Inception is intellectual property of Christopher Nolan and its distributors.
Edited 05/2018
Chapter 02
When We Were Young
So we meet again my heartache
So we meet again my friend
I should've known that you'd return
The moment I was on the mend
So we meet again my heartache
Like two lovers torn apart
Bound together by the breaking
Of a tired and torrid heart
Sixteen months.
It seemed like ages really, but it had just been over a year and a half since she had last seen him, not that he looked too different, but just enough for her to notice. Though to be fair, Amelia was sure she looked nothing like she had the last time he saw her as well. He was thicker, a bit more muscular than she remembered, with longer hair and a stylish five o'clock shadow. He was the perfect image of a gentlemen thief though, wearing a sharply tailored two-piece suit and what she could assume were overpriced Italian leather shoes. In comparison to him, she had done nothing but physical deteriorate since their last encounter, wasting away under stress.
This would be easier if he'd gotten ugly.
Resign to what was to come, Amelia poured another generous glass of whisky, sipping the burning drink slowly, watching her guest over the top of the glass as he took in her living space. Just watching him showed her how entirely out of place he was, standing there in her dirty loft, calm and collected as he lazily looked around with his hands casually in his trouser pockets. She hadn't been anywhere near polite after he had greeted her—the shock was still a bit too much—and hadn't even invited him, just turned on her heel and stalked inside expecting fully for him to follow her.
And of course, he did. Lovely.
"You've got a unique place here, a bit of a change from your previous tastes though." He smirked, turning on his heel to stare at her, "Didn't know rust and tetanus was your aesthetic."
If possible Amelia's frown deepened.
When could you have learned about my aesthetic, she wanted to spit out, we were always too busy fucking or stealing.
"It's my own version of Little Bohemia," she sneered before downing her drink. "You said this job has to do with Cobb, so what is it?"
"You know," He ignored her question to walk towards her, looking pointedly at the empty glass in her hand as he stopped before her. "It's rude not to offer a guest a drink."
"Well that's just too bad, isn't it?" She quipped, dropping her glass onto the counter. "Now, what job is so important you've visited the dead?"
"Inception," His tone giddy as he boxed her in with his arms on either side of her, hands flat on the countertop. "That's the job, darling. Bloody fucking inception."
The room was barely lit, with only the low glow of the street lights sneaking through the cracks of the curtains to cast the bedroom in a golden hue. Everything was muddled in the twilight of the city night, making it nearly impossible to discern anything that wasn't within arms reach. The two forms on the bed were no exception to this either, their faces exaggerated by the shadows and dips of light as they laid in the dark.
"What about giving an idea to someone?" She questioned tangled loosely in the black bed sheets. She lazily busied herself with tracing one of the several tattoos that covered his skin as she tried desperately to beat back the urge to put her mouth to his throat. "Has anyone ever tried that?"
"Mmm successfully? No," he murmured sleepily, seeming to lean into her touch like a cat while looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "It's nearly impossible to plant an idea. The human mind is clever, nobody's figured out how to trick it yet."
"Well maybe," she drawled into the skin his throat, her mouth sucking and teeth nipping, "you need a bit more imagination."
"Inception isn't possible," she craned her neck up to look him in the eye, pushing herself into the counter hard enough to bruise the skin. "Why would Cobb take a job he knows is impossible?"
"Because," Eames supplied slowly, "If he's successful, he gets his out."
An out. It seemed to be the only thing anyone ever wanted, but very few attainted. It was commonly understood that most individuals involved with criminal exploits usually didn't go into their line of work because they wanted to, but because they had to. Very few had it in their blood. Sure, there were always exceptions to the rules; Amelia's own mentor Neal had been a rather large exception to the rule, though she supposed that much of Neal's career had defined logic—especially when he went so far as to burn off his own fingerprints. From firsthand experience though, most who found themselves in the business, whereby happenstance or force, desired an out.
I just had to die to get out.
"He'd need more than an out," She commented offhandedly, trying to make it seem that she wasn't uncomfortable with his nearness. She could feel his body heat from how close he was, could barely think as she inhaled the smell that was so distinctly Eames; sandalwood and leather, the familiarity of it all made her gut twist. Even if she took the job, how would she concentrate? "I heard COBOL's out for blood."
"Oh, you heard about that as well?"
"I keep an ear to the ground for my own health," Amelia shrugged. "Who's the mark?"
"The heir of Fischer Morrow," seemingly disappointed with her lack of reaction he moved back a step. "It's a billion-dollar 'Straya company, does something with energy. The employer wants it dissolved once the son inherits it."
"You'd have to use an emotional basis for that idea…" She mused as her shoulders drooped and her posture relaxed. Ten minutes had long since passed, but that all seemed forgotten. "If it works, that would be fantastic, but if it fails…I don't need to fall back onto the grid."
As if expecting that, Eames gave her a sly smirk she knew all too well.
"There's incentive for you," He moved away to pour himself a glass of whisky, his back to her. "One of the biggest stockholders of the company, besides the immediate board members, happens to be a man you know, a Mister Antonio Green."
Knowing he had Amelia hooked, Eames set on reeling her in. The dramatic route always worked best, so he let the tension mount, wasted time taking a light sip of his liquor before turning back to her, swirling the drink in the glass.
"If the company were to be dissolved before board member knowledge, if the decision were sudden…well, an investor would lose it all. Especially one that is a fan of questionable stock trading policies that's left a rather obvious paper trail."
At his words, Amelia found herself rubbing the scar on her shoulder through the fabric of her sweatshirt. The anger that she kept locked in a steel trap flared up in her chest, burning hotter than before thanks to the idea of revenge.
"You're sure?" She tried to keep her desperation under wraps, but it still leaked through.
"I checked, twice." He downed a quarter of his drink. "Had Arthur check as well, and you know him, thorough as a bloke can get when it comes to you."
She nodded, trying to contain the need to fidget as Eames simply stood there gazing at her. It was something she had never really been able to handle, and being in such close proximity after such a long time made it even worse. Granted, the awkwardness that had initially been there—along with the anger—had suddenly become absent from the conversation, Amelia could feel it brewing beneath the surface. It seemed asinine that she would run in the direction of the pending disaster, but with the chance of vengeance being dangled so neatly before her…how could she turn away?
She was always so weak, and he knew it.
"Where's Cobb set up?"
"Paris," as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Where else?"
"Amelia Lustig is a French citizen," she flashed her white teeth at him, making a choice. "When do we leave?"
Eames looked very much like the cat that'd caught the canary.
"As soon as you change," He said looking at her state with a bit of distaste. "You wouldn't pass for being a first-class passenger in what you're wearing now."
It was hard to him when he held all the cards, and even more so because she didn't hate him at all.