[Inception-Doctor Who] serenadia (2/2)

[ienablu]

 
viii

It's been a year since he left the TARDIS.

He doesn't spend every day looking at his cell, pining after River and the Doctor, wishing he could have stayed with them. He goes to class, makes some friends, gets laid. Life goes on.

But in the minutes when he's waiting for a long lecture to end, he wonders, imagines all the possible worlds, and wants to see what they offer.

He remembers all the research he did seven years ago on dream-sharing, starts looking into it between assignments. Starts wanting the possibilities and the challenges.

He no idea what he's doing.

He figures he could call Arthur and ask him for help, but he doesn't want Arthur to know he's considering this line of work. Not yet, at least.

Instead he turns to the internet, scourging forums and message boards for dream-sharing dens in London. From there he browses the announcement boards, digging through the advertisements for forged callgirls and GHB-laced Somnacin. At the very bottom of one of the boards is an embossed business card, just a name and a number.

Jeffries is a nearing middle-aged man, with dark hair and a permanent scowl, which deepens when he finds out James has no experience. He explains that his job isn't to train him, and goes on to explain that the job is just a low-level extraction -- a jilted ex-business partner wants the changed account number.

Luc, their architect, wants to know what the cuts are, and then protests that he and James are getting too little, but even the too little amount is enough to make James blush.

They work three hours every evening in an abandoned warehouse. James adapts quickly to dream-sharing, and after only five practice sessions he's able to rattle off a sixteen digit number he saw in the dream for half a second. They go through numerous trial runs, have contingencies for worse-case scenarios, iron out the plan.

Luc builds the bank, James is going to be the teller at the bank, Jeffries will be on stand-by in case James needs help selling the fact.

He doesn't.

It goes off without a hitch.

Luc is operating the PASIV on the train they cornered their mark in, James works as a harried teller at a bank who needs the mark to tell him his account number one more time if he could, and Jeffries doesn't get up from the office chair as they wait for the kick.

It's a real low-level extraction, so Jeffries and Luc both scoff at the idea of celebrating it. It should feel insulting, and James does feel sheepish for a few moments, but there's a thrill running through James' veins and he can't bring himself to care that much.

Instead, he goes to the nicest hotel with the ritziest bar in the area, orders the most expensive wine on the list, then pulls out his phone, and confidentially calls the number River gave him.

It goes to voicemail.

It's a bit disheartening, but she's a time traveler, if he ask her to meet him here, she can meet him here. He's still riding the rush of the extraction, and feeling a bit bold, so he just says, "It's James. I have something to tell you. Find me."

He orders another glass of wine, and passes it over when River walks in a minute later.

"What's the occasion?" she asks, idly swirling the red liquid.

"I just completed my first extraction," he says, holding up his wine glass.

River doesn't clink their glasses. She doesn't even look excited.

James can't describe why it hurts as bad as it does.

iii

James makes sure to slam the door as hard as he can as he storms out of the apartment.

He doesn't know what he hates more -- that his father is a criminal, or that his father killed his mother. They both make his blood boil, and he stomps down the flights of stairs to the ground floor.

They've only just moved to London, and James doesn't know his way around the neighborhood, but he doesn't care, and picks a direction and walks away from everything. Away from him father who is a murderer and a criminal. Away from his sister who doesn't care about him but to call him contrary.

The sun is setting and it's getting chilly and James sits down and glares at everyone and everything passing.

He doesn't know what to expect. Dom isn't going to come after him, he's too much of a bastard. Phil isn't going to come after him, she was siding with him.

(Arthur isn't going to come after him, he hasn't been around since he got into an argument with Dom three weeks ago.)

As the minutes tick by his frown lessens, until he's just watching bored as the world passes by him. Cars of every color drive past, interspersed with the occasional bike. The sun dips below the horizon, and James pulls his sleeves down over his hands, starting to shiver. He watches people as they pass. A couple here, a couple there, a woman by herself, a group of college students, a couple dressed as ancient Egyptians, a man walking his dog.

No one seems to notice James, and he just huddles closer in on himself.

It's his grandfather who finds him almost an hour later. He sits down on the curb, his movements slow and careful. "Your father called me," he says after a long silence, and suddenly James' anger returns.

"I hate him," he says, almost shocked by how much he means it. "He killed maman, the woman he  loved, your daughter. How can you stand being around him?"

"Because he is my son, and I love him, and he loves me."

"If that's how he loves, I don't want him to love me."

His grandfather looks at him, sad, and James wants to apologize, take back what he said, but his father -- Dom doesn't deserve that.

James looks away, down at the ground, glaring, unable to stop shivering. It's stopped when his grandfather drapes his jacket over him.

"I know you're angry at your father," he says, keeping an arm wrapped around him. "And I understand why. I was angry too, for a while. But he is family--"

"He kills his family."

"Not intentionally. Never intentionally. He's only ever done anything out of love."

James pouts. "I don't want him to love me," he repeats petulantly.

His grandfather pats James on his back. "I know. But Dom is worried, and so are Phillipa and Arthur."

"Arthur?" James repeats, looking up at him. "Arthur's back?"

"No, but he should be home in half an hour or so. If we head back now, we can make sure to be there before he gets home."

James bites his bottom lip, and pulls the jacket around him tighter. "Can we take the long way home, so he'll be home when we get back?"

His grandfather looks down at him and smiles. "Of course, Jamie."

xi

The next three months pass in a blur. The day after Arthur's funeral service, he calls and pulls out of school in the airport before catching a flight to Zurich. He can't reach Jeffries, but Bryce pulls him into a job when his extractor pulls out. They've been planning and rehearsing the job for a month, and there's a week until the mark is under for a dental appointment and he works non-stop and he is fucking brilliant.

Bryce is relieved, Grant is in awe.

They suggest they go celebrate, and to James the glow of a job well done is more than enough reward, but Bryce insists, and James agrees because he figures it's best to keep his pointman happy. This pays off the next morning, when James insists that Bryce figure him in on his next job, and so the next morning after that they're off to Milan.

In Milan there's a low-level bureaucrat a shady business man wants to know the inner devils of. After that, a high-profile politician's wife wants to know if he's cheating on her, then there's a job with three different forgers to get a fashion designer's latest collection, then there's a job with an Australian businessman for a mark.

After that Bryce refuses to include him on any more jobs until James takes a break, so James hangs up and is talking to Jeffries less than a minute later.

A few jobs later he's back with Bryce, and he cycles freely between him, Jeffries and a young woman named Simone.

He shuffles through architects, a women named Liv, a young student named Rosaline, Grant, or the newest up-and-coming prodigy for jobs with Bryce or Jeffries or Simone in Madrid, Rome, Paris.

Jobs aren't supposed to be recorded, but he fills up a black leather Moleskin with Zurich/Browning/train and Vienna/Ruger/opera, and another with all the names and numbers of the pointmen and forgers and chemists and architects, with wavering lines through the ones that have died or won't answer his calls.

More 'respectable' extractors fall into the later category, so his Innsbruck/Chapman/spa changes into Tokyo/Nambu/ambush as he shifts business partners, then onto Geneva/Repa/solo as he gets tired of splitting the money.

Not that money is any concern; he flies first class with champagne and stays in five-star hotels, spends thousands on Somnacin, but the amount in his bank accounts keeps climbing.

And then the public becomes aware of dream-sharing, and there's a cry of outrage, and a demand that mind crimes be persecuted, but James doesn't give a fuck, and if anything he's glad for it, there's more jobs available for him when most extractors get arrested or pull out of the business.

The conviction rate for forgers is the lowest, so James goes under and doesn't kick himself out of the dream until he can forge like the best of them. And then he goes under again, and hones the architectural skills he learned when he went solo. And then he goes under again, and he raises a city from the ground in an instant, and then it's the inside of an airplane, and then it's a busy highway, and he cycles through dreamscapes and he cycles through forged bodies and he truly can do anything.

He's contacted by a pointman who obviously hasn't been on point that long, for an extortion extraction on a politician James has never heard of before. James doesn't care. If the architect is as useless as the pointman, James can extract the employer's name from them and do the job solo. But he's not, so James works with them for a few days (they ask if he needs longer and James isn't boasting when he says he's done jobs in less), the architect makes sure to have a safe in the hotel room in the dreamscape and him and the pointman are going to keep the mark busy while James breaks into the room and into the safe, and it's a solid plan but James has them go under a few times more anyways.

They get the mark on the train back into London, and six minutes before the train will be pulling in they go under.

And it's an easy job, a simple job, but there's something terribly wrong because once James tries to leave the hotel lobby all the projections turn on him.

He's moments away from dying when the pointman and the architect step in, and something is extremely wrong because he can't hear what they're saying, and the next thing he knows they're yelling at him in a dark room and beating the shit out of him.

Five minutes on the train is an hour in the dream and it's been years since it's felt this long.

The kick goes off, he can hear the strains of music, but he hears it both slowed down as in dream and regularly as it comes through the headphones.

His body is still screaming in phantom pain and James' eyes open but everything is overlaid with the image of the dark room and he's on his feet and then falling to the ground and even that doesn't kick him out of the dream, he doesn't even know if he's dreaming and awake or awake and dreaming, only that something is wrong before everything fades to black.

When he wakes up, he is surprised to be alive.

Or at least he thinks he's alive, because death doesn't hurt, and he's really hurting, although maybe he's he's in hell, he's probably in hell, that would explain the heat and the fires and the orange. Doesn't explain the rocking motion, though. Maybe he's on an ocean. Or a sea or a lake or a river.

River is above him, her hair streaming like the sun, if the sun had reddish roots. She's completely still even though there's an earthquake, and he thinks it's fitting, her his anchor as the world fucks itself.

He makes a disgruntled noise as the shakes intensify and his raft shouldn't be tossed by the sea this much if he's got an anchor.

She leans in, and she's saying something, asking something, her voice lilting and raising in a question, and James is a better lucid dreamer than this, he can remember dialogue from dreams once he's awake again, he should be able to distinguish what she's saying.

The only thing that makes sense is James, and how his name falls from her lips.

He clasps a hand around her neck. "You're absolutely beautiful," he murmurs, or something like it.

Her brow furrows, and she says something. He knows she's saying, "You're burning up," some part of his brain knows that, but all he can make out is the movement of her lips. He pulls her down, presses his lips against hers. They’re cold, really fucking cold, and it makes sense, really, since there are iceburgs forming in the corner of his eye and he's pretty sure they're in the arctic.

She's saying something, and it's like a song, and it's made even better by the accompanying press of a needle.

He laughs and laughs as the bright colors swimming in his vision fade to black and he laughs and--

When he wakes up, he's surprised that he's alive, and momentarily wishes he wasn't. He didn't even have his eyes open for a moment, but the insides of his eyelids are still burning.

He must have given some indication of being awake, though, for there's a shuffling to his side, and a worried, "James?"

"River?" he asks, before realizing his throat was raw and scratchy and talking really hurt. Then there's a cup at his lips, and he cracks his eyes open just enough to the glass of water. He tips his head back, and a hand comes up to support the back of his neck as he takes a slow, careful sip.

"River?" James asks again, and thankfully it doesn't hurt nearly as bad this time. "What happened?"

"Somnacin killed your father, it killed your uncle, and it almost just killed you."

James' brain doesn't feel like it's online quite yet, he's still busy taking in the sharp lines and crispness of the room, so he only manages a strangled, "What?"

"Somnacin," River says slowly. "You almost overdosed on it. Your blood content level was almost point-five percent, which would have been enough to kill you if the-- if we hadn't been there for you."

James nods dumbly, and keeps doing so as River explains how they found out a pair of private investigators-slash-thugs had been searching for him, planning on torturing him for information and than turning him over to the authorities; how they had given him too much street Somnacin; how he had barely had a pulse when they found him.

"Where am I now?" James asks, looking around. It's what seems to be a small examination room, and he's still a bit shocked by how much clearer things are.

"In the TARDIS, in one of its infirmaries. We're either still outside New Earth, or just idling in the time vortex."

James makes a noncommittal noise, then holds up his hands. They're remarkably still. "If I just overdosed," he says, surprised at how blase he sounds, "shouldn't I be... I don't know, jittery or something?"

"You'd be amazed at how much medicine advances in your future."

"So I'm--" James cuts himself before he asks if he's clean, because he's not a drug addict.

River assures him, "You're perfectly fine."

"Or you should be," an brusque voice adds.

It's the Doctor, James is almost certain. He looks different, and River once explained regeneration to James, but more than that he feels different. Harsher. Colder.

James continues lying there, staring up at the plain white ceiling, mentally replaying everything River said. "River..." he says, finally starting to sit up. "What you said about Arthur..."

"What did you say about Arthur?" the Doctor asks, voice sharp, glaring at River.

"Was it true?" James asks, ignoring the Doctor.

River's gaze flicks over towards the Doctor, before she sheepishly explains, "Somnacin is poisonous, when used for a long enough amount of time."

His stomach is in knots because he gets it, his body gets it, but James' brain feels like it's a few steps behind. "So...?" he prompts.

"Your father spent so much time hooked up to the PASIV, the Somnacin just wore down his body. It was also affecting your uncle, but since he was exposed to much lower doses over a long period of time, it wasn't enough to kill him, only enough to cause him absolute agony."

And Arthur popped pills like a narcotic for months leading up to his suicide -- to his death.

James is suddenly shaking, and he doesn't know if it's from the sudden cold he's feeling, the withdrawal kicking in, or the realization his life is in the gutter.

"Couldn't you have told me this earlier?" James asks, shivering still.

"She wasn't even supposed to have told you this now," the Doctor says, voice still cold. "The knowledge that Somnacin is poisonous isn't proven by the scientific community until ten months in your future."

"Thank you," James says.

River won't meet his eyes.

"If you're feeling better, which, judging by the fact you're finally capable of stringing more than three words together, you are, I would appreciate it if you would leave my TARDIS."

"Why?" James asks stupidly, feeling more and more certain there's something wrong with the Doctor.

The Doctor fixes him with an annoyed stare. "Because we've already spent enough time on this little detour, and I'm not particularly keen on spending any more time on it."

"But--" River starts.

"No buts, River."

And there's no way this can be the Doctor, but frankly James can't bring himself to care. He gets to his feet, lets the Doctor lead him out of the TARDIS, onto the patio of his London apartment, then through the doors as the Doctor sonics them open.

James makes his way to the couch, and, for the first time in a long time, falls into a dreamless sleep.

ii

Phil is scared, and she's seven, so James knows that whatever's going on is real scary.

James doesn't know how long they've been there, the mean men took his and Phil's watches. The mean men also took their backpacks, and told them to stay in different corners in the dusty old room they were put in, or else. Phil didn't ask or else what?, only went to the corner they told her to. She didn't say anything, either, when James asked her what to do, and one of the mean men shoved him towards the opposite corner, where James has stayed ever since.

He wants to leave, but doesn't know how, or what to do, so he sits and tries not to be too scared.

There are loud bangs outside the room.

The door opens, and the bangs get louder.

James wants to run to Phil for safety, but Daddy once told him that if he heard gunshots than he should lie flat on the ground until a grown-up told him it was okay to get up.

The gunshots are loud, and James is about to cover his ears when they go quiet.

"James? Phil?"

It's Daddy and Uncle Arthur.

James looks up, and yells, "Daddy!"

Daddy goes right to Phil, picks her up and holds her tight. He shushes her when she bursts into tears.

Uncle Arthur walks towards James and picks him up. James wraps his arms around Arthur's neck. Arthur is talking in hushed, quiet tones, like his maman used to do when he couldn't sleep. James wraps his arms tighter.

And then Arthur is moving. "James, I need you to keep your eyes closed, you got that?"

James nods, and shuts his eyes real tight. In the background, Phil's cries get louder.

"Make sure to keep them closed, James," Arthur says, very softly.

He just burrows his head into the crook of Arthur's shoulder. He keeps his eyes shut as they go down a lot of steps and walk a long time. Then it's colder, and James shivers. He sneaks a peek, and sees that they're outside, and it's real dark out.

"It's okay, now," Arthur says softly, running a hand through James' hair.

James looks over Arthur's shoulder, and sees Captain Jack Harkness side-by-side a really pretty woman.

Daddy has Phil is one hand, and a silver briefcase in the other. He says something and it's angry, and Captain Jack is smiling but it isn't happy.

The woman with him looks at James, and she looks at him funny, but then she and Captain Jack and the silver briefcase disappear with a vwrop.

v

Phil is seated at a chair, sobbing her eyes out. A few of her friends are sitting next to her, alternating between cooing over her and texting. There's a young Japanese boy also by her side, one hand on her shoulder, the other offering a tissue.

James is at Arthur's side, where he's spent the entirety of the reception. He's kinda starting to get tired of standing, but Arthur hasn't shown any hint of weariness, so James doesn't say anything.

The expected people come to mourn-- the neighbors, Dom's co-workers, Arthur's co-workers, Phil's teachers, James' teachers, an elderly Japanese man that has visited a few times before. They're all familiar faces, if only just vaguely. The only people James doesn't recognize are a man and a woman, who blend in perfectly with the other mourners, but somehow stand out even more for that.

It's near the end of the reception when they finally head over. The man looks old, skin rough and leathery, walking with a cane. The woman with him is younger, but she looks frail, skin too pale.

There's a flicker of emotion in Arthur's eyes.

The man steps forward first. He gives James a pitying smile, then turns towards Arthur. "I'm sorry," he says, voice gravely and rough, with a slight accent. "I know how close the two of you were."

People have been giving their condolences for the past hour, but this is the first time Arthur doesn't say anything in response.

The woman doesn't say anything, only steps forward and wraps Arthur in a frail embrace.

James looks up at Arthur.

There are tears in Arthur's eyes. He wraps his arms around the woman, holds her close. After a few moments, his shoulders start to shake.

He's crying.

Over Dom.

James doesn't get it, he just doesn't fucking get it.

And-- looking at Arthur grieve in this stranger's hold-- James feels like he's interrupting. He takes a step back, and another, and no one is paying him attention, so James turns and walks away.

When he's out of the main room, he breaks into a run, trying to get as far away as he can.

He finds himself in a back hall, that seems to get no traffic. He leans against the wall, suddenly feeling dizzy. He slides down, and there's a few quick moments in which his breathing speeds up, and then he's sobbing.

There's the clack of heels and squeak of sneakers coming down the hallway.

James hurriedly wipes at his face, getting snot all over his cuffs. The footsteps have stopped, and James looks up to see the two looking down at him. They're nothing like the pair that approached Arthur-- the man only looks aged through his gray hair, and the young woman next to him looks vibrant. And while dressed nicely-- her in a dress, him in a blazer-- they look to causal to be at a funeral.

"Sorry," the man says. "Got lost."

The girl he's with glares at him, then sinks down so she's crouching, almost eye to eye with James. She smiles gently. "You're James, right?"

James sniffles, breath hitching, and he can't remember the last time he felt so young.

"We're very sorry for your loss," she says, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. Her voice is sweet and innocent, and she had no idea what she's talking about.

But still, he feels a bit better.

xiv

"Dream-sharing," James begins, looking around the packed lecture hall, "was invented in the early two-thousands. Early on, it was used exclusively by the military. But, as soldiers were discharged, or they left, or they went AWOL, dream-sharing spread to the black market underworld. Extraction, the idea of going into a mark's dream and stealing their secrets, soon dominated the underworld, and became the most reliable form of corporate espionage. Armed with a PASIV Device, a dose of Somnacin and a few minutes alone with your mark, you could extract all the secrets from them.

"The act was made public twenty years later, and there was outrage was worldwide. Pressure from the media pushed laws into effect in a very short amount of time that made the act of extraction illegal.

"Not that it mattered, much. Most of the people within the dream-sharing business were dead or dying, from Somnacin overdose.

"My maternal grandfather, Stephen J. Miles, was one of the founders of dream-sharing. My father, Dominick Cobb, was the most skilled extractor of his generation.

"Ten years later, the statute of limitations for any mind crimes has passed, and I can safely say that I am James Cobb, and I was the most skilled extractor of my generation."

There's a buzz of whispered conversations at the last statement, so James takes a moment to look around the hall.

The first few dozen rows are filled with students, the last few rows are selected members of the press, and in between that are a few rows of civilians who were able to talk their way in. And in the middle of it all is a man he scarcely recognizes but a young woman that he can never forget.

He smiles briefly, but pushes it out of mind. The possibility of catching their attention was a draw of agreeing to give this lecture, it's not his main focus.

The world wants to know about extraction, and it's time he takes responsibility for his actions.

The lecture ends a few hours later, and he lets the security guards escort him back to the office that is serving as his green room. Just inside the door frame, he turns towards the nearest security guard.  “I refuse to see anyone, unless they are part of the Ataraxani committee.”

The guard falters. “I'm sorry, Mr. Cobb, the--?”

“Ataraxani committee.”

The guard looks like he's about to question it, so James steps into the office and politely shuts the door. He settles himself down in the comfier of the two chairs provided, sighing as he leans back in the chairs. And then he waits.

He can hear the buzz of the investigators and the journalists, the paparazzi and the protesters.

After five minutes it ebbs down, and after another five there's a knock at the door. The guard sticks his head in, looking a bit bewildered. "Excuse me, Mr. Cobb, there are two members of the Atara... of the committee."

"Send them in," James says.

He enters first. His hair is graying and his eyes are old, but his body looks spry and his smile is youthful.

She follows a step after him. She's younger than James has ever seen her, her hair a deep reddish brown, still in tight curls, her eyes bright as gazes around the room before settling on him.

James' heart breaks, as he realizes this is the last time he'll ever see her. It doesn't hurt, though, because as he stares back, he knows that it was worth it.

"I'm the Doctor, and--"

She interrupts him. She holds out her hand, and proudly says, "I'm River Song."

He shakes her hand, and smiles. "It's an honor to meet you."