Wanted [Fic] Inception
Wanted
Summary: Arthur is arrested. His situation turns from bad, to worse.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in regard to Inception.
Pairings: Implied Arthur/Eames
Rating: few swear words. Not that bad.
AN: Is it just me or are there zero arrested fics. Seriously. They’re criminals. FBI, Interpol, anyone who is on the side of the law will be after them. I decided to do something about that. Hopefully it is alright. :D
~
It’s a cold autumn morning when Arthur is arrested.
He’s walking through central park and it’s overcast and chilly and his hands feel like they are frozen in ice. As he walks, his breath escapes in gasps and he knows that very soon, winter will be approaching and he’ll be travelling to a sunny, tropical city to escape the weather. He’s been in Cairo for a month so the sudden change in weather has caused a pounding headache to erupt.
There are children walking past him and they don’t even notice his new suit. It’s strange to visit a city where every man was born in a suit and everyone woman was raised in heels.
He continues walking.
He wants a coffee because when he had stepped out for a walk, he hadn’t imagined that it would be this cold. He misses the warmth of his apartment where Eames is now reclining and Ariadne is lying on a couch. He wants to curl up next to Eames and rest his head and feel long and luxurious fingers through his hair as he falls asleep. He sighs because it isn’t like that and he can only wish for such an intimate and comfortable scene. He doesn’t immediately recall the room they where in but he stores his worry away and enjoys his walk.
He sighs again.
When he’s nearly at the end of the park, he becomes aware of his surroundings.
There are no children on the path, nor cyclists or walkers. There are simply men and women who seem stiff and straight and strangely tense. They all seem to share something similar and odd about them and when they pass him, he sees them look out the corner of their eyes. He begins to feel nervous because he’s been lax and should have been aware of the quickly disappearing children or the men and women that are now surrounding him.
He stops walking and isn’t surprised when the man on the bench, folds his newspaper up and simply looks at him. He regards the man curiously because it hits him in an instant what is occurring.
He runs.
As soon as runs, he hears shouts behind him and he curses at the thought of just how many officers are pursuing him. He’s fit but he isn’t in his territory and all he can do is run and run and run.
The park is like a forest and he weaves in between trees and ducks under branches. When he gets to another path, he jumps over the metal chains and sprints to the furthest end. He can hear more and more footsteps pounding behind him. His mind is in panic mode and so when he gets to the end of the path and is met with more cops, he swears under his breath and tries to turn back. Already, panting officers are surrounding him on all sides and he knows that the game is up. He raises his hands in a gesture of sacrifice and breaths deeply.
A man pushes his hands behind his back and he hears the sound of handcuffs clicking into place. The officers are now smiling and he lets his face turn expressionless and blank. He can tell that the lack of emotions is unnerving to the officers who suddenly aren’t smiling and are watching him carefully.
He is being led to a vehicle and he tries not to panic. He’s never been caught before, despite how many close calls there had been. His parents, his sweet naïve parents who truly believe that he is an engineer will be called and they’ll know. Worst of all, he doesn’t know if he can count on Eames or Ariadne or Cobb to be there and to bail him out.
An officer starts stating his rights and he tunes out the sound. There is a person beside him who adds, rather pathetically, “You are under arrest.” It isn’t as if he didn’t know but he assumes that there must be a certain protocol behind the verbal speech.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees a sight, which makes him feel something akin to fear. Eames is standing outside the ring of police officers and is staring at the scene. He knows that Eames isn’t part of the bust and he’s worried that he’ll be recognised and taken in. He makes eye contact with the man and tries with all of his might to communicate his surprise and fear. The man nods and then, he is walking away. Arthur feels something like heartbreak in the separation. He wonders why Eames had been at the scene and whether he had been following him.
His head is pushed down as he is forced into the small car. There is an officer already in the car to drive it and another who is simply staring at him. He’s in plain clothes but he has aura that screams of professionalism and success.
They don’t speak and the silence pierces his skull. His headache is back in full force but he makes sure to be expressionless and stiff and unyielding. In his pocket, he can feel the side of the die against his body and it both reassures and terrifies him.
They drive straight to the precinct and when they are pulling into the building, he realizes how utterly real this all is. He’s earned millions from extractions and he’s placed his face among one of the most hunted criminal groups in the world. He only signs with the biggest payers and they’ve both kidnapped and drugged their targets in order to extract their thoughts. He wonders how many years that would be and just how much the law enforcers knew about his jobs.
He’s pulled from the car and taken upstairs. There are people everywhere and they all seem to stop and stare at him. He has yet to talk so he doesn’t do any more then stare ahead and continue walking. There are phones ringing in the distance and the chatter of hundreds of officers. Breaking out would be near to impossible but that doesn’t stop him from memorizing the various escape routes.
He’s taken into a room and there is a mirror on one side of the wall. He tries not to laugh at how cliché the scene is because then, he’d be loosening his Point Man expression and he wouldn’t have the advantage of a false confidence.
A man walks in and it’s the same man that was in the police car. A woman follows behind him and she’s stern and fierce and slightly intimidating.
“Arthur Monaldi.”
He doesn’t move or change his facial expression. The man is looking at a large manila folder and his name is stamped on the front.
“I’m Detective Pearson with the CIA and this is Detective Fenwick with Interpol. We’ve been following you for quite some time.”
He looks at the mirror and watches it for anything at all.
“Before we go any further, we need you to state your name, age and address,” he expects the woman to take out a tape recorder but his lawyer hasn’t arrived and he wonders how official the interview will be.
He speaks smoothly, “Arthur Monaldi, twenty nine, 34 Joseph Street London.” He’s made up the address and he isn’t even sure if the street exists. He knows that the detectives are aware of his pretence because the stern woman raises an eyebrow at his statement and scribbles a note onto some paper.
“You are part of an Extraction team.” It isn’t a question and he can feel her anger and bitterness.
He knows that to remain silent on such a question would be the indication they needed of his guilt and remorse. He has none so he speaks, rather quietly, “I am unfamiliar with such an occupation.”
“Dominic Cobb, Ariadne Lethia, Yusuf Pandya and Robert Eames. Extractor, Architect, Chemist and Forger… and you…” the man leans forward, “…you are the Point Man.”
He’s never actually heard what Eames’s full name is so when he acts surprised, they smirk and grin. They think they have shocked him but he’s really just thinking of Eames and why the man never thought to tell him such a simple part of himself.
“Now, we’re going to ask you a few questions. However, we’d like to give you the chance to talk.”
“…”
He’s patient and the only thing that would really bother him about waiting would be the boredom.
“Okay, so you aren’t a talker,” the male detective sits down in a chair and flips through the file with a frown on his face, “we’ve got enough in here to put you away for life. However, if you cooperate with us, we’d be willing to cut you a deal.”
He raises an eyebrow and asks rather patronizingly, “Perhaps this should wait until my lawyer arrives.”
The man continues, as if he hadn’t heard him, “Recently you performed an extraction with an additional member to your team. If you could identify him, we’d be willing to cut a few years from your sentence, maybe even transfer you to one of the nicer cells. It will be a long stay, after all.”
The detective pushes a picture towards him and he recognizes Saito immediately. He is walking along a monotone street, one hand reaching into a pocket as he looks behind him. He looks rushed and anxious and his suit indicates that it must have been in the thick of the inception. The detective has yet to use that word so Arthur thinks that it still must be unknown and that Fischer is still under their spell. It relieves him because performing an inception is the most illegal and morally wrong thing he has ever done.
He looks into the Detectives eyes and they are dark and deep and inquisitive. He places a hand near the photo and shimmer of light flashes through his eyes. He pushes the photo back to its original position and the hope has fled from his eyes and is replaced by frustration and anger.
“I asked for my lawyer.”
“We’re trying to give you a chance.”
“And I asked for my lawyer.”
The woman is speaking now and her voice is calm and cool, “Mr. Monaldi, it would be in your best interests to comply with our investigation. Our lack of information regarding this man is not indicative to our lack of evidence against your team. Our credibility in court will not be tainted by this discussion.”
Arthur decides to speak. His voice is steady and although low, audible and clear, “Ms. Fenwick, I have never seen that man before.”
Her eyes flash and she thinks that she may understand how he will proceed, “That is unfortunate.”
He raises an eyebrow and leans back in his chair.
The detectives nod at each other and leave the room without speaking. He hears the sound of telephones and men as the door opens and then, the room is quiet and he is alone. He stares at the folder, which tempts him. He knows that they left it there on purpose and are testing his resolve and his nerves. Even if he where to lean over and grasp at its cardboard pages, he knows that they would enter the room and tear it from his hands. He watches it and then flicks his eyes unconcerned to the giant mirror. He knows that they are watching him.
A moment later, a different man walks in and instead of walking towards the folder, he walks straight to Arthur with his hand outstretched, “Arthur Monaldi, my name is Phil Griffith, I’ll be representing you.”
He rises to shake the mans hand and then, the man is sitting and opening his own folder, “Now, I had a chat to the detectives outside and they said that you have been debriefed on the situation and they’ve tried to cut a deal. Highly unprofessional and I’ll be sure to mention the private chat they forced on you to the judge.”
While the man is talking, he isn’t looking at Arthur. He’s opened the folder to a random page and it is patient and waiting. The man is looking at a particular spot on the page and when he follows the gaze, he feels something like amusement bubble inside him. Within a page of continuous notes, the word, tourist, is hidden. He knows that Saito must have been informed by Eames of the situation and that he had sent his best lawyer to resolve the case. His anxiety disappears and is replaced by a comfortable confidence.
The lawyer continues, “Have you made any confession in regard to this situation?”
“No.”
“Good. That is very good. What have you said so far?”
“Nothing. I’ve been waiting for my lawyer.”
“That is excellent. So they have no confession nor have you admitted to any connection with this Extraction group they are talking of… from what I have gathered, they have photographic and video evidence of you with a group of individuals they believe to be your team.”
“They’ve tried to cut a deal.”
“I thought they might.”
“They showed me a picture of a man, Asian in descent, most likely Japanese. They said that I had a connection to him.”
The lawyer nods and he knows that as soon as he leaves the police building, he will be calling Saito and informing him of their situation. Despite him being arrested, he isn’t in as vulnerable of a situation as Saito is.
“I see. Well, they will probably try to hold you for a few days for an admission of guilt, information, anything really. There will be a trial where they will present their evidence and you can present your defence. I will be representing you in the trial, unless I prove unfit and you ask for a replacement (which will most likely be provided by the state). I think we can safely assume that they have enough information to secure your arrest for an extended period of time.”
“I gathered.”
“Even if they do manage to find these other supposed team members, I wouldn’t count on them being honest. So if they try to lure you into a deal by claiming that they have someone, don’t believe them.”
“I understand.”
“Just make sure… you don’t say anything unless I am here. They’ve started this with dirty tricks and I’m sure they’ll end it that way.”
The detectives walk into the room again and they look slightly disgruntled and annoyed. They shoot a glare at his lawyer who simply grins easily and speaks smoothly, “Phil Griffith. Arthur is my client.”
“Yes, we know. We’ve been trying to cut a deal with, Mr. Monaldi. Maybe you could help him to put this situation into perspective. It would be in his best interests,” the man is speaking and he looks anxious. He hasn’t tried to conceal the details of their conversation and Arthur is beginning to feel nervous at their confidence.
“I see no grounds for a deal. There has been no admission of guilt, no admission of a connection between my client and those who you claim he works with.”
“We don’t need a confession, we have enough evidence to lock him up for the rest of his miserable life.”
“Now, detectives, I hardly think that we are needing to resort to intimidation. Besides, every interview or rather, interrogation is required by law to be recorded. I see no sign of that.”
“The deal is on the table. If he tells us who this man is then we’ll make his stay a little safer and a little shorter.”
“I think we’ll let the courts decide what is appropriate. Your lack of professionalism has just helped our defence.”
“We’ll leave the offer open. Maybe the Point Man needs a bit of time to think this all over.”
“Then he wishes to make an application for bail.”
“We thought you’d try to do that. We’ve already submitted an application for termination of bail. You aren’t going anywhere. As far as we’re concerned, releasing you on the conditions of bail is a threat to the wellbeing of society and our fellow citizens. You’re going to spend the night in your own holding cell; we wouldn’t let such an elite criminal mingle with the commoners. Once the application has gone through, you’ll be transferred to a secure facility until the summons of the court…” the man leans forward and his eyes are dangerous and dark as he looks at Arthur, “…you may think it’s wise to play cool and calm now but this is no petty crime. We’ve got the wigs from Interpol and the FBI involved and they aren’t going to stop until you’re sitting pretty in a cell.”
He is terrified and it’s because he isn’t in control. He assumed that his lawyer would smooth the situation over but his last taste of freedom has been torn from him. He wishes that Eames were with him because he’s always serene and calm and understanding. The attention wouldn’t be focused on him because Eames’s loud shirt would be stealing their gazes and the man would be grinning charmingly at the attention.
Arthur suddenly remembers something, which sends a shiver of hope through him, “I am allowed one phone call.”
The man smiles again and it is cunning and vicious. His hope has fled, “Usually, you are. However, since you are such a dangerous criminal and there is the very real and present threat of you communicating with your team members, we have terminated that right.”
The woman speaks, “We’ll transfer you to your cell now where a forensics team will be through shortly to collect a DNA sample and your fingerprint. We will also be conducting a physical.”
He stands and walks to the door. There is an odd moment of strangled calm where he thinks about how unlikely and yet likely the situation is. He hasn’t had a chance to grab his die so a reluctant, stubborn part of his brain is screaming. He frowns and stops.
In one heart stopping moment, gravity ceases to exist. The police building groans and the officers papers fly to the ceiling. The windows shatter from the force of some unknown presence. He’s trying to look at the detectives but his eyes can’t focus on their faces, which seem blurred and distant. They are allowing the gravity to push themselves to the ceiling where he follows clumsily.
He curses and before the impact of the ceiling hits his back, he is blinking his eyes.
Eames is kneeling next to him, his eyebrows are drawn and an expression of concern and seriousness lines his face. Arthur is still blinking and his back aches with pain. He realizes that he has been pushed back in his chair and that the wooden frame is digging into his shoulder blades. He is still in a haze when he hears a curse and Eames is lifting him from his position. His back appreciates the comfortable bed, which cushions his fall.
“Come on, Arthur.”
He tries to talk but when he opens his mouth, a sob chokes in his throat and he’s still looking around the room and wondering what has happened.
“Shit, come on. It was a dream. We’re in the hotel room.”
Eames is digging in his pocket and he can’t concisely tell him to, ‘fuck off,’ before something hard and small is pushed into his hand. Still lying down, he lifts his clenched hand to his eyes and allows the old die to breathe through his fingers. He holds it to his heart and sighs deeply.
“That’s it, darling. Just a dream, nothing to be so worked up over.”
He closes his eyes for a moment as he speaks, “You were there… in my dream.”
When he opens his eyes again, Eames is looking away and at the ground, “I wanted to see what you were dreaming about.”
“So you weren’t a projection?”
“No. I considered stepping in but…” He trails off.
“What?”
“We’re all too cocky. I thought that it might do you some good to get a bit of fear.”
“You bastard!” He’s sitting up and his die is clenched tightly, “So you let me think that I was going to spend the rest of my life in prison? That all of my friends were going to be targeted?” He is breathing heavily, “That doesn’t even matter, why the hell where you in my dream?”
Eames is silent and he is still looking away.
“You invaded my privacy, I think I deserve an explanation.”
“Let’s just forget about the whole thing.”
“Answer the god damn question, Eames.”
“Fine. I just wanted to see what you were like when you weren’t, ‘the point man.’”
“… You could have just asked.”
There’s a silence in the room now and he’s simply looking at Eames. The Forger is staring at the wall, his face down cast and miserable. He doesn’t look like he usually does because there is a seriousness to him and a silence. Although his privacy was impeached, he feels a certain amount of sympathy for him. He remembers the look they shared in his dream, the way that for one moment, it was only them.
He speaks and he feels foolish so his voice is low, “Robert?”
Eames eyes flicker up, “Who?”
“No one,” he is smiling broadly because he really did think that he could have guessed his name. There is a ring to, ‘Robert Eames,’ which delights him. Eames is suddenly smiling as well because he has guessed why the name was spoken and in what context it was used.
“Nice try,” says the man as turns to face Arthur.
“I thought it sounded right.”
“Nope.”
“So what is your name?”
“Hmm, it’s something.”
He rolls his eyes and then, they are smiling at each other and there is shared affection between them, which nearly melts his heart.
“My back hurts.”
~
:D
Please review!
Summary: Arthur is arrested. His situation turns from bad, to worse.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in regard to Inception.
Pairings: Implied Arthur/Eames
Rating: few swear words. Not that bad.
AN: Is it just me or are there zero arrested fics. Seriously. They’re criminals. FBI, Interpol, anyone who is on the side of the law will be after them. I decided to do something about that. Hopefully it is alright. :D
~
It’s a cold autumn morning when Arthur is arrested.
He’s walking through central park and it’s overcast and chilly and his hands feel like they are frozen in ice. As he walks, his breath escapes in gasps and he knows that very soon, winter will be approaching and he’ll be travelling to a sunny, tropical city to escape the weather. He’s been in Cairo for a month so the sudden change in weather has caused a pounding headache to erupt.
There are children walking past him and they don’t even notice his new suit. It’s strange to visit a city where every man was born in a suit and everyone woman was raised in heels.
He continues walking.
He wants a coffee because when he had stepped out for a walk, he hadn’t imagined that it would be this cold. He misses the warmth of his apartment where Eames is now reclining and Ariadne is lying on a couch. He wants to curl up next to Eames and rest his head and feel long and luxurious fingers through his hair as he falls asleep. He sighs because it isn’t like that and he can only wish for such an intimate and comfortable scene. He doesn’t immediately recall the room they where in but he stores his worry away and enjoys his walk.
He sighs again.
When he’s nearly at the end of the park, he becomes aware of his surroundings.
There are no children on the path, nor cyclists or walkers. There are simply men and women who seem stiff and straight and strangely tense. They all seem to share something similar and odd about them and when they pass him, he sees them look out the corner of their eyes. He begins to feel nervous because he’s been lax and should have been aware of the quickly disappearing children or the men and women that are now surrounding him.
He stops walking and isn’t surprised when the man on the bench, folds his newspaper up and simply looks at him. He regards the man curiously because it hits him in an instant what is occurring.
He runs.
As soon as runs, he hears shouts behind him and he curses at the thought of just how many officers are pursuing him. He’s fit but he isn’t in his territory and all he can do is run and run and run.
The park is like a forest and he weaves in between trees and ducks under branches. When he gets to another path, he jumps over the metal chains and sprints to the furthest end. He can hear more and more footsteps pounding behind him. His mind is in panic mode and so when he gets to the end of the path and is met with more cops, he swears under his breath and tries to turn back. Already, panting officers are surrounding him on all sides and he knows that the game is up. He raises his hands in a gesture of sacrifice and breaths deeply.
A man pushes his hands behind his back and he hears the sound of handcuffs clicking into place. The officers are now smiling and he lets his face turn expressionless and blank. He can tell that the lack of emotions is unnerving to the officers who suddenly aren’t smiling and are watching him carefully.
He is being led to a vehicle and he tries not to panic. He’s never been caught before, despite how many close calls there had been. His parents, his sweet naïve parents who truly believe that he is an engineer will be called and they’ll know. Worst of all, he doesn’t know if he can count on Eames or Ariadne or Cobb to be there and to bail him out.
An officer starts stating his rights and he tunes out the sound. There is a person beside him who adds, rather pathetically, “You are under arrest.” It isn’t as if he didn’t know but he assumes that there must be a certain protocol behind the verbal speech.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees a sight, which makes him feel something akin to fear. Eames is standing outside the ring of police officers and is staring at the scene. He knows that Eames isn’t part of the bust and he’s worried that he’ll be recognised and taken in. He makes eye contact with the man and tries with all of his might to communicate his surprise and fear. The man nods and then, he is walking away. Arthur feels something like heartbreak in the separation. He wonders why Eames had been at the scene and whether he had been following him.
His head is pushed down as he is forced into the small car. There is an officer already in the car to drive it and another who is simply staring at him. He’s in plain clothes but he has aura that screams of professionalism and success.
They don’t speak and the silence pierces his skull. His headache is back in full force but he makes sure to be expressionless and stiff and unyielding. In his pocket, he can feel the side of the die against his body and it both reassures and terrifies him.
They drive straight to the precinct and when they are pulling into the building, he realizes how utterly real this all is. He’s earned millions from extractions and he’s placed his face among one of the most hunted criminal groups in the world. He only signs with the biggest payers and they’ve both kidnapped and drugged their targets in order to extract their thoughts. He wonders how many years that would be and just how much the law enforcers knew about his jobs.
He’s pulled from the car and taken upstairs. There are people everywhere and they all seem to stop and stare at him. He has yet to talk so he doesn’t do any more then stare ahead and continue walking. There are phones ringing in the distance and the chatter of hundreds of officers. Breaking out would be near to impossible but that doesn’t stop him from memorizing the various escape routes.
He’s taken into a room and there is a mirror on one side of the wall. He tries not to laugh at how cliché the scene is because then, he’d be loosening his Point Man expression and he wouldn’t have the advantage of a false confidence.
A man walks in and it’s the same man that was in the police car. A woman follows behind him and she’s stern and fierce and slightly intimidating.
“Arthur Monaldi.”
He doesn’t move or change his facial expression. The man is looking at a large manila folder and his name is stamped on the front.
“I’m Detective Pearson with the CIA and this is Detective Fenwick with Interpol. We’ve been following you for quite some time.”
He looks at the mirror and watches it for anything at all.
“Before we go any further, we need you to state your name, age and address,” he expects the woman to take out a tape recorder but his lawyer hasn’t arrived and he wonders how official the interview will be.
He speaks smoothly, “Arthur Monaldi, twenty nine, 34 Joseph Street London.” He’s made up the address and he isn’t even sure if the street exists. He knows that the detectives are aware of his pretence because the stern woman raises an eyebrow at his statement and scribbles a note onto some paper.
“You are part of an Extraction team.” It isn’t a question and he can feel her anger and bitterness.
He knows that to remain silent on such a question would be the indication they needed of his guilt and remorse. He has none so he speaks, rather quietly, “I am unfamiliar with such an occupation.”
“Dominic Cobb, Ariadne Lethia, Yusuf Pandya and Robert Eames. Extractor, Architect, Chemist and Forger… and you…” the man leans forward, “…you are the Point Man.”
He’s never actually heard what Eames’s full name is so when he acts surprised, they smirk and grin. They think they have shocked him but he’s really just thinking of Eames and why the man never thought to tell him such a simple part of himself.
“Now, we’re going to ask you a few questions. However, we’d like to give you the chance to talk.”
“…”
He’s patient and the only thing that would really bother him about waiting would be the boredom.
“Okay, so you aren’t a talker,” the male detective sits down in a chair and flips through the file with a frown on his face, “we’ve got enough in here to put you away for life. However, if you cooperate with us, we’d be willing to cut you a deal.”
He raises an eyebrow and asks rather patronizingly, “Perhaps this should wait until my lawyer arrives.”
The man continues, as if he hadn’t heard him, “Recently you performed an extraction with an additional member to your team. If you could identify him, we’d be willing to cut a few years from your sentence, maybe even transfer you to one of the nicer cells. It will be a long stay, after all.”
The detective pushes a picture towards him and he recognizes Saito immediately. He is walking along a monotone street, one hand reaching into a pocket as he looks behind him. He looks rushed and anxious and his suit indicates that it must have been in the thick of the inception. The detective has yet to use that word so Arthur thinks that it still must be unknown and that Fischer is still under their spell. It relieves him because performing an inception is the most illegal and morally wrong thing he has ever done.
He looks into the Detectives eyes and they are dark and deep and inquisitive. He places a hand near the photo and shimmer of light flashes through his eyes. He pushes the photo back to its original position and the hope has fled from his eyes and is replaced by frustration and anger.
“I asked for my lawyer.”
“We’re trying to give you a chance.”
“And I asked for my lawyer.”
The woman is speaking now and her voice is calm and cool, “Mr. Monaldi, it would be in your best interests to comply with our investigation. Our lack of information regarding this man is not indicative to our lack of evidence against your team. Our credibility in court will not be tainted by this discussion.”
Arthur decides to speak. His voice is steady and although low, audible and clear, “Ms. Fenwick, I have never seen that man before.”
Her eyes flash and she thinks that she may understand how he will proceed, “That is unfortunate.”
He raises an eyebrow and leans back in his chair.
The detectives nod at each other and leave the room without speaking. He hears the sound of telephones and men as the door opens and then, the room is quiet and he is alone. He stares at the folder, which tempts him. He knows that they left it there on purpose and are testing his resolve and his nerves. Even if he where to lean over and grasp at its cardboard pages, he knows that they would enter the room and tear it from his hands. He watches it and then flicks his eyes unconcerned to the giant mirror. He knows that they are watching him.
A moment later, a different man walks in and instead of walking towards the folder, he walks straight to Arthur with his hand outstretched, “Arthur Monaldi, my name is Phil Griffith, I’ll be representing you.”
He rises to shake the mans hand and then, the man is sitting and opening his own folder, “Now, I had a chat to the detectives outside and they said that you have been debriefed on the situation and they’ve tried to cut a deal. Highly unprofessional and I’ll be sure to mention the private chat they forced on you to the judge.”
While the man is talking, he isn’t looking at Arthur. He’s opened the folder to a random page and it is patient and waiting. The man is looking at a particular spot on the page and when he follows the gaze, he feels something like amusement bubble inside him. Within a page of continuous notes, the word, tourist, is hidden. He knows that Saito must have been informed by Eames of the situation and that he had sent his best lawyer to resolve the case. His anxiety disappears and is replaced by a comfortable confidence.
The lawyer continues, “Have you made any confession in regard to this situation?”
“No.”
“Good. That is very good. What have you said so far?”
“Nothing. I’ve been waiting for my lawyer.”
“That is excellent. So they have no confession nor have you admitted to any connection with this Extraction group they are talking of… from what I have gathered, they have photographic and video evidence of you with a group of individuals they believe to be your team.”
“They’ve tried to cut a deal.”
“I thought they might.”
“They showed me a picture of a man, Asian in descent, most likely Japanese. They said that I had a connection to him.”
The lawyer nods and he knows that as soon as he leaves the police building, he will be calling Saito and informing him of their situation. Despite him being arrested, he isn’t in as vulnerable of a situation as Saito is.
“I see. Well, they will probably try to hold you for a few days for an admission of guilt, information, anything really. There will be a trial where they will present their evidence and you can present your defence. I will be representing you in the trial, unless I prove unfit and you ask for a replacement (which will most likely be provided by the state). I think we can safely assume that they have enough information to secure your arrest for an extended period of time.”
“I gathered.”
“Even if they do manage to find these other supposed team members, I wouldn’t count on them being honest. So if they try to lure you into a deal by claiming that they have someone, don’t believe them.”
“I understand.”
“Just make sure… you don’t say anything unless I am here. They’ve started this with dirty tricks and I’m sure they’ll end it that way.”
The detectives walk into the room again and they look slightly disgruntled and annoyed. They shoot a glare at his lawyer who simply grins easily and speaks smoothly, “Phil Griffith. Arthur is my client.”
“Yes, we know. We’ve been trying to cut a deal with, Mr. Monaldi. Maybe you could help him to put this situation into perspective. It would be in his best interests,” the man is speaking and he looks anxious. He hasn’t tried to conceal the details of their conversation and Arthur is beginning to feel nervous at their confidence.
“I see no grounds for a deal. There has been no admission of guilt, no admission of a connection between my client and those who you claim he works with.”
“We don’t need a confession, we have enough evidence to lock him up for the rest of his miserable life.”
“Now, detectives, I hardly think that we are needing to resort to intimidation. Besides, every interview or rather, interrogation is required by law to be recorded. I see no sign of that.”
“The deal is on the table. If he tells us who this man is then we’ll make his stay a little safer and a little shorter.”
“I think we’ll let the courts decide what is appropriate. Your lack of professionalism has just helped our defence.”
“We’ll leave the offer open. Maybe the Point Man needs a bit of time to think this all over.”
“Then he wishes to make an application for bail.”
“We thought you’d try to do that. We’ve already submitted an application for termination of bail. You aren’t going anywhere. As far as we’re concerned, releasing you on the conditions of bail is a threat to the wellbeing of society and our fellow citizens. You’re going to spend the night in your own holding cell; we wouldn’t let such an elite criminal mingle with the commoners. Once the application has gone through, you’ll be transferred to a secure facility until the summons of the court…” the man leans forward and his eyes are dangerous and dark as he looks at Arthur, “…you may think it’s wise to play cool and calm now but this is no petty crime. We’ve got the wigs from Interpol and the FBI involved and they aren’t going to stop until you’re sitting pretty in a cell.”
He is terrified and it’s because he isn’t in control. He assumed that his lawyer would smooth the situation over but his last taste of freedom has been torn from him. He wishes that Eames were with him because he’s always serene and calm and understanding. The attention wouldn’t be focused on him because Eames’s loud shirt would be stealing their gazes and the man would be grinning charmingly at the attention.
Arthur suddenly remembers something, which sends a shiver of hope through him, “I am allowed one phone call.”
The man smiles again and it is cunning and vicious. His hope has fled, “Usually, you are. However, since you are such a dangerous criminal and there is the very real and present threat of you communicating with your team members, we have terminated that right.”
The woman speaks, “We’ll transfer you to your cell now where a forensics team will be through shortly to collect a DNA sample and your fingerprint. We will also be conducting a physical.”
He stands and walks to the door. There is an odd moment of strangled calm where he thinks about how unlikely and yet likely the situation is. He hasn’t had a chance to grab his die so a reluctant, stubborn part of his brain is screaming. He frowns and stops.
In one heart stopping moment, gravity ceases to exist. The police building groans and the officers papers fly to the ceiling. The windows shatter from the force of some unknown presence. He’s trying to look at the detectives but his eyes can’t focus on their faces, which seem blurred and distant. They are allowing the gravity to push themselves to the ceiling where he follows clumsily.
He curses and before the impact of the ceiling hits his back, he is blinking his eyes.
Eames is kneeling next to him, his eyebrows are drawn and an expression of concern and seriousness lines his face. Arthur is still blinking and his back aches with pain. He realizes that he has been pushed back in his chair and that the wooden frame is digging into his shoulder blades. He is still in a haze when he hears a curse and Eames is lifting him from his position. His back appreciates the comfortable bed, which cushions his fall.
“Come on, Arthur.”
He tries to talk but when he opens his mouth, a sob chokes in his throat and he’s still looking around the room and wondering what has happened.
“Shit, come on. It was a dream. We’re in the hotel room.”
Eames is digging in his pocket and he can’t concisely tell him to, ‘fuck off,’ before something hard and small is pushed into his hand. Still lying down, he lifts his clenched hand to his eyes and allows the old die to breathe through his fingers. He holds it to his heart and sighs deeply.
“That’s it, darling. Just a dream, nothing to be so worked up over.”
He closes his eyes for a moment as he speaks, “You were there… in my dream.”
When he opens his eyes again, Eames is looking away and at the ground, “I wanted to see what you were dreaming about.”
“So you weren’t a projection?”
“No. I considered stepping in but…” He trails off.
“What?”
“We’re all too cocky. I thought that it might do you some good to get a bit of fear.”
“You bastard!” He’s sitting up and his die is clenched tightly, “So you let me think that I was going to spend the rest of my life in prison? That all of my friends were going to be targeted?” He is breathing heavily, “That doesn’t even matter, why the hell where you in my dream?”
Eames is silent and he is still looking away.
“You invaded my privacy, I think I deserve an explanation.”
“Let’s just forget about the whole thing.”
“Answer the god damn question, Eames.”
“Fine. I just wanted to see what you were like when you weren’t, ‘the point man.’”
“… You could have just asked.”
There’s a silence in the room now and he’s simply looking at Eames. The Forger is staring at the wall, his face down cast and miserable. He doesn’t look like he usually does because there is a seriousness to him and a silence. Although his privacy was impeached, he feels a certain amount of sympathy for him. He remembers the look they shared in his dream, the way that for one moment, it was only them.
He speaks and he feels foolish so his voice is low, “Robert?”
Eames eyes flicker up, “Who?”
“No one,” he is smiling broadly because he really did think that he could have guessed his name. There is a ring to, ‘Robert Eames,’ which delights him. Eames is suddenly smiling as well because he has guessed why the name was spoken and in what context it was used.
“Nice try,” says the man as turns to face Arthur.
“I thought it sounded right.”
“Nope.”
“So what is your name?”
“Hmm, it’s something.”
He rolls his eyes and then, they are smiling at each other and there is shared affection between them, which nearly melts his heart.
“My back hurts.”
~
:D
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