fic 0.1 - Introspection (Post Film)
He is in New York for Christmas, living the dream, as it were, sharing an extraction job with a woman he should care about, but doesn't. She keeps it light and plays it cool and they shag, but it doesn't mean anything to him. He can read her, though, and he suspects - no, he knows - it means something to her. She wants it to be more and Eames wants to get the next plane to Rio and disappear for the holidays. He doesn't tell her anything about that when she asks about his plans for Christmas.
"Not doing anything, dear," he says, smoking his second-last cigarette and hoping there's a twenty-four hour shop near the flat they've rented in the Lower East Side. Likely there will be. This is America. It never closes, does it? And it's December twentieth, for God's sake. Isn't everyone shopping?
"Maybe we could have dinner," she says, and there's hope in her voice, just briefly. She knows it's there, too. He can see the acknowledgment when he looks across the table at her and then beyond, to their architect, who is under right now, building castles in the snow for the young man they need to get information from. At least this is for a good cause. Somewhere, trapped inside, is the image of the man who killed his father. He was there, but he's blocked it out. He'll be distraught and terrified and it might break him, but Eames and this team have been paid to find it and the mother is very rich.
"Is the boy home from school yet?" he asks and leaves it at that. He has to be the boy's father later that night. A part of him is going to hate it. This job reminds him of who he's left behind.
The next day, when all is said and done and the boy is a wreck in the hospital, Eames visits FAO Schwarz and chooses a fashion doll that looks like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's and a train set. He arranges for them to be mailed express to an address in California and hopes Cobb won't hunt him down for the train. More adult-oriented shops are next. To a dormitory in Paris, he sends a red, silk scarf and a note 'Red suits you, sweetheart'. To a flat in London, he sends cuff links from Tiffany's itself. 'Diamonds suit you, darling' reads the note. He sends Yusuf a ticket to a play in the West End and the note reads 'You need to get out more.' He knows where they are, always.
Then he buys that ticket to Rio - First Class - and leaves a note for the lady extractor: 'Sorry, dear. Had to fly. Merry Christmas.' He hopes she likes Broadway shows and actually uses the tickets. By the time she wakes up, he'll be gone, and in the end, it doesn't really matter.
"Not doing anything, dear," he says, smoking his second-last cigarette and hoping there's a twenty-four hour shop near the flat they've rented in the Lower East Side. Likely there will be. This is America. It never closes, does it? And it's December twentieth, for God's sake. Isn't everyone shopping?
"Maybe we could have dinner," she says, and there's hope in her voice, just briefly. She knows it's there, too. He can see the acknowledgment when he looks across the table at her and then beyond, to their architect, who is under right now, building castles in the snow for the young man they need to get information from. At least this is for a good cause. Somewhere, trapped inside, is the image of the man who killed his father. He was there, but he's blocked it out. He'll be distraught and terrified and it might break him, but Eames and this team have been paid to find it and the mother is very rich.
"Is the boy home from school yet?" he asks and leaves it at that. He has to be the boy's father later that night. A part of him is going to hate it. This job reminds him of who he's left behind.
The next day, when all is said and done and the boy is a wreck in the hospital, Eames visits FAO Schwarz and chooses a fashion doll that looks like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's and a train set. He arranges for them to be mailed express to an address in California and hopes Cobb won't hunt him down for the train. More adult-oriented shops are next. To a dormitory in Paris, he sends a red, silk scarf and a note 'Red suits you, sweetheart'. To a flat in London, he sends cuff links from Tiffany's itself. 'Diamonds suit you, darling' reads the note. He sends Yusuf a ticket to a play in the West End and the note reads 'You need to get out more.' He knows where they are, always.
Then he buys that ticket to Rio - First Class - and leaves a note for the lady extractor: 'Sorry, dear. Had to fly. Merry Christmas.' He hopes she likes Broadway shows and actually uses the tickets. By the time she wakes up, he'll be gone, and in the end, it doesn't really matter.