Fic: A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall, Epilogue
Title: A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall - Epilogue
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Eames, unrequited Robert/Arthur, past Cobb/Mal, hinted Robert/Ariadne, Browning, Saito
Rating: R
Word Count: 892
Disclaimer: Mr. Nolan owns it all
Warnings: Violence (graphic torture), strong language, sexual content, character death
Summary: In the aftermath of World War III and the Second Civil War of the United States, the members of the dream sharing industry have been turned into fugitives, driven underground and into hiding in order to escape assassination by Fischer Industries USA - except for one, the former leading point man in the business, who has turned traitor against the fugitives Dom Cobb, Public Enemy Number one; and the infamous Eames, leader of the Resistance.
Author's Note: Written for inception_bang . Endless thanks to my wonderful beta, niftywithan who worked tirelessly in looking over drafts, and to my dear celestineangel , without whose wonderful help (read: guidance, advice, cheerleading) this labor of love would not exist. You two are absolutely amazing!! ♥ ♥ ♥
“All stories have different degrees of closure, the final chapter, endings that come neatly tied up with a bow and a happily ever after, or so I’ve heard. Unfortunately, I’ve also heard that the only happy endings are to stories that haven’t really finished yet.
So at the conclusion of this rather lengthy narrative, what kind of end would be most appropriate?
Should I talk about how the mysterious Saito finally made his appearance with jets soaring and fireworks exploding overhead, stepping onto the scene of the smoldering remains of Fischer Industries USA, looking like Superman in Valentino? Should I expound upon how he came to liberate the people of the United States, only to come too late for the band of refugees that included the Fischer heir, the newly exonerated Dominic Cobb, the Resistance’s leader, and the infamous Captain Davidson?
Maybe I should wax poetic about how Saito’s men scoured the entire continent, taking in what Tourists they could find for rehabilitation purposes, right before they napalmed everything, standing back to watch along with the rest of the world as everything goes up in smoke.
What about the few scattered sheets of what might’ve once been a journal found somewhere near a destroyed suburb in Shreveport, Louisiana? Will those blood-splattered pages reading ‘Cobb’s limp is worse; Robert’s hacking up a lung; we lost Michelle to a band of Tourists yesterday…’ go down in history as-”
“Alright, hold it right there, Fish Junior.” Michelle scowls, crossing her arms. “Shorty, mind explaining why I’m the dead one?”
“Well, technically she’s killed all of us, and even herself,” Cobb muses aloud from the other side of the room, then gives Ariadne a sideways squinted glance. “Why am I limping, again?”
“You got stabbed with a pitchfork, I think,” Robert supplies helpfully, scanning over the words he’d just been reading aloud. He frowns then, and turns a wounded look to Ariadne. “Oh, you didn’t have me contract tuberculosis or something, did you? To be hacking up a lung?”
Ariadne shrugs, leaning a bit more into his embrace, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she snags her journal off his lap, then brings his fingers to her lips and mouths out the words, maybe, maybe not. She reaches up to touch his cheek, tilting her face closer to his - only to pull away sharply when Eames, who so far has been quiet, decides to be an ass and clears his throat.
“Well, I can’t help but notice your omission of a couple of very important characters, dove.” He puts on a wounded look, and his scar puckers with the expression. “Wherever might Arthur and I be, then?”
Michelle snorts. “Probably tucked away in some dark corner and doing things no one needs to-”
“Okay,” Arthur interrupts sharply, cheeks flooding with color despite his affronted look, and Eames chuckles throatily, tightening his arms around the other man’s waist, turning his face to plant a kiss on Arthur’s neck.
“Suppose we find ourselves a nice dark corner now, darling, yes?” he more or less purrs, and Ariadne turns away as Arthur turns a rather fetching plum color. She hides a grin in Robert’s shoulder, fingers toying with the edges of her journal.
So, things aren’t perfect. Ariadne is well aware that she still can’t talk (although she is going to start working with a speech therapist sometime soon), Arthur still needs a bit of therapy in order to deal with his injuries (but he’s got Eames for help and support), and Saito’s arrival didn’t fix everything, like some great dues ex machina, but it is a step in the right direction. Fischer Industries no longer has a hold over the majority of the world’s remaining natural resources, Cobb’s kids are being flown here first thing in the morning, and if Saito’s meteorologist is right, there’s a good chance that what’s been termed as the continental United States’ “typhoon season” is drawing to a close.
She looks around the small interior of the hastily constructed but (oddly enough) carpeted shelter now serving as Saito’s temporary conference room: in one corner, Saito (who is, Ariadne notes with a hint of satisfaction, indeed wearing Valentino) lightly comments about his opposition to the use of napalm bombs, eliciting a raised eyebrow and what looks like the start of a heated discussion from both Cobb and Michelle; Robert is a warm, solid source of comfort beside her; and on the other side of the room, Arthur swats at Eames’ wandering hands although his eyes are soft and fond, the scowl pulling the corners of his lips downwards fighting to turn into a smile.
Ariadne smiles at the pair. It may have taken them endless distances and forced separation, eight years of war and leaving and misunderstanding, but none of that matters now. Dreams or reality, this life or the next, past or present or future, it’s more than clear that Arthur and Eames will always find each other, Hell or high water or the end of the world notwithstanding.
“Hey.” Robert smoothes a hand over her hair, and presses a kiss to her forehead. “What is it?”
With a smile, Ariadne turns to face him. The sun’s supposed to come out tomorrow.
And outside, the hard rain starts to let up, just a little bit.
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Eames, unrequited Robert/Arthur, past Cobb/Mal, hinted Robert/Ariadne, Browning, Saito
Rating: R
Word Count: 892
Disclaimer: Mr. Nolan owns it all
Warnings: Violence (graphic torture), strong language, sexual content, character death
Summary: In the aftermath of World War III and the Second Civil War of the United States, the members of the dream sharing industry have been turned into fugitives, driven underground and into hiding in order to escape assassination by Fischer Industries USA - except for one, the former leading point man in the business, who has turned traitor against the fugitives Dom Cobb, Public Enemy Number one; and the infamous Eames, leader of the Resistance.
Author's Note: Written for inception_bang . Endless thanks to my wonderful beta, niftywithan who worked tirelessly in looking over drafts, and to my dear celestineangel , without whose wonderful help (read: guidance, advice, cheerleading) this labor of love would not exist. You two are absolutely amazing!! ♥ ♥ ♥
“All stories have different degrees of closure, the final chapter, endings that come neatly tied up with a bow and a happily ever after, or so I’ve heard. Unfortunately, I’ve also heard that the only happy endings are to stories that haven’t really finished yet.
So at the conclusion of this rather lengthy narrative, what kind of end would be most appropriate?
Should I talk about how the mysterious Saito finally made his appearance with jets soaring and fireworks exploding overhead, stepping onto the scene of the smoldering remains of Fischer Industries USA, looking like Superman in Valentino? Should I expound upon how he came to liberate the people of the United States, only to come too late for the band of refugees that included the Fischer heir, the newly exonerated Dominic Cobb, the Resistance’s leader, and the infamous Captain Davidson?
Maybe I should wax poetic about how Saito’s men scoured the entire continent, taking in what Tourists they could find for rehabilitation purposes, right before they napalmed everything, standing back to watch along with the rest of the world as everything goes up in smoke.
What about the few scattered sheets of what might’ve once been a journal found somewhere near a destroyed suburb in Shreveport, Louisiana? Will those blood-splattered pages reading ‘Cobb’s limp is worse; Robert’s hacking up a lung; we lost Michelle to a band of Tourists yesterday…’ go down in history as-”
“Alright, hold it right there, Fish Junior.” Michelle scowls, crossing her arms. “Shorty, mind explaining why I’m the dead one?”
“Well, technically she’s killed all of us, and even herself,” Cobb muses aloud from the other side of the room, then gives Ariadne a sideways squinted glance. “Why am I limping, again?”
“You got stabbed with a pitchfork, I think,” Robert supplies helpfully, scanning over the words he’d just been reading aloud. He frowns then, and turns a wounded look to Ariadne. “Oh, you didn’t have me contract tuberculosis or something, did you? To be hacking up a lung?”
Ariadne shrugs, leaning a bit more into his embrace, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she snags her journal off his lap, then brings his fingers to her lips and mouths out the words, maybe, maybe not. She reaches up to touch his cheek, tilting her face closer to his - only to pull away sharply when Eames, who so far has been quiet, decides to be an ass and clears his throat.
“Well, I can’t help but notice your omission of a couple of very important characters, dove.” He puts on a wounded look, and his scar puckers with the expression. “Wherever might Arthur and I be, then?”
Michelle snorts. “Probably tucked away in some dark corner and doing things no one needs to-”
“Okay,” Arthur interrupts sharply, cheeks flooding with color despite his affronted look, and Eames chuckles throatily, tightening his arms around the other man’s waist, turning his face to plant a kiss on Arthur’s neck.
“Suppose we find ourselves a nice dark corner now, darling, yes?” he more or less purrs, and Ariadne turns away as Arthur turns a rather fetching plum color. She hides a grin in Robert’s shoulder, fingers toying with the edges of her journal.
So, things aren’t perfect. Ariadne is well aware that she still can’t talk (although she is going to start working with a speech therapist sometime soon), Arthur still needs a bit of therapy in order to deal with his injuries (but he’s got Eames for help and support), and Saito’s arrival didn’t fix everything, like some great dues ex machina, but it is a step in the right direction. Fischer Industries no longer has a hold over the majority of the world’s remaining natural resources, Cobb’s kids are being flown here first thing in the morning, and if Saito’s meteorologist is right, there’s a good chance that what’s been termed as the continental United States’ “typhoon season” is drawing to a close.
She looks around the small interior of the hastily constructed but (oddly enough) carpeted shelter now serving as Saito’s temporary conference room: in one corner, Saito (who is, Ariadne notes with a hint of satisfaction, indeed wearing Valentino) lightly comments about his opposition to the use of napalm bombs, eliciting a raised eyebrow and what looks like the start of a heated discussion from both Cobb and Michelle; Robert is a warm, solid source of comfort beside her; and on the other side of the room, Arthur swats at Eames’ wandering hands although his eyes are soft and fond, the scowl pulling the corners of his lips downwards fighting to turn into a smile.
Ariadne smiles at the pair. It may have taken them endless distances and forced separation, eight years of war and leaving and misunderstanding, but none of that matters now. Dreams or reality, this life or the next, past or present or future, it’s more than clear that Arthur and Eames will always find each other, Hell or high water or the end of the world notwithstanding.
“Hey.” Robert smoothes a hand over her hair, and presses a kiss to her forehead. “What is it?”
With a smile, Ariadne turns to face him. The sun’s supposed to come out tomorrow.
And outside, the hard rain starts to let up, just a little bit.