughed (a combination he often used to throw people off). "Sorry, that was too much."
"Nonsense. You can tell me these things, y'know," he added, wishing she would look at him. "We don't have to keep all these secrets."
Because that's how it all went wrong last time.
He thought she might ignore him, just like the times he had brought up the past. But, eventually, she turned to him with a smile on her face.
"I know," she replied simply. "No more secrets."
"No more secrets."
Her expression was surprisingly sincere. They gazed at each other, and Eames was suddenly moved to find that—for the first time since his eyes had landed on her at the airport, all those weeks ago—she looked genuinely glad that he was there by her side.
"Guys, he's waking up!"
Ariadne was calling them over, but he didn't want to look away.
Clara got up immediately. "Thank God."
The moment passed.
With an inward sigh, Eames followed her into the ward. There were four beds, two on each side of the room. A wide window showed the dreary afternoon rain.
Arthur was indeed awake, though his face, which was still discoloured with bruises, showed some discomfort. At the sight of the three of them he tried to sit up, but Ariadne placed a hand on his shoulder. "You need to rest."
"How long have I been out?" he asked, blinking a little rapidly.
"A few hours, maybe."
"How're you feeling, old chap?" Eames asked, grinning.
"I'm fine." Arthur waved Ariadne's hand away and sat himself up carefully. He fixed a meaningful stare at Eames.
"What's wrong, darling?"
"It's Carver."
The grin slipped from Eames' face.
"Well, shit."
Clara glanced between the two of them, confused. "Carver? Who's Carver?"
Eames groaned. The day just got a whole lot more complicated.
"Abigail Carver. She works as a middleman in the dream world. Business people go to her with a job and she finds them the team. She came to Eames and me with a job once: an Extraction, simple enough at the time. We delivered and we got paid. She passed on the secret to her boss and that was the end of that.
"But then, a couple weeks later, we got wind that something had gone wrong. Carver was fired. I think it was because we Extracted the wrong secret. But that didn't matter. Carver got the blame, and she was the one who suffered the consequences. I heard they punished her mercilessly. Your reputation is everything in this industry, maybe that's why she vanished. This was around two months ago.
"I can't tell you what made me look into Marcus' files, but I did, and I know," Arthur added quickly, before Clara could interrupt him, "I should've told you. I just didn't want you to worry over something that might not have been real."
"But you found something," she replied, expression serious.
He nodded. "I did. We're not working for Golden Clovers. Forget about them. We're really working for Dynasty. Someone on the board must want Trollope to accept the merger."
"And they've got Carver to do the job for them," Eames finished.
Arthur nodded. "She's in charge of this whole operation. Marcus is just a front so she can remain anonymous."
"So what's wrong? Why does this mean something?" Ariadne asked.
"It means she wants revenge. Why else would she choose us, after what we did to her last time?"
"Well, you guys are the best in the business."
Arthur shook his head. "No, this is personal. I know it. I just don't know how she's gonna get us, and that's what worries me."
They all went quiet. Clara bit her lip, her arms folded across her chest. The whole team stood around her, waiting, and she felt an overwhelming pressure on her shoulders. This was not what she had signed up for. She could feel their eyes in her direction, their leader, but right now she did not have the answer they wanted.
"So what do we do?" she asked, unable to keep her voice from wavering. "Do we keep going or what?"
"Of course we do," said Eames, as though she were out of her mind. "If we back off now, they'll do us in. We have to finish what we started."
"But they don't know that we know," said Arthur. "Marcus thinks he caught me in time, but I saw everything. They wouldn't be expecting it if we ran."
"So you're just gonna throw away all our hard work?!"
"Keep your voice down," Clara hissed, glancing over her shoulder. There was another patient in the ward, but thankfully he was fast asleep.
"Our lives matter more than this job," Yusuf said.
"Carver's out for Arthur and me. She'll probably just give us a good ol' beating and call it even, it's what they all do."
"Yeah? Seen Nash lately?" said Arthur darkly.
"If we run, will we always be on the run?" Ariadne asked nervously.
Arthur glanced at her. "Maybe."
"Okay, stop," Clara sighed, shutting her eyes. "Just stop for a second."
Surprisingly, they listened to her. The silence after their raised voices was soothing, and Clara used the emptiness to think, to be logical and calm and to not give in to the panic that was hovering behind her, ready to take her to a dark, ugly place. She was scared by the prospect of a new, unknown factor. But she had to believe, had to trust her instincts.
"If a situation arose," Clara said, opening her eyes again, "would you and Eames be able to handle it?"
"It depends."
"That's not good enough. Can we count on you, is what I'm asking."
Arthur paused. He exchanged looks with Eames; Clara thought it might've been the kind of look that soldiers shared before charging into the frontline. His mouth drew into a thin line.
"Yes."
"Okay, then I say we keep going," Clara said firmly. "There's gonna be a risk whether or not we run, so we might as well just arm ourselves better and finish the job."
"But if we keep going, there's bound to be some kind of trap," Ariadne countered.
"If we run, we're going to make two enemies: Abigail Carver and her boss. Right now we're an important asset, and I don't think she'll take us out of the picture just yet. Besides, we're ahead of the game; they don't know what we've found out. Even if something unpleasant does crop up, we'll be prepared." Clara gave Ariadne a smile. "Don't you trust our two boys?"
"I can help too," said Yusuf boldly, making them all break into laughter.
Eames put a reassuring arm around Ariadne and turned to Clara. "Do any of the girls want a first-class lesson in firearms too?"
"Just do your job, Eames. Keep us safe."
Clara slipped out of the ward and made her way down the corridor.
It was evening. The hospital was quiet save for the soft humming and beeping of machines keeping patients alive. Clara felt slightly unnerved as she rounded a corner; the empty corridor felt eerie at night.
She reached the front desk where, thankfully, there was someone at a computer. "Hi," Clara said.
The nurse looked up. She was a woman in her mid-forties, with blond hair that was on the brink of showing greys. "Hello dear, are you all right?"
"Yes, thank you, I was just wondering if you knew where I could find Ms. Skertchly?"
"Ms. Skertchly?"
"She's a nurse here, I think. She looked after my dad whilst he was here."
An understanding smile grew on the nurse's face. "Let me have a look for you," she said, turning back to her computer. "I've worked here over ten years, you'd think I'd know everyone by now."
Clara gave a small laugh and waited. The nurse spent some time staring at the screen, typing occasionally, but the longer she searched, the more confused she looked.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think we have a Ms. Skertchly here," she spoke slowly, still scanning her database. "Are you sure that's her name?"
"Yes, I'm pretty sure," Clara replied, after a pause.
"When was the accident?"
"Four years ago. Could she have moved to a different hospital?"
"Perhaps, but even so she should've shown up in our system. Would you like to give me your father's name? I might be able to find out who was in charge."
"Matthew Etheridge."
The nurse entered the name into her computer. She did it again; her brow was furrowed.
"That's funny, we don't have him on record."
"Are – are you sure?"
The nurse repeated the process once more. She shook her head and looked up at Clara. "I'm sorry love, but you must be mistaking us with another hospital. We never admitted a Matthew Etheridge."
"Oh. I – okay, thanks anyway." Clara backed away from the desk and turned around. Her mind was blank. She was absolutely certain this was the hospital where they had taken her dad: Guy's and St. Thomas'. She could remember the name at the front of the building. It was the same one that had passed her by as she had ran into the hospital that dreadful day, desperately searching for her dad.
So why had the nurse told her that he had never set foot inside?
"We were wondering where you went," came Eames' voice, making her jump. He was standing out in the corridor with a poker chip between his fingers.
"Hey," she replied distractedly.
"Everything good?"
Clara smiled. "Yeah." She noticed he had washed his hands, though his shirt was still smeared with blood.
"How about we say goodnight to our dear Pointman and get outta here?"
Dimly, Clara nodded and let Eames put a steadying hand on her shoulder.
The nurses had given him some pyjamas to change into for the night. They fit loosely around Arthur's build as he settled back onto his bed. A while ago, his fellow patient had gotten up to eat some food but was now fast asleep again. The stranger's curtains were drawn shut, hiding him from view.
"Are you hungry?"
Ariadne was at the door; she had just said goodbye to the others.
"A little. They'll bring me something in a moment."
"I have to leave soon. Visiting hours are nearly up."
"Go, you must be tired."
"I'll be fine." She faced away.
She stayed like that for quite some time, her back to him, shoulders set rather rigidly. Maybe it was the late hour of the day, or the trace of anaesthetic still lurking in his blood, but it took Arthur a moment to realise that she was crying.
"Ari." His bare feet hit the cold tiles.
She was shaking her head, brown curls bouncing. A hand was pressed to her mouth, even as he neared her. And then, before he knew it, her arms were flung around him and her face was buried in his neck; he could feel her uneven breaths on his skin, hot and damp.
"I was so, so scared," she gasped through tears. "There w-was so much blood, I thought – I thought you were dead."
"I'm sorry."
"But I'm also really pissed that you've gotten us into this mess."
"I'm sorry," he replied, a reluctant grin on his face. "You're overreacting, though, I'm fine."
He smoothed her hair back as she slowly calmed down. When her tears had subsided, she pulled away a little, wiping her eyes impatiently. She was so pretty, Arthur thought.
"I was always worrying about you," she sighed, sniffing quietly. "After the Fischer job. I dunno, it was always on my mind that you might get hurt real bad. Maybe that's why I got so distant, it was driving me crazy."
"Thank you for caring."
"Don't be stupid."
"You're beautiful."
Ariadne made a small noise of relief when Arthur finally pressed his lips to hers. He kissed her tenderly, deeply, and when they both needed air, still he kissed her, furiously promising to himself that he would never, ever hurt her again.
Author's note: And as Eames would probably say: "Attaboy Arthur, get in there you old dog." Thanks for reading!