Inception fic: When a Man Loves a PASIV (2/2)
*
Previously
iii.
“Ariadne’s been wanting a PASIV of her own for a while," Eames explained. He looked tired, the lines in his face more pronounced than they were a year ago, and Dom, who had truly never thought about it before, realised Eames was probably about his age. “We were working a job with Barnabas in Australia when Ariadne saw an opportunity to steal his, against my advice, might I add. I think she wanted to test herself, see if she could get away with it. Unfortunately, a skilled thief she is not, so it was rather obvious she was the one who did it. Even more unfortunate, Barnabas is rather mad. So when he began threatening, her she asked me for help."
“And you, what, put out the word that she’d died?" Arthur asked. He adjusted his position on the couch so his and Eames’ knees touched.
“Darling, do you know how difficult it is to fake someone’s death?" Eames huffed. “It’s loads of paperwork. Really, you should be patting me on the back for that."
Unlike the two of them, Dom paced the tiny space between the lounge and the kitchen, unable to keep still. “Why didn’t Barnabas come after you directly?" he asked.
Eames smiled thinly. “The only person who ever knows how to find me is Arthur."
Ignoring the way Arthur’s ears flushed, Dom pointed out, “But it didn’t work. He knows she’s alive."
“He got in contact with me a few weeks ago," Eames said, nodding. “Since then Ariadne and I have been in negotiations with him to return the PASIV and get out of the situation with our heads intact."
“You mean you were extorting him," Dom corrected, and Arthur frowned at the both of them.
“I mean we were to exchange the PASIV for her safety," Eames said irritably. “But we'd already ruined his name in dreamshare for betraying us, and Barnabas has put out hits on people for less. Furthermore, after Saito’s payout last year it’s hardly like I need the money. Her life is more important than a few extra zeroes in my account -- a sentiment which I’m sure you would never understand."
“That doesn’t hurt my feelings at all, so the joke’s on you," said Dom.
“So now what?" Arthur asked. “What do we do?"
“We do nothing," Dom pointed out, surprised. “You and I get out of here and leave Eames to settle this. We shouldn’t have gotten involved to begin with."
Eames looked at Dom sourly. “Yes, I can see how this was all a terrible misunderstanding on your part. Don’t worry, sweetheart," he told Arthur, “I never expected help from the great Dom Cobb. He’s right, you should go before you get drawn into this any more than you already are."
“No way," Arthur exclaimed.
Eames’ head snapped up.
Witnessing his earlier fears confirmed -- that Arthur would one day choose Eames over him -- made Dom want to flip the table over. He sucked in a deep, resentful breath.
“You can stay, but I’m going to go pack my things," he announced, not bothering to hide his bitterness. “You all can go to--"
“Five weeks ago you were telling me I should have called you when Ariadne was in trouble, and now you want to just walk away," Arthur cut in furiously. “Did you even care about her at all?"
Dom stared at him in incoherent rage. The tension in the room grew--
His cell phone rang.
“It’s Barnabas," he said, stumped.
“Act natural," Arthur instructed. “Try to sound sane."
Dom squinted at him. The phone was still ringing in his hand. “What are you talking about?"
“I said sane," said Arthur.
When Dom answered, Barnabas opened with, “Mr Cobb, did you take something which doesn’t belong to you?"
Covering the microphone with his palm, Dom murmured to them, “I guess he noticed I stole his laptop and replaced all the documents he had locked in his desk with empty manilla envelopes."
Eames pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you not understand this is real life?"
“You know I took them, or else you wouldn’t be calling," Dom replied to Barnabas, turning away from Eames’ nasty expression and Arthur’s drawn face. “I think you know why, too."
“You’ve surprised me. The Dom Cobb I remember hearing about in dreamsharing was never known for protecting his friends, but I suppose people change after they’ve fallen a few pegs. You need them more now than you ever did before."
Dom was offended. “Quit psychoanalysing me and get to the point. What do you want?"
“I want my PASIV and my computer. I also want that girl punished. If it’s not done in a week, I’ll kill everyone you care about. Starting with your children and finishing with your fancy little point man."
“Hey," Arthur cried.
Dom’s stomach lurched with horror and guilt. “Don’t you ever threaten my children."
“I’ve been patient," Barnabas replied icily. “I could’ve had Ariadne and Eames killed at any time, but I negotiated with them for as long as I could out of the kindness of my heart. But I’m tired of waiting. You’re not the only extractor with powerful friends, Cobb."
“I’d suggest we erase our identities and disappear completely," Eames said once Dom had disconnected the call, “though that didn’t work so well last time when I tried it with Ariadne. Barnabas is, sadly, in addition to being very evil, also rather clever."
“We couldn’t do that anyway," Arthur pointed out. “Cobb’s kids, my parents, your parents..."
“I hate to alarm you, but Barnabas knows where we’re staying," Dom said with urgency.
A stream of very creative curse words -- many of which Dom had never heard before in his life -- came from Eames’ mouth as he jumped to his feet. For a moment, Dom thought he was going to attack him, but instead he said, to Arthur, “I have a place in Marseille."
“I know it," Arthur replied shortly. He was already packing up the PASIV.
Eames busied himself wiping their fingerprints from every available surface; so as not to appear useless, Dom began throwing their handwritten notes and print-outs into the fireplace. Twenty minutes later, they were out the door.
But when Dom and Arthur arrived in Marseille, Eames wasn’t there.
“Traitor," Dom exclaimed.
“Oh, for the love of God," Arthur said.
The flat was a little too run-down to be anything but a safe house. It had pale blue walls, plastic faux-wood furniture, a TV with an antenna propped up on a wheeled cabinet, and a couch that had seen better days; the kitchen was empty except for a kettle and a box of Yorkshire tea. There was one tiny bedroom tucked away off to the side. The front windows, framed in yellow curtains, looked out onto the street, giving them full view of the brasserie on the corner and a series of shops all boasting ‘solde’ in big, red letters.
Inside, it was hot and humid, and Dom adjusted the collar of his shirt as a trickle of sweat dripped down the back of his neck.
Eames didn’t show up on the first day, nor the second.
On the third day, in the middle of doing something on his computer, Arthur went terribly still, as if a thought had struck him. He glanced at Dom and asked, tentatively, "Do you think Eames is okay?"
Sitting around waiting for Eames was making Dom ill-tempered; he was too afraid to call and see if Philippa and James were safe in case Barnabas was waiting for him to lead him home. Something about how young and scared Arthur looked in that moment made him snap, "Maybe Barnabas caught up with him. It would give us one less thing to worry about."
Arthur opened his mouth to say something but seemed unable to string together a response.
Outside in the hallway, there was a muffled sound. Dom put a finger to his lips, slowly standing. When the door creaked open, he quickly drew his gun; out of the corner of his eye, Arthur did the same.
“It’s me," called a familiar voice, and the door opened.
Relieved to see it was just -- finally -- Eames, Dom tucked his gun back in the waistband of his pants. Eames frantically looked around the room until he found Arthur. His face went slack with relief, just for an instant; Dom had a sinking feeling he didn’t expect them to be there. Then he was back to his normal, jovial self.
Ariadne pushed in from behind him. “I don’t understand how it’s any safer here than in Riga--" When she saw Dom, she froze. “What’s going on?"
Dom hadn’t seen her since they’d parted at LAX, a year ago. Her hair was shorter, but she looked otherwise the same, from her brightly-patterned scarf down to her purple Converses. A heavy-looking backpack was slung over her shoulder, and she was carrying a black, bulky case with a handle: a PASIV, though different in size and shape to Dom’s.
"This is your idea of ‘keeping a low profile?'" Ariadne demanded to Eames, her tiny face scrunched in anger. The last time Dom had seen her look like that had been after Mal's projection had stabbed her in the gut.
“We kind of got ourselves involved," Dom explained.
“Yes," Arthur said dryly, “we."
“I’m afraid to ask how," said Ariadne. She dropped her backpack to the floor and handed the PASIV over to Eames, who immediately passed it to Arthur. “Weren’t you retired?"
"Barnabas said he'd kill me and my family," Dom replied grimly.
Dom waited for a response. When none came, he squinted at Ariadne until she said, "Oh. Oh no?"
“Don’t forget, he said he’d kill me too," Arthur reminded him.
“No!" Ariadne cried.
While Arthur took his toolkit from his suitcase and fell upon Barnabas’ PASIV like a kid on Christmas morning, Eames made tea, adding in spoonfuls of condensed milk he’d been storing in the cupboard for God knew how long. With Ariadne curled up on the couch and Arthur up to his elbows in electronic equipment, it was almost like Paris all over again. And like in Paris, Dom’s mind was whirling nonstop, had been since Barnabas had threatened Philippa and James.
“You have a plan, right?" Ariadne asked him eventually. “Please tell me you have a plan."
“Of course I have a plan," Dom sniffed.
“Really," said Eames, and even Arthur glanced up.
Dom threw an arm over the back of his chair. “We’re going to blackmail Barnabas."
*
It had been a long, long time since Dom had blackmailed someone. Collecting information in case of a problem was one thing; using it was another. It was something he would have normally avoided, both for professional (no one wanted an extractor with a reputation for extorting his clients and marks) and personal reasons (Be the change, Dom often reminded himself). Back when he’d been new to the businesses, he’d made the mistake of threatening a particularly difficult client, and it had taken him months to get out from under it.
But these were extraordinary circumstances. Barnabas had threatened his children.
“He told me his name was Ashdown, and he was adamant we not use it," Dom told them. He steepled his fingers. “I think there’s a reason he didn’t want Arthur looking into that name."
Arthur carefully copied that down in his moleskine. “The other name he gave you was Alex Ross?"
“And the first name for Barnabas is Joost," Dom said, nodding. “Joost Herman, from the Netherlands."
“Couldn’t he have simply made the identity of Ashdown up on the spot?" Eames asked. “What makes you think he has anything tied to this name?"
“I don’t think he would’ve taken the risk I’d look him up before committing to the job."
“But you didn’t look him up," Arthur said gruffly. He clicked the end of his pen half a dozen times before a look from Eames stopped him.
“Well, no," Dom admitted.
“We’re going to blackmail they guy who threatened to bury me alive if I didn’t give him back his PASIV," Ariadne interrupted. Her brow knitted. “Doesn’t that seem too easy? Besides, we already looked into him and didn’t find anything worth blackmailing him for."
“You didn’t have Arthur," replied Dom, at the same time Eames said, “If anyone can find something on him, it’s Arthur."
Looking torn between embarrassed and flattered, Arthur began, “Thanks, gu--"
“We could’ve had Arthur," Ariadne pointed out, looking irritated. “I wanted Arthur."
“And I didn’t want anyone else involved," Eames said, a bit coolly.
“Meaning you didn’t want Arthur to see how much Barnabas intimidated you," she concluded.
“Oh, yes, most definitely," said Eames, and Arthur snorted.
That night, Dom gave Ariadne the couch, and he slept on the floor using the spare bedsheets. Arthur and Eames took the bedroom, though how they were both going to fit on that bed were beyond him; the past two nights Dom had slept in it he had barely fit, and he may have been the size of two Arthurs but he definitely wasn’t as big as two Eameses.
Ariadne’s eyebrows shot up when they disappeared into the bedroom together, and Dom murmured, "They're friends now."
"I don't think they're friends," she replied emphatically.
Later, when they’d turned off the lights, Dom whispered, “Ariadne?"
Her voice was muffled by a pillow. “Yeah?" she answered, and the springs on the couch squeaked as if she was rolling over.
“What have you been up to lately other than stealing PASIVs?" he asked, only half-joking.
He couldn’t see her face, but he could imagine the angry tilt of her chin. “He wasn’t using it responsibly," she said defensively. “I wasn’t going to keep it; I was just going to hold onto it until he learned his lesson."
That didn’t make much sense to him, but then again he’d just created an elaborate revenge plot to get back at someone for taking credit for his ideas.
He rolled onto his back, trying to get comfortable. The room was just light enough for him to notice the giant water stain on the ceiling.
“Why didn’t you tell people I trained you?"
It was like someone else had spoken with his voice. He’d thought about that question -- thought about it a lot -- but he hadn’t planned on asking her.
“Because you didn’t. I have a Masters in Architecture," she pointed out, as if he’d forgotten, “and Arthur taught me how to build in dreams. You took me under one time and I got stabbed by Mal, who was your shade, by the way, and then we had one job together where you put me in a situation where I could’ve gotten my brains scrambled."
“Well, of course it sounds bad when you say it like that," said Dom.
“A few weeks after the Fischer job, I got a call from another extractor. Arthur had recommended me. So I took the job, and it was really, really different from the job we did together.
“Before the whole Tom Sawyer thing, I was working a lot with this really cool extractor named Danielle," she continued excitedly. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of her--" Dom hadn’t. “--she’s pretty new. But she has a lot of amazing ideas. Hopefully, when Eames brings me back to life, I can go back to working with her team."
She peeked over the couch to look at him, and Dom couldn’t help but grin at her enthusiasm. It was refreshing to have someone around who wasn’t angry with him.
“I’m back in architecture, so I guess we’re competition now," he said.
“Oh, Cobb," Ariadne replied with a condescending smile, “trust me, you’re not my competition."
*
It took Arthur four days, but he pulled it off. While Ariadne, Eames, and Dom were sharing a brunch of baguette and fresh fruit, Arthur stumbled into the flat, tossing his satchel in the direction of the bedroom. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his hair was mussed; he looked like he hadn’t slept in a while.
Matter-of-fact, he announced, “I got it. Johan Ashdown, also known as Joost Barnabas and Alex Ross, has a price on his head. He bailed in the middle of a job with a South American logging company. The name he was using was Jens Petersson, but it’s definitely him.
“I got the names and contact numbers of everyone he worked with on that job," he added. “Every one of them."
“Well done," Eames exclaimed. He clapped Arthur on the shoulder.
“So now what?" Ariadne asked around a mouthful of bread.
“Now we blackmail him," said Dom.
He pulled his cell phone from his breast pocket, but Eames grabbed his wrist, stopping him.
“We’ll handle this," he said with a dangerous smirk that left no room for negotiation. “Why don’t you do some sight-seeing?"
Incredulous, Dom looked at the rest of the team. Arthur was staring at his shoes, and Ariadne’s gaze was flickering between Dom and Eames over a mug of tea.
“Alright," Dom seethed, standing. Rage churned inside him; he couldn’t even look Eames in the eye. “Call me when it’s done."
Marseille’s port was crowded and dotted with rubbish, marring the otherwise beautiful view of the ocean. The air smelled like a mix of gasoline and sea salt; there were more seagulls about than people. Dom walked along the oceanfront, wishing he’d remembered his sunglasses. He was angry (and hot) enough that at one point he stripped off his jacket and left it on the street to rot. It was immediately attacked by a flock of seagulls looking for food.
He fumed. It wasn’t his fault Ariadne had stolen Barnabas’ PASIV and Eames had helped her. He was the least guilty out of all of them. After all, it wasn’t as if he had gone to Barnabas asking for a chance to get revenge on Eames; he was as much a victim of Barnabas’ fury as they were.
In the end, all he’d been trying to do was humble Eames, to remind him that having an ego could do more harm than good in their line of work.
’All I did was choose not to correct other people's assumptions. I can't help it if our colleagues see me as clever and you as someone who needs a few screws tightened.’
If anything, he was the good guy in this scenario.
If Mal was there, he thought hotly--
He crushed that thought on the spot. Mal wasn’t there, and it was no use dwelling on what might have been; Arthur might have accused him of not learning anything from the Fischer job, but he, with Ariadne’s help, had come away from the job with the knowledge of what could happen if he failed to move on.
He’d never actually thanked Ariadne for that.
Dom sat on a bench for a while, watching the tourists and feeling his skin go pink. When the dinner crowd started coming out, he headed back to the flat. As he approached the building, he spotted Arthur sitting at one of the crowded cafes sipping a cappuccino, his face partially obscured by the umbrella; if he hadn’t known it, Dom never would’ve guessed he was from California.
Dom slipped into the empty seat across from him. Arthur didn’t look surprised to see him, and greeted him with, “We took care of it. Eames and Ariadne are leaving to take the PASIV to a mutually agreed-upon location. They told Barnabas that if anything happens I’m going to send everything I have on him to every assassin and mercenary in my book."
“That’s a lot of hit men," Dom agreed.
Arthur tapped his fingers against his cup. “I’m going to leave with Eames."
“Did you two finally--?" Dom bumped his fists together, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
Arthur looked baffled. “What’re you doing? Is that--? No-- I-- we-- I mean, yeah, that’s the point of us going off together, I guess, but what I’m trying to say is I’m not coming back as your point man."
It was like a stab to the gut. Dom rocked back in his seat, stunned.
“I don’t think you should be in dreamsharing anymore," Arthur added, looking uncomfortable. “I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt on the whole Fischer inception thing, because you wanted to get back to your family so bad. But what you tried to do to Eames was pretty awful."
Dom ran a hand through his hair anxiously. “I was trying to teach him a lesson," he protested.
“I think the only lesson he learned was not to have anything to do with you ever again." Arthur looked down at his coffee and back up. “I don’t think I can trust you anymore, either."
“I’m the only extractor you’ve ever worked with," Dom snapped, confused and sick. He slammed a fist on the table loud enough for the couple next to them to look over. “What can you possibly do without me?"
“Yeah, this is really not making me regret my decision," said Arthur.
He stood, pulling a bag out from under the table. He tucked five euros under the ash tray. “I’ll come visit the kids soon."
“But--" Dom called.
But Arthur stepped into a crowd of pedestrians and vanished.
As Dom headed back up the stairs to the flat, a funny feeling prickled at the back of his mind. A pit of worry in his stomach, he took the steps two at a time until he reached the third floor apartment, shoving past an old couple heading up the stairwell. The wife yelled at him in French.
It was unlocked. When he made it inside, neither Eames nor Ariadne were anywhere in sight. The flat had been emptied; all the was left was Dom’s carry-on in the middle of the floor, zipped shut, and obvious places where the furniture had been. The windows were open, and kids outside laughed loudly at something he couldn’t see.
His PASIV was gone, too.
’He wasn’t using it responsibly,’ Ariadne had said. ’I was just going to hold onto it until he learned his lesson.’
“I probably should’ve seen this coming," Dom said to himself.
He zipped up his bag and began the long trek back to LA, alone.
*
The end.
Disclaimer: "I've made a huge mistake" is blatantly stolen from Arrested Development. Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan, Warner Bros., and Legendary Pictures.
Huge thanks to kickthebeat for reading this over and telling me it didn't suck, and of course to my wonderful beta, bookshop, who always finds my plot holes.
Previously
iii.
“Ariadne’s been wanting a PASIV of her own for a while," Eames explained. He looked tired, the lines in his face more pronounced than they were a year ago, and Dom, who had truly never thought about it before, realised Eames was probably about his age. “We were working a job with Barnabas in Australia when Ariadne saw an opportunity to steal his, against my advice, might I add. I think she wanted to test herself, see if she could get away with it. Unfortunately, a skilled thief she is not, so it was rather obvious she was the one who did it. Even more unfortunate, Barnabas is rather mad. So when he began threatening, her she asked me for help."
“And you, what, put out the word that she’d died?" Arthur asked. He adjusted his position on the couch so his and Eames’ knees touched.
“Darling, do you know how difficult it is to fake someone’s death?" Eames huffed. “It’s loads of paperwork. Really, you should be patting me on the back for that."
Unlike the two of them, Dom paced the tiny space between the lounge and the kitchen, unable to keep still. “Why didn’t Barnabas come after you directly?" he asked.
Eames smiled thinly. “The only person who ever knows how to find me is Arthur."
Ignoring the way Arthur’s ears flushed, Dom pointed out, “But it didn’t work. He knows she’s alive."
“He got in contact with me a few weeks ago," Eames said, nodding. “Since then Ariadne and I have been in negotiations with him to return the PASIV and get out of the situation with our heads intact."
“You mean you were extorting him," Dom corrected, and Arthur frowned at the both of them.
“I mean we were to exchange the PASIV for her safety," Eames said irritably. “But we'd already ruined his name in dreamshare for betraying us, and Barnabas has put out hits on people for less. Furthermore, after Saito’s payout last year it’s hardly like I need the money. Her life is more important than a few extra zeroes in my account -- a sentiment which I’m sure you would never understand."
“That doesn’t hurt my feelings at all, so the joke’s on you," said Dom.
“So now what?" Arthur asked. “What do we do?"
“We do nothing," Dom pointed out, surprised. “You and I get out of here and leave Eames to settle this. We shouldn’t have gotten involved to begin with."
Eames looked at Dom sourly. “Yes, I can see how this was all a terrible misunderstanding on your part. Don’t worry, sweetheart," he told Arthur, “I never expected help from the great Dom Cobb. He’s right, you should go before you get drawn into this any more than you already are."
“No way," Arthur exclaimed.
Eames’ head snapped up.
Witnessing his earlier fears confirmed -- that Arthur would one day choose Eames over him -- made Dom want to flip the table over. He sucked in a deep, resentful breath.
“You can stay, but I’m going to go pack my things," he announced, not bothering to hide his bitterness. “You all can go to--"
“Five weeks ago you were telling me I should have called you when Ariadne was in trouble, and now you want to just walk away," Arthur cut in furiously. “Did you even care about her at all?"
Dom stared at him in incoherent rage. The tension in the room grew--
His cell phone rang.
“It’s Barnabas," he said, stumped.
“Act natural," Arthur instructed. “Try to sound sane."
Dom squinted at him. The phone was still ringing in his hand. “What are you talking about?"
“I said sane," said Arthur.
When Dom answered, Barnabas opened with, “Mr Cobb, did you take something which doesn’t belong to you?"
Covering the microphone with his palm, Dom murmured to them, “I guess he noticed I stole his laptop and replaced all the documents he had locked in his desk with empty manilla envelopes."
Eames pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you not understand this is real life?"
“You know I took them, or else you wouldn’t be calling," Dom replied to Barnabas, turning away from Eames’ nasty expression and Arthur’s drawn face. “I think you know why, too."
“You’ve surprised me. The Dom Cobb I remember hearing about in dreamsharing was never known for protecting his friends, but I suppose people change after they’ve fallen a few pegs. You need them more now than you ever did before."
Dom was offended. “Quit psychoanalysing me and get to the point. What do you want?"
“I want my PASIV and my computer. I also want that girl punished. If it’s not done in a week, I’ll kill everyone you care about. Starting with your children and finishing with your fancy little point man."
“Hey," Arthur cried.
Dom’s stomach lurched with horror and guilt. “Don’t you ever threaten my children."
“I’ve been patient," Barnabas replied icily. “I could’ve had Ariadne and Eames killed at any time, but I negotiated with them for as long as I could out of the kindness of my heart. But I’m tired of waiting. You’re not the only extractor with powerful friends, Cobb."
“I’d suggest we erase our identities and disappear completely," Eames said once Dom had disconnected the call, “though that didn’t work so well last time when I tried it with Ariadne. Barnabas is, sadly, in addition to being very evil, also rather clever."
“We couldn’t do that anyway," Arthur pointed out. “Cobb’s kids, my parents, your parents..."
“I hate to alarm you, but Barnabas knows where we’re staying," Dom said with urgency.
A stream of very creative curse words -- many of which Dom had never heard before in his life -- came from Eames’ mouth as he jumped to his feet. For a moment, Dom thought he was going to attack him, but instead he said, to Arthur, “I have a place in Marseille."
“I know it," Arthur replied shortly. He was already packing up the PASIV.
Eames busied himself wiping their fingerprints from every available surface; so as not to appear useless, Dom began throwing their handwritten notes and print-outs into the fireplace. Twenty minutes later, they were out the door.
But when Dom and Arthur arrived in Marseille, Eames wasn’t there.
“Traitor," Dom exclaimed.
“Oh, for the love of God," Arthur said.
The flat was a little too run-down to be anything but a safe house. It had pale blue walls, plastic faux-wood furniture, a TV with an antenna propped up on a wheeled cabinet, and a couch that had seen better days; the kitchen was empty except for a kettle and a box of Yorkshire tea. There was one tiny bedroom tucked away off to the side. The front windows, framed in yellow curtains, looked out onto the street, giving them full view of the brasserie on the corner and a series of shops all boasting ‘solde’ in big, red letters.
Inside, it was hot and humid, and Dom adjusted the collar of his shirt as a trickle of sweat dripped down the back of his neck.
Eames didn’t show up on the first day, nor the second.
On the third day, in the middle of doing something on his computer, Arthur went terribly still, as if a thought had struck him. He glanced at Dom and asked, tentatively, "Do you think Eames is okay?"
Sitting around waiting for Eames was making Dom ill-tempered; he was too afraid to call and see if Philippa and James were safe in case Barnabas was waiting for him to lead him home. Something about how young and scared Arthur looked in that moment made him snap, "Maybe Barnabas caught up with him. It would give us one less thing to worry about."
Arthur opened his mouth to say something but seemed unable to string together a response.
Outside in the hallway, there was a muffled sound. Dom put a finger to his lips, slowly standing. When the door creaked open, he quickly drew his gun; out of the corner of his eye, Arthur did the same.
“It’s me," called a familiar voice, and the door opened.
Relieved to see it was just -- finally -- Eames, Dom tucked his gun back in the waistband of his pants. Eames frantically looked around the room until he found Arthur. His face went slack with relief, just for an instant; Dom had a sinking feeling he didn’t expect them to be there. Then he was back to his normal, jovial self.
Ariadne pushed in from behind him. “I don’t understand how it’s any safer here than in Riga--" When she saw Dom, she froze. “What’s going on?"
Dom hadn’t seen her since they’d parted at LAX, a year ago. Her hair was shorter, but she looked otherwise the same, from her brightly-patterned scarf down to her purple Converses. A heavy-looking backpack was slung over her shoulder, and she was carrying a black, bulky case with a handle: a PASIV, though different in size and shape to Dom’s.
"This is your idea of ‘keeping a low profile?'" Ariadne demanded to Eames, her tiny face scrunched in anger. The last time Dom had seen her look like that had been after Mal's projection had stabbed her in the gut.
“We kind of got ourselves involved," Dom explained.
“Yes," Arthur said dryly, “we."
“I’m afraid to ask how," said Ariadne. She dropped her backpack to the floor and handed the PASIV over to Eames, who immediately passed it to Arthur. “Weren’t you retired?"
"Barnabas said he'd kill me and my family," Dom replied grimly.
Dom waited for a response. When none came, he squinted at Ariadne until she said, "Oh. Oh no?"
“Don’t forget, he said he’d kill me too," Arthur reminded him.
“No!" Ariadne cried.
While Arthur took his toolkit from his suitcase and fell upon Barnabas’ PASIV like a kid on Christmas morning, Eames made tea, adding in spoonfuls of condensed milk he’d been storing in the cupboard for God knew how long. With Ariadne curled up on the couch and Arthur up to his elbows in electronic equipment, it was almost like Paris all over again. And like in Paris, Dom’s mind was whirling nonstop, had been since Barnabas had threatened Philippa and James.
“You have a plan, right?" Ariadne asked him eventually. “Please tell me you have a plan."
“Of course I have a plan," Dom sniffed.
“Really," said Eames, and even Arthur glanced up.
Dom threw an arm over the back of his chair. “We’re going to blackmail Barnabas."
*
It had been a long, long time since Dom had blackmailed someone. Collecting information in case of a problem was one thing; using it was another. It was something he would have normally avoided, both for professional (no one wanted an extractor with a reputation for extorting his clients and marks) and personal reasons (Be the change, Dom often reminded himself). Back when he’d been new to the businesses, he’d made the mistake of threatening a particularly difficult client, and it had taken him months to get out from under it.
But these were extraordinary circumstances. Barnabas had threatened his children.
“He told me his name was Ashdown, and he was adamant we not use it," Dom told them. He steepled his fingers. “I think there’s a reason he didn’t want Arthur looking into that name."
Arthur carefully copied that down in his moleskine. “The other name he gave you was Alex Ross?"
“And the first name for Barnabas is Joost," Dom said, nodding. “Joost Herman, from the Netherlands."
“Couldn’t he have simply made the identity of Ashdown up on the spot?" Eames asked. “What makes you think he has anything tied to this name?"
“I don’t think he would’ve taken the risk I’d look him up before committing to the job."
“But you didn’t look him up," Arthur said gruffly. He clicked the end of his pen half a dozen times before a look from Eames stopped him.
“Well, no," Dom admitted.
“We’re going to blackmail they guy who threatened to bury me alive if I didn’t give him back his PASIV," Ariadne interrupted. Her brow knitted. “Doesn’t that seem too easy? Besides, we already looked into him and didn’t find anything worth blackmailing him for."
“You didn’t have Arthur," replied Dom, at the same time Eames said, “If anyone can find something on him, it’s Arthur."
Looking torn between embarrassed and flattered, Arthur began, “Thanks, gu--"
“We could’ve had Arthur," Ariadne pointed out, looking irritated. “I wanted Arthur."
“And I didn’t want anyone else involved," Eames said, a bit coolly.
“Meaning you didn’t want Arthur to see how much Barnabas intimidated you," she concluded.
“Oh, yes, most definitely," said Eames, and Arthur snorted.
That night, Dom gave Ariadne the couch, and he slept on the floor using the spare bedsheets. Arthur and Eames took the bedroom, though how they were both going to fit on that bed were beyond him; the past two nights Dom had slept in it he had barely fit, and he may have been the size of two Arthurs but he definitely wasn’t as big as two Eameses.
Ariadne’s eyebrows shot up when they disappeared into the bedroom together, and Dom murmured, "They're friends now."
"I don't think they're friends," she replied emphatically.
Later, when they’d turned off the lights, Dom whispered, “Ariadne?"
Her voice was muffled by a pillow. “Yeah?" she answered, and the springs on the couch squeaked as if she was rolling over.
“What have you been up to lately other than stealing PASIVs?" he asked, only half-joking.
He couldn’t see her face, but he could imagine the angry tilt of her chin. “He wasn’t using it responsibly," she said defensively. “I wasn’t going to keep it; I was just going to hold onto it until he learned his lesson."
That didn’t make much sense to him, but then again he’d just created an elaborate revenge plot to get back at someone for taking credit for his ideas.
He rolled onto his back, trying to get comfortable. The room was just light enough for him to notice the giant water stain on the ceiling.
“Why didn’t you tell people I trained you?"
It was like someone else had spoken with his voice. He’d thought about that question -- thought about it a lot -- but he hadn’t planned on asking her.
“Because you didn’t. I have a Masters in Architecture," she pointed out, as if he’d forgotten, “and Arthur taught me how to build in dreams. You took me under one time and I got stabbed by Mal, who was your shade, by the way, and then we had one job together where you put me in a situation where I could’ve gotten my brains scrambled."
“Well, of course it sounds bad when you say it like that," said Dom.
“A few weeks after the Fischer job, I got a call from another extractor. Arthur had recommended me. So I took the job, and it was really, really different from the job we did together.
“Before the whole Tom Sawyer thing, I was working a lot with this really cool extractor named Danielle," she continued excitedly. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of her--" Dom hadn’t. “--she’s pretty new. But she has a lot of amazing ideas. Hopefully, when Eames brings me back to life, I can go back to working with her team."
She peeked over the couch to look at him, and Dom couldn’t help but grin at her enthusiasm. It was refreshing to have someone around who wasn’t angry with him.
“I’m back in architecture, so I guess we’re competition now," he said.
“Oh, Cobb," Ariadne replied with a condescending smile, “trust me, you’re not my competition."
*
It took Arthur four days, but he pulled it off. While Ariadne, Eames, and Dom were sharing a brunch of baguette and fresh fruit, Arthur stumbled into the flat, tossing his satchel in the direction of the bedroom. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his hair was mussed; he looked like he hadn’t slept in a while.
Matter-of-fact, he announced, “I got it. Johan Ashdown, also known as Joost Barnabas and Alex Ross, has a price on his head. He bailed in the middle of a job with a South American logging company. The name he was using was Jens Petersson, but it’s definitely him.
“I got the names and contact numbers of everyone he worked with on that job," he added. “Every one of them."
“Well done," Eames exclaimed. He clapped Arthur on the shoulder.
“So now what?" Ariadne asked around a mouthful of bread.
“Now we blackmail him," said Dom.
He pulled his cell phone from his breast pocket, but Eames grabbed his wrist, stopping him.
“We’ll handle this," he said with a dangerous smirk that left no room for negotiation. “Why don’t you do some sight-seeing?"
Incredulous, Dom looked at the rest of the team. Arthur was staring at his shoes, and Ariadne’s gaze was flickering between Dom and Eames over a mug of tea.
“Alright," Dom seethed, standing. Rage churned inside him; he couldn’t even look Eames in the eye. “Call me when it’s done."
Marseille’s port was crowded and dotted with rubbish, marring the otherwise beautiful view of the ocean. The air smelled like a mix of gasoline and sea salt; there were more seagulls about than people. Dom walked along the oceanfront, wishing he’d remembered his sunglasses. He was angry (and hot) enough that at one point he stripped off his jacket and left it on the street to rot. It was immediately attacked by a flock of seagulls looking for food.
He fumed. It wasn’t his fault Ariadne had stolen Barnabas’ PASIV and Eames had helped her. He was the least guilty out of all of them. After all, it wasn’t as if he had gone to Barnabas asking for a chance to get revenge on Eames; he was as much a victim of Barnabas’ fury as they were.
In the end, all he’d been trying to do was humble Eames, to remind him that having an ego could do more harm than good in their line of work.
’All I did was choose not to correct other people's assumptions. I can't help it if our colleagues see me as clever and you as someone who needs a few screws tightened.’
If anything, he was the good guy in this scenario.
If Mal was there, he thought hotly--
He crushed that thought on the spot. Mal wasn’t there, and it was no use dwelling on what might have been; Arthur might have accused him of not learning anything from the Fischer job, but he, with Ariadne’s help, had come away from the job with the knowledge of what could happen if he failed to move on.
He’d never actually thanked Ariadne for that.
Dom sat on a bench for a while, watching the tourists and feeling his skin go pink. When the dinner crowd started coming out, he headed back to the flat. As he approached the building, he spotted Arthur sitting at one of the crowded cafes sipping a cappuccino, his face partially obscured by the umbrella; if he hadn’t known it, Dom never would’ve guessed he was from California.
Dom slipped into the empty seat across from him. Arthur didn’t look surprised to see him, and greeted him with, “We took care of it. Eames and Ariadne are leaving to take the PASIV to a mutually agreed-upon location. They told Barnabas that if anything happens I’m going to send everything I have on him to every assassin and mercenary in my book."
“That’s a lot of hit men," Dom agreed.
Arthur tapped his fingers against his cup. “I’m going to leave with Eames."
“Did you two finally--?" Dom bumped his fists together, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
Arthur looked baffled. “What’re you doing? Is that--? No-- I-- we-- I mean, yeah, that’s the point of us going off together, I guess, but what I’m trying to say is I’m not coming back as your point man."
It was like a stab to the gut. Dom rocked back in his seat, stunned.
“I don’t think you should be in dreamsharing anymore," Arthur added, looking uncomfortable. “I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt on the whole Fischer inception thing, because you wanted to get back to your family so bad. But what you tried to do to Eames was pretty awful."
Dom ran a hand through his hair anxiously. “I was trying to teach him a lesson," he protested.
“I think the only lesson he learned was not to have anything to do with you ever again." Arthur looked down at his coffee and back up. “I don’t think I can trust you anymore, either."
“I’m the only extractor you’ve ever worked with," Dom snapped, confused and sick. He slammed a fist on the table loud enough for the couple next to them to look over. “What can you possibly do without me?"
“Yeah, this is really not making me regret my decision," said Arthur.
He stood, pulling a bag out from under the table. He tucked five euros under the ash tray. “I’ll come visit the kids soon."
“But--" Dom called.
But Arthur stepped into a crowd of pedestrians and vanished.
As Dom headed back up the stairs to the flat, a funny feeling prickled at the back of his mind. A pit of worry in his stomach, he took the steps two at a time until he reached the third floor apartment, shoving past an old couple heading up the stairwell. The wife yelled at him in French.
It was unlocked. When he made it inside, neither Eames nor Ariadne were anywhere in sight. The flat had been emptied; all the was left was Dom’s carry-on in the middle of the floor, zipped shut, and obvious places where the furniture had been. The windows were open, and kids outside laughed loudly at something he couldn’t see.
His PASIV was gone, too.
’He wasn’t using it responsibly,’ Ariadne had said. ’I was just going to hold onto it until he learned his lesson.’
“I probably should’ve seen this coming," Dom said to himself.
He zipped up his bag and began the long trek back to LA, alone.
*
The end.
Disclaimer: "I've made a huge mistake" is blatantly stolen from Arrested Development. Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan, Warner Bros., and Legendary Pictures.
Huge thanks to kickthebeat for reading this over and telling me it didn't suck, and of course to my wonderful beta, bookshop, who always finds my plot holes.