Ariadne/Eames- Ghost In The Machine: Prologue- Choices
Title: Ghost In The Machine: Prologue- Choices
Author: butterflys_fics/blacksouledbutterfly
Rating: NC-17 (eventually)
Pairing: Ariadne/Eames
Word Count: 1,595
Summary: She was the best architect in the business but then the government got wind of her. They gave her a choice- go to jail for crimes she didn’t commit or work for them. She chose freedom. Now, stuck in a government run facility she encounters a man she hasn’t seen in years. Eames, almost unrecognizable, plans on getting her out of there at all costs. But going up against the government may prove to be the most difficult job they've ever had- and the bloodiest.
Warnings: Mentions of sex and foul language throughout
Notes: The chapter index can be found here. Written for this prompt @ inception_kink
It was the most classic, predictable procedure. It was the 'break them down' method of thought, leaving someone alone in a room with no noise but their own thoughts and the count of the heat system rattling and its supposed to shake them. Bombard them with things to drink and then refuse to let them use the restroom and you can get them to do and say whatever it is you want them to. It’s all classic, really. And none of it was going to work with her. She'd been in this line of work for too long to be manipulated by such mundane tactics.
Six hours and three cups of coffee after she's been put in that room and she's still doing well. She's had people come in from time to time to tell her that someone would be with her shortly but she knew that was all manipulation as well, their way of holding all the cards, of keeping her anxious, of tying to make sure that she was on the edge of her seat. And it must have pissed them off something fierce that every single time they would come in and tell her that she would just look up at them with an empty expression to tell them that she didn’t care, that it didn’t matter to her either way.
And then, when the sixth hours arrives the door opens and a man walks in, further this time than any of them had before, letting her know that she's finally getting someone to come in and speak to her. She crosses her legs, leaning back against the chair she had been placed in, tapping her fingers on the table near the almost cold cup of coffee there- it’s the fourth one and she's only taken a few sips from it, not because she has to pee yet but because she's getting tired of the taste.
"I'm sorry this has taken so long," the man announces, the lie falling from his lips far too easily for her taste. But then, of course, she's also quite good at lying, isn't she? Its part of the business, she supposes. Both her line of work and his. So she can't really hold that against him. She knows what it means to have to do your job and lie to others.
"No, you're not," Ariadne replies tonelessly, taking her hand off of the table and folding her hands in her lap as she watches him, head cocked slightly to the side. "You wanted to keep me wondering." She taps the fingers of one hand against the back of the other. "I haven’t been read my rights," she reminds him. "And I may have been living outside of the country for a while but if I remember correctly you have to read someone their rights when you arrest him."
"That’s true," the man concedes, sitting down across the table from her, dropping a folder down onto the table, letting it make a very soft, hollow sound as it does so. "Special Agent Hall," he introduces himself and then watches her, drumming his fingers on the table. "And you're not under arrest," he informs her.
"Well, then I'm sure I'm free to go," she says after a moment, uncrossing her legs and resting both of her feet on the floor.
"I'm afraid not, Miss Manning," Agent Hall argues, opening up the folder and dragging it closer to him, looking at it the entire time, his eyes never leaving the paper in front of him. And she takes that opportunity to examine him. he's a decent enough looking guy with close cropped dark brown hair, peaches and cream colored skin, dark eyes. His suit is cleanly pressed; even his sleeves are crisp around his wrists. He's well put together but she gets the distinct feeling that being that put together on the outside is done to hide how disorganized, how unkempt he is on the inside.
"Well," she drawls as she looks at him. "If I'm not under arrest then why aren't I allowed to leave?"
"Terrorists can be held as long as we want them to," he drawls, turning his gaze up from the folder in front of him.
"Terrorist?" Ariadne laughs, unable to help herself as she leans forward and rests her folded hands on the table, right in front of the cup there. "I think you must be very confused," she informs him. "I'm not a terrorist. I've never done anything that would categorize me as a terrorist."
"Maybe that’s true," Hall concedes, closing the folder back up and tossing it onto the table. He leans forward himself this time, folding his hands as they rest on top of that folder. "Maybe you're right, that you haven’t done anything that would be considered a terrorist act. But that’s not what the official records are going to say."
"Excuse me?" Ariadne furrows her eyebrows and sits back in her chair, hands sliding off of the table to rest in her lap once more. "What are you talking about?"
"Okay. I'm going to get right down to it," Hall say amicably, drumming his fingers on the table for a moment and then lifts his hand up, pointing one finger at her. "We know what you do for a living."
"Do you really?"
"Oh, we do," he assures her, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly into a semi-smile. "And see, we hear you're quite good."
"Oh, you heard that, did you?" The corner of her smile twitches a bit, just a tiny bit but she fights it off. "Well, let's say hypothetically that I do what you think I do. If I admit to it then I'm going to get arrested. And you know that."
"Then lets speak hypothetically," Hall suggests.
"Alright." Refolding her hands she puts them back on the table, leaning forward to look at him. "Hypothetically speaking, if I do what you think I do and you think I'm good at it then I'm flattered." She shrugs her shoulders a little bit. "But I don’t know what it has to do with anything."
"This is why I said we should cut to the chase," he reminds her, smiling just a tiny bit and then he points at her again. "We've done a lot of research into what you do for a living. And we're been very, very impressed by your skills. You're very, very good at what you do. And we want you to work for us."
"Work for you?" Ariadne arches both of her eyebrows, a surprised laugh slipping past her lips. "Work for who, exactly?"
"The government, of course." His answer is so instantaneous that it's almost startling, almost too much for her brain to process. "We've been investigating people like you for a long, long time. And in you we've found the most talented architect we could possibly find. And now we want you to work for us."
"No," Ariadne replies instantly, her hands resting in her laps still, shrugging her shoulders a bit. "Sorry. Even if I do make a living doing what you think I do I'm most certainly not going to start working for the government." She unfolds her hands again and places both of her hands on the table, using her hands there as leverage to stand up. "No, as I said, I'll be leaving."
"And as I said no, you won't," Hall repeats, sitting back comfortably in his chair. "See, you have two choices. One is that you come and work for us and we keep close tabs on you. Now, that’s the option I would choose if I were you. It keeps you with some freedom and you get paid for your services. And your services would be greatly appreciated."
"Now," he continues, drumming his fingers on the table again. "If you don’t choose that option then there's one other one open to you." Reaching out he opens up the folder and turns it to face her, showing her a picture of a bomb sitting in a cardboard box. "You can turn us down and this goes into your official file as being found in your home. You get arrested for domestic terrorism and spend the rest of your life in prison."
"You can't do that," she argues.
"Oh, but we can." Hall smiles at her as he sits back once more in his seat. "This is the U.S. government, Miss Manning. We can do all sorts of things. And that bomb will just be one of many charges we'll levy against you. If you continue to refuse to work for us."
Ariadne looks up at him, meeting his dark eyes and then looks back down at the bomb on the page, the intricate wire work and for some strange reason, though she hadn’t spoken to the men in years, she thinks this is a piece of work Arthur would appreciate. And maybe even Eames would as well. But that’s of no consequence now. It's been five years since they incepted Robert Fisher and she hasn’t spoken to any of them since.
"Fine," she breathes out after a moment, looking back up at Hall. "You have yourself a deal."
Standing up from the table Hall closes the folder back up, sliding it over to his side and takes it almost delicately between his thumb and index finger. "Of that, Miss Manning, I never had a doubt."
As soon as he walks out the door she knocks the almost full cup of coffee to the floor.
Author: butterflys_fics/blacksouledbutterfly
Rating: NC-17 (eventually)
Pairing: Ariadne/Eames
Word Count: 1,595
Summary: She was the best architect in the business but then the government got wind of her. They gave her a choice- go to jail for crimes she didn’t commit or work for them. She chose freedom. Now, stuck in a government run facility she encounters a man she hasn’t seen in years. Eames, almost unrecognizable, plans on getting her out of there at all costs. But going up against the government may prove to be the most difficult job they've ever had- and the bloodiest.
Warnings: Mentions of sex and foul language throughout
Notes: The chapter index can be found here. Written for this prompt @ inception_kink
It was the most classic, predictable procedure. It was the 'break them down' method of thought, leaving someone alone in a room with no noise but their own thoughts and the count of the heat system rattling and its supposed to shake them. Bombard them with things to drink and then refuse to let them use the restroom and you can get them to do and say whatever it is you want them to. It’s all classic, really. And none of it was going to work with her. She'd been in this line of work for too long to be manipulated by such mundane tactics.
Six hours and three cups of coffee after she's been put in that room and she's still doing well. She's had people come in from time to time to tell her that someone would be with her shortly but she knew that was all manipulation as well, their way of holding all the cards, of keeping her anxious, of tying to make sure that she was on the edge of her seat. And it must have pissed them off something fierce that every single time they would come in and tell her that she would just look up at them with an empty expression to tell them that she didn’t care, that it didn’t matter to her either way.
And then, when the sixth hours arrives the door opens and a man walks in, further this time than any of them had before, letting her know that she's finally getting someone to come in and speak to her. She crosses her legs, leaning back against the chair she had been placed in, tapping her fingers on the table near the almost cold cup of coffee there- it’s the fourth one and she's only taken a few sips from it, not because she has to pee yet but because she's getting tired of the taste.
"I'm sorry this has taken so long," the man announces, the lie falling from his lips far too easily for her taste. But then, of course, she's also quite good at lying, isn't she? Its part of the business, she supposes. Both her line of work and his. So she can't really hold that against him. She knows what it means to have to do your job and lie to others.
"No, you're not," Ariadne replies tonelessly, taking her hand off of the table and folding her hands in her lap as she watches him, head cocked slightly to the side. "You wanted to keep me wondering." She taps the fingers of one hand against the back of the other. "I haven’t been read my rights," she reminds him. "And I may have been living outside of the country for a while but if I remember correctly you have to read someone their rights when you arrest him."
"That’s true," the man concedes, sitting down across the table from her, dropping a folder down onto the table, letting it make a very soft, hollow sound as it does so. "Special Agent Hall," he introduces himself and then watches her, drumming his fingers on the table. "And you're not under arrest," he informs her.
"Well, then I'm sure I'm free to go," she says after a moment, uncrossing her legs and resting both of her feet on the floor.
"I'm afraid not, Miss Manning," Agent Hall argues, opening up the folder and dragging it closer to him, looking at it the entire time, his eyes never leaving the paper in front of him. And she takes that opportunity to examine him. he's a decent enough looking guy with close cropped dark brown hair, peaches and cream colored skin, dark eyes. His suit is cleanly pressed; even his sleeves are crisp around his wrists. He's well put together but she gets the distinct feeling that being that put together on the outside is done to hide how disorganized, how unkempt he is on the inside.
"Well," she drawls as she looks at him. "If I'm not under arrest then why aren't I allowed to leave?"
"Terrorists can be held as long as we want them to," he drawls, turning his gaze up from the folder in front of him.
"Terrorist?" Ariadne laughs, unable to help herself as she leans forward and rests her folded hands on the table, right in front of the cup there. "I think you must be very confused," she informs him. "I'm not a terrorist. I've never done anything that would categorize me as a terrorist."
"Maybe that’s true," Hall concedes, closing the folder back up and tossing it onto the table. He leans forward himself this time, folding his hands as they rest on top of that folder. "Maybe you're right, that you haven’t done anything that would be considered a terrorist act. But that’s not what the official records are going to say."
"Excuse me?" Ariadne furrows her eyebrows and sits back in her chair, hands sliding off of the table to rest in her lap once more. "What are you talking about?"
"Okay. I'm going to get right down to it," Hall say amicably, drumming his fingers on the table for a moment and then lifts his hand up, pointing one finger at her. "We know what you do for a living."
"Do you really?"
"Oh, we do," he assures her, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly into a semi-smile. "And see, we hear you're quite good."
"Oh, you heard that, did you?" The corner of her smile twitches a bit, just a tiny bit but she fights it off. "Well, let's say hypothetically that I do what you think I do. If I admit to it then I'm going to get arrested. And you know that."
"Then lets speak hypothetically," Hall suggests.
"Alright." Refolding her hands she puts them back on the table, leaning forward to look at him. "Hypothetically speaking, if I do what you think I do and you think I'm good at it then I'm flattered." She shrugs her shoulders a little bit. "But I don’t know what it has to do with anything."
"This is why I said we should cut to the chase," he reminds her, smiling just a tiny bit and then he points at her again. "We've done a lot of research into what you do for a living. And we're been very, very impressed by your skills. You're very, very good at what you do. And we want you to work for us."
"Work for you?" Ariadne arches both of her eyebrows, a surprised laugh slipping past her lips. "Work for who, exactly?"
"The government, of course." His answer is so instantaneous that it's almost startling, almost too much for her brain to process. "We've been investigating people like you for a long, long time. And in you we've found the most talented architect we could possibly find. And now we want you to work for us."
"No," Ariadne replies instantly, her hands resting in her laps still, shrugging her shoulders a bit. "Sorry. Even if I do make a living doing what you think I do I'm most certainly not going to start working for the government." She unfolds her hands again and places both of her hands on the table, using her hands there as leverage to stand up. "No, as I said, I'll be leaving."
"And as I said no, you won't," Hall repeats, sitting back comfortably in his chair. "See, you have two choices. One is that you come and work for us and we keep close tabs on you. Now, that’s the option I would choose if I were you. It keeps you with some freedom and you get paid for your services. And your services would be greatly appreciated."
"Now," he continues, drumming his fingers on the table again. "If you don’t choose that option then there's one other one open to you." Reaching out he opens up the folder and turns it to face her, showing her a picture of a bomb sitting in a cardboard box. "You can turn us down and this goes into your official file as being found in your home. You get arrested for domestic terrorism and spend the rest of your life in prison."
"You can't do that," she argues.
"Oh, but we can." Hall smiles at her as he sits back once more in his seat. "This is the U.S. government, Miss Manning. We can do all sorts of things. And that bomb will just be one of many charges we'll levy against you. If you continue to refuse to work for us."
Ariadne looks up at him, meeting his dark eyes and then looks back down at the bomb on the page, the intricate wire work and for some strange reason, though she hadn’t spoken to the men in years, she thinks this is a piece of work Arthur would appreciate. And maybe even Eames would as well. But that’s of no consequence now. It's been five years since they incepted Robert Fisher and she hasn’t spoken to any of them since.
"Fine," she breathes out after a moment, looking back up at Hall. "You have yourself a deal."
Standing up from the table Hall closes the folder back up, sliding it over to his side and takes it almost delicately between his thumb and index finger. "Of that, Miss Manning, I never had a doubt."
As soon as he walks out the door she knocks the almost full cup of coffee to the floor.