Pieces
Title: Pieces
Fandom: Inception
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Cobb, Phillipa
Genres: Post-movie, Canon, Angst
Warning: Character death
Rating: PG
Summary: For this prompt at inception_kink. Phillipa discovers one of her father’s many secrets, named Arthur.
***
In the end, Phillipa has only ever known bits and pieces of Dom Cobb, her father. She doesn’t even know how the pieces all fit, it’s unfair.
Her father has always kept secrets from her and James. But he never lets them forget that he loves them, so Phillipa has always convinced her that none of the secrets that he hides from them have horrible names. When her father dies, she goes to his cramped apartment to clean out his desk. Instead, she finds a secret under the floorboards. The secret is named Arthur.
The letters are yellowed and aged, but still in immaculate condition. All postmarked, yet never sent. Always three days apart, her father has never missed a single date.
I do not think I can survive this world without you. I wish I have never left.
***
Grandpa Miles is old and blind. Still, he is amazingly capable, and when Phillipa hands him one of the letters, he knows exactly what it is when he only brushes the paper with his fingers.
“None of these letters...none of them have been sent.”
Phillipa shakes her head no, “No, Grandpa, they haven’t.”
Miles does not say anything for a long time, “I think he only loved the world for him,” then he sighs and rubs his eyes, “No...I don’t just think it. I know it. Perhaps Dom loved him even more than he’s ever did your mother.”
Phillipa doesn’t remember her mother, but she feels an indignant heat coil in her stomach and decides that she might hate Arthur anyway, though she hardly knows him. She only knows him as the man who’s never had a chance to read any of these letters. Arthur sounds beautiful, flawless.
Miles touches the side of her face, and smiles, “Do not be angry, if not for this man, you wouldn’t have had a father. I am grateful to him, as you should be.”
When she returns home, she resolves to shred all of her father’s letters. Instead, she sits down with a cup of bitter coffee and reads them over again in chronological order and keeps them that way. Phillipa thinks that it's easier to cry over what her father could have had.
***
James is the one who plans most of the funeral. He tells her that a man named Arthur called him from overseas, Vienna, of all places, asking if he could give a eulogy at the funeral.
“What did you say?”
“I said yes,” James sounds matter of fact about it. “He said he’s a friend of Dad’s, and he’s flying here especially to attend the service. It’s nice to meet Dad’s friends, you know?” He doesn’t finish his sentence.
Phillipa sighs, “I guess...did he say when he was coming?”
“He actually asked me to pick him up, I was going to send someone, since I’m completely tied up in meetings tomorrow.”
Of course, Phillipa doesn’t mean to say, “Give me his flight number, I’ll pick him up.” Of course she doesn’t. But James doesn’t ask questions, he never does. She thinks that she really ought to learn to be more like her brother.
***
Arthur is handsome, put together in a custom suit and a dark red tie, it’s easy to ignore the lines on his face. When he sees her, he looks surprised, “I was under the impression that James was sending a car.”
Phillipa feels like wringing her hands, but she keeps them tightly clenched, until Arthur smiles at her and says --
“You’ve grown up, Phillipa.”
Arthur is making it hard for her to dislike him, “You don’t look familiar at all. Am I supposed to know you?”
“I met you twice when you were small,” here, Arthur’s expression dips into something soft and wistful. “But no, you weren’t supposed to know me. Cobb and I agreed that you weren’t.”
Suddenly, Phillipa can’t breathe, it hurts. She tears her eyes away from Arthur and says, “...Do you have any luggage checked in?”
***
In the car, they listen to Edith Piaf, Non, Je ne regrette rien. It’s actually her father’s CD. She found that in his desk too. Arthur looks vaguely amused, “I guess it grew on him.”
Phillipa finds that her lips are threatening to tug upwards, “More than, he listened to it all the time. I used to know all the words. James too.”
Arthur reaches forward and puts the track on repeat.
***
-
Arthur has booked himself a hotel room at the Hilton Plaza, not too far away from the airport, but instead, Phillipa invites him home. He doesn’t disagree.
“It’s a little messy, but I’ve been cleaning out Dad’s place...I did his study today, it took all day, sorry about that.” They have to step around boxes in the living room.
“It’s not a problem.”
She learns that he likes his coffee black, just like her, just like Dad. They sit in silence in her living room, and Arthur stares at all the boxes, some of them packed, some not. (The letters...she reads over them every day, she hasn’t packed them yet.)
“Do you mind if I keep this?”
Arthur has picked out a small metal top from the box nearest to him. Phillipa has had that for a while, yet she’s never figured out what it was, if it was a piece of decoration, it was tacky. “Does it mean something to you? I found it lying on his desk.”
Phillipa doesn’t think she’s ever seen a sadder smile. She has to look away again, down at the ominous swirl of her coffee cup. “It does, yes.”
“Then keep it.”
***
At the funeral, private to family and a few friends, Arthur paints her father as a man who is strong, courageous, thoughtful --
“I wish he would have learned forgiveness. He deserved it more than anyone else. I was privileged and proud to have known him.”
Phillipa’s shoulders are shaking; her eyes are blindingly hot. Miles grips her hand and holds her fingers tight.
She wishes that she could have known her father the way that Arthur knew him. Without all of his secrets.
***
The day before Arthur’s plane leaves for Vienna again, Phillipa packs all of the letters into a box and visits him at the Hilton. Arthur seems surprised to see her, but ever the gracious host, he invites her in and offers to call for some room service, maybe some hor d’oeuvres.
“It’s okay, I’m not staying long,” Phillipa knows her voice isn’t even. “I just...this is for you.”
Arthur takes the box from her. “What’s this?”
“Things that Dad probably wanted you to know. I’ve read them.” (And cried over them.)
For the first time since she has met him, Arthur’s expression looks jumbled, like there are too many emotions threatening to squeeze into his face at once. But he settles quickly enough on a vague smile and takes the box, sets it down.
“Thank you.” His voice is shaky too.
Phillipa shifts from one foot to the other; “I wish you’d known, before. Then maybe I would have known all of those things too. Instead of it being secret. I would have known the kind of man that Dad was.”
Arthur says, “He was a lot of things, but first, he was a man of principle. He knew what he had, he couldn’t lose. He had you and James. And also...your mother, me. I am not sorry.”
There’s a strange, dry lump in her throat.
“It’s okay,” Arthur speaks for her and touches her shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything.”
Phillipa doesn’t, not for a very long time.
Fandom: Inception
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Cobb, Phillipa
Genres: Post-movie, Canon, Angst
Warning: Character death
Rating: PG
Summary: For this prompt at inception_kink. Phillipa discovers one of her father’s many secrets, named Arthur.
***
In the end, Phillipa has only ever known bits and pieces of Dom Cobb, her father. She doesn’t even know how the pieces all fit, it’s unfair.
Her father has always kept secrets from her and James. But he never lets them forget that he loves them, so Phillipa has always convinced her that none of the secrets that he hides from them have horrible names. When her father dies, she goes to his cramped apartment to clean out his desk. Instead, she finds a secret under the floorboards. The secret is named Arthur.
The letters are yellowed and aged, but still in immaculate condition. All postmarked, yet never sent. Always three days apart, her father has never missed a single date.
I do not think I can survive this world without you. I wish I have never left.
***
Grandpa Miles is old and blind. Still, he is amazingly capable, and when Phillipa hands him one of the letters, he knows exactly what it is when he only brushes the paper with his fingers.
“None of these letters...none of them have been sent.”
Phillipa shakes her head no, “No, Grandpa, they haven’t.”
Miles does not say anything for a long time, “I think he only loved the world for him,” then he sighs and rubs his eyes, “No...I don’t just think it. I know it. Perhaps Dom loved him even more than he’s ever did your mother.”
Phillipa doesn’t remember her mother, but she feels an indignant heat coil in her stomach and decides that she might hate Arthur anyway, though she hardly knows him. She only knows him as the man who’s never had a chance to read any of these letters. Arthur sounds beautiful, flawless.
Miles touches the side of her face, and smiles, “Do not be angry, if not for this man, you wouldn’t have had a father. I am grateful to him, as you should be.”
When she returns home, she resolves to shred all of her father’s letters. Instead, she sits down with a cup of bitter coffee and reads them over again in chronological order and keeps them that way. Phillipa thinks that it's easier to cry over what her father could have had.
***
James is the one who plans most of the funeral. He tells her that a man named Arthur called him from overseas, Vienna, of all places, asking if he could give a eulogy at the funeral.
“What did you say?”
“I said yes,” James sounds matter of fact about it. “He said he’s a friend of Dad’s, and he’s flying here especially to attend the service. It’s nice to meet Dad’s friends, you know?” He doesn’t finish his sentence.
Phillipa sighs, “I guess...did he say when he was coming?”
“He actually asked me to pick him up, I was going to send someone, since I’m completely tied up in meetings tomorrow.”
Of course, Phillipa doesn’t mean to say, “Give me his flight number, I’ll pick him up.” Of course she doesn’t. But James doesn’t ask questions, he never does. She thinks that she really ought to learn to be more like her brother.
***
Arthur is handsome, put together in a custom suit and a dark red tie, it’s easy to ignore the lines on his face. When he sees her, he looks surprised, “I was under the impression that James was sending a car.”
Phillipa feels like wringing her hands, but she keeps them tightly clenched, until Arthur smiles at her and says --
“You’ve grown up, Phillipa.”
Arthur is making it hard for her to dislike him, “You don’t look familiar at all. Am I supposed to know you?”
“I met you twice when you were small,” here, Arthur’s expression dips into something soft and wistful. “But no, you weren’t supposed to know me. Cobb and I agreed that you weren’t.”
Suddenly, Phillipa can’t breathe, it hurts. She tears her eyes away from Arthur and says, “...Do you have any luggage checked in?”
***
In the car, they listen to Edith Piaf, Non, Je ne regrette rien. It’s actually her father’s CD. She found that in his desk too. Arthur looks vaguely amused, “I guess it grew on him.”
Phillipa finds that her lips are threatening to tug upwards, “More than, he listened to it all the time. I used to know all the words. James too.”
Arthur reaches forward and puts the track on repeat.
***
-
Arthur has booked himself a hotel room at the Hilton Plaza, not too far away from the airport, but instead, Phillipa invites him home. He doesn’t disagree.
“It’s a little messy, but I’ve been cleaning out Dad’s place...I did his study today, it took all day, sorry about that.” They have to step around boxes in the living room.
“It’s not a problem.”
She learns that he likes his coffee black, just like her, just like Dad. They sit in silence in her living room, and Arthur stares at all the boxes, some of them packed, some not. (The letters...she reads over them every day, she hasn’t packed them yet.)
“Do you mind if I keep this?”
Arthur has picked out a small metal top from the box nearest to him. Phillipa has had that for a while, yet she’s never figured out what it was, if it was a piece of decoration, it was tacky. “Does it mean something to you? I found it lying on his desk.”
Phillipa doesn’t think she’s ever seen a sadder smile. She has to look away again, down at the ominous swirl of her coffee cup. “It does, yes.”
“Then keep it.”
***
At the funeral, private to family and a few friends, Arthur paints her father as a man who is strong, courageous, thoughtful --
“I wish he would have learned forgiveness. He deserved it more than anyone else. I was privileged and proud to have known him.”
Phillipa’s shoulders are shaking; her eyes are blindingly hot. Miles grips her hand and holds her fingers tight.
She wishes that she could have known her father the way that Arthur knew him. Without all of his secrets.
***
The day before Arthur’s plane leaves for Vienna again, Phillipa packs all of the letters into a box and visits him at the Hilton. Arthur seems surprised to see her, but ever the gracious host, he invites her in and offers to call for some room service, maybe some hor d’oeuvres.
“It’s okay, I’m not staying long,” Phillipa knows her voice isn’t even. “I just...this is for you.”
Arthur takes the box from her. “What’s this?”
“Things that Dad probably wanted you to know. I’ve read them.” (And cried over them.)
For the first time since she has met him, Arthur’s expression looks jumbled, like there are too many emotions threatening to squeeze into his face at once. But he settles quickly enough on a vague smile and takes the box, sets it down.
“Thank you.” His voice is shaky too.
Phillipa shifts from one foot to the other; “I wish you’d known, before. Then maybe I would have known all of those things too. Instead of it being secret. I would have known the kind of man that Dad was.”
Arthur says, “He was a lot of things, but first, he was a man of principle. He knew what he had, he couldn’t lose. He had you and James. And also...your mother, me. I am not sorry.”
There’s a strange, dry lump in her throat.
“It’s okay,” Arthur speaks for her and touches her shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything.”
Phillipa doesn’t, not for a very long time.