[FIC - Inception] The Helix Trap Chapter 9/19
So the other day I got this call from Cobb's agent, and he was all, "Did you even see the movie? Do you remember who the protagonist was?" And I was like, "HOSHI- you're right, sorry." And long story short...
Fandom: Inception
Title: The Helix Trap
Chapter: 9/19 (7,700 words) (For other parts please check my My main post.
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Eames/Robert, Arthur/Ariadne, Cobb, Yusuf, Saito, Browning, and others.
Warnings: Violence, sexual content.
Disclaimer: These characters and setting do not belong to me and are being used without permission but for no profit
Summary: After the Inception proves successful, Eames tracks down Robert out of concern for its unusual side effects. Meanwhile, Arthur is hired to a dangerous job that forces the rest of the team to take sides: whether to defend Robert and his fragile mind, or ruin him completely.
Notes: C&C Welcome and appreciated. Thanks to my beta chypie for her input!
ruins_of_sodom made some fanart of the Helix prologue, here! And speaking of fanart, anyone else signing up for i_reversebang? I've never done a challenge like this before, I can't wait :D
Inception, its characters and settings, do not belong to me and are being used here without permission but for no profit. This fic is rated R for sexual situations and violence.
The Helix Trap
Chapter 9
Arthur didn’t dream anymore. But sometimes when he awoke he felt a tingle at the back of his mind, as if his brain was still making the attempt. He never remembered anything, no image or sensation to cling to. He told himself it was only a phantom pain, like a severed limb trying to bend. He felt it when he woke up the morning before his third "Fischer Job."
He showered quickly, and dressed in a gray, three-piece suit with a blue tie. When he left the bathroom Ariadne was finishing her own preparation by applying her makeup--simple, professional eye shadow and subtle lipstick. Her hair was pulled back except for a few soft curls that covered her ears. She kissed a tissue and smiled at him. "What's all this?" she teased, looking him over.
Arthur stood a little taller. "I always dress like this."
Her freshly made up lips quirked, and she moved closer. She gave his necktie a little tug. "We match."
"You still look beautiful," he said without provocation.
She rolled her eyes as if she didn't believe him, but there was still a fair blush in her cheeks. "Thanks."
She tried not to smile, and it made him want to kiss her. It must have shown in his face, because she tilted her chin up, just slightly, a perfect invitation that he gladly accepted. He tasted her lipstick and regretted it; it was going to take extra concentration not to think about it once they got under.
When Ariadne leaned back on her heels she looked suddenly uncertain. Her eyes met his, searching. "Tell me one more time this is going to work," she said evenly.
Arthur returned her stare with perfect confidence. "It'll work. And since we're not using a sedative this time, if anything goes wrong all you have to do is wake up."
"And you?" she asked immediately. He could tell that her mind was running through all manner of worst case scenarios, which somehow made him feel more secure than ever.
"I have you looking out for me," he replied. "I'll be fine." He squeezed her shoulder and then moved away to retrieve his satchel, with his PASIV hidden inside. "Come on--we have to be across town soon."
Ariadne wasn't convinced, and as they left the hotel together she stayed close, her shoulders squared as if protecting him. He smiled to himself, thinking selfishly that he was glad to have her there.
***
Robert's eyelids drooped as he stared at the stranger in the mirror. His face was bony and pale, his hair was a cropped mess, and his clothing was irredeemably oversized. Everything about him was wrong, and he ached, hating the man in front of him. Over and over he thought, I was supposed to be more than this, and bile rose at the back of his throat. He stood there for almost an hour before Eames found him.
A warm hand settled at the nape of his neck, and eyelashes graced his bare temple. Robert remained still, and though he was grateful for the contact he couldn't tear his gaze from the horrible spectacle in front of him.
"Come on," Eames whispered against his cheek. "I'll take you home."
By the time they pulled up in front of Robert's building, he was feeling significantly clearer, enough to know that he didn't want to go inside. He nestled into the passenger seat, glaring up at the forty-two story condominium defiantly. "I'm going to sell this place," he declared, "and move into a house somewhere."
"You haven't sold it quite yet," Eames said. "Go on--you should at least change and let your entourage know where you've been."
Just as he spoke a familiar face came jogging toward them: his chief security escort, Erhard. Robert tried to sink further into the car but he had already been spotted. "Peter's probably already put bars on the windows up there," he muttered. "I wonder if that will decrease the value."
Erhard opened the passenger door. "Mr. Fischer!" There was sweat on his forehead and he looked as if he hadn't slept. "Everyone's been trying to call you. Mr. Browning said..." When he glanced inside the car and saw Eames he started. "Oh, Mr. Eames. So it was you."
"Good morning," Eames greeted. "Sorry I didn't get him back by curfew."
Robert snorted, and screwed his cap back to his head as he let Erhard help him out of the car. When he realized that Eames was still buckled and not going anywhere, he turned back with a sharp frown. "Aren't you coming up?"
"Actually, I'm on my way to meeting someone," he said. "I'll talk to you later."
Robert glanced to the building and back. "No."
Eames's eyebrows lifted. "I won't be long."
Still deeply frowning, Robert shut the passenger door and made his way around the car to Eames's side. By the time he'd reached it the window was down. "I haven't run out on you yet," Eames said, smiling sideways. "Do you think that's going to change now? Go on, get something to eat, and with any luck I'll be introducing you to an associate of mine in an hour. If we can get in through the front door, that is."
Robert braced his hands against the open sill. "An associate?" He lowered his voice. "Another extractor?"
"Yes. I think he'll be able to help us." His face twitched with the final word as if it hadn't been what he'd meant to say. "Anyway, if you don't at least check in with Browning he's going to be all over us both, so you might as well get it over with, hm?"
"Right..." It was not a promising prospect, but Robert knew it was unavoidable. "Then I'll see you in an hour."
"Of course."
Before he could reach for the window control Robert leaned down, his hand fisting in Eames's hair as he stole a firm kiss. Eames grunted softly but kissed him back. When he leaned away he noticed Erhard gaping at them but pretended not to. "I'll tell security you're coming," he said. "If they give you any trouble, just tell them to call me."
Eames licked his lips. "Good luck with Browning."
Robert joined Erhard on the curb, and watched as Eames drove away. As soon as he was out of sight he took in a quick breath, telling himself not to let the anxiety return. It would only be an hour, and then they would have one more mind working to help him.
"Mr. Fischer," Erhard said haltingly, "Excuse me, but..."
"I know." Robert gave his jacket a tug and strode toward the entrance. "I'm going up. Please call Mr. Browning and Ms. Watts and let them know I'm in."
The condo was just as he had left it weeks ago. All the hardwood had been freshly polished, the tables dusted, every article in its proper place. Robert tried not to pay attention to it all as he headed immediately to the bathroom for a long, warm shower, letting the heat remind him of being wrapped up in Eames's dream. By the time he emerged and was dressed--a dress shirt and slacks, despite his present distaste for them--he felt ready to go into battle.
Browning was waiting for him in the great room, as he had expected, and he wasn't alone. Seated next to him was a middle aged woman with strawberry blonde hair, sipping from a cup of coffee. They both glanced up as he entered.
"You left your door open," Browning admonished, though patiently. There was some manner of bitter resolution in his face that Robert had never seen before.
"Peter." Robert had told himself he wasn't going to apologize, but as Browning rose to meet him, he couldn't help himself. "I'm sorry I disappeared last night. I know you were waiting to hear from me."
His mouth twitched. "Your driver told me you stayed at a hotel." He shook his head. "Honestly, Robert. Is this really the right time for that?"
He wasn't ashamed, but his stomach twisted anyway. "It doesn't mean anything," he assured. "Just like the last ones." He looked to the woman, who was watching them with quiet attentiveness. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"
"I already have, remember?" Browning held out his hand, and she accepted, standing. "This is my dear friend, Dr. Charla Banks."
Robert's heart pulsed against his throat. All at one he remembered the luncheon they had shared some years ago, and the way his skin had crawled beneath her even and seemingly all-knowing stare. The effects had not weakened since then. "Dr. Banks," he repeated, stalling. She offered her hand and he shook it involuntarily. "It's good to see you again."
"And you, Mr. Fischer," she greeted in kind. "I know it's a bit belated, but you have my condolences."
To hear her even mention his father gave him a chill, and he quickly retrieved his hand. "Thank you. What can I do for you, Doctor?"
Charla smiled sympathetically. "I think you already know."
He hid his anxiety well, by his own estimation. "Peter wants me to talk to you."
"This isn't a formal session," Browning said. "Nothing on the record. You don't have to say anything you don't want to." His brow furrowed. "But since you won't talk to me, I thought I should try to find someone you will."
He sounded sincere, and Robert wasn't sure if he was meant to berate himself for thinking so. This is the woman Eames warned me about, he thought, glancing between the two of them. But she's alone, and she doesn't even have a PASIV with her, so... He lowered his eyes. What if Peter really is just trying to help?
"I'm expecting company," Robert said, drawing himself up. "And I have a lot of business to attend to today, so I'm afraid I don't have much time."
"Just a few minutes, then," Charla suggested. "Whatever you're comfortable with telling me."
Robert clenched his fists in his pockets. She and Browning were watching him so expectantly it seemed ridiculous to refuse. "All right," he said. "At least until my guest gets here." Eames will want to know she's here. Maybe if they're face to face I can get some answers. He straightened his tie and gestured to the next room. "We can talk in the study, if that's all right."
"Should I get you something to drink?" Browning offered. "Some coffee, a glass of water?"
"No," Robert said quickly, with undue paranoia. "I'm fine." He shook himself and led Charla into the next room.
The study was just as tidy as the rest of the condo. His desk was clear and every book on the many shelves was carefully aligned. Robert sat down in one of the leather chairs and tried to give an impression of ease. "So, Dr. Banks. Peter tells me you're...into dreams," he said. Or maybe I can get some answers myself.
"Yes, you could say that." Charla sat down with her coffee. "I have degrees in oneirology and psychophysiology, but I suppose you're referring to my work with Dr. Gavde regarding shared dreaming."
"Peter's mentioned it a few times," Robert went on. "He told me I should talk to you about the fact that I'm not sleeping well lately."
"That's what he told me as well. He thinks you're suffering from some manner of anxiety disorder brought on by the shock of your father's death."
Again her words made Robert itch, and he fidgeted in his chair. "Well. He's not a psychiatrist."
"Then, you don't agree?" Charla sipped from her coffee, watching him closely the entire time. It was unnerving. "I find it hard to believe it hasn't affected you."
"It has," Robert said defensively. "That's not what I said."
"Why can't you sleep, Robert?" Charla asked bluntly.
She set her cup down and just stared, almost unblinking. Robert tried to meet her challenge but eventually he relented, looking down to the inside of his wrist, and the tiny scar from the IV. "Because I'm afraid I'll dream," he admitted.
He heard Charla stand. "And what's so frightening about dreams?"
"They're not natural." Robert flexed his fingers, watching the scar jar above thin tendons. "They mean something, and I..." He shook his head, realizing he was saying more than he wanted. "I'm sorry, Dr. Banks, but I--"
A cloth was shoved over his mouth and nose. Robert jerked back, but sharp nails dug into his neck and scalp, pressuring him forward into the sick, sweet odor. He tried not to breathe it in, but when he raised his arms to fend of his attacker they were already heavy. Charla held on with startling power as he writhed, helpless. Everything went dark.
Eames...
Robert sagged in the chair. Charla held on for a moment longer to be certain that he wasn't faking and then let go. As she straightened her blouse, Arthur stepped in from the adjoining bathroom.
"You weren't going to do that unless we had no choice," he reminded her with displeasure.
"I was impatient." Charla smiled icily as she tucked the cloth into her purse and checked Robert's pulse. "He won't remember it anyway."
Arthur frowned. "All clear," he called to his peers.
Yusuf, Nash, and Ariadne moved swiftly into the room, and immediately began rearranging the furniture and unpacking their equipment. "Did you get a good look around?" Arthur asked as he circled, observing. "Remember the layout of the condo, the building?"
"Yes, I've got it," Yusuf assured. "Everything's so immaculate it already doesn't feel real--it shouldn't be difficult to reproduce."
"Good." Arthur glanced to the door and noticed Browning there, watching the goings on with a distant, weary look. He approached. "Mr. Browning, your security will be in place, correct?"
"Yes." Browning didn't take his eyes off Robert, his fist tight around the handle of the door. "Robert's personal staff isn't due to arrive until the afternoon. Shelby is handling all inquiries. I'll have four men standing guard at this door, like you asked." He grunted. "If 'Simmonds' shows up, they'll handle him."
Eames. "All right." You had better stay out of this.
"It's time for you to leave, Peter," Charla said, joining them. "Just in case. I'll call you when we're finished." She touched his cheek, and to Arthur's amazement, pressed a little kiss to the corner of his mouth. "We'll take good care of him."
Browning nodded vaguely. He watched his godson a moment longer, deep in thought, and at last headed for the exit.
Arthur turned to Charla crossly. "And what was that?"
"Was what?" she asked innocently. She strode past him and retook her seat.
Arthur shook his head, and hoped that would be the last surprise of the morning. He shed his suit jacket and sat down in the chair the others had positioned directly facing Robert; Ariadne was immediately beside him, helping him unbutton his cuffs.
"He's going to recognize us as soon as he sees us," she said quietly, swabbing the inside of his wrists with alcohol. "Should we change the plan at all?"
"No. Just start us off somewhere hidden, and we can work from there." He looked up and offered a faint smile. "It's going to be fine."
She smiled back. "I know." She glanced around, and when everyone was busy inserting their needles and Robert's, she kissed his forehead. "See you when we wake up."
Everyone took their positions. Arthur breathed slowly, letting the tension ease out of his muscles, preparing himself for the state they were about to enter. He glanced to Robert, slumped and pale in the chair across from him, and his eyes narrowed.
Anything we do to him now couldn't be worse, he reminded himself, squashing the seed of ill ease that had threatened to take root. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the chair. "I'm ready," he said.
Around the room everyone agreed, and with a hiss of the PASIVs it began.
***
Cobb glanced at his watch: 8:50 am. He had been waiting at the park for ten minutes already, but he was still early. Not that it was much of a park--more like a stretch of grass where hired dog-walkers meandered in circles around each other. Cobb leaned his elbows against the chain link fence, watching a pair of Bijons snip at their leashes.
Across the city, his children were at a park much better than this. He easily imagined them running across the wood chips, scaling the multi-colored structures, running back to their grandmother for a snack. He remembered just as well the look she had given him when he promised he would be back before dinner, though he tried not to. Because six weeks wasn't long enough to repair a shattered relationship with a mother-in-law. Even his children sometimes looked surprised to see him, they had become so accustomed to life without him. He had battled daily to retake his position among them, and had succeeded in some ways more than others. He needed more time. He had hoped for much more time with them before he was reminded of his former life.
A cheap rental car parked in the lot, and Eames appeared. He was dressed in a suit and was cleanly shaved, his hair slicked back, looking as professional as Cobb ever saw him. He spotted Cobb quickly and headed over.
Remember what you promised to tell him, he reminded himself as he turned. Eames hadn't said over the phone exactly what he wanted, but he had known him for over two years and they had never met for a social visit.
"Cobb," Eames greeted as he approached, and together they took a seat at the park's only bench, just beyond the fence. "Thanks for coming."
"The answer is no," Cobb said immediately.
Eames smirked as if he'd expected it. "Not going to hear me out first?"
"It's still Fischer, isn't it? Why else would you call me out here?" He glanced away, watching the Bijons again. "The last time we talked, it sounded like you were going to do something stupid."
"Oh yes, and you were very perceptive," Eames said, and then continued before Cobb was ready. "I want you to come with me into Robert's mind."
The words were barely out before Cobb answered. "No."
"He's getting worse and I can't help him," Eames went on, all pretense of humor gone. It had been a while since Cobb heard him so serious. "He needs an experienced dreamer, not an old con like me."
"There are plenty of good dreamers here in the states," Cobb said. "Legal and otherwise."
Eames was already shaking his head. "I don't trust them."
But you trust me? Cobb tried not to frown. "You don't understand," he tried again. "I haven't even looked at a PASIV since we got off that plane. I don't think I'll be any help."
"Then at least talk with me a bit, yeah?" Eames leaned forward. "I think I've finally figured out what went wrong."
Cobb's heart gave a painful twinge that he again tried to hide. Inception itself is wrong. There was no way it was ever going to work out well for Fischer. He rubbed his beard. And it can't be fixed. It can't. "Go on," he said.
"The plan we came up with for the inception included reconciling Robert with his father," Eames immediately obliged. "You were right, and it worked. It worked so bloody well that he's now thoroughly convinced that his father loved him, all along, against all reason." He sighed. "The problem being, it's not true."
"So he's suffering some kind of cognitive dissonance?"
"Yes, and worse--his subconscious has reacted by rewriting his memories." Cobb frowned in alarm, but Eames continued before he could interrupt. "I saw it happen, while I was in his dream," he said, with greater agitation. "He's inventing explanations for his father's cold and cruel behavior, shifting the blame to himself for their fights, all in order to preserve the idea we planted in him."
The Bijons left with their keeper, and Cobb reluctantly swung his gaze back to his peer. "That sounds like something plenty of people do," he said quietly. "It's too hard to think badly of the dead."
"But not like this. It's too artificial--it's taking control of his entire subconscious." Eames shook his head. "And there's more."
I don't want to hear this. "Go on."
He shifted uncomfortably. "There's at least one memory the inception hasn't altered. His last moments with his father." He hesitated. "Maurice Fischer's last words were to tell his son that he was disappointed with him."
Cobb was speechless. He remembered suddenly that afternoon in the warehouse, the phrase worse than we thought which was taking on new meaning. Unwillingly he thought of his own father, and the last time he had seen him before his untimely death. He kissed Philipa goodbye, he recalled, cold from the memory. She was still half asleep but she smiled. He and Mom got in the car, they honked twice. I watched them to the end of the street... It was such a simple memory, one that for days afterwards had caused him so much regret it was hard to breathe. Later tragedies, however great, had dulled but never erased the sting of even those happy, innocent moments.
"I can't imagine," he murmured.
Eames was quiet a moment, his eyes downcast. Cobb was certain he was indulging in his own paternal memory, the contents of which he couldn't begin to guess at. "Even so, he's a strong man," Eames continued. "He would have coped. If not for us."
All it once it dawned on Cobb what Eames was driving towards, and it made him sick. "Because we changed his perspective."
"It's bad enough, knowing you disappointed a tyrant who never meant well for you," Eames said. "But even worse--"
"Is disappointing a father who loved you," Cobb finished. Wide brown eyes flashed across his field of vision. "Failing someone who cared about you so much..." His throat tightened and he couldn't finish. It haunts you.
"I thought I could fix it." Eames scoffed at himself, his voice hoarse with regret. "I followed the plan. 'Your father didn't want you to be him,' I told him. 'Be your own man.' Of course it didn't work." He leaned his elbows against his knees, shoulders sagging. "'What did my father want me to be?' That's the only question that matters to him now, made even stronger thanks to the inception. How can I answer it for him, when I can't answer it myself?"
Cobb was taken aback by Eames's startlingly sincere confession, and he wasn't sure how to respond. "Eames...you couldn't have known," he said awkwardly. "Of course we all thought that reconciling Fischer and his father would be good for him. If anything, blame me--it was my job."
"Yes, it was." Eames's gaze flickered to him with a sudden intensity. "That's why you're going to come with me into his mind."
"No," Cobb said again. "This may be personal for you but it's not for me. It's just a job--you're the one who taught me--"
"Your children only have their father back because of Robert Fischer," he interrupted, reminding Cobb with cold certainty that whatever camaraderie they had shared the past two years, he was a seasoned criminal and an artful manipulator. "How will you face them if something happens to him?"
Cobb ground his teeth angrily. "Don't you dare bring my kids into this, Eames."
"You have completed an inception before, haven't you?"
The change of subjects caught him off guard, and he felt his face flush. The words swelled on his tongue and choked him. He knew what question would come next if he answered, and the next after that, and he wasn't sure he could go through the whole story again--not with Eames, who was suddenly watching him like a predator. He knew the havoc the man could wreak on him with too much truth.
"She killed herself," Cobb blurted out, his face hard and his pulse hammering.
Eames straightened up slowly. Guilt flashed in his eyes and lowered his offenses once more. He started to ask another question but Cobb hurried on to beat him to it. "I didn't dream with her again after I did it," he said, fighting to keep Eames's gaze. "I couldn't--I was afraid if I let her go under, she wouldn't wake up. Even if I could have gotten her under there was no way to undo it that wouldn't have hurt her more. It won't be any different with Fischer."
Yes, tell yourself that. He fingered the dull point of a familiar object in his pocket. There isn't any way to help Fischer, because there was no way to help her. There isn't a cure to inception.
Eames continued to watch him, attentive and sharp, and just when Cobb was searching for something to fill the silence with, he at last spoke up. "I have to try," he said quietly. "And you're going to help me."
"Eames..." He sighed heavily. "Please. You can't ask me to do this."
"I'm not." He stared Cobb down, unblinking. "I'm telling you, you won't be able to live with yourself if something happens to him."
Cobb stared back, frozen. A tremor formed in his chest, rotating and frightening. Eames's words burrowed into him as if determined to make themselves true, giving birth to further doubts. Even if Eames was wrong and he managed to walk away unscathed, he had already sparked a question he knew he would never be able to leave unanswered.
"All right," Cobb relented, exhausted. "All right--you win. I'll come with you." He blinked in surprise when Eames immediately pushed to his feet and he couldn't help but do the same. "But just once--if it doesn't look like--"
"Just once to start," Eames said, already ushering him towards his rental. "He's going to need a lot of work. But I'm sure between the two of us we'll think of something."
Cobb groaned and rubbed his eyes. He already regretted his decision and part of him hated Eames for it. But he suddenly felt as if he understood what Robert was going through, thanks to the unsettling question that now rippled beneath his skin.
Did I do enough for her? He slid into the passenger seat and took a deep breath, willing himself to leave it behind for now.
"I should warn you," Eames said as they drove the short distance to Robert's condo. "Robert's going to recognize you. His subconscious has adopted 'Mr. Charles' as its head of security."
"What?" Cobb glared at him, baffled. "How?"
He shrugged. "I have no idea--I'm telling you, the inception has affected him in ways I never would have imagined. Last night he was building rooms in my own dream and I didn't realize." He chuckled, but Cobb heard the thread of discomfort buried inside.
"And you're only telling me this now?" Cobb shook his head. "If he recognizes me he's going to suspect something."
"Don't worry. I'll just tell him that you're the best in the business, so whoever trained him must have implanted your image to frighten off potential extractors."
He still didn't like it. "Won't his trainer just tell him that's not the case?"
Eames hesitated. "Maurice paid for the extractor--Robert doesn't know who it was."
"Jesus." Even after all he had heard Cobb still couldn't wrap his mind around the family dynamic he was dealing with. When he looked to Eames he spotted tension in his brow that worried him all over again. "Eames. How much does Fischer know?"
Again he hesitated. "He knows that I performed the inception on him."
"Stop the car," Cobb said immediately.
"Now hold on, it's all--"
"Stop the car, now."
Eames pulled over, and as soon as they were mostly stopped Cobb unbuckled and shoved the door open. It wasn't until he noticed a man in uniform watching him in confusion that he realized they had arrived: Robert's building loomed over him, gleaming and ominous. "Damn it." He turned and marched away, determined to get back to the park on foot if he had to.
"Cobb--wait." Eames tossed his keys to the valet and chased him down. "Calm down, it's all right."
"Like hell it is!" Cobb whirled on him, hissing. "Are you trying to get me thrown in prison? If he realizes I was in on it--"
"He only knows about my involvement," Eames insisted, taking his arm before he could try to escape again. "He doesn't know about you or any of the others, and he doesn't have to." He gave him a tug. "Come on, you promised you'd at least take a look at him."
"I didn't promise anything," Cobb protested, but he let Eames guide him back towards the entrance. "I can't do this, Eames. I'm not risking my children again."
"You won't, I swear." Eames smiled reassuringly. "Think about it. If you help me fix him you have an ally for life. Fischer can buy you out of a lot more trouble that Saito, you know."
Cobb heaved a sigh at being reminded of Saito. "This is insane," he muttered, following Eames into the building. "I can't believe you talked me into this." But it wasn't true; deep down he knew all along that he would cave.
The lobby was almost as big as Cobb's new apartment, all gold limestone and teak marble and a book placed on the corner table just so to give it an illusion of homeliness. Cobb tried not to make a face as he followed Eames to the security desk. He fingered his totem almost the entire way.
"We're here to see Robert Fischer," Eames told the woman behind the desk. "He's expecting us."
"I'm sorry, Sir, but Mr. Fischer is not accepting guests," she said precisely.
Eames smiled in irritation. "Love, he's not accepting guests because he's expecting us. Please call up and let him know we're here."
She stared back at him, unmoved. "Mr. Fischer is not accepting guests," she repeated tersely.
The elevator chimed, and Cobb glanced to it quickly while Eames continued to pressure the woman. When a tall, broad-shouldered man with a shaved head stepped out his hand graced his hip, seeking a handgun that wasn't there. He clenched his jaw and tapped Eames's shoulder. "Hey."
Eames glanced back, and to Cobb's surprise his face lit up. "Ah, Erhard!"
Erhard started, interrupting his lighter on its way to the cigarette between his lips. "Mr. Eames...."
As Eames moved to greet him, Cobb glanced back to the security woman. She was watching the pair closely while stealthily reaching for her phone. Cobb's instincts kicked in and he reached over the desk, hanging up her call before she'd finished tapping in the numbers.
"Please don't do that," he said politely. Tensing, she leaned back and replaced the receiver.
"Just the fellow who can help us," Eames was saying as he reached Erhard. "You can take us up to meet Robert, can't you?"
"Uhh..." Erhard tucked the cigarette back into the pack, unlit. "I'm not supposed to."
The muscles along Eames's jaw twitched. "Browning, eh?"
"I'm...well, yes." Erhard shook his head uncomfortably. "I'm sorry Mr. Eames, but I'm under orders. I'll lose my job."
Cobb joined them. He saw that Eames was tense and he started to worry that he was about to say or do something reckless. "Who do you work for?" he asked bluntly. "Mr. Browning, or Mr. Fischer?"
Erhard frowned at him. "I work for Mr. Fischer."
"Then the least you can do is tell him he has guests, right?"
Still Erhard looked unconvinced, but then Eames flashed him a grin. "Come on, Erhard," he teased. "You were young once, weren't you?"
Again to Cobb's amazement, it worked: Erhard shifted uncomfortably on his feet and scratched the back of his neck. "All right, come on." He waved to the woman behind the desk. "It's all right, I'll take them up."
They headed for the elevators, and on the way Cobb took Eames soundly by the elbow. "Tell me you're not sleeping with him," he whispered.
Eames raised an eyebrow. "Come now, I know it's been a while but you must remember that using a PASIV together requires sleep."
"Eames." Cobb shook his head. "You owe me for this," he swore.
"No." Eames eyed him seriously as they entered the elevator behind Erhard. "Actually, I think this makes us even." Cobb couldn't reply.
They exited on the thirty-ninth floor, through the private vestibule and into the condo's great room. Three men were seated around the coffee table, one reading a newspaper while the others watched the local morning show on Robert's widescreen. They jerked to attention as Erhard led his guests inside. "It's all right," he assured. "They're with me."
"Marcus," Eames called to the one with the newspaper. "I hope you're up for another game soon."
"Mr. Eames?" He pushed to his feet, looking uncertain. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh we're here to see Robert," Eames said easily. "Where's he hiding? Robert!"
The other two men stood as well. Neither of them had the same look of recognition as Erhard and Marcus, and Cobb noticed one of them brushing his hand over his hip, the same instinctual gesture he'd performed earlier. He tensed, for the first time in two months wishing he had a gun on him. "Eames."
"Is he in the bathroom?" Eames continued, and he started to move about the condo in search, either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring the tense atmosphere. "Don't be shy, Robert, there's someone I want you to meet!"
One of the guards intercepted him, a hand on his chest. "Sir, you have to leave."
"But we just got here." His grin was a coiled spring. "Come on, turn him out."
The other guard was moving toward his back. Cobb felt sweat form on his brow but his face was impassive as he carefully circled. He had done this dance a dozen times, more often unconscious than otherwise, and he knew how to pick his angle. There are four and they're armed, he thought, hoping that Eames could somehow hear him. Please don't do anything stupid. I can't be here for this!
"Mr. Fischer isn't to be disturbed," the first guard said, glaring Eames down. "But I will tell him you were kind enough to visit."
"Why don't I tell him myself?" Eames stood up on his toes, trying to see around him. "Robert!"
Guard two grabbed him by the shoulder, and Eames surged into motion. He twisted around, in one smooth action hooking his arm around the guard's and jabbing him hard in the side of his throat. As the man gagged and lost his balance Eames shoved him down, bypassing the other completely on his way down the hall, still calling for Robert.
"Shit--" Cobb darted forward. He could see Marcus reaching into his jacket, and Erhard approaching from the side, but he was more concerned with the first--the largest--of the guards already with a gun in his hand. His children's faces flashed across his vision as he grabbed for the gun, and by some miracle he was able to clasp his hand over the safety before it could be thumbed off. "Wait, wait!" he shouted. "We're not here for this, we--"
Sturdy hands grabbed the back of his neck, and a moment later the breath was crushed out of him as he was forced chest first into the wall. His grip was still tense and the gun came with him; the muzzle pressed into the bridge of his nose and he heard the trigger being pulled, but with the safety still on the only percussion was Cobb's sharp intake of breath.
"Christ, are you crazy?" Cobb clung to the pistol, his eyes flicking between the metal and the scowling face of the bodyguard.
"Yeates, shit, put that away," Erhard said as he came between them. He peeled both their hands off the weapon and stepped back, making sure the safety was still on. "What the hell are you trying to do?"
"Back the fuck off, I'm doing my job!" he shouted back, red-faced and spitting. "Where is he, I'm gonna--"
"That's what I want to know," Eames said as he returned. The two men whipped around, and Yeates might have made a grab for him if not for Erhard's hand on his elbow. Eames viewed them--and Cobb, still trapped with Marcus's hand at the back of his neck--with cold intensity. "Where's Robert?"
"None of your--"
"He's fine," Erhard interrupted, still urging his peer back. "I'm sorry Mr. Eames but you have to leave."
"If he's fine he would have heard all this," Eames retorted, taking a step forward. "Where is he?"
Yeates growled. "Fucking Brit--" He shoved past Erhard and went after Eames again. Cobb tensed, but not out of worry for his companion. Eames dodged back easily, twisting out of Yeates's reach, and struck when there was an opening. The hard bone of his palm cracked into Yeates's nose, and he fell back, bleeding and cursing.
"He definitely would have heard that," Eames said smartly.
Erhard grabbed his injured companion and pushed him to the wall so he could regain his balance. "Shit--stop it, all right? All of you." He glanced to Marcus, and the last of their peers still clutching his throat, and groaned in frustration. "Jesus. Everyone, stay put. Marcus, go check on Mr. Fischer, all right?"
Marcus leaned back. "You want me to let him go?" he asked, patting Cobb on the shoulder.
"Take him with you," Eames suggested. "Because I'm not leaving until one of us has seen him."
"Okay--fine--take him."
Cobb breathed a quiet sigh of relief as Marcus pulled him away from the wall. He shot Eames a hard glare and walked obediently with his handler across the room to a far door. Though exasperated he couldn't help but feel sharp sensation of dread as Marcus fished a key out of his pocket and unlocked the study. Why would he be locked in? The door opened, and when he saw inside, his heart skipped painfully.
Robert Fischer was in the study, but he was far from alone. The furniture had all been shoved to the walls except for the chairs, which bore Robert and his five guests. Closest to the door sat Charla and Nash, very unwelcome surprises, connected to the open PASIV case at their feet. Worse was Ariadne, beautifully made up and just as unconscious as the others, seated next to Yusuf by the far wall. Guilt and anger warred in Cobb's stomach, and it took him a long moment to realize that they were connected to a second PASIV.
Robert himself was in the center, his brow tight and lips slightly parted. Arthur sat across from him. Each of them had both arms bare, fluid-filled tubes connecting them to both of the PASIVs.
Cobb stared for long moments, uncomprehending. His gaze leapt back and forth between the pair of devices, telling himself that he was seeing things, that Arthur and Robert couldn't be connected to both at once. No matter how many times he double checked he came to the same conclusion, and his chest seemed to cave in. "Arthur...what the hell have you done."
"What is this?" Marcus asked beside him, wide-eyed and just as shocked, even though he couldn't possibly understand the significance the way Cobb did. "What are they doing to him?"
"They're killing him," Cobb whispered. He glanced over his shoulder, trying to keep the truth out of his face, but Eames saw it and immediately started forward. "Mr. Erhard, isn't it?" he called, wishing there was some way he could stall them. "What exactly is Mr. Fischer supposed to be doing?"
Erhard frowned, hurrying after Eames as they all approached the study. "Mr. Browning said he was speaking to a doctor."
Cobb turned around, his hands already at Eames's shoulders before he could see inside. "Calm down," he said preemptively.
"Bloody fucking--" Eames shoved past him and into the room. Cobb watched him take in the mess of IVs and come to the same conclusion. His face went pale, and he started quickly toward Robert.
"Wait!" Seeing his intention, Cobb rushed to stop him. "You can't wake him up."
"Like hell I can't," Eames hissed, reaching for the wires in Robert's right arm.
Cobb grabbed his wrist and yanked him back. "You can't," he insisted. "Eames, look at what they're doing. This is an extremely sensitive dreamshare, and--"
"Shit!" Eames jerked out of Cobb's grip and turned away, raking his hands through his hair.
"--and you can't just go waking any of them up prematurely." He glanced over the group again, his eyes landing on Arthur's calm face, tipped down toward his chest. "Not until we know what they're up to."
"I warned them," Eames growled, pacing. "I warned them both--this is too much. What the hell are they doing to him?"
Yeates shouldered Marcus out of the way, still holding his bleeding nose. "It's dream therapy, you dumb fuck," he snarled. "Don't touch them--they're trying to help Mr. Fischer."
"Look at them," Eames retorted. "Does this look like they're helping him? This is not normal dreamshare."
Cobb rubbed his eyes, regretting more than ever that he had agreed to Eames's request. You'll never forgive yourself rang through his ears, momentarily blotting out the surrounding arguments. When he looked to the door he first saw Erhard, slack-jawed and shifting on his feet. He took in a deep breath. "Mr. Erhard, where is Peter Browning?"
"He's not here," Yeates interrupted. "He's--"
"He's downstairs," Erhard took over, still clearly dumbfounded. "We weren't supposed to disturb them until he came back."
"And did he tell you what was going on in here?"
"No--well, sort of." Erhard shook his head in agitation. "Mr. Fischer hasn't been himself lately," he explained hastily. "He doesn't sleep, he barely eats, he cut his hair--he needed help."
"This isn't help," Eames snapped. "These are extractors--they're professional criminals, breaking into his mind."
Erhard shook his head again. "But Mr. Browning said--"
"We don't have time for this." Eames unbuttoned his cuff. "There's only way one to know."
Cobb grabbed his wrist again. "Hold on," he said, and then to Erhard, "How long have they been under?"
"I don't know. We've been here maybe twenty minutes?"
Yeates growled and pushed Erhard back, smearing blood across his suit. "Why are you even talking to them? Isn't this exactly the man Mr. Browning wanted us to throw out if he showed up?"
"Erhard," Eames said, "if you care at all about what happens to this man, you have to let us help him."
"If they really are extractors maybe we should call the police," Marcus suggested nervously.
"The police will just wake everyone up and lobotomize them." Eames at last pulled his hand out of Cobb's grip and moved closer to him. "Whatever it is these people are after, Robert's mind cannot handle this. Please."
"Enough!" Yeates started toward him. "I'm dragging these assholes--"
Erhard grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back into the range of his swinging fist. The impact against his jaw made even Cobb wince, and a moment later Yeates crashed to the floor, unconscious. The last of the guards hurried to crouch beside him, staring at Erhard incredulously. "Well, fuck," he declared. "Now we're all going to get fired."
"Thank you," Eames breathed. He tossed his jacket to the floor and rolled up his shirt sleeve. "Keep Browning off us as long as you can, all right?"
"If you're lying," Erhard warned, urging a stunned Marcus away from the doorway, "you're both dead men."
They moved away from the study but left the door open. Cobb would have preferred it closed but the men didn't seem likely to allow it. "Christ, Eames." He looked to Charla and scowled. "I hate to say it, but..."
"I was right," Eames filled in. His eyes went to Fischer, and Cobb saw something pained flicker through them. "Be honest: do you know what this is?"
"I'm not sure," Cobb said quietly so the guards wouldn't overhear. Resigned, he too shed his coat and yanked his sleeve up. "I think Arthur mentioned once that it was possible to split a dream across two PASIVs, but...to what purpose, I don't know." He sat down next to Ariadne, wishing she were awake so he could share a few choice words with her. "I don't know what we're going to find in there. It might already be--"
"Just try and figure out what they're up to," Eames interrupted. "Arthur's no idiot--there's got to be a way to wake them all up safely. We just have to find it."
"Right..."
Eames touched the nape of Robert's neck and leaned into him. "Robert," he said, close enough that his lips brushed the man's ear. "You've probably figured out already that you're dreaming. Just find somewhere safe and wait for me. I'm coming after you."
Cobb watched him, an inexplicable feeling stirring his innards. As Eames seated himself at Robert's feet and slid the needle under his skin he was tempted to say something, a reassurance of some kind, but by then Eames was unconscious. He shook his head and inserted his own needle.
I'll be home in time for dinner, he thought, wincing, the last thought before he was pulled into sleep his mother-in-law's disapproving stare.
To Chapter 10
Fandom: Inception
Title: The Helix Trap
Chapter: 9/19 (7,700 words) (For other parts please check my My main post.
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Eames/Robert, Arthur/Ariadne, Cobb, Yusuf, Saito, Browning, and others.
Warnings: Violence, sexual content.
Disclaimer: These characters and setting do not belong to me and are being used without permission but for no profit
Summary: After the Inception proves successful, Eames tracks down Robert out of concern for its unusual side effects. Meanwhile, Arthur is hired to a dangerous job that forces the rest of the team to take sides: whether to defend Robert and his fragile mind, or ruin him completely.
Notes: C&C Welcome and appreciated. Thanks to my beta chypie for her input!
ruins_of_sodom made some fanart of the Helix prologue, here! And speaking of fanart, anyone else signing up for i_reversebang? I've never done a challenge like this before, I can't wait :D
Inception, its characters and settings, do not belong to me and are being used here without permission but for no profit. This fic is rated R for sexual situations and violence.
The Helix Trap
Chapter 9
Arthur didn’t dream anymore. But sometimes when he awoke he felt a tingle at the back of his mind, as if his brain was still making the attempt. He never remembered anything, no image or sensation to cling to. He told himself it was only a phantom pain, like a severed limb trying to bend. He felt it when he woke up the morning before his third "Fischer Job."
He showered quickly, and dressed in a gray, three-piece suit with a blue tie. When he left the bathroom Ariadne was finishing her own preparation by applying her makeup--simple, professional eye shadow and subtle lipstick. Her hair was pulled back except for a few soft curls that covered her ears. She kissed a tissue and smiled at him. "What's all this?" she teased, looking him over.
Arthur stood a little taller. "I always dress like this."
Her freshly made up lips quirked, and she moved closer. She gave his necktie a little tug. "We match."
"You still look beautiful," he said without provocation.
She rolled her eyes as if she didn't believe him, but there was still a fair blush in her cheeks. "Thanks."
She tried not to smile, and it made him want to kiss her. It must have shown in his face, because she tilted her chin up, just slightly, a perfect invitation that he gladly accepted. He tasted her lipstick and regretted it; it was going to take extra concentration not to think about it once they got under.
When Ariadne leaned back on her heels she looked suddenly uncertain. Her eyes met his, searching. "Tell me one more time this is going to work," she said evenly.
Arthur returned her stare with perfect confidence. "It'll work. And since we're not using a sedative this time, if anything goes wrong all you have to do is wake up."
"And you?" she asked immediately. He could tell that her mind was running through all manner of worst case scenarios, which somehow made him feel more secure than ever.
"I have you looking out for me," he replied. "I'll be fine." He squeezed her shoulder and then moved away to retrieve his satchel, with his PASIV hidden inside. "Come on--we have to be across town soon."
Ariadne wasn't convinced, and as they left the hotel together she stayed close, her shoulders squared as if protecting him. He smiled to himself, thinking selfishly that he was glad to have her there.
***
Robert's eyelids drooped as he stared at the stranger in the mirror. His face was bony and pale, his hair was a cropped mess, and his clothing was irredeemably oversized. Everything about him was wrong, and he ached, hating the man in front of him. Over and over he thought, I was supposed to be more than this, and bile rose at the back of his throat. He stood there for almost an hour before Eames found him.
A warm hand settled at the nape of his neck, and eyelashes graced his bare temple. Robert remained still, and though he was grateful for the contact he couldn't tear his gaze from the horrible spectacle in front of him.
"Come on," Eames whispered against his cheek. "I'll take you home."
By the time they pulled up in front of Robert's building, he was feeling significantly clearer, enough to know that he didn't want to go inside. He nestled into the passenger seat, glaring up at the forty-two story condominium defiantly. "I'm going to sell this place," he declared, "and move into a house somewhere."
"You haven't sold it quite yet," Eames said. "Go on--you should at least change and let your entourage know where you've been."
Just as he spoke a familiar face came jogging toward them: his chief security escort, Erhard. Robert tried to sink further into the car but he had already been spotted. "Peter's probably already put bars on the windows up there," he muttered. "I wonder if that will decrease the value."
Erhard opened the passenger door. "Mr. Fischer!" There was sweat on his forehead and he looked as if he hadn't slept. "Everyone's been trying to call you. Mr. Browning said..." When he glanced inside the car and saw Eames he started. "Oh, Mr. Eames. So it was you."
"Good morning," Eames greeted. "Sorry I didn't get him back by curfew."
Robert snorted, and screwed his cap back to his head as he let Erhard help him out of the car. When he realized that Eames was still buckled and not going anywhere, he turned back with a sharp frown. "Aren't you coming up?"
"Actually, I'm on my way to meeting someone," he said. "I'll talk to you later."
Robert glanced to the building and back. "No."
Eames's eyebrows lifted. "I won't be long."
Still deeply frowning, Robert shut the passenger door and made his way around the car to Eames's side. By the time he'd reached it the window was down. "I haven't run out on you yet," Eames said, smiling sideways. "Do you think that's going to change now? Go on, get something to eat, and with any luck I'll be introducing you to an associate of mine in an hour. If we can get in through the front door, that is."
Robert braced his hands against the open sill. "An associate?" He lowered his voice. "Another extractor?"
"Yes. I think he'll be able to help us." His face twitched with the final word as if it hadn't been what he'd meant to say. "Anyway, if you don't at least check in with Browning he's going to be all over us both, so you might as well get it over with, hm?"
"Right..." It was not a promising prospect, but Robert knew it was unavoidable. "Then I'll see you in an hour."
"Of course."
Before he could reach for the window control Robert leaned down, his hand fisting in Eames's hair as he stole a firm kiss. Eames grunted softly but kissed him back. When he leaned away he noticed Erhard gaping at them but pretended not to. "I'll tell security you're coming," he said. "If they give you any trouble, just tell them to call me."
Eames licked his lips. "Good luck with Browning."
Robert joined Erhard on the curb, and watched as Eames drove away. As soon as he was out of sight he took in a quick breath, telling himself not to let the anxiety return. It would only be an hour, and then they would have one more mind working to help him.
"Mr. Fischer," Erhard said haltingly, "Excuse me, but..."
"I know." Robert gave his jacket a tug and strode toward the entrance. "I'm going up. Please call Mr. Browning and Ms. Watts and let them know I'm in."
The condo was just as he had left it weeks ago. All the hardwood had been freshly polished, the tables dusted, every article in its proper place. Robert tried not to pay attention to it all as he headed immediately to the bathroom for a long, warm shower, letting the heat remind him of being wrapped up in Eames's dream. By the time he emerged and was dressed--a dress shirt and slacks, despite his present distaste for them--he felt ready to go into battle.
Browning was waiting for him in the great room, as he had expected, and he wasn't alone. Seated next to him was a middle aged woman with strawberry blonde hair, sipping from a cup of coffee. They both glanced up as he entered.
"You left your door open," Browning admonished, though patiently. There was some manner of bitter resolution in his face that Robert had never seen before.
"Peter." Robert had told himself he wasn't going to apologize, but as Browning rose to meet him, he couldn't help himself. "I'm sorry I disappeared last night. I know you were waiting to hear from me."
His mouth twitched. "Your driver told me you stayed at a hotel." He shook his head. "Honestly, Robert. Is this really the right time for that?"
He wasn't ashamed, but his stomach twisted anyway. "It doesn't mean anything," he assured. "Just like the last ones." He looked to the woman, who was watching them with quiet attentiveness. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"
"I already have, remember?" Browning held out his hand, and she accepted, standing. "This is my dear friend, Dr. Charla Banks."
Robert's heart pulsed against his throat. All at one he remembered the luncheon they had shared some years ago, and the way his skin had crawled beneath her even and seemingly all-knowing stare. The effects had not weakened since then. "Dr. Banks," he repeated, stalling. She offered her hand and he shook it involuntarily. "It's good to see you again."
"And you, Mr. Fischer," she greeted in kind. "I know it's a bit belated, but you have my condolences."
To hear her even mention his father gave him a chill, and he quickly retrieved his hand. "Thank you. What can I do for you, Doctor?"
Charla smiled sympathetically. "I think you already know."
He hid his anxiety well, by his own estimation. "Peter wants me to talk to you."
"This isn't a formal session," Browning said. "Nothing on the record. You don't have to say anything you don't want to." His brow furrowed. "But since you won't talk to me, I thought I should try to find someone you will."
He sounded sincere, and Robert wasn't sure if he was meant to berate himself for thinking so. This is the woman Eames warned me about, he thought, glancing between the two of them. But she's alone, and she doesn't even have a PASIV with her, so... He lowered his eyes. What if Peter really is just trying to help?
"I'm expecting company," Robert said, drawing himself up. "And I have a lot of business to attend to today, so I'm afraid I don't have much time."
"Just a few minutes, then," Charla suggested. "Whatever you're comfortable with telling me."
Robert clenched his fists in his pockets. She and Browning were watching him so expectantly it seemed ridiculous to refuse. "All right," he said. "At least until my guest gets here." Eames will want to know she's here. Maybe if they're face to face I can get some answers. He straightened his tie and gestured to the next room. "We can talk in the study, if that's all right."
"Should I get you something to drink?" Browning offered. "Some coffee, a glass of water?"
"No," Robert said quickly, with undue paranoia. "I'm fine." He shook himself and led Charla into the next room.
The study was just as tidy as the rest of the condo. His desk was clear and every book on the many shelves was carefully aligned. Robert sat down in one of the leather chairs and tried to give an impression of ease. "So, Dr. Banks. Peter tells me you're...into dreams," he said. Or maybe I can get some answers myself.
"Yes, you could say that." Charla sat down with her coffee. "I have degrees in oneirology and psychophysiology, but I suppose you're referring to my work with Dr. Gavde regarding shared dreaming."
"Peter's mentioned it a few times," Robert went on. "He told me I should talk to you about the fact that I'm not sleeping well lately."
"That's what he told me as well. He thinks you're suffering from some manner of anxiety disorder brought on by the shock of your father's death."
Again her words made Robert itch, and he fidgeted in his chair. "Well. He's not a psychiatrist."
"Then, you don't agree?" Charla sipped from her coffee, watching him closely the entire time. It was unnerving. "I find it hard to believe it hasn't affected you."
"It has," Robert said defensively. "That's not what I said."
"Why can't you sleep, Robert?" Charla asked bluntly.
She set her cup down and just stared, almost unblinking. Robert tried to meet her challenge but eventually he relented, looking down to the inside of his wrist, and the tiny scar from the IV. "Because I'm afraid I'll dream," he admitted.
He heard Charla stand. "And what's so frightening about dreams?"
"They're not natural." Robert flexed his fingers, watching the scar jar above thin tendons. "They mean something, and I..." He shook his head, realizing he was saying more than he wanted. "I'm sorry, Dr. Banks, but I--"
A cloth was shoved over his mouth and nose. Robert jerked back, but sharp nails dug into his neck and scalp, pressuring him forward into the sick, sweet odor. He tried not to breathe it in, but when he raised his arms to fend of his attacker they were already heavy. Charla held on with startling power as he writhed, helpless. Everything went dark.
Eames...
Robert sagged in the chair. Charla held on for a moment longer to be certain that he wasn't faking and then let go. As she straightened her blouse, Arthur stepped in from the adjoining bathroom.
"You weren't going to do that unless we had no choice," he reminded her with displeasure.
"I was impatient." Charla smiled icily as she tucked the cloth into her purse and checked Robert's pulse. "He won't remember it anyway."
Arthur frowned. "All clear," he called to his peers.
Yusuf, Nash, and Ariadne moved swiftly into the room, and immediately began rearranging the furniture and unpacking their equipment. "Did you get a good look around?" Arthur asked as he circled, observing. "Remember the layout of the condo, the building?"
"Yes, I've got it," Yusuf assured. "Everything's so immaculate it already doesn't feel real--it shouldn't be difficult to reproduce."
"Good." Arthur glanced to the door and noticed Browning there, watching the goings on with a distant, weary look. He approached. "Mr. Browning, your security will be in place, correct?"
"Yes." Browning didn't take his eyes off Robert, his fist tight around the handle of the door. "Robert's personal staff isn't due to arrive until the afternoon. Shelby is handling all inquiries. I'll have four men standing guard at this door, like you asked." He grunted. "If 'Simmonds' shows up, they'll handle him."
Eames. "All right." You had better stay out of this.
"It's time for you to leave, Peter," Charla said, joining them. "Just in case. I'll call you when we're finished." She touched his cheek, and to Arthur's amazement, pressed a little kiss to the corner of his mouth. "We'll take good care of him."
Browning nodded vaguely. He watched his godson a moment longer, deep in thought, and at last headed for the exit.
Arthur turned to Charla crossly. "And what was that?"
"Was what?" she asked innocently. She strode past him and retook her seat.
Arthur shook his head, and hoped that would be the last surprise of the morning. He shed his suit jacket and sat down in the chair the others had positioned directly facing Robert; Ariadne was immediately beside him, helping him unbutton his cuffs.
"He's going to recognize us as soon as he sees us," she said quietly, swabbing the inside of his wrists with alcohol. "Should we change the plan at all?"
"No. Just start us off somewhere hidden, and we can work from there." He looked up and offered a faint smile. "It's going to be fine."
She smiled back. "I know." She glanced around, and when everyone was busy inserting their needles and Robert's, she kissed his forehead. "See you when we wake up."
Everyone took their positions. Arthur breathed slowly, letting the tension ease out of his muscles, preparing himself for the state they were about to enter. He glanced to Robert, slumped and pale in the chair across from him, and his eyes narrowed.
Anything we do to him now couldn't be worse, he reminded himself, squashing the seed of ill ease that had threatened to take root. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the chair. "I'm ready," he said.
Around the room everyone agreed, and with a hiss of the PASIVs it began.
***
Cobb glanced at his watch: 8:50 am. He had been waiting at the park for ten minutes already, but he was still early. Not that it was much of a park--more like a stretch of grass where hired dog-walkers meandered in circles around each other. Cobb leaned his elbows against the chain link fence, watching a pair of Bijons snip at their leashes.
Across the city, his children were at a park much better than this. He easily imagined them running across the wood chips, scaling the multi-colored structures, running back to their grandmother for a snack. He remembered just as well the look she had given him when he promised he would be back before dinner, though he tried not to. Because six weeks wasn't long enough to repair a shattered relationship with a mother-in-law. Even his children sometimes looked surprised to see him, they had become so accustomed to life without him. He had battled daily to retake his position among them, and had succeeded in some ways more than others. He needed more time. He had hoped for much more time with them before he was reminded of his former life.
A cheap rental car parked in the lot, and Eames appeared. He was dressed in a suit and was cleanly shaved, his hair slicked back, looking as professional as Cobb ever saw him. He spotted Cobb quickly and headed over.
Remember what you promised to tell him, he reminded himself as he turned. Eames hadn't said over the phone exactly what he wanted, but he had known him for over two years and they had never met for a social visit.
"Cobb," Eames greeted as he approached, and together they took a seat at the park's only bench, just beyond the fence. "Thanks for coming."
"The answer is no," Cobb said immediately.
Eames smirked as if he'd expected it. "Not going to hear me out first?"
"It's still Fischer, isn't it? Why else would you call me out here?" He glanced away, watching the Bijons again. "The last time we talked, it sounded like you were going to do something stupid."
"Oh yes, and you were very perceptive," Eames said, and then continued before Cobb was ready. "I want you to come with me into Robert's mind."
The words were barely out before Cobb answered. "No."
"He's getting worse and I can't help him," Eames went on, all pretense of humor gone. It had been a while since Cobb heard him so serious. "He needs an experienced dreamer, not an old con like me."
"There are plenty of good dreamers here in the states," Cobb said. "Legal and otherwise."
Eames was already shaking his head. "I don't trust them."
But you trust me? Cobb tried not to frown. "You don't understand," he tried again. "I haven't even looked at a PASIV since we got off that plane. I don't think I'll be any help."
"Then at least talk with me a bit, yeah?" Eames leaned forward. "I think I've finally figured out what went wrong."
Cobb's heart gave a painful twinge that he again tried to hide. Inception itself is wrong. There was no way it was ever going to work out well for Fischer. He rubbed his beard. And it can't be fixed. It can't. "Go on," he said.
"The plan we came up with for the inception included reconciling Robert with his father," Eames immediately obliged. "You were right, and it worked. It worked so bloody well that he's now thoroughly convinced that his father loved him, all along, against all reason." He sighed. "The problem being, it's not true."
"So he's suffering some kind of cognitive dissonance?"
"Yes, and worse--his subconscious has reacted by rewriting his memories." Cobb frowned in alarm, but Eames continued before he could interrupt. "I saw it happen, while I was in his dream," he said, with greater agitation. "He's inventing explanations for his father's cold and cruel behavior, shifting the blame to himself for their fights, all in order to preserve the idea we planted in him."
The Bijons left with their keeper, and Cobb reluctantly swung his gaze back to his peer. "That sounds like something plenty of people do," he said quietly. "It's too hard to think badly of the dead."
"But not like this. It's too artificial--it's taking control of his entire subconscious." Eames shook his head. "And there's more."
I don't want to hear this. "Go on."
He shifted uncomfortably. "There's at least one memory the inception hasn't altered. His last moments with his father." He hesitated. "Maurice Fischer's last words were to tell his son that he was disappointed with him."
Cobb was speechless. He remembered suddenly that afternoon in the warehouse, the phrase worse than we thought which was taking on new meaning. Unwillingly he thought of his own father, and the last time he had seen him before his untimely death. He kissed Philipa goodbye, he recalled, cold from the memory. She was still half asleep but she smiled. He and Mom got in the car, they honked twice. I watched them to the end of the street... It was such a simple memory, one that for days afterwards had caused him so much regret it was hard to breathe. Later tragedies, however great, had dulled but never erased the sting of even those happy, innocent moments.
"I can't imagine," he murmured.
Eames was quiet a moment, his eyes downcast. Cobb was certain he was indulging in his own paternal memory, the contents of which he couldn't begin to guess at. "Even so, he's a strong man," Eames continued. "He would have coped. If not for us."
All it once it dawned on Cobb what Eames was driving towards, and it made him sick. "Because we changed his perspective."
"It's bad enough, knowing you disappointed a tyrant who never meant well for you," Eames said. "But even worse--"
"Is disappointing a father who loved you," Cobb finished. Wide brown eyes flashed across his field of vision. "Failing someone who cared about you so much..." His throat tightened and he couldn't finish. It haunts you.
"I thought I could fix it." Eames scoffed at himself, his voice hoarse with regret. "I followed the plan. 'Your father didn't want you to be him,' I told him. 'Be your own man.' Of course it didn't work." He leaned his elbows against his knees, shoulders sagging. "'What did my father want me to be?' That's the only question that matters to him now, made even stronger thanks to the inception. How can I answer it for him, when I can't answer it myself?"
Cobb was taken aback by Eames's startlingly sincere confession, and he wasn't sure how to respond. "Eames...you couldn't have known," he said awkwardly. "Of course we all thought that reconciling Fischer and his father would be good for him. If anything, blame me--it was my job."
"Yes, it was." Eames's gaze flickered to him with a sudden intensity. "That's why you're going to come with me into his mind."
"No," Cobb said again. "This may be personal for you but it's not for me. It's just a job--you're the one who taught me--"
"Your children only have their father back because of Robert Fischer," he interrupted, reminding Cobb with cold certainty that whatever camaraderie they had shared the past two years, he was a seasoned criminal and an artful manipulator. "How will you face them if something happens to him?"
Cobb ground his teeth angrily. "Don't you dare bring my kids into this, Eames."
"You have completed an inception before, haven't you?"
The change of subjects caught him off guard, and he felt his face flush. The words swelled on his tongue and choked him. He knew what question would come next if he answered, and the next after that, and he wasn't sure he could go through the whole story again--not with Eames, who was suddenly watching him like a predator. He knew the havoc the man could wreak on him with too much truth.
"She killed herself," Cobb blurted out, his face hard and his pulse hammering.
Eames straightened up slowly. Guilt flashed in his eyes and lowered his offenses once more. He started to ask another question but Cobb hurried on to beat him to it. "I didn't dream with her again after I did it," he said, fighting to keep Eames's gaze. "I couldn't--I was afraid if I let her go under, she wouldn't wake up. Even if I could have gotten her under there was no way to undo it that wouldn't have hurt her more. It won't be any different with Fischer."
Yes, tell yourself that. He fingered the dull point of a familiar object in his pocket. There isn't any way to help Fischer, because there was no way to help her. There isn't a cure to inception.
Eames continued to watch him, attentive and sharp, and just when Cobb was searching for something to fill the silence with, he at last spoke up. "I have to try," he said quietly. "And you're going to help me."
"Eames..." He sighed heavily. "Please. You can't ask me to do this."
"I'm not." He stared Cobb down, unblinking. "I'm telling you, you won't be able to live with yourself if something happens to him."
Cobb stared back, frozen. A tremor formed in his chest, rotating and frightening. Eames's words burrowed into him as if determined to make themselves true, giving birth to further doubts. Even if Eames was wrong and he managed to walk away unscathed, he had already sparked a question he knew he would never be able to leave unanswered.
"All right," Cobb relented, exhausted. "All right--you win. I'll come with you." He blinked in surprise when Eames immediately pushed to his feet and he couldn't help but do the same. "But just once--if it doesn't look like--"
"Just once to start," Eames said, already ushering him towards his rental. "He's going to need a lot of work. But I'm sure between the two of us we'll think of something."
Cobb groaned and rubbed his eyes. He already regretted his decision and part of him hated Eames for it. But he suddenly felt as if he understood what Robert was going through, thanks to the unsettling question that now rippled beneath his skin.
Did I do enough for her? He slid into the passenger seat and took a deep breath, willing himself to leave it behind for now.
"I should warn you," Eames said as they drove the short distance to Robert's condo. "Robert's going to recognize you. His subconscious has adopted 'Mr. Charles' as its head of security."
"What?" Cobb glared at him, baffled. "How?"
He shrugged. "I have no idea--I'm telling you, the inception has affected him in ways I never would have imagined. Last night he was building rooms in my own dream and I didn't realize." He chuckled, but Cobb heard the thread of discomfort buried inside.
"And you're only telling me this now?" Cobb shook his head. "If he recognizes me he's going to suspect something."
"Don't worry. I'll just tell him that you're the best in the business, so whoever trained him must have implanted your image to frighten off potential extractors."
He still didn't like it. "Won't his trainer just tell him that's not the case?"
Eames hesitated. "Maurice paid for the extractor--Robert doesn't know who it was."
"Jesus." Even after all he had heard Cobb still couldn't wrap his mind around the family dynamic he was dealing with. When he looked to Eames he spotted tension in his brow that worried him all over again. "Eames. How much does Fischer know?"
Again he hesitated. "He knows that I performed the inception on him."
"Stop the car," Cobb said immediately.
"Now hold on, it's all--"
"Stop the car, now."
Eames pulled over, and as soon as they were mostly stopped Cobb unbuckled and shoved the door open. It wasn't until he noticed a man in uniform watching him in confusion that he realized they had arrived: Robert's building loomed over him, gleaming and ominous. "Damn it." He turned and marched away, determined to get back to the park on foot if he had to.
"Cobb--wait." Eames tossed his keys to the valet and chased him down. "Calm down, it's all right."
"Like hell it is!" Cobb whirled on him, hissing. "Are you trying to get me thrown in prison? If he realizes I was in on it--"
"He only knows about my involvement," Eames insisted, taking his arm before he could try to escape again. "He doesn't know about you or any of the others, and he doesn't have to." He gave him a tug. "Come on, you promised you'd at least take a look at him."
"I didn't promise anything," Cobb protested, but he let Eames guide him back towards the entrance. "I can't do this, Eames. I'm not risking my children again."
"You won't, I swear." Eames smiled reassuringly. "Think about it. If you help me fix him you have an ally for life. Fischer can buy you out of a lot more trouble that Saito, you know."
Cobb heaved a sigh at being reminded of Saito. "This is insane," he muttered, following Eames into the building. "I can't believe you talked me into this." But it wasn't true; deep down he knew all along that he would cave.
The lobby was almost as big as Cobb's new apartment, all gold limestone and teak marble and a book placed on the corner table just so to give it an illusion of homeliness. Cobb tried not to make a face as he followed Eames to the security desk. He fingered his totem almost the entire way.
"We're here to see Robert Fischer," Eames told the woman behind the desk. "He's expecting us."
"I'm sorry, Sir, but Mr. Fischer is not accepting guests," she said precisely.
Eames smiled in irritation. "Love, he's not accepting guests because he's expecting us. Please call up and let him know we're here."
She stared back at him, unmoved. "Mr. Fischer is not accepting guests," she repeated tersely.
The elevator chimed, and Cobb glanced to it quickly while Eames continued to pressure the woman. When a tall, broad-shouldered man with a shaved head stepped out his hand graced his hip, seeking a handgun that wasn't there. He clenched his jaw and tapped Eames's shoulder. "Hey."
Eames glanced back, and to Cobb's surprise his face lit up. "Ah, Erhard!"
Erhard started, interrupting his lighter on its way to the cigarette between his lips. "Mr. Eames...."
As Eames moved to greet him, Cobb glanced back to the security woman. She was watching the pair closely while stealthily reaching for her phone. Cobb's instincts kicked in and he reached over the desk, hanging up her call before she'd finished tapping in the numbers.
"Please don't do that," he said politely. Tensing, she leaned back and replaced the receiver.
"Just the fellow who can help us," Eames was saying as he reached Erhard. "You can take us up to meet Robert, can't you?"
"Uhh..." Erhard tucked the cigarette back into the pack, unlit. "I'm not supposed to."
The muscles along Eames's jaw twitched. "Browning, eh?"
"I'm...well, yes." Erhard shook his head uncomfortably. "I'm sorry Mr. Eames, but I'm under orders. I'll lose my job."
Cobb joined them. He saw that Eames was tense and he started to worry that he was about to say or do something reckless. "Who do you work for?" he asked bluntly. "Mr. Browning, or Mr. Fischer?"
Erhard frowned at him. "I work for Mr. Fischer."
"Then the least you can do is tell him he has guests, right?"
Still Erhard looked unconvinced, but then Eames flashed him a grin. "Come on, Erhard," he teased. "You were young once, weren't you?"
Again to Cobb's amazement, it worked: Erhard shifted uncomfortably on his feet and scratched the back of his neck. "All right, come on." He waved to the woman behind the desk. "It's all right, I'll take them up."
They headed for the elevators, and on the way Cobb took Eames soundly by the elbow. "Tell me you're not sleeping with him," he whispered.
Eames raised an eyebrow. "Come now, I know it's been a while but you must remember that using a PASIV together requires sleep."
"Eames." Cobb shook his head. "You owe me for this," he swore.
"No." Eames eyed him seriously as they entered the elevator behind Erhard. "Actually, I think this makes us even." Cobb couldn't reply.
They exited on the thirty-ninth floor, through the private vestibule and into the condo's great room. Three men were seated around the coffee table, one reading a newspaper while the others watched the local morning show on Robert's widescreen. They jerked to attention as Erhard led his guests inside. "It's all right," he assured. "They're with me."
"Marcus," Eames called to the one with the newspaper. "I hope you're up for another game soon."
"Mr. Eames?" He pushed to his feet, looking uncertain. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh we're here to see Robert," Eames said easily. "Where's he hiding? Robert!"
The other two men stood as well. Neither of them had the same look of recognition as Erhard and Marcus, and Cobb noticed one of them brushing his hand over his hip, the same instinctual gesture he'd performed earlier. He tensed, for the first time in two months wishing he had a gun on him. "Eames."
"Is he in the bathroom?" Eames continued, and he started to move about the condo in search, either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring the tense atmosphere. "Don't be shy, Robert, there's someone I want you to meet!"
One of the guards intercepted him, a hand on his chest. "Sir, you have to leave."
"But we just got here." His grin was a coiled spring. "Come on, turn him out."
The other guard was moving toward his back. Cobb felt sweat form on his brow but his face was impassive as he carefully circled. He had done this dance a dozen times, more often unconscious than otherwise, and he knew how to pick his angle. There are four and they're armed, he thought, hoping that Eames could somehow hear him. Please don't do anything stupid. I can't be here for this!
"Mr. Fischer isn't to be disturbed," the first guard said, glaring Eames down. "But I will tell him you were kind enough to visit."
"Why don't I tell him myself?" Eames stood up on his toes, trying to see around him. "Robert!"
Guard two grabbed him by the shoulder, and Eames surged into motion. He twisted around, in one smooth action hooking his arm around the guard's and jabbing him hard in the side of his throat. As the man gagged and lost his balance Eames shoved him down, bypassing the other completely on his way down the hall, still calling for Robert.
"Shit--" Cobb darted forward. He could see Marcus reaching into his jacket, and Erhard approaching from the side, but he was more concerned with the first--the largest--of the guards already with a gun in his hand. His children's faces flashed across his vision as he grabbed for the gun, and by some miracle he was able to clasp his hand over the safety before it could be thumbed off. "Wait, wait!" he shouted. "We're not here for this, we--"
Sturdy hands grabbed the back of his neck, and a moment later the breath was crushed out of him as he was forced chest first into the wall. His grip was still tense and the gun came with him; the muzzle pressed into the bridge of his nose and he heard the trigger being pulled, but with the safety still on the only percussion was Cobb's sharp intake of breath.
"Christ, are you crazy?" Cobb clung to the pistol, his eyes flicking between the metal and the scowling face of the bodyguard.
"Yeates, shit, put that away," Erhard said as he came between them. He peeled both their hands off the weapon and stepped back, making sure the safety was still on. "What the hell are you trying to do?"
"Back the fuck off, I'm doing my job!" he shouted back, red-faced and spitting. "Where is he, I'm gonna--"
"That's what I want to know," Eames said as he returned. The two men whipped around, and Yeates might have made a grab for him if not for Erhard's hand on his elbow. Eames viewed them--and Cobb, still trapped with Marcus's hand at the back of his neck--with cold intensity. "Where's Robert?"
"None of your--"
"He's fine," Erhard interrupted, still urging his peer back. "I'm sorry Mr. Eames but you have to leave."
"If he's fine he would have heard all this," Eames retorted, taking a step forward. "Where is he?"
Yeates growled. "Fucking Brit--" He shoved past Erhard and went after Eames again. Cobb tensed, but not out of worry for his companion. Eames dodged back easily, twisting out of Yeates's reach, and struck when there was an opening. The hard bone of his palm cracked into Yeates's nose, and he fell back, bleeding and cursing.
"He definitely would have heard that," Eames said smartly.
Erhard grabbed his injured companion and pushed him to the wall so he could regain his balance. "Shit--stop it, all right? All of you." He glanced to Marcus, and the last of their peers still clutching his throat, and groaned in frustration. "Jesus. Everyone, stay put. Marcus, go check on Mr. Fischer, all right?"
Marcus leaned back. "You want me to let him go?" he asked, patting Cobb on the shoulder.
"Take him with you," Eames suggested. "Because I'm not leaving until one of us has seen him."
"Okay--fine--take him."
Cobb breathed a quiet sigh of relief as Marcus pulled him away from the wall. He shot Eames a hard glare and walked obediently with his handler across the room to a far door. Though exasperated he couldn't help but feel sharp sensation of dread as Marcus fished a key out of his pocket and unlocked the study. Why would he be locked in? The door opened, and when he saw inside, his heart skipped painfully.
Robert Fischer was in the study, but he was far from alone. The furniture had all been shoved to the walls except for the chairs, which bore Robert and his five guests. Closest to the door sat Charla and Nash, very unwelcome surprises, connected to the open PASIV case at their feet. Worse was Ariadne, beautifully made up and just as unconscious as the others, seated next to Yusuf by the far wall. Guilt and anger warred in Cobb's stomach, and it took him a long moment to realize that they were connected to a second PASIV.
Robert himself was in the center, his brow tight and lips slightly parted. Arthur sat across from him. Each of them had both arms bare, fluid-filled tubes connecting them to both of the PASIVs.
Cobb stared for long moments, uncomprehending. His gaze leapt back and forth between the pair of devices, telling himself that he was seeing things, that Arthur and Robert couldn't be connected to both at once. No matter how many times he double checked he came to the same conclusion, and his chest seemed to cave in. "Arthur...what the hell have you done."
"What is this?" Marcus asked beside him, wide-eyed and just as shocked, even though he couldn't possibly understand the significance the way Cobb did. "What are they doing to him?"
"They're killing him," Cobb whispered. He glanced over his shoulder, trying to keep the truth out of his face, but Eames saw it and immediately started forward. "Mr. Erhard, isn't it?" he called, wishing there was some way he could stall them. "What exactly is Mr. Fischer supposed to be doing?"
Erhard frowned, hurrying after Eames as they all approached the study. "Mr. Browning said he was speaking to a doctor."
Cobb turned around, his hands already at Eames's shoulders before he could see inside. "Calm down," he said preemptively.
"Bloody fucking--" Eames shoved past him and into the room. Cobb watched him take in the mess of IVs and come to the same conclusion. His face went pale, and he started quickly toward Robert.
"Wait!" Seeing his intention, Cobb rushed to stop him. "You can't wake him up."
"Like hell I can't," Eames hissed, reaching for the wires in Robert's right arm.
Cobb grabbed his wrist and yanked him back. "You can't," he insisted. "Eames, look at what they're doing. This is an extremely sensitive dreamshare, and--"
"Shit!" Eames jerked out of Cobb's grip and turned away, raking his hands through his hair.
"--and you can't just go waking any of them up prematurely." He glanced over the group again, his eyes landing on Arthur's calm face, tipped down toward his chest. "Not until we know what they're up to."
"I warned them," Eames growled, pacing. "I warned them both--this is too much. What the hell are they doing to him?"
Yeates shouldered Marcus out of the way, still holding his bleeding nose. "It's dream therapy, you dumb fuck," he snarled. "Don't touch them--they're trying to help Mr. Fischer."
"Look at them," Eames retorted. "Does this look like they're helping him? This is not normal dreamshare."
Cobb rubbed his eyes, regretting more than ever that he had agreed to Eames's request. You'll never forgive yourself rang through his ears, momentarily blotting out the surrounding arguments. When he looked to the door he first saw Erhard, slack-jawed and shifting on his feet. He took in a deep breath. "Mr. Erhard, where is Peter Browning?"
"He's not here," Yeates interrupted. "He's--"
"He's downstairs," Erhard took over, still clearly dumbfounded. "We weren't supposed to disturb them until he came back."
"And did he tell you what was going on in here?"
"No--well, sort of." Erhard shook his head in agitation. "Mr. Fischer hasn't been himself lately," he explained hastily. "He doesn't sleep, he barely eats, he cut his hair--he needed help."
"This isn't help," Eames snapped. "These are extractors--they're professional criminals, breaking into his mind."
Erhard shook his head again. "But Mr. Browning said--"
"We don't have time for this." Eames unbuttoned his cuff. "There's only way one to know."
Cobb grabbed his wrist again. "Hold on," he said, and then to Erhard, "How long have they been under?"
"I don't know. We've been here maybe twenty minutes?"
Yeates growled and pushed Erhard back, smearing blood across his suit. "Why are you even talking to them? Isn't this exactly the man Mr. Browning wanted us to throw out if he showed up?"
"Erhard," Eames said, "if you care at all about what happens to this man, you have to let us help him."
"If they really are extractors maybe we should call the police," Marcus suggested nervously.
"The police will just wake everyone up and lobotomize them." Eames at last pulled his hand out of Cobb's grip and moved closer to him. "Whatever it is these people are after, Robert's mind cannot handle this. Please."
"Enough!" Yeates started toward him. "I'm dragging these assholes--"
Erhard grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back into the range of his swinging fist. The impact against his jaw made even Cobb wince, and a moment later Yeates crashed to the floor, unconscious. The last of the guards hurried to crouch beside him, staring at Erhard incredulously. "Well, fuck," he declared. "Now we're all going to get fired."
"Thank you," Eames breathed. He tossed his jacket to the floor and rolled up his shirt sleeve. "Keep Browning off us as long as you can, all right?"
"If you're lying," Erhard warned, urging a stunned Marcus away from the doorway, "you're both dead men."
They moved away from the study but left the door open. Cobb would have preferred it closed but the men didn't seem likely to allow it. "Christ, Eames." He looked to Charla and scowled. "I hate to say it, but..."
"I was right," Eames filled in. His eyes went to Fischer, and Cobb saw something pained flicker through them. "Be honest: do you know what this is?"
"I'm not sure," Cobb said quietly so the guards wouldn't overhear. Resigned, he too shed his coat and yanked his sleeve up. "I think Arthur mentioned once that it was possible to split a dream across two PASIVs, but...to what purpose, I don't know." He sat down next to Ariadne, wishing she were awake so he could share a few choice words with her. "I don't know what we're going to find in there. It might already be--"
"Just try and figure out what they're up to," Eames interrupted. "Arthur's no idiot--there's got to be a way to wake them all up safely. We just have to find it."
"Right..."
Eames touched the nape of Robert's neck and leaned into him. "Robert," he said, close enough that his lips brushed the man's ear. "You've probably figured out already that you're dreaming. Just find somewhere safe and wait for me. I'm coming after you."
Cobb watched him, an inexplicable feeling stirring his innards. As Eames seated himself at Robert's feet and slid the needle under his skin he was tempted to say something, a reassurance of some kind, but by then Eames was unconscious. He shook his head and inserted his own needle.
I'll be home in time for dinner, he thought, wincing, the last thought before he was pulled into sleep his mother-in-law's disapproving stare.
To Chapter 10