Fic: Why Do You Let Me Stay Here?
Title: Why Do You Let Me Stay Here
Rating: G
Pairing: Mostly gen, Ariadne/Arthur at the end
Word Count: 1275
Summary: A fill for this prompt:
I need this bank robber to be Arthur, somehow, plz. Make it work, anon.
Originally posted under the prompt, now expanded! Summary: Arthur dances like a fiend.
“We’re going to perform the extraction on the bank teller,” Cobb said. “It’ll be a robbery. We’ll have her stick the combination in the bag along with the money.”
“We’ll have to keep her from hitting the alarm,” Arthur said. “I’m sure the procedures for a bank robbery have been so ingrained that they’ll show up in her subconscious.”
It was Eames who came up with the solution.
Arthur, as always, was doubtful. Well, not so much doubtful as downright derisive. “This is stupid, even for you, Eames. What makes you think this is going to work?”
Eames sighed. “It pains me, Arthur, when you can’t understand that not everyone views the world with the same practicality you do. Some people prefer to have a fantasy life.” He shook some papers in Arthur’s face; the Amazon purchasing history and Netflix cue the point man had dug up. “Look at this. The Gay Divorcee. Royal Wedding. Funny Face. If this works, no guards get called, nobody gets hurt, and the girl gets a sweet dream in the bargain.”
Arthur crossed his arms, but they both knew the argument had already been decided. Cobb had put his support behind Eames’ idea, and they all knew that when Cobb was in, Arthur wasn’t far behind. “I still don’t see why I’m the one who has to be doing this. You could be Fred Astaire in a heartbeat.”
“I’m not the one who took those dancing lessons for the Cairo job.” Eames smiled sweetly. Arthur shot him a look that could be classified as a weapon in several states.
***
Ariadne designed the bank and insisted on coming along. “I’m not missing this for the world,” she said, and put her foot down. Cobb was a given, and Eames made the argument that he should be there just in case things went south. The girl lived alone, which made finding a time when they could slip in and out undiscovered easy. The team broke into her apartment before her alarm went off and set up shop in her bedroom.
***
Cobb stayed out front to watch for suspicious projections or police cars. Eames and Ariadne were already in the bank, filling out deposit slips, when the sharp sounds of Arthur’s footsteps announced his arrival. “Don’t look,” Eames whispered when Ariadne turned her head around to catch the point man’s sharp suit and dark glasses. She snorted, pantomimed her pen running out of ink, and moved to the other side of the table where she could see the action.
This was the moment of truth. Arthur put the bag and the note on the counter, as cool as composed as if he’d done this all his life. The girl was flustered, but she filled the bag and slipped the combination in with the money. When she pushed the bag back their hands touched, just like they were supposed to. Ariadne felt her stomach clench when there was a pause, and then it felt like her whole insides had bottomed out when the girl reached across and grabbed the glasses off of Arthur’s face. To his credit, he didn’t even flinch. But then-
”OhmyGod,” Ariadne whispered, and despite himself Eames had to turn around to look.
The girl had her leg on Arthur’s shoulder, and he stroked it lightly, almost affectionately, before picking her up off the counter and twirling her into the center of the room. Eames and Ariadne stared, all subtlety forgotten, as the point man slid on his knees across the floor. They were the only ones staring; the projections were ignoring the scene entirely. There were turns and twinkles and dips as Arthur and the teller moved across the floor with a grace and ease Eames never would have suspected the uptight Arthur capable of.
When he pulled off the back flip, Ariadne’s jaw dropped. Eames helpfully reached over and closed it for her.
The cocky bastard winked at them when she was behind him, and then they were ignored in favor of shimmied shoulders and a shared conspiratorial grin. Slowly, carefully, Arthur dipped her down in a way that was only possible in a dream, and then she was back behind the counter, like she had never moved. That was Eames and Ariadne’s cue to leave, but they were rooted to the spot. Arthur swept past them and into the sunlight, never once looking in their direction. Only after a few moments of shocked silence were they able to walk out to the street.
Arthur was already there, and Cobb was going through the bag for the vault combination. None of the projections so much as blinked as they walked by. Her subconscious hadn’t found a thing amiss.
Sunglasses hiding his eyes, Arthur turned to the forger, his expression as unreadable as always. “Did that meet your expectations, Mr. Eames?”
For once, Eames found that he had nothing at all to say.
Epilogue: The Cairo Job
Back at the rented office space, Eames came in to find Arthur twirling Ariadne across the floor. “What’s this?” he asked, smiling at the cheerful, if unexpected scene in front of him. It seemed almost unnatural to come back from a job and not feel some lingering tension in the air.
“Arthur’s teaching me how to dance. We already went over the box step. Now we’re just having fun.” Ariadne smoothed her hair out of her face and gladly accepted the coffee Eames handed to her.
“That so?” Eames asked. Arthur said nothing, but the smile he was trying to hide said it for him. Eames rolled his eyes and handed him a cup. “Just admit you’re showing the girl a good time, darling. There’s no crime in that. At least it didn’t go tits up this time.”
Arthur snorted, and Ariadne leaned forward with curiosity. “Are you talking about the Cairo job?” He dance partner groaned and nodded. “What happened?” she asked.
“Some B-list actress ‘forgot’ where she’d put a few thousand dollars worth of jewelry she’d borrowed, and the jeweler wanted it back without the whole thing going to the press. She’d come in second on whatever you call Strictly Come Dancing and was vacationing in Cairo when we caught up with her. We plan it so that she competes, wins, and is interviewed, and of course spills the beans. I’m the host, Cobb is the interviewer, and poor Arthur here is her dance partner. I never got to see the result of those dance lessons until today, but whatever you paid the woman, it was worth it.”
Ariadne turned from a grinning Eames to a not-so-grinning Arthur. “Wait, how did he not see you? Did you dance?”
He shook his head. “No. The fire alarm went off. Some idiot decided to try an impromptu flaming shot in his room and set the carpet on fire. The dream was only one level and the noise woke us up. She was groggy enough that we were able to convince her that we were hotel security and were trying to rescue her.”
“Weeks of preparation wasted because of a wayward Flaming Armadillo,” Eames said with such faux anguish that Ariadne had to giggle.
“Well, not entirely wasted.” She set her coffee down. “Come on. You said you were going to teach me how to tango.” Shaking her hair behind her shoulders, Ariadne whipped a coffee stirrer out of the caddy, clenched it between her teeth like a rose, and winked.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Arthur said, rising to his feet and taking her hand. He led her out to the makeshift dance floor as Eames laughed and drank his coffee.
Rating: G
Pairing: Mostly gen, Ariadne/Arthur at the end
Word Count: 1275
Summary: A fill for this prompt:
Click to viewI need this bank robber to be Arthur, somehow, plz. Make it work, anon.
Originally posted under the prompt, now expanded! Summary: Arthur dances like a fiend.
“We’re going to perform the extraction on the bank teller,” Cobb said. “It’ll be a robbery. We’ll have her stick the combination in the bag along with the money.”
“We’ll have to keep her from hitting the alarm,” Arthur said. “I’m sure the procedures for a bank robbery have been so ingrained that they’ll show up in her subconscious.”
It was Eames who came up with the solution.
Arthur, as always, was doubtful. Well, not so much doubtful as downright derisive. “This is stupid, even for you, Eames. What makes you think this is going to work?”
Eames sighed. “It pains me, Arthur, when you can’t understand that not everyone views the world with the same practicality you do. Some people prefer to have a fantasy life.” He shook some papers in Arthur’s face; the Amazon purchasing history and Netflix cue the point man had dug up. “Look at this. The Gay Divorcee. Royal Wedding. Funny Face. If this works, no guards get called, nobody gets hurt, and the girl gets a sweet dream in the bargain.”
Arthur crossed his arms, but they both knew the argument had already been decided. Cobb had put his support behind Eames’ idea, and they all knew that when Cobb was in, Arthur wasn’t far behind. “I still don’t see why I’m the one who has to be doing this. You could be Fred Astaire in a heartbeat.”
“I’m not the one who took those dancing lessons for the Cairo job.” Eames smiled sweetly. Arthur shot him a look that could be classified as a weapon in several states.
***
Ariadne designed the bank and insisted on coming along. “I’m not missing this for the world,” she said, and put her foot down. Cobb was a given, and Eames made the argument that he should be there just in case things went south. The girl lived alone, which made finding a time when they could slip in and out undiscovered easy. The team broke into her apartment before her alarm went off and set up shop in her bedroom.
***
Cobb stayed out front to watch for suspicious projections or police cars. Eames and Ariadne were already in the bank, filling out deposit slips, when the sharp sounds of Arthur’s footsteps announced his arrival. “Don’t look,” Eames whispered when Ariadne turned her head around to catch the point man’s sharp suit and dark glasses. She snorted, pantomimed her pen running out of ink, and moved to the other side of the table where she could see the action.
This was the moment of truth. Arthur put the bag and the note on the counter, as cool as composed as if he’d done this all his life. The girl was flustered, but she filled the bag and slipped the combination in with the money. When she pushed the bag back their hands touched, just like they were supposed to. Ariadne felt her stomach clench when there was a pause, and then it felt like her whole insides had bottomed out when the girl reached across and grabbed the glasses off of Arthur’s face. To his credit, he didn’t even flinch. But then-
”OhmyGod,” Ariadne whispered, and despite himself Eames had to turn around to look.
The girl had her leg on Arthur’s shoulder, and he stroked it lightly, almost affectionately, before picking her up off the counter and twirling her into the center of the room. Eames and Ariadne stared, all subtlety forgotten, as the point man slid on his knees across the floor. They were the only ones staring; the projections were ignoring the scene entirely. There were turns and twinkles and dips as Arthur and the teller moved across the floor with a grace and ease Eames never would have suspected the uptight Arthur capable of.
When he pulled off the back flip, Ariadne’s jaw dropped. Eames helpfully reached over and closed it for her.
The cocky bastard winked at them when she was behind him, and then they were ignored in favor of shimmied shoulders and a shared conspiratorial grin. Slowly, carefully, Arthur dipped her down in a way that was only possible in a dream, and then she was back behind the counter, like she had never moved. That was Eames and Ariadne’s cue to leave, but they were rooted to the spot. Arthur swept past them and into the sunlight, never once looking in their direction. Only after a few moments of shocked silence were they able to walk out to the street.
Arthur was already there, and Cobb was going through the bag for the vault combination. None of the projections so much as blinked as they walked by. Her subconscious hadn’t found a thing amiss.
Sunglasses hiding his eyes, Arthur turned to the forger, his expression as unreadable as always. “Did that meet your expectations, Mr. Eames?”
For once, Eames found that he had nothing at all to say.
Epilogue: The Cairo Job
Back at the rented office space, Eames came in to find Arthur twirling Ariadne across the floor. “What’s this?” he asked, smiling at the cheerful, if unexpected scene in front of him. It seemed almost unnatural to come back from a job and not feel some lingering tension in the air.
“Arthur’s teaching me how to dance. We already went over the box step. Now we’re just having fun.” Ariadne smoothed her hair out of her face and gladly accepted the coffee Eames handed to her.
“That so?” Eames asked. Arthur said nothing, but the smile he was trying to hide said it for him. Eames rolled his eyes and handed him a cup. “Just admit you’re showing the girl a good time, darling. There’s no crime in that. At least it didn’t go tits up this time.”
Arthur snorted, and Ariadne leaned forward with curiosity. “Are you talking about the Cairo job?” He dance partner groaned and nodded. “What happened?” she asked.
“Some B-list actress ‘forgot’ where she’d put a few thousand dollars worth of jewelry she’d borrowed, and the jeweler wanted it back without the whole thing going to the press. She’d come in second on whatever you call Strictly Come Dancing and was vacationing in Cairo when we caught up with her. We plan it so that she competes, wins, and is interviewed, and of course spills the beans. I’m the host, Cobb is the interviewer, and poor Arthur here is her dance partner. I never got to see the result of those dance lessons until today, but whatever you paid the woman, it was worth it.”
Ariadne turned from a grinning Eames to a not-so-grinning Arthur. “Wait, how did he not see you? Did you dance?”
He shook his head. “No. The fire alarm went off. Some idiot decided to try an impromptu flaming shot in his room and set the carpet on fire. The dream was only one level and the noise woke us up. She was groggy enough that we were able to convince her that we were hotel security and were trying to rescue her.”
“Weeks of preparation wasted because of a wayward Flaming Armadillo,” Eames said with such faux anguish that Ariadne had to giggle.
“Well, not entirely wasted.” She set her coffee down. “Come on. You said you were going to teach me how to tango.” Shaking her hair behind her shoulders, Ariadne whipped a coffee stirrer out of the caddy, clenched it between her teeth like a rose, and winked.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Arthur said, rising to his feet and taking her hand. He led her out to the makeshift dance floor as Eames laughed and drank his coffee.