Debts To Pay.
Title: Debts To Pay
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: PG-13 for language and alluded-to situations
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur (one sided)
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan and not to me. His toys are fun to play with!
Spoilers/Warnings: AU to the movie. For the
inception_kink meme prompt in round 8: Arthur starts to become EXTREMELY obsessed with Ariadne. Prequel to Life At My Expense, which people had asked oh so nicely for at the time. I didn't really have the details about how it all went down until now. :)
Summary: There are rising debts and no way to pay them back. Then Arthur notices a Sorbonne student, and everything changes.
Arthur held his ribs and coughed, hoping he wasn't about to cough up blood. That would be hard to explain if he had to get to the hospital; there were only so many times you could claim to fall down the stairs or get hit by a car before someone remembered you.
"I like you, Arthur," Jean-Pierre said, looking at his fingernails. He was sharply dressed in a suit and tie, with slicked back dark hair and dark eyes. He didn't look like a major player in the underground of Paris, even as he nodded at the man standing over Arthur. Gaston was a thick-necked brutish sort of man, with narrow eyes and a square jaw. He had been a boxer once upon a time, and his skill with his fists had persisted long after his retirement. He enjoyed being Jean-Pierre's go-to man entirely too much, and Arthur knew he wasn't the only man in Paris that fantasized killing him.
"That's... hard to believe," Arthur managed to wheeze, pushing himself up to his knees. Whether he was on his knees or all fours, Gaston could still do a number on him if Jean-Pierre wanted to.
Jean-Pierre took out a lighter and one of those old fashioned cigarette cases from his blazer pocket. He lit the cigarette carelessly, taking a deep drag on it before looking down at Arthur. "You need a reminder to do your job, young man. You owe me quite a bit of money now. I always collect my debts."
"I'll get you the money," Arthur wheezed. "I'm good for it."
His smile was sharp and full of teeth, reminding Arthur of a shark. "If you were good for it, I would not have need of Gaston's services. But you have done several good turns for me in the past. This gives you a second chance to pay me back."
Arthur pushed himself up to his feet slowly and tried his best to stand at his full height. Jean-Pierre despised weakness, and would simply cut him down if he thought Arthur wouldn't be able to pay up. "I'll have the money, Jean-Pierre."
Jean-Pierre's eyes were cold and hard. "Of course you will. If not, you and your friend will pay in blood."
***
"Shit, Arthur. We need to just get the fuck out of Paris," Eames growled, taking in the mottled bruises all along Arthur's ribs and stomach. Large bruises in the shape of Gaston's fingers were pressed into his arms, likely from when he was manhandled into Jean-Pierre's presence. "He can't chase us everywhere."
"No," Arthur replied sullenly, pushing Eames' hands away. A hot shower and ibuprofen would help unkink his muscles, and he would be able to think. He couldn't leave Paris yet, and it had nothing to do with the mounting debts or the threat of Gaston's fists.
His reason was a petite brunette he had seen on the Sorbonne University campus.
Eames would make fun of him, but he was getting far too obsessed with this girl. He was turning into some stalker from a teen movie, and there was enough to worry about. There was all sorts of shit to fence still, the drugs that had to be dealt, and Jean-Pierre needed his cut. He was getting distracted, and that wouldn't be healthy for much longer.
He had first seen her sitting on the lawn with two other girls, laughing uproariously, her head thrown back and sunlight streaming through her hair. He had stopped short, just taking in the sight of her, his gut twisting. Arthur decided right then and there that she had to be his, no matter what the cost.
He discovered her name easily enough, and she was one of those wholesome, trusting kinds of girls. She didn't notice him following her, taking note of where she lived. He dealt a variety of pharmaceuticals in her neighborhood, so it wasn't even difficult to hang around her apartment building. He was part of the scenery, just another young man that hung back leaning against the wall. He never took any of the shit he dealt, so he always had clear eyes and a clear mind. He tracked her every time she left her building, every person she spoke with.
While she was at classes, he broke into her apartment. The locks were crap and easy to pick, and the neighborhood was full of people that looked the other way. Her space was tiny and cluttered; most surfaces were covered with books and notebooks, all things related to art history, architecture, French and English literature. Sloppy stacks of CD's and DVD's were on the TV stand and tucked haphazardly into a shelf, some still in their original plastic wrapping. She had an expensive, brand new laptop, a flat screen TV, state of the art stereo system and various video game systems.
Arthur had gone through her mail and read the dismissive-sounding letters from her parents. Her bedroom was a mess, her bed unmade and clothes scattered around. Her jewelry was carelessly expensive, and there was a lot of it. She hadn't looked like the type to wear such clunky, large stones in such elaborate settings. Most of her clothes were understated and from thrift shops; he could only guess that the jewelry was mostly gifts, and nothing she could easily get rid of.
Arthur had slid into her bed, imagining he could feel the warmth of her body still clinging to the sheets. The pillow smelled like her, and he inhaled deeply. Eyes closed and the scent of her all around him, Arthur slid his hand down into his jeans and brought himself off. He imagined it was Ariadne the entire time, that wide smile on her face and her warm brown eyes shining at him.
Goddammit.
Feeling like he was fifteen again, he staggered into her bathroom to wash up. She had touched those towels, had run it along her smooth skin. He wound a hair from her brush around his finger, feeling its texture as he sat inside her living space. She had such a warm, sunny personality, and the tiny apartment seemed to reflect that aspect of her. There were pictures of her parents, and it looked like the place she had grown up was large and monstrously ostentatious.
He had gone back a few times while she was at class. Her schedule was neatly printed and stuck to her fridge with magnets, so he knew she wouldn't see him. She didn't miss a scarf or hairpin or two. With the extent of the mess in her apartment, he guessed that it was a way for her to get back at her parents. Pictures of them were so stiff and formal, always dressed to the nines. She had run away to Paris and started buying clothes out of thrift shops and hiding the jewelry that looked like her mother's. She threw things around her apartment and stayed up all night studying or attending parties with friends. Arthur had followed her to a few parties, managing to mingle at the edge of crowds. He avidly watched her kiss another girl while drunk, though she didn't seem all that enthusiastic. Money changing hands implied it was a bet, and he had to approve of that kind of thing.
Arthur nearly broke his cover to charge across the party when some college boy dragged her off to the corner. He plied her with beer and what had to be cheesy lines; she didn't seem to be falling for his schtick at all, though. That was the only thing that saved the idiot's life.
He passed close to her on the street a few times, but she didn't seem to see him. She didn't recognize that his was a familiar face in her neighborhood, a fact that he was grateful for. It allowed him to take his pictures and enter her apartment at irregular intervals. It allowed him to follow her, to hear the sound of her voice. She was perfect, even if she thought she was ordinary.
Eames at least waited until Arthur had his shower and popped his painkillers before lighting into him. Arthur ignored his friend, pouring himself a generous amount of cheap vodka. He was going to get fucking plastered and then jack off to the surveillance photos he had taken of Ariadne. He didn't want to deal with how much money they owed Jean-Pierre right now. He'd rather get drunk, pretend it was Ariadne's little fist around his cock and then get up in the morning itching to pummel an idiot into the ground to ease his hangover. He was middle management in Jean-Pierre's organization, and there were plenty of flunkies out there to shake up for a little cash to tide them over.
"You can't ignore Jean-Pierre," Eames insisted, sitting down across from Arthur. This was a new tactic.
Arthur slammed back the alcohol. "I can't exactly do that, can I? I'm reminded every time I fucking breathe."
"Then what the fuck?" Eames asked, watching Arthur pour himself another drink. "You'd usually be busting your ass to get that debt paid off. I'm doing my part, at least."
"Shut up."
"Why? You said Paris was better than London. You told me we'd be made out here." He watched Arthur knock back the glass and grabbed the bottle to pour himself the vodka. "What's happened?"
"I know a way we can break out and still pay back everything we owe," he began slowly, voice hard. He couldn't tell Eames how obsessed he was with Ariadne. Eames would likely hit him upside the head or assume he had a concussion from Gaston's beating. If it was about the money, Eames would help him. If Eames thought this was his grand plan to get them out of debt, Arthur could still have Ariadne.
In the back of his mind, he could see a cupid's bow mouth in light pink lipstick, messy brown curls, a red cardigan and a bright yellow scarf slung around a slender throat. The curves were slight but there, and Ariadne was hiding them behind thrift store clothing. She looked nothing like the sophisticate she had been in New York. Arthur assumed she was hiding from her parents; a quick search found the New York gossip on them. They were in the middle of a messy, dragged-out divorce and had been for the past six years. They had been self-involved for far too long, their arguments dazzling Page Six and People magazine for years. Ariadne was an only child, and had run to Paris as soon as humanly possible. She didn't even return to New York for holidays. They wouldn't even miss her...
"Arthur!"
Arthur flicked his bleary eyes toward Eames. "What?"
"Are you sick or something? This isn't like you."
"We've known each other a long time," Arthur began slowly.
Eames was starting to look at him warily. "Yeah, we have."
Arthur poured himself another drink. He was half hard just thinking about Ariadne, and finding broken girls in back alleys that looked like her just wasn't cutting it anymore. He wanted the real thing, and he wanted to hear her calling his name.
"There's this girl," he said slowly, hand tight on his glass. "Her family has money." He looked at Eames with a carefully blank expression, even if his heart was pounding. "But I think we can keep them both. We can have her, pay off Jean-Pierre and still keep the money. And maybe I'll even get the chance to slit Gaston's fucking throat."
Interested, Eames leaned back in his seat slightly. "Have you thought about this long, then?"
He didn't want to admit it, and merely traced the edge of his glass. "I might have," he said slowly.
"Why are you only telling me this now?"
"Did you really think Jean-Pierre would let something like this fly if I didn't do the research first? He wouldn't let us keep anything if he knew what I was up to."
Eames nodded, conceding the point. "So were you going to pull this off by yourself?"
Arthur looked up as he shook his head. "You're the only one I trust."
"If you tell me you love me, I'm punching you in the mouth."
Laughing, Arthur shook his head. "I want her, Eames. And I'm starting to get goddamn tired of being Gaston's punching bag and kissing Jean-Pierre's ass."
"That sounds more like you," Eames replied approvingly. He poured himself another drink. "All right. Tell me this plan of yours, and I'll see how I can help."
The End
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: PG-13 for language and alluded-to situations
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur (one sided)
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan and not to me. His toys are fun to play with!
Spoilers/Warnings: AU to the movie. For the
inception_kink meme prompt in round 8: Arthur starts to become EXTREMELY obsessed with Ariadne. Prequel to Life At My Expense, which people had asked oh so nicely for at the time. I didn't really have the details about how it all went down until now. :)
Summary: There are rising debts and no way to pay them back. Then Arthur notices a Sorbonne student, and everything changes.
Arthur held his ribs and coughed, hoping he wasn't about to cough up blood. That would be hard to explain if he had to get to the hospital; there were only so many times you could claim to fall down the stairs or get hit by a car before someone remembered you.
"I like you, Arthur," Jean-Pierre said, looking at his fingernails. He was sharply dressed in a suit and tie, with slicked back dark hair and dark eyes. He didn't look like a major player in the underground of Paris, even as he nodded at the man standing over Arthur. Gaston was a thick-necked brutish sort of man, with narrow eyes and a square jaw. He had been a boxer once upon a time, and his skill with his fists had persisted long after his retirement. He enjoyed being Jean-Pierre's go-to man entirely too much, and Arthur knew he wasn't the only man in Paris that fantasized killing him.
"That's... hard to believe," Arthur managed to wheeze, pushing himself up to his knees. Whether he was on his knees or all fours, Gaston could still do a number on him if Jean-Pierre wanted to.
Jean-Pierre took out a lighter and one of those old fashioned cigarette cases from his blazer pocket. He lit the cigarette carelessly, taking a deep drag on it before looking down at Arthur. "You need a reminder to do your job, young man. You owe me quite a bit of money now. I always collect my debts."
"I'll get you the money," Arthur wheezed. "I'm good for it."
His smile was sharp and full of teeth, reminding Arthur of a shark. "If you were good for it, I would not have need of Gaston's services. But you have done several good turns for me in the past. This gives you a second chance to pay me back."
Arthur pushed himself up to his feet slowly and tried his best to stand at his full height. Jean-Pierre despised weakness, and would simply cut him down if he thought Arthur wouldn't be able to pay up. "I'll have the money, Jean-Pierre."
Jean-Pierre's eyes were cold and hard. "Of course you will. If not, you and your friend will pay in blood."
***
"Shit, Arthur. We need to just get the fuck out of Paris," Eames growled, taking in the mottled bruises all along Arthur's ribs and stomach. Large bruises in the shape of Gaston's fingers were pressed into his arms, likely from when he was manhandled into Jean-Pierre's presence. "He can't chase us everywhere."
"No," Arthur replied sullenly, pushing Eames' hands away. A hot shower and ibuprofen would help unkink his muscles, and he would be able to think. He couldn't leave Paris yet, and it had nothing to do with the mounting debts or the threat of Gaston's fists.
His reason was a petite brunette he had seen on the Sorbonne University campus.
Eames would make fun of him, but he was getting far too obsessed with this girl. He was turning into some stalker from a teen movie, and there was enough to worry about. There was all sorts of shit to fence still, the drugs that had to be dealt, and Jean-Pierre needed his cut. He was getting distracted, and that wouldn't be healthy for much longer.
He had first seen her sitting on the lawn with two other girls, laughing uproariously, her head thrown back and sunlight streaming through her hair. He had stopped short, just taking in the sight of her, his gut twisting. Arthur decided right then and there that she had to be his, no matter what the cost.
He discovered her name easily enough, and she was one of those wholesome, trusting kinds of girls. She didn't notice him following her, taking note of where she lived. He dealt a variety of pharmaceuticals in her neighborhood, so it wasn't even difficult to hang around her apartment building. He was part of the scenery, just another young man that hung back leaning against the wall. He never took any of the shit he dealt, so he always had clear eyes and a clear mind. He tracked her every time she left her building, every person she spoke with.
While she was at classes, he broke into her apartment. The locks were crap and easy to pick, and the neighborhood was full of people that looked the other way. Her space was tiny and cluttered; most surfaces were covered with books and notebooks, all things related to art history, architecture, French and English literature. Sloppy stacks of CD's and DVD's were on the TV stand and tucked haphazardly into a shelf, some still in their original plastic wrapping. She had an expensive, brand new laptop, a flat screen TV, state of the art stereo system and various video game systems.
Arthur had gone through her mail and read the dismissive-sounding letters from her parents. Her bedroom was a mess, her bed unmade and clothes scattered around. Her jewelry was carelessly expensive, and there was a lot of it. She hadn't looked like the type to wear such clunky, large stones in such elaborate settings. Most of her clothes were understated and from thrift shops; he could only guess that the jewelry was mostly gifts, and nothing she could easily get rid of.
Arthur had slid into her bed, imagining he could feel the warmth of her body still clinging to the sheets. The pillow smelled like her, and he inhaled deeply. Eyes closed and the scent of her all around him, Arthur slid his hand down into his jeans and brought himself off. He imagined it was Ariadne the entire time, that wide smile on her face and her warm brown eyes shining at him.
Goddammit.
Feeling like he was fifteen again, he staggered into her bathroom to wash up. She had touched those towels, had run it along her smooth skin. He wound a hair from her brush around his finger, feeling its texture as he sat inside her living space. She had such a warm, sunny personality, and the tiny apartment seemed to reflect that aspect of her. There were pictures of her parents, and it looked like the place she had grown up was large and monstrously ostentatious.
He had gone back a few times while she was at class. Her schedule was neatly printed and stuck to her fridge with magnets, so he knew she wouldn't see him. She didn't miss a scarf or hairpin or two. With the extent of the mess in her apartment, he guessed that it was a way for her to get back at her parents. Pictures of them were so stiff and formal, always dressed to the nines. She had run away to Paris and started buying clothes out of thrift shops and hiding the jewelry that looked like her mother's. She threw things around her apartment and stayed up all night studying or attending parties with friends. Arthur had followed her to a few parties, managing to mingle at the edge of crowds. He avidly watched her kiss another girl while drunk, though she didn't seem all that enthusiastic. Money changing hands implied it was a bet, and he had to approve of that kind of thing.
Arthur nearly broke his cover to charge across the party when some college boy dragged her off to the corner. He plied her with beer and what had to be cheesy lines; she didn't seem to be falling for his schtick at all, though. That was the only thing that saved the idiot's life.
He passed close to her on the street a few times, but she didn't seem to see him. She didn't recognize that his was a familiar face in her neighborhood, a fact that he was grateful for. It allowed him to take his pictures and enter her apartment at irregular intervals. It allowed him to follow her, to hear the sound of her voice. She was perfect, even if she thought she was ordinary.
Eames at least waited until Arthur had his shower and popped his painkillers before lighting into him. Arthur ignored his friend, pouring himself a generous amount of cheap vodka. He was going to get fucking plastered and then jack off to the surveillance photos he had taken of Ariadne. He didn't want to deal with how much money they owed Jean-Pierre right now. He'd rather get drunk, pretend it was Ariadne's little fist around his cock and then get up in the morning itching to pummel an idiot into the ground to ease his hangover. He was middle management in Jean-Pierre's organization, and there were plenty of flunkies out there to shake up for a little cash to tide them over.
"You can't ignore Jean-Pierre," Eames insisted, sitting down across from Arthur. This was a new tactic.
Arthur slammed back the alcohol. "I can't exactly do that, can I? I'm reminded every time I fucking breathe."
"Then what the fuck?" Eames asked, watching Arthur pour himself another drink. "You'd usually be busting your ass to get that debt paid off. I'm doing my part, at least."
"Shut up."
"Why? You said Paris was better than London. You told me we'd be made out here." He watched Arthur knock back the glass and grabbed the bottle to pour himself the vodka. "What's happened?"
"I know a way we can break out and still pay back everything we owe," he began slowly, voice hard. He couldn't tell Eames how obsessed he was with Ariadne. Eames would likely hit him upside the head or assume he had a concussion from Gaston's beating. If it was about the money, Eames would help him. If Eames thought this was his grand plan to get them out of debt, Arthur could still have Ariadne.
In the back of his mind, he could see a cupid's bow mouth in light pink lipstick, messy brown curls, a red cardigan and a bright yellow scarf slung around a slender throat. The curves were slight but there, and Ariadne was hiding them behind thrift store clothing. She looked nothing like the sophisticate she had been in New York. Arthur assumed she was hiding from her parents; a quick search found the New York gossip on them. They were in the middle of a messy, dragged-out divorce and had been for the past six years. They had been self-involved for far too long, their arguments dazzling Page Six and People magazine for years. Ariadne was an only child, and had run to Paris as soon as humanly possible. She didn't even return to New York for holidays. They wouldn't even miss her...
"Arthur!"
Arthur flicked his bleary eyes toward Eames. "What?"
"Are you sick or something? This isn't like you."
"We've known each other a long time," Arthur began slowly.
Eames was starting to look at him warily. "Yeah, we have."
Arthur poured himself another drink. He was half hard just thinking about Ariadne, and finding broken girls in back alleys that looked like her just wasn't cutting it anymore. He wanted the real thing, and he wanted to hear her calling his name.
"There's this girl," he said slowly, hand tight on his glass. "Her family has money." He looked at Eames with a carefully blank expression, even if his heart was pounding. "But I think we can keep them both. We can have her, pay off Jean-Pierre and still keep the money. And maybe I'll even get the chance to slit Gaston's fucking throat."
Interested, Eames leaned back in his seat slightly. "Have you thought about this long, then?"
He didn't want to admit it, and merely traced the edge of his glass. "I might have," he said slowly.
"Why are you only telling me this now?"
"Did you really think Jean-Pierre would let something like this fly if I didn't do the research first? He wouldn't let us keep anything if he knew what I was up to."
Eames nodded, conceding the point. "So were you going to pull this off by yourself?"
Arthur looked up as he shook his head. "You're the only one I trust."
"If you tell me you love me, I'm punching you in the mouth."
Laughing, Arthur shook his head. "I want her, Eames. And I'm starting to get goddamn tired of being Gaston's punching bag and kissing Jean-Pierre's ass."
"That sounds more like you," Eames replied approvingly. He poured himself another drink. "All right. Tell me this plan of yours, and I'll see how I can help."
The End