[FIC - Inception] The Helix Trap Chapter 19/19 COMPLETE pt 2

[croik]

Arthur awoke to a tingle at the back of his mind. It was sharper than usual, though thankfully not as excruciating as when he had fallen asleep. He breathed slowly, letting the pins and needles gradually fade, until he felt confident enough to open his eyes. Dull orange light gleamed through a gap in the curtains, illuminating an unfamiliar bedroom, from which he took an inordinate degree of elation: if it were his mind filling the space, he would have chosen something from his memory.

I'm awake. Arthur sat up, and wavered when the blood rushed to his head. Even before the moment of dizziness had passed he dug into the pocket of his waistcoat, and tossed his red die onto the bedside table. It clacked loudly across the surface and came close to falling over the edge, but the settled on an unremarkable number four. He rolled it again, just to be sure, and finally tucked it away.

Wasn't Ariadne here? There was no sign of her, but the space next to him on the bed was still warm, and he pressed his fingers into it. If we didn't go back to the hotel, is this... He gulped, but there was no point in delaying the inevitable. With a deep breath he pulled himself to his feet and ventured outside.

Children's laughter pealed down the hall. Arthur recognized the voices immediately, and he followed them, past a second, colorful bedroom, and into the apartment's main living space. As he'd expected James and Philipa were spread out across the floor, coloring books and markers strewn in every direction. They both reached for the brown, but before they could come to an argument over it Ariadne intervened, suggesting instead that James's cat would be just as impressive in orange stripes. He agreed, and both children went back to work, content.

Arthur stared. Ariadne was still dressed in her suit from that morning, but her jacket was missing and her white blouse was rumpled and untucked. Her toes wiggled, stocking-free, against the carpet as she continued coloring her own hydrangea drawing with pointillistic dots, and her hair, mussed from sleeping in a half-formed bun, fell in uncombed waves against her sloping shoulders. When she smiled her eyes pinched and betrayed her exhaustion. It was oddly captivating.

James lifted his head, and when he spotted Arthur his face lit in a brilliant grin. "Sleepy-head's awake!" he laughed, vaulting to his feet.

Philipa jumped as well, and because he wasn't sure he could lift either of them he instead lowered to his knees, and accepted their enthusiastic hugs around his neck. "Oof! Careful, I'm still half asleep," he said, but when Ariadne looked to him in alarm, he winced and shook his head. "I mean...how are you?" He eased them back. "What are you up to? Drawing?"

"I colored you a cat!" James declared, and he rushed to hold up his book. "Is orange your favorite color?"

Philipa snatched up her papers as well. "I drew Ari! And you, while you were sleeping."

Arthur frowned at the intensely discomforted look his markered self was making in Philipa's drawing. "Did you peek at me? I don't really look like that, do I?"

"You do!" said James, dragging down the corners of his mouth with two fingers. "Wike wis!"

They laughed, and Arthur cast a quick glance to Ariadne. She was trying to smile, but every time she came close worry chased it off. I'm okay, he mouthed. She finally got it, but then her eyes darted upward, and she started. She motioned with her head.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder, and wasn't surprised to see Cobb standing over them, but he flinched anyway. "Dom..."

"Dinner's ready," Cobb said. He waved at his children. "Come on, wash up." As they scampered past him he looked to Arthur and Ariadne. "You, too."

"Yes, Dad," Ariadne teased. She hooked her arm under Arthur's and helped him up as Cobb headed back for the kitchen.

"How is he?" Arthur whispered as they followed James and Philipa. His stomach was suddenly roiling and the thought of dinner didn't help.

"Better than earlier," Ariadne replied in kind. "But you should probably tread lightly." She gave his hand a squeeze. "How are you?"

"I'm all right." When she continued to stare at him he added, "Really."

James's pick for Saturday night dinner at the Cobb house was make-your-own-tacos--a messy, exuberant affair with various dishes being passed back and forth, chopped vegetables spilling onto the tables, and sour cream stuck in Cobb's beard. Arthur did his best to keep up but he soon realized he was not as fully recovered as he'd assumed, and the excited chatter quickly resumed the throb between his temples. Far worse was Cobb's apparent ease. He asked Arthur how he was feeling, without mentioning any circumstances or applying any blame, then continued through the meal with perfect friendliness. Even knowing it was for the children's sakes it put Arthur on edge, and he dreaded what would come once dinner was complete. He ate only enough to satisfy Philipa's nosiness and smiled as best he could to the end.

Once Philipa and James were back in the family room, settling in for a movie, Cobb at last faced him seriously. "Tell me the truth," he said. "You're all right?"

The eyes on him made him doubt. "Yes. At least, I'm pretty sure I'm not hallucinating, so it seems both halves of me made it out all right."

"Good." Cobb rolled up his sleeves. "Then you can help me do the dishes." He started collecting the plates and bowls off the table.

Arthur sighed and looked to Ariadne, but she was already moving to assist him. "I will, too," she said, nudging Arthur with her elbow on the way. He made a face, but followed suit.

"I talked to Eames while you were asleep," Cobb said as he scraped bits of food into the trash.

"Oh?" Arthur rolled up his sleeves. "What did he say?" he asked, curious and wary at once.

"Fischer's awake." He started the water running, giving each plate a decent rinse before handing them to Ariadne for the dishwasher. "It sounds like he's still shaken, but all right. They were out having an early dinner."

Arthur frowned as he emptied glasses into the sink. "He was out?"

"Sounds like he's recovering faster than you," Ariadne teased, but she quickly sobered. "That's great news."

"Yeah..." Arthur filed silverware into the basket slots, though his focus was far elsewhere. "Did you ever figure out what the big secret was?"

Cobb didn't look at him as he collected pans from the stove. "You're both better off not knowing," he said, but Arthur clearly heard his true words hidden beneath the strain: Like hell I'm telling you now. "I'll wash if you rinse, and Ariadne can dry."

They stood shoulder to shoulder at Cobb's small apartment sink. As Arthur waited, listening to the quiet scrape of Cobb working steel wool into the pan, he grew ever more anxious. Cobb had promised him an earful and he was ready for it, but he wasn't prepared for the silent treatment. I know what you're going to say, he thought, staring fixedly at the little white suds. Just say it!

"Here," Cobb said, handing him the pan.

Arthur accepted and held it under the running water. Once the soap had all been cleansed he passed the pan to Ariadne, who was waiting with a towel to dry it off. When Cobb moved on to the bean pot without saying anything more, Arthur couldn't take it any longer.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out. "I never meant for you to be involved." He cast a quick glance at Ariadne. "Either of you. And you know I wouldn't have agreed to it if I'd known what Banks was really after. So go ahead and say 'I told you so' already--I was wrong to trust her, I get it."

Cobb paused in his washing to stare. "And?" he prompted.

Arthur heaved a sigh and reached past him for the cutting board. "I know you're a dad, but you're not my dad. Do we have to do this like I'm five?"

Cobb tensed, and Arthur braced himself. He knew how to press Cobb's buttons, especially how to do so to his advantage; he was accustomed to his friend's temper and he had learned how to let it wash over him. But just as Cobb's ears were turning red he abruptly went slack, and returned to scrubbing the pot.

"You almost got yourself worse than killed today," he said. "I just want to be sure that you know that."

Arthur started to reply, but the words died in his throat. Everything tumbled together and all he could manage was, "I know."

He expected Cobb to continue, and when he didn't, it was worse. As they worked all he could think of were the dozens of accusations that Cobb should have been levying at him: about trusting Charla, and going after Robert again, and the hundred times he could and should have told him about Mal. Each was so clear and sharp in his ears he almost couldn't tell that they weren't being spoken directly at him. I know, I know, he thought over and over, almost rubbing the cutting board raw in his anxious attempts to clean it. When Ariadne touched his arm he finally handed it over and accepted the next pot from Cobb.

"I know," he said again. His brow was furrowed so deeply that it was making his head hurt again, and he tried to rub the tension out with the back of his hand. "But it's not like--"

The suds crept down his face and into the corner of his eye; he hissed, wincing against the sting. His instinct was to use his hands but they were still wet and soapy, and his wrist was no help.

"Are you all right?" Ariadne asked with alarm.

"Yeah, just...damn it." He shook his head. "Soap in my eye."

Cobb dampened a clean wash cloth and passed it to him. "Here."

Arthur pressed the cloth to his face, and at first it was soothing, but as the water seeped into his eyes and then down his cheeks it triggered a deeper pain brewing in his chest. The tension already drawing his face into a grimace tightened knots in his throat and stomach, hitched his shoulders and clenched his free hand against the lip of the sink. He was too afraid to breathe; he knew that if he let even one shaky breath past his grinding teeth the last of his composure would fail.

Cobb filled the last of the pans with soapy water and left it in the sink to soak. Ariadne dried the cutting board and slipped it into a cabinet. Neither of them spoke or stared, continuing on as if nothing was wrong while Arthur hid behind the wash cloth. At last Cobb dried his hands. "How long are you staying in the city?" he asked.

"Our flight out is at ten in the morning," said Ariadne. "All our stuff is still at the hotel."

"You should just spend the night here. I'll get the kids up early and we can stop by the hotel in the morning before taking you to the airport. See you off."

Arthur drew himself in, and just when he thought he was on the verge of collapse, he took in a sharp breath and the moment passed. "All right," he said, his voice strained but unbroken as he dropped the wash cloth into the sink. "Thank you."

"The sofa pulls out, if...you don’t mind sharing."

In better circumstances Arthur might have taken some amusement in Cobb's awkwardness. "It's fine," Ariadne said. "We'll figure it out, I'm sure."

"Then I'll let you finish up while I check on the kids."

Arthur was yanking a paper towel off the roll when Cobb's hand came down on his shoulder and squeezed. It was a brief but firm gesture, followed by a heavy clap, and then Cobb moved away. Everything that needed to be said passed in the short exchange, and Arthur pressed his eyes shut again, clinging to the countertop until he heard the children giggling with their father's arrival.

Ariadne leaned into him, caressing his elbow with gentle fingers. "You finished with that pot?" she asked.

Arthur finished drying his face and at last straightened. "Yeah, it's...clean." He gave it a final rinse and handed it off. The sting hadn't left him completely but he managed to smile for her. "Thank you."

She didn't look back. "What for?"

For not saying anything. He turned to lean his back against the counter, watching as she finished drying the pot and began to hunt through the cupboards for its proper home. For saving my life. His jaw worked, and he wished that he could just clasp her shoulder and communicate all the things that needed saying, just as easily as Cobb had done for him. "Everything."

Ariadne closed the cupboard and returned to his side. She stared into his face, and though he had hoped to see a gleam of perfect understanding, her eyes were marred with doubt. "What's going to happen," she asked quietly, "when we get back to Paris?"

Arthur's usual poker face failed him. "What do you mean?"

Ariadne shoved her sleeves further up her elbows. "I mean, what's going to happen to us when we get back to Paris?" Her lips quirked in a barely-formed smile. "Assuming there is an us."

He did his best not to squirm. "I'd like there to be," he said, and started to smile, but her expression killed it before it got anywhere. "That is, I thought we'd established that part...at least somewhat."

Ariadne fidgeted, and glanced toward the family room before stepping closer. Her eyes were serious and vulnerable, in a way he had never seen--had never expected to see, after the many acts of fearless heroism he had witnessed. It made his stomach tighten all over again and he wasn't sure he was ready to hear whatever was already on her tongue.

"I don't think I can do this again," she said.

"Again?" He grinned, trying to make light as if that would sway her. "I wasn’t aware we already--"

"You scare me," Ariadne blurted out, and when he leaned back in confusion, she hurried on. "At least, that's what my subconscious told me. And seeing that it was my subconscious, I figured it deserved a little reflection. And I think she was right." She shook her head. "I mean, I was right. All of this came about so quickly I never had the chance to really think it through like I should, but now that I have, I know it's true." She stared up at him through her lashes. "You scare me."

Arthur stared back at her, speechless. It wasn't the first time someone had told him so, but hearing it from Ariadne, who only hours before had shot him through the forehead with barely a moment's hesitation, melted lead in his gut. "Oh."

Ariadne lowered her eyes. "It's not just the obvious stuff, either," she continued. "The invading people's minds stuff, the possible assassinations and what have you. But that's a part of it, and..."

She trailed off, and grumbled as she swiped at her eyes. "Damn it. I didn't want to do this...like this."

"Are you asking me to go clean?" Arthur asked.

"No. Well, maybe." Ariadne took in a huge breath and abruptly leaned into his chest, her arms snaking around him. "I just know that when I thought you might not wake up, I almost puked."

Arthur sighed around a dry smile. "That's something, at least."

"But seriously." She hid her face against his lapel; though her voice was muffled, he had no trouble making out the words. "I know it's not fair of me to ask--I'm not--I'm just being honest. Don't ask me into the field with you again."

I didn't ask you the first time, he wanted to say, but then she tucked herself snugly under his chin, and he couldn't help but return the embrace. Her mussed hair was soft under his nose and he breathed her in, letting her smell, the warmth of her smaller body, ease him into his proper senses. "I won't," he said. His fingers twitched. "I can't make any promises as to the other part, but...after today, I don't think I'll be doing extractions for a while. There are plenty of other ways for me to make money."

"Legal ways?" she teased.

Arthur scoffed. "Of course not."

Ariadne chuckled and leaned back, her hands sliding to his chest. "It's a start. Baby steps."

Her smile eased him--he felt as if had been years since he'd seen it last. His arms were still around her and he tugged, drawing her up in hopes of a kiss. She granted it, and the taste of her lipstick almost covered up the little quiver hiding in the corners of her mouth. Frowning, he leaned back again. "What was the other stuff?" he asked quietly.

Ariadne's smile became a wince. "It's...personal," she said. "And really stupid, and kind of embarrassing." Her fingers moved in little circles against his chest as her cheeks reddened. "But if you can put up with me long enough...I'll tell you when I'm ready."

Arthur's brow resumed its furrowing as he tried to puzzle out what she meant, but there was no making sense of the depth of emotion in her wide brown eyes. "I could just extract it from you," he suggested.

She punched him jokingly in the stomach, and before he could recover from his over-exaggerated recoil, she drew him into a kiss. Her lips were more confident than the previous and they replaced the heaviness in his stomach with a very pleasant tingle; but before he could seek something deeper, she pulled away again. Her turned head alerted Arthur to the fact that they suddenly had an audience: Philipa was giggling at them from behind the kitchen table.

Ariadne blushed harder and stepped away from him. "Little scamp," she teased. "Were you spying on us?" She stomped forward and with a squeal Philipa dashed back into the family room.

Arthur smiled as he followed Ariadne out of the kitchen. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather stay at the hotel tonight?" he asked innocently. She shot him a look, but as they rejoined Cobb and his family for movie night, she took his hand in hers and squeezed.

***

Eames opened his eyes to a rolling field. Lush grass swayed in a fragrant wind, brushing his bare ankles and feet, and soft earth depressed beneath his wiggling toes. He turned in a slow circle, taking in the sight of thousands of blossoming flowers, and ancient graveyards, and charcoal drawings carved into the sides of rocky outcroppings. It was a vibrant dream, rich with life and history as if it had been growing for centuries. And it was familiar.

Eames started forward, and just when he was about to call out for Robert, he spotted a space in the grass that was matted down by a prone body. He headed toward it, his feet making a soft, swishing noise through the field.

"It's very rude to trespass in someone's dream," Robert said.

Eames smiled. "Sorry," he replied as he drew nearer. "But I could tell you were dreaming, and I needed to know what..."

He stopped a few steps short of his host when he realized for the first time that they weren't in a field: it was a grassy bluff terminating in a jagged cliff, perched hundreds of feet above a pristine and even more familiar beach. Beyond the golden sand lay an endless and undulating ocean, though it alone was not as unblemished as Eames remembered.

The shallows were cluttered with smoldering debris. Iron beams that had once been playfully colored clawed out of the waves as twisted specters, charred almost beyond recognition. Striped awnings fluttered like war-torn banners and carousel horses drowned beneath them. The wreckage spread for miles, and though the smoke was heavy and black, the wind coming off the hillsides easily swept it out into the infinite sea.

"...was going on in here," Eames finished, stunned. "Is that the carnival?"

Robert was stretched out on his back in the grass, his bare feet dangling just to the edge of the cliff. "You should have seen it earlier," he said, his eyes closed. "When it was really burning. Pillars of fire, right up to the clouds." He lifted his arms into the air, letting them twist and sway as he mimicked the sounds of explosions. His hands dropped to his stomach. "It was very cathartic."

Eames's eyebrows perked. "I'll bet." But as he stared down at the beach dread threatened to creep up his spine; there was a heaviness in the atmosphere not unlike miles of ocean already on his shoulders. We're sinking. He looked behind him and remembered suddenly where he had seen the flowers and graveyards before. "I made this," he murmured, and his chest grew tight with panic. "Robert, we're still--"

"It's all right," Robert said, and he sounded so calm that Eames couldn't help but believe him. "We're not in Limbo--you didn't make this." He stretched his shoulders against the grass. "I did."

Eames glanced around one more time and then sat down next to Robert, though he kept his feet pulled in from the edge. "You did?"

"You built it in my subconscious, remember? So I borrowed it." His lips quirked in a smile that was almost smug. "I've kept everything you've given me so far, haven't I?"

"You have." Eames smiled back, but as he watched the surf pound the remnants of Robert's painful childhood, he couldn't shake the weight from his back. "But we are sinking. This must be more than one layer deep--there's too much here. It's just so...dense." The sky was so clear that he could see horizon for seemingly hundreds of miles in all directions, and when he pressed his hand in the earth, he could have sworn there were a hundred miles more buried underneath. He shook his head. "Do you even know how impossible it is that you're capable of this?"

"I'd rather not think about it." Robert finally opened his eyes, and stared upwards with a clarity Eames had never seen in him before. "I'm just glad those things are gone."

Eames straightened when he realized that Robert was right: not a spot of black of any kind marred Robert's perfect scenery. "But you don't have any projections here now. What if..."

He trailed off as a sound of churning rock drew his attention. Leaning over the edge he saw a collection of small cottages pull out of the side of the cliff far below. Umbrellas and tanning chairs blossoming along the shore and with them came vacationing families: flesh and blood people with flowing hair and tanned skin. They raced into the waters and their laughter floated all the way to Eames and Robert's grassy vantage point.

His projections are back to normal. Eames breathed a sigh of relief so deep he flopped onto his back next to Robert. Finally he felt bold enough to let his ankles scrape the overhang, and Robert nudged their bare feet together with affection. "I don't understand," Eames said as they nestled close. "Did the extraction cancel out the inception somehow?"

Robert hummed, and when he spoke again, his voice had lowered. "The idea you planted in me was that my father loved me. And now...I don't even know who that is."

He reached between them, plucking up a small yellow daffodil. As he held it up between them the petals flexed against the wind and then began to twirl in a lazy pinwheel. "It's not gone completely," he said, letting the flower's soft blades brush against the tip of his thumb as they turned. "But now that I know the truth, there's no point in protecting the lie. It's over." He gave the daffodil a flick and watched it sail out of view. "I'll never be Maurice. And...that's all right. I think I'll be all right."

Eames watched him closely, and once Robert had settled again, he curled their hands together. "I'm glad," he said, sincerity making his voice rough. "I'm happy for you."

Robert squeezed his hand. He looked to be deciding on something, and Eames remained quiet, waiting patiently for him to work the words to his tongue. "I'm going to talk to Peter in the morning," he said at last. "In private. I need to hear everything from him--anything he can tell me."

"Are you going to ask him to do a DNA test?"

"No." Robert closed his eyes, and when lines creased his brow Eames rubbed his thumb gently against his knuckles, soothing him. "I don't want to know," he continued with that encouragement. "If we do the test and Peter is my father, he's right: we'll both lose everything. And if Maurice is..." He shivered. "Who's to say those ghosts won't come back? Maybe eventually I'll ask him, but for now..."

Robert took in a deep breath and faced Eames. "I'm going to dissolve Fischer Morrow," he said.

Eames's heart skipped, but his expression didn't change. "Is that what you really want?"

He considered for a long moment before nodding. "Yes. Deep down, I don't think Maurice ever really wanted me to have it, anyway." He closed his eyes, and when he rolled closer Eames welcomed him against his chest. "I think...I can break it down into pieces, first. Sell the companies off one by one. Build up some capital, invest." He snorted quietly. "Make use of my business degrees for once. And when I'm ready, I'll make something for myself. Something they won't be able to take away from me, if the truth ever does come out..."

Eames's mind spun, torn between pride and doubt, but all he could do was hold Robert more tightly to him. "And Browning?" he asked. "He won't like that."

"I don't care if he does." Robert chuckled into Eames's whiskers. "I'll sell him Richter Cole's. He likes their shoes."

Eames chuckled with him, and then they twisted together, meeting for a kiss. Robert's lips were soft and seeking, and Eames tried to be everything that he needed: strong, and supporting, and understanding. But when they pulled back it was his breath that came up short, his heart that hammered between them like a tangible pulse in the air.

They woke up in Eames's hotel's room. Eames spared only a moment to remove his IV, and Robert his, before they wound together again. Each kiss was a question and an answer, not always a match but well meant, and as the sheets hissed against them Eames thought, Please, just...please.

Robert settled onto his back, welcoming Eames between his thighs, but before they went any further Eames propped himself up on his elbows. "Robert," he said, his voice quiet in the already darkened and intimate room. "I want to stay with you for a while--at least until we're certain that you really are recovering."

Robert sagged into the mattress and regarded him warily. "If you're only saying that because you feel guilty, don't," he said. "I can take care of myself."

Eames smiled wryly. "I know you can. And I'd be lying if I said guilt wasn't part of it. But I..." Robert's eyes were intense, and he couldn't help but speak the truth to them. "It's important to me that you be all right," he finished, moving his fingertips gently against Robert's soft hair. "For a lot of reasons."

Robert stared back at him, gauging, and at last offered a grin. "As if I would have let you leave," he chuckled. He laced his fingers behind Eames's neck and pulled.

Eames sighed through a grin of his own, and as they kissed he couldn't imagine being more pleased with himself.

~The End~

Wow, it's finally over! My sincerest thanks to everyone that's followed and commented on this fic. When I started Helix (back in October, damn) I was coming back to fic writing after a hiatus of several months. I was really nervous about jumping back in with a fic like this but it's been such a pleasure to write and the support has meant everything to me. Thank you so much <3

If you have any comments, questions, critique, .gifs, nitpicks, cheesecake recipes, flames, recs, or just a <3, please feel free to share! I'm always striving to improve my writing and I welcome all feedback.

Thanks again for reading and I hope you'll keep an eye out for my future fics ;)