[Inception fic] Do you remember the first time?
Title: Do you remember the first time?
Fandom: Inception
Rating: PG
Length: 3185
Summary: Ensemble gen - first encounters with shared dreaming. PASIV and Somnacin with a supporting cast of Yusuf, Cobb, Mal, Miles, Ariadne, and of course, Arthur and Eames (or maybe Arthur/Eames, if you squint).
Note: This is this first fic I have written in a very long time. None of this is mine, apart from the mistakes.
Yusuf was working with some chemicals. Arthur watched as he swilled a beaker gently, the pale golden liquid it contained rolling gently, robing the inside of the glass as if it was an ice cold liquor, just slightly more viscous and oily than water. Yusuf placed the beaker in a water bath and proceeded to fiddle with some apparatus Arthur was sure to do with distillation, but looked more as if an Escher scene had been reinterpreted by a glass blower.
“Much as I appreciate your company, Arthur, I wonder what you are doing here, at 2 am, watching me formulate some completely standard Somnacin?” Yusuf asked eventually.
“What, standard, military recipe original Somnacin?”
“Well, not quite, because that was really very crude - as I’m sure you remember, Arthur -”
Arthur raised an open hand in acknowledgement.
“- very crude indeed, but in essence this does the same job. Prompt development of REM sleep following IV administration, limited duration of action, no added sedation or refinement of any kind.” Yusuf flicked a burette with one fingernail, causing a sharp, dull chime to ring out.
“So why are you making it at all?” Arthur asked, as if Yusuf needed prompting.
“Cobb. It’s for training, he says.”
“Surely we should be trying out the new compounds?”
“After - I think the plan is to work the team together using standard Somnacin before moving on to the slightly more elegant compounds I seem to remember being employed to make.”
“Hmm,” said Arthur. He stretched and stood. “I think I’m going to leave you to it, after all.”
“Yes, don’t mind me. As point man, isn’t it part of your preparation to tell Cobb he could be buying this stuff by the bottle rather than getting me to make it?” Yusuf called, as Arthur carefully re-buttoned his waistcoat and slipped back into his jacket. “I negotiated payment on an hourly basis!”
“Cobb knows what he’s doing, Yusuf,” Arthur smiled, as he turned to leave the warehouse.
Yusuf really hoped Cobb did. He reached for another bottle though, just in case.
****
“So, drug was originally used for the promotion of REM sleep in combat soldiers,” Professor Desai said. “But much wider applications it the emerging field of dream sharing have been discovered. Instantaneous induction of REM sleep allows for coordination of the dream, and for multiple dreamers to reliably experience the same scenarios. Understandably the military is very excited about this…”
“Cheap training,” the post-doc sitting next to Yusuf whispered in his ear. “Train them to kill without spending anything on bullets.”
“…chemistry is currently, shall we say, functional. That these compounds are being tested on very fit young men is probably the only reason more serious adverse reactions have not been documented. Known side effects include nausea, vomiting, muscle tremors and in some cases delusions and hallucinations.” The Professor paused. “Original compounds contained benzodiazepenes and cyclohexamines….” Yusuf swore under his breath, “…but great advances are being made and some novel formulations are springing up. This is a developing area of organic chemistry…”
Yusuf zoned out as the Professor began to talk about funding formats and grant applications. Dream sharing? It sounded like something from the sixties, or from science fiction, people wired up and sharing their subconscious. Military applications aside, Yusuf couldn’t think of anything people would want more than the chance to choose their own dreams. What wouldn’t they pay to be young, or beautiful, to be heroes, or to be with loves lost or never even found. Yusuf shook his head in wonder and listened again, absolutely intent.
“…testing being a real problem - animal trials, beyond very basic toxicology, are uninformative - so accelerated human trials will be involved. This means all investigators will be required to participate in trials. Medical supervision will be present, of course…”
Testing on themselves? Yusuf blanched for a moment, but half a dozen variations of benzene rings and ester bonds were spinning in his mind, ways he knew he could make this work. He hurried to the front as the Professor finished speaking, and talked himself onto her research group in fifteen minutes flat.
Losing his breakfast the next morning as what he was quite sure were elephants paraded across the lab, he realised he should have been a little more specific about the terms of his employment and ensured he would only be required to test his own compounds.
*****
“Standard Somnacin?” Eames scowled elegantly, hoisting one eyebrow up his brow. “I recommended you, Yusuf, not just because I owe you that favour from the time in bar with the…”
Yusuf made the universal hand signal for ‘carry on’ and didn’t look frantic at all.
“….but mainly,” Eames carried on, flickering a wink at Yusuf, “so I wouldn’t have to use any of this veterinary grade muck. My body is a temple.”
“I thought you were an atheist?” Arthur said, from where he was crouched down fiddling with the PASIV.
“You know how much I care about what you think of me, pet,” Eames replied lazily. “Really, Yusuf, how could you?”
“You can thank our mutual employer,” Ysuf huffed. “He wants to train with standard Somnacin. However, my standard version is hardly the same as the military standard.” He hadn’t liked the crack about “veterinary grade muck,” and would have seriously considered adding some ketamine to Eames’ Somnacin dose if he thought he could possibly get away with it.
“I quite like running training,” Arthur commented, standing up and straightening his cuff links.
“That’s only because you get them doing things your way and it soothes the OCD that rides in your very soul,” Eames said as he casually uncoiled his line and recoiled it neatly, exactly the opposite way round to the other lines. Arthur scowled, and put his hands in his pockets to stop himself re-ordering the line. “You see?” Eames beamed at him, rocking back on his heels. “You can’t stand that. OCD.”
“It’s military training,” Arthur muttered, handing Yusuf some saline by way of distraction as the chemist primed the PASIV.
“I had just as much training as you,” Eames retorted cheerfully.
“I seem to remember you saying you trained on a PASIV that was held together with duct tape.”
“Just the case,” Eames said cheerfully. “Initial field trials. That’s why this version had the alloy case and the gel shock lining for the vials. Superior functionality and reliability. Oh, look, here’s our trainee.”
Arthur couldn’t help but pat the shining case of the PASIV as Eames turned to greet Cobb and Ariadne. He actually agreed with Eames about the standard Somnacin, but he would never say so without severe physical coercion. And really - duct tape! Arthur shivered, but that was because the warehouse was chilly in the first half of the day.
****
When Arthur woke from his first dream sharing experience, he felt two things. One was a wild, visceral excitement; he had almost captured an enemy OP before bullet had caught him in the temple, spinning him like a top as he fell, vision blackening. He lurched upright and clutched the side of his head, pulling his fingers back to stare blankly at their clean surface, not covered with his blood and his brains.
The other was nausea.
“Yes,” the Captain commented, as Arthur rolled off the narrow hospital cot and retched into a suspiciously convenient bucket. “Yes, it takes you a little like that sometimes.”
Arthur took a few deep breaths, echoing in the bucket, and spat the sour bile from his mouth. He dragged himself upright. “It hurt,” he stated.
“It does. When we die in a dream, we wake up, but any normally noxious stimuli is perceived as such.”
“So, I’m not dead? I can’t die.”
“No….” The Captain looked at Arthur, eyes wide in his pale and sweaty face. “Lieutenant, are you okay, there?”
Arthur only half heard the question. His mind was whirling with what he had just done.
“Captain, if I re-run that scenario, I can alter the positions of the men to give a broader range of fire to cover that sniper on the hill. I presume that was who got me? If only I had better intelligence going in… I can re-run the scenario?” Arthur asked, a little urgently.
“Not yet, Lieutenant. You have to go for recovery and some testing. This is still a very experimental procedure.” The Captain knelt to pull the IV from Arthur’s wrist. “Hold that,” he instructed, holding a swab onto the puncture and wrapping Arthur’s other hand tight about the dressing. He proceeded to coil the tubing.
“But I can go back? Arthur asked, eyeing the silvery PASIV case.
“Oh, I think so,” the Captain smiled, and snapped the case shut.
****
“Now, you remember you’ll feel disoriented when you wake,” Arthur said, looking at Ariadne’s serious face. “You might feel a little sick, too.”
“You shouldn’t,” Yusuf commented, “because I’ve added….”
“I thought I asked for a standard compound,” Cobb scowled.
“It is,” Yusuf sighed, “I just added one or two refinements to counteract the nausea and tremors the usually accompany rapid awakening from the REM sleep used in dream sharing.”
“They’ll be no rapid awakening, this is a tour and a tutorial,” Cobb stated. Eames and Arthur shared a dubious look. “Standard duration, I hope?”
“Yes, yes, an hour’s dream time,” Yusuf said.
“Right,” Arthur continued. “Sit down, Ariadne, and lie back.” She did so, reclining awkwardly, like she was in a dentist’s chair, waiting for a filling. Arthur took her wrist, swiped it with a swab, and placed the IV first time. Ariadne hissed at the sting of the needle.
“I have to do that every time?” she asked.
“Yes,” Arthur said, “but you soon don’t notice.” He patted her hand and set it one the arm of her chair.
“Ready?” Cobb asked, his own IV secure. Ariadne nodded. Arthur and Eames were beginning to uncoil their own lines. “Not you two,” Cobb stated. “I want to explain some things to Ariadne.”
“Okay,” Arthur nodded. Eames just scowled and stood up briskly as Arthur leaned over and pressed the PASIV’s activation button. The two connected vials emptied silently and Cobb and Ariadne were asleep in seconds.
“Smooth,” commented Eames, almost despite himself. Yusuf smiled grimly.
“No muck from me,” he said.
“I really did train with the very first Somnacin formulations,” Eames replied. Yusuf made a face. “And they were not smooth at all.”
****
“Right, lads!” Sergeant Ferguson called cheerfully, “You heard the Major, you are all going to have a lovely nap for the good of Queen and Country!”
“All I heard,” Peters muttered as they shuffled on the hard wooden seats and digested what they had just been told about dream sharing, about dreamers and subjects and projections, “was that this was some form of training. It seems more like some experimental mind-fuckery they have going on here, with us as the lab rats.”
“If we’re all in dream, I can understand how we can train, different terrain and so on, and we kill the projections, but it’s all a bit…crude…” Eames offered. He sat back, crossing his arms and his ankles. “We’re counter-terrorism - it’s psychological - we don’t just shoot the bad guy..”
“Yes, we do, sometimes,” Peters stated. “We just very specifically don’t shoot them when they have to be interrogated later. At least not in the head,” he finished wisely.
“Why can’t we interrogate them in dreams?” Eames continued, ignoring Peters with ease of long practice. “Make them dream they’re having a chat to one of their own, and discuss, well, whatever we need to know? Surely that’d be easier - they wouldn’t even know what had happened - perfect intelligence gathering. C’mon, that’s a much better idea, you know I’m right, Peters…Peters, what are you gawping at…”
Eames stopped and followed Peters’ gaze. The Major was standing just behind him, and clapped a heavy palm on his shoulder. “Exactly, Lieutenant Eames. That is why I would like to talk to you about the concept of ‘forging’”.
****
“So, do you really rate Yusuf’s own compounds?” Arthur asked Eames. Cobb and Ariadne were hooked up to the PASIV, unconscious and dreaming, and Yusuf had headed back to the corner of the warehouse that was forever a laboratory. “Well?” Arthur persisted.
“I do,” Eames said. He was perched, right hip slung on the table in the middle of the warehouse, body half turned at the waist, better to look at the two dreamers. Arthur could see the mossy green tweed of his jacket straining across his shoulders as he folded his arms, and then strain further as Eames inhaled and then sighed deeply. “The most stable dreams I’ve ever had,” he continued, “two layers down, maintained for, well, days.”
“Days of dream time?” Arthur took a few steps to his left, better to see Eames’ face.
“Days of real time. Two and a half, and I was forging the entire time.”
Arthur whistled softly, despite himself. “That’s amazing - what was the job?”
“Client confidentiality forbids me from saying,” Eames suddenly smiled wickedly. “However, it was something dreadfully sensitive and sordid, I can assure you.” His gaze flickered back to Ariadne, and his smile drifted away.
“She’ll be fine,” offered Arthur. “Cobb’s a good teacher.”
“That is what I’m worried about,” Eames muttered darkly. He looked up suddenly, caught Arthur’s eyes and held his gaze. Your first shared dream, your first dreamscape - what did it mean to you?” he demanded.
Arthur blinked in surprise. “I was in a training simulation. I was killed out of it, and I just wanted to return, to re-do the scenario right, complete it.”
“You saw it as a problem to be solved. With enough information and attention, anything can be solved, yes?”
“Well, yes,” Arthur agreed, “but…”
“Yusuf isn’t actually bothered about dreaming himself,” Eames continued. “It’s the chemistry, the control he has over the neurotransmitters and the hormones - that’s was delights him. We’re all his little lab rats, but I’d rather be experimented on by him than trust myself to any commercial wage slave chemist.”
“Where is this going, Eames?” Arthur asked. He was beginning to get seriously worried. Eames was usually two parts dry humour to one part sarcasm, with a dash of intense flirting that Arthur couldn’t decide was a spinal reflex or purely to discomfit the subject in hand (well, Arthur was discomfited). This serious Eames put him on edge; Arthur felt like projections were watching him from the corner of their eyes, or he was climbing a never-ending staircase.
“Your first time is formative.” Eames stated, unfolding his arms and gripping the table. He held Arthur’s gaze. “You agree?”
“Yes,” Arthur said, fingering his waist coat buttons, hating the heat of the blush rushing up his chest.
“I feel the same way you do,” Eames continued, “but while you love the technicalities of the dream, the physics and the details and the plan, I love the dreamers.” He smiled finally, lips flush from where he’d been chewing them, a nervous tic Arthur had only noticed once before. “People’s minds - why they dream what they dream, the motivations, the way they react to different people. To ask the right way, in the right voice, and for people tell you things they didn’t know themselves.” His smile was broad now, his eyes bright. “That’s why I forge.”
“The thievery is just a way of keeping score, isn’t it?” Arthur sniped.
“Because your new season suit, exquisite as it is on you, is merely a uniform,” Eames countered, without rancour. “We all love it in some way, for what it allows us to do, or for the thrill of doing something we know we’re bloody good at. Something we had the chance to learn, and to practice, until we were bloody good,” he finished solemnly.
“Ariadne’s mazes look impressive to me.”
“Arthur,” Eames sighed, “I’m not worried about her skills as an architect. I’m worried because she’s been in Cobb’s dreams, and what she might see, and that she may walk straight out the door the moment she wakes up.”
They both looked at the dreamers, and at Cobb, his eyes flicking under their lids.
“Tenner says she leaves?” asked Eames, walking his poker chip over his knuckles.
“What good are pounds to me in Paris?” Arthur asked. “No bet.”
“Dinner then?” persisted Eames.
“Hmm,” says Arthur, but he shakes Eames’ hand as they both watch Ariadne and Cobb climb towards consciousness.
****
Cobb’s first shared dream was with Miles and the rest of his architecture class, a field trip through Notre Dame to study the function of flying buttresses. Miles had moved that buttress slightly, pulled that key stone, and the cathedral had begun to crumple with geologic slowness, tons of stone falling as though the air was treacle. The class had gazed, open mouthed, as Miles had snapped his fingers and the stone had paused in its descent.
“Of course, in the dream, the cathedral doesn’t need the buttresses,” Miles commented mildly. The stone began to rebuild itself into perfect Gothic architecture, and Dom was sure he could see gargoyles swooping in the blue sky as their roosts re-build themselves beneath their stony wings. “However, for illustrative purposes this is very useful,” Miles continued, “and it gives you an idea of what you can build in the dreamscape, should you choose.” The cathedral settled itself into its traditional arrangement. “Right, class, questions?”
No one said anything. Dom had a million questions, but they wouldn’t stop roiling round his head long enough for his to get one out of his mouth.
That had changed by the evening, and the dark haired girl in the library was charmed by his impassioned chatter.
“…and it’ll be a week until I get to dream again!” Dom finished. “It seems like forever, when there are so many things to try, to create…” Mal smiled sweetly at him, and the look in her eye caused Dom to tail off. “What?” he asked.
“You’re in my Father’s class. And I have a key to his office,” Mal placed the sliver of metal on the table with a click. “Lets see if your dreams manage to live up to your talk.”
Dom grabbed her hand and they fairly ran through the University, laughter echoing down the halls.
Cobb doesn’t think of that first dream with Mal, filled with joy and potential, but sometimes her shade drags it to the surface.
It’s one of the more painful ones.
****
Two days later, Yusuf presents the team with his new version Somnacin and explains how the kick will work. Ariadne is intent, and Arthur can see her drinking in the technicalities of it, working to understand the process completely. She is consumed by the dream and the possibilities it promises, just as Arthur was, just as Eames and Yusuf had been, as, once upon a time, Cobb and Mal had been. Arthur is pleased she is staying with them.
He is also pleased he won Eames’ bet, but that is beside the point.
Fandom: Inception
Rating: PG
Length: 3185
Summary: Ensemble gen - first encounters with shared dreaming. PASIV and Somnacin with a supporting cast of Yusuf, Cobb, Mal, Miles, Ariadne, and of course, Arthur and Eames (or maybe Arthur/Eames, if you squint).
Note: This is this first fic I have written in a very long time. None of this is mine, apart from the mistakes.
Yusuf was working with some chemicals. Arthur watched as he swilled a beaker gently, the pale golden liquid it contained rolling gently, robing the inside of the glass as if it was an ice cold liquor, just slightly more viscous and oily than water. Yusuf placed the beaker in a water bath and proceeded to fiddle with some apparatus Arthur was sure to do with distillation, but looked more as if an Escher scene had been reinterpreted by a glass blower.
“Much as I appreciate your company, Arthur, I wonder what you are doing here, at 2 am, watching me formulate some completely standard Somnacin?” Yusuf asked eventually.
“What, standard, military recipe original Somnacin?”
“Well, not quite, because that was really very crude - as I’m sure you remember, Arthur -”
Arthur raised an open hand in acknowledgement.
“- very crude indeed, but in essence this does the same job. Prompt development of REM sleep following IV administration, limited duration of action, no added sedation or refinement of any kind.” Yusuf flicked a burette with one fingernail, causing a sharp, dull chime to ring out.
“So why are you making it at all?” Arthur asked, as if Yusuf needed prompting.
“Cobb. It’s for training, he says.”
“Surely we should be trying out the new compounds?”
“After - I think the plan is to work the team together using standard Somnacin before moving on to the slightly more elegant compounds I seem to remember being employed to make.”
“Hmm,” said Arthur. He stretched and stood. “I think I’m going to leave you to it, after all.”
“Yes, don’t mind me. As point man, isn’t it part of your preparation to tell Cobb he could be buying this stuff by the bottle rather than getting me to make it?” Yusuf called, as Arthur carefully re-buttoned his waistcoat and slipped back into his jacket. “I negotiated payment on an hourly basis!”
“Cobb knows what he’s doing, Yusuf,” Arthur smiled, as he turned to leave the warehouse.
Yusuf really hoped Cobb did. He reached for another bottle though, just in case.
****
“So, drug was originally used for the promotion of REM sleep in combat soldiers,” Professor Desai said. “But much wider applications it the emerging field of dream sharing have been discovered. Instantaneous induction of REM sleep allows for coordination of the dream, and for multiple dreamers to reliably experience the same scenarios. Understandably the military is very excited about this…”
“Cheap training,” the post-doc sitting next to Yusuf whispered in his ear. “Train them to kill without spending anything on bullets.”
“…chemistry is currently, shall we say, functional. That these compounds are being tested on very fit young men is probably the only reason more serious adverse reactions have not been documented. Known side effects include nausea, vomiting, muscle tremors and in some cases delusions and hallucinations.” The Professor paused. “Original compounds contained benzodiazepenes and cyclohexamines….” Yusuf swore under his breath, “…but great advances are being made and some novel formulations are springing up. This is a developing area of organic chemistry…”
Yusuf zoned out as the Professor began to talk about funding formats and grant applications. Dream sharing? It sounded like something from the sixties, or from science fiction, people wired up and sharing their subconscious. Military applications aside, Yusuf couldn’t think of anything people would want more than the chance to choose their own dreams. What wouldn’t they pay to be young, or beautiful, to be heroes, or to be with loves lost or never even found. Yusuf shook his head in wonder and listened again, absolutely intent.
“…testing being a real problem - animal trials, beyond very basic toxicology, are uninformative - so accelerated human trials will be involved. This means all investigators will be required to participate in trials. Medical supervision will be present, of course…”
Testing on themselves? Yusuf blanched for a moment, but half a dozen variations of benzene rings and ester bonds were spinning in his mind, ways he knew he could make this work. He hurried to the front as the Professor finished speaking, and talked himself onto her research group in fifteen minutes flat.
Losing his breakfast the next morning as what he was quite sure were elephants paraded across the lab, he realised he should have been a little more specific about the terms of his employment and ensured he would only be required to test his own compounds.
*****
“Standard Somnacin?” Eames scowled elegantly, hoisting one eyebrow up his brow. “I recommended you, Yusuf, not just because I owe you that favour from the time in bar with the…”
Yusuf made the universal hand signal for ‘carry on’ and didn’t look frantic at all.
“….but mainly,” Eames carried on, flickering a wink at Yusuf, “so I wouldn’t have to use any of this veterinary grade muck. My body is a temple.”
“I thought you were an atheist?” Arthur said, from where he was crouched down fiddling with the PASIV.
“You know how much I care about what you think of me, pet,” Eames replied lazily. “Really, Yusuf, how could you?”
“You can thank our mutual employer,” Ysuf huffed. “He wants to train with standard Somnacin. However, my standard version is hardly the same as the military standard.” He hadn’t liked the crack about “veterinary grade muck,” and would have seriously considered adding some ketamine to Eames’ Somnacin dose if he thought he could possibly get away with it.
“I quite like running training,” Arthur commented, standing up and straightening his cuff links.
“That’s only because you get them doing things your way and it soothes the OCD that rides in your very soul,” Eames said as he casually uncoiled his line and recoiled it neatly, exactly the opposite way round to the other lines. Arthur scowled, and put his hands in his pockets to stop himself re-ordering the line. “You see?” Eames beamed at him, rocking back on his heels. “You can’t stand that. OCD.”
“It’s military training,” Arthur muttered, handing Yusuf some saline by way of distraction as the chemist primed the PASIV.
“I had just as much training as you,” Eames retorted cheerfully.
“I seem to remember you saying you trained on a PASIV that was held together with duct tape.”
“Just the case,” Eames said cheerfully. “Initial field trials. That’s why this version had the alloy case and the gel shock lining for the vials. Superior functionality and reliability. Oh, look, here’s our trainee.”
Arthur couldn’t help but pat the shining case of the PASIV as Eames turned to greet Cobb and Ariadne. He actually agreed with Eames about the standard Somnacin, but he would never say so without severe physical coercion. And really - duct tape! Arthur shivered, but that was because the warehouse was chilly in the first half of the day.
****
When Arthur woke from his first dream sharing experience, he felt two things. One was a wild, visceral excitement; he had almost captured an enemy OP before bullet had caught him in the temple, spinning him like a top as he fell, vision blackening. He lurched upright and clutched the side of his head, pulling his fingers back to stare blankly at their clean surface, not covered with his blood and his brains.
The other was nausea.
“Yes,” the Captain commented, as Arthur rolled off the narrow hospital cot and retched into a suspiciously convenient bucket. “Yes, it takes you a little like that sometimes.”
Arthur took a few deep breaths, echoing in the bucket, and spat the sour bile from his mouth. He dragged himself upright. “It hurt,” he stated.
“It does. When we die in a dream, we wake up, but any normally noxious stimuli is perceived as such.”
“So, I’m not dead? I can’t die.”
“No….” The Captain looked at Arthur, eyes wide in his pale and sweaty face. “Lieutenant, are you okay, there?”
Arthur only half heard the question. His mind was whirling with what he had just done.
“Captain, if I re-run that scenario, I can alter the positions of the men to give a broader range of fire to cover that sniper on the hill. I presume that was who got me? If only I had better intelligence going in… I can re-run the scenario?” Arthur asked, a little urgently.
“Not yet, Lieutenant. You have to go for recovery and some testing. This is still a very experimental procedure.” The Captain knelt to pull the IV from Arthur’s wrist. “Hold that,” he instructed, holding a swab onto the puncture and wrapping Arthur’s other hand tight about the dressing. He proceeded to coil the tubing.
“But I can go back? Arthur asked, eyeing the silvery PASIV case.
“Oh, I think so,” the Captain smiled, and snapped the case shut.
****
“Now, you remember you’ll feel disoriented when you wake,” Arthur said, looking at Ariadne’s serious face. “You might feel a little sick, too.”
“You shouldn’t,” Yusuf commented, “because I’ve added….”
“I thought I asked for a standard compound,” Cobb scowled.
“It is,” Yusuf sighed, “I just added one or two refinements to counteract the nausea and tremors the usually accompany rapid awakening from the REM sleep used in dream sharing.”
“They’ll be no rapid awakening, this is a tour and a tutorial,” Cobb stated. Eames and Arthur shared a dubious look. “Standard duration, I hope?”
“Yes, yes, an hour’s dream time,” Yusuf said.
“Right,” Arthur continued. “Sit down, Ariadne, and lie back.” She did so, reclining awkwardly, like she was in a dentist’s chair, waiting for a filling. Arthur took her wrist, swiped it with a swab, and placed the IV first time. Ariadne hissed at the sting of the needle.
“I have to do that every time?” she asked.
“Yes,” Arthur said, “but you soon don’t notice.” He patted her hand and set it one the arm of her chair.
“Ready?” Cobb asked, his own IV secure. Ariadne nodded. Arthur and Eames were beginning to uncoil their own lines. “Not you two,” Cobb stated. “I want to explain some things to Ariadne.”
“Okay,” Arthur nodded. Eames just scowled and stood up briskly as Arthur leaned over and pressed the PASIV’s activation button. The two connected vials emptied silently and Cobb and Ariadne were asleep in seconds.
“Smooth,” commented Eames, almost despite himself. Yusuf smiled grimly.
“No muck from me,” he said.
“I really did train with the very first Somnacin formulations,” Eames replied. Yusuf made a face. “And they were not smooth at all.”
****
“Right, lads!” Sergeant Ferguson called cheerfully, “You heard the Major, you are all going to have a lovely nap for the good of Queen and Country!”
“All I heard,” Peters muttered as they shuffled on the hard wooden seats and digested what they had just been told about dream sharing, about dreamers and subjects and projections, “was that this was some form of training. It seems more like some experimental mind-fuckery they have going on here, with us as the lab rats.”
“If we’re all in dream, I can understand how we can train, different terrain and so on, and we kill the projections, but it’s all a bit…crude…” Eames offered. He sat back, crossing his arms and his ankles. “We’re counter-terrorism - it’s psychological - we don’t just shoot the bad guy..”
“Yes, we do, sometimes,” Peters stated. “We just very specifically don’t shoot them when they have to be interrogated later. At least not in the head,” he finished wisely.
“Why can’t we interrogate them in dreams?” Eames continued, ignoring Peters with ease of long practice. “Make them dream they’re having a chat to one of their own, and discuss, well, whatever we need to know? Surely that’d be easier - they wouldn’t even know what had happened - perfect intelligence gathering. C’mon, that’s a much better idea, you know I’m right, Peters…Peters, what are you gawping at…”
Eames stopped and followed Peters’ gaze. The Major was standing just behind him, and clapped a heavy palm on his shoulder. “Exactly, Lieutenant Eames. That is why I would like to talk to you about the concept of ‘forging’”.
****
“So, do you really rate Yusuf’s own compounds?” Arthur asked Eames. Cobb and Ariadne were hooked up to the PASIV, unconscious and dreaming, and Yusuf had headed back to the corner of the warehouse that was forever a laboratory. “Well?” Arthur persisted.
“I do,” Eames said. He was perched, right hip slung on the table in the middle of the warehouse, body half turned at the waist, better to look at the two dreamers. Arthur could see the mossy green tweed of his jacket straining across his shoulders as he folded his arms, and then strain further as Eames inhaled and then sighed deeply. “The most stable dreams I’ve ever had,” he continued, “two layers down, maintained for, well, days.”
“Days of dream time?” Arthur took a few steps to his left, better to see Eames’ face.
“Days of real time. Two and a half, and I was forging the entire time.”
Arthur whistled softly, despite himself. “That’s amazing - what was the job?”
“Client confidentiality forbids me from saying,” Eames suddenly smiled wickedly. “However, it was something dreadfully sensitive and sordid, I can assure you.” His gaze flickered back to Ariadne, and his smile drifted away.
“She’ll be fine,” offered Arthur. “Cobb’s a good teacher.”
“That is what I’m worried about,” Eames muttered darkly. He looked up suddenly, caught Arthur’s eyes and held his gaze. Your first shared dream, your first dreamscape - what did it mean to you?” he demanded.
Arthur blinked in surprise. “I was in a training simulation. I was killed out of it, and I just wanted to return, to re-do the scenario right, complete it.”
“You saw it as a problem to be solved. With enough information and attention, anything can be solved, yes?”
“Well, yes,” Arthur agreed, “but…”
“Yusuf isn’t actually bothered about dreaming himself,” Eames continued. “It’s the chemistry, the control he has over the neurotransmitters and the hormones - that’s was delights him. We’re all his little lab rats, but I’d rather be experimented on by him than trust myself to any commercial wage slave chemist.”
“Where is this going, Eames?” Arthur asked. He was beginning to get seriously worried. Eames was usually two parts dry humour to one part sarcasm, with a dash of intense flirting that Arthur couldn’t decide was a spinal reflex or purely to discomfit the subject in hand (well, Arthur was discomfited). This serious Eames put him on edge; Arthur felt like projections were watching him from the corner of their eyes, or he was climbing a never-ending staircase.
“Your first time is formative.” Eames stated, unfolding his arms and gripping the table. He held Arthur’s gaze. “You agree?”
“Yes,” Arthur said, fingering his waist coat buttons, hating the heat of the blush rushing up his chest.
“I feel the same way you do,” Eames continued, “but while you love the technicalities of the dream, the physics and the details and the plan, I love the dreamers.” He smiled finally, lips flush from where he’d been chewing them, a nervous tic Arthur had only noticed once before. “People’s minds - why they dream what they dream, the motivations, the way they react to different people. To ask the right way, in the right voice, and for people tell you things they didn’t know themselves.” His smile was broad now, his eyes bright. “That’s why I forge.”
“The thievery is just a way of keeping score, isn’t it?” Arthur sniped.
“Because your new season suit, exquisite as it is on you, is merely a uniform,” Eames countered, without rancour. “We all love it in some way, for what it allows us to do, or for the thrill of doing something we know we’re bloody good at. Something we had the chance to learn, and to practice, until we were bloody good,” he finished solemnly.
“Ariadne’s mazes look impressive to me.”
“Arthur,” Eames sighed, “I’m not worried about her skills as an architect. I’m worried because she’s been in Cobb’s dreams, and what she might see, and that she may walk straight out the door the moment she wakes up.”
They both looked at the dreamers, and at Cobb, his eyes flicking under their lids.
“Tenner says she leaves?” asked Eames, walking his poker chip over his knuckles.
“What good are pounds to me in Paris?” Arthur asked. “No bet.”
“Dinner then?” persisted Eames.
“Hmm,” says Arthur, but he shakes Eames’ hand as they both watch Ariadne and Cobb climb towards consciousness.
****
Cobb’s first shared dream was with Miles and the rest of his architecture class, a field trip through Notre Dame to study the function of flying buttresses. Miles had moved that buttress slightly, pulled that key stone, and the cathedral had begun to crumple with geologic slowness, tons of stone falling as though the air was treacle. The class had gazed, open mouthed, as Miles had snapped his fingers and the stone had paused in its descent.
“Of course, in the dream, the cathedral doesn’t need the buttresses,” Miles commented mildly. The stone began to rebuild itself into perfect Gothic architecture, and Dom was sure he could see gargoyles swooping in the blue sky as their roosts re-build themselves beneath their stony wings. “However, for illustrative purposes this is very useful,” Miles continued, “and it gives you an idea of what you can build in the dreamscape, should you choose.” The cathedral settled itself into its traditional arrangement. “Right, class, questions?”
No one said anything. Dom had a million questions, but they wouldn’t stop roiling round his head long enough for his to get one out of his mouth.
That had changed by the evening, and the dark haired girl in the library was charmed by his impassioned chatter.
“…and it’ll be a week until I get to dream again!” Dom finished. “It seems like forever, when there are so many things to try, to create…” Mal smiled sweetly at him, and the look in her eye caused Dom to tail off. “What?” he asked.
“You’re in my Father’s class. And I have a key to his office,” Mal placed the sliver of metal on the table with a click. “Lets see if your dreams manage to live up to your talk.”
Dom grabbed her hand and they fairly ran through the University, laughter echoing down the halls.
Cobb doesn’t think of that first dream with Mal, filled with joy and potential, but sometimes her shade drags it to the surface.
It’s one of the more painful ones.
****
Two days later, Yusuf presents the team with his new version Somnacin and explains how the kick will work. Ariadne is intent, and Arthur can see her drinking in the technicalities of it, working to understand the process completely. She is consumed by the dream and the possibilities it promises, just as Arthur was, just as Eames and Yusuf had been, as, once upon a time, Cobb and Mal had been. Arthur is pleased she is staying with them.
He is also pleased he won Eames’ bet, but that is beside the point.