Touch Me | Inception | PG | Ariadne/Dom
Title: Touch Me
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Ariadne/Dom
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Four ways Dr. Dom Cobb touches people.
A/N: This was inspired by the Hospital AU prompt at inception_kink. There's now a tag on my journal that reads au: the real mcdreamy. HAH I couldn't resist. And we all know that Cobb is the true McDreamy. har har har.... shutting up now. But yeah. If you want to read the Hospital AU, that's the tag you'll want to click.
Ariadne spends a lot of time watching Dom Cobb. As an intern, a lot of what her job entails is watching her resident open up another human being, reach around inside the body, and pull out a foreign object or tumor. His hands are so deft and precise that it is almost as if they were never there at all. Watching Dom Cobb operate is like watching a magician saw his lovely assistant in half: you know that in the end, the sawed girl will be put back together again. Except Dom uses a scalpel. And he's no magician.
There's a precision in the way Dom cuts a body open; it's easy to see a steadiness in his hand earned from years of intense training in the operating room. Dom handles patients on the operating table the way the want to be handled: confidently.
-
It's different when he talks to the families. It's different when he talks to patients.
Pressed under the surface is the cool, hard, pristine Dom Cobb. What emerges is a surprising mix of sympathy and warmth that Ariadne was once surprised to find in him. The way he grasps the shaking hand of a grieving mother. The strength the families seem to absorb from him when he's forced to tell them that the kidneys are no longer viable.
Ariadne's actually witnessed patients thanking Dom Cobb after being informed that they were going to die.
"How do you do that," Ariadne asks him in wonderment after leaving an older woman dying with pancreatic cancer who had just been allotted a mere six months to live. Cobb glances at her.
"Do what?" he asks.
"That woman thanked you. She thanked you for telling her that she was going to die," Ariadne gushes. "I think I would have kicked you in the teeth, if it were me."
"Would you have, now," Cobb mutters. Ariadne looks at him expectantly. Cobb sighs. "I don't know. I think a lot of the time the patients are thankful when you tell them the truth." Ariadne raises an eyebrow, and Cobb nods. "Sometimes they're not, you're right. But usually, they seem to appreciate our honesty." He stops. "I hate lying to patients, even lying by omission. It strikes me as wrong." Cobb gives her a sad, crooked grin: "But there's not exactly a rule book on how to tell someone they're dying, Ariadne. You learn as you go."
"I actually think there is," Ariadne says, bemused, recalling a book in the medical school bookstore called Bedside Manner for the Mortally Ill. "Dr. Cobb," she continues on as they round the corner, unwilling to drop the subject as he seemed so desperate to. "You do this thing... every time. You just, I dunno, reach out and squeeze their arm or hand. It's like the second you touch them... they know."
Cobb has stopped walking, and Ariadne skids to a halt, turning around. He's staring at her with an odd expression on his face.
"I think touch is an excellent way to imbibe strength," he says to her, almost defensively. "And what, exactly, do they know?"
Ariadne doesn't look him in the eye when she mutters the following: "That everything will be okay... even if they aren't."
-
Within his group friends, Dom Cobb offers reassuring handshakes, loving pats on the back. He doesn't high five, but will stare at you in an amused fashion until, wavering, the attemptee lets his hand fall back to his side (Eames learned this the hard way; this, and the sad fact that he and Dom Cobb were not friends).
Ariadne sees the way that Cobb's friends orbit him like small planets, with Cobb as the bright star pulling them all in... but still, somehow, millions of miles away from the rest of his compatriots.
She is beginning to understand the reason why people stare at the sun: it might hurt, but it's too damn beautiful to look away.
-
Dom Cobb has many different kinds of touches, but Ariadne's favorite, as you might have guessed, is the one he bestows on her.
There is no professional nature to this touch. No kind bravado placed in his fingertips, meant to transfer from his body to her own. There's a different kind of friendship reserved for the way that he touches her.
She's standing on the roof of the hospital one night, contemplating a pack of cigarettes she had confiscated from Eames ("Fucking hell, man, you're a doctor... try to act like one, yeah?") when she hears him opening the creaky door that reads "Rooftop Access." She doesn't turn to him. She knows his identity from the sound of his breath. He says nothing, just settles himself behind her, creating one line with their bodies. She lets out a sigh and leans into him, feeling small beneath his bulky frame.
"I took these from Eames," she tells him mischievously. Dom palms the pack from her hand and tosses them aside, lacing their fingers together. The feeling of his skin on hers is a soothing balm to a decidedly dreadful day.
"Doesn't he know those things will kill him some day?" she asks Dom softly, concern in her voice. She can practically feel him rolling his eyes at her.
"Do we really have to talk about Eames right now?" Cobb murmurs, ducking his head into the crook of her neck. He presses his lips against her cheek and she turns toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck (barely; the height difference was difficult to navigate at times). On tip toes, she leans in and presses her mouth against his own. She feels his hands drift under the hem of her scrubs, dancing along her back, warm and strong. Finally, he brings a trailing finger down the side of her cheek, and Ariadne almost whimpers at the sweetness of it all.
He touches her as if she's fragile, as if he knows what it's like to break someone; as if he knows what it's like to try and fail to piece someone back together.
She doesn't ask him about his past lovers. She know where the boundaries are.
She thinks he loves her for treading along the fences of his heart, never daring to breach them. Sometimes it kills her to do so. But she's long ago decided that his touch is worth every moment of self-sacrifice. It may not be healthy, but this life suits her just fine.
He hugs her into his side.
She squeezes his fingers lightly before leading them both back into the hospital. Once they're inside, they maintain their wide-berth-no-exceptions-in-front-of-attendings rule.
She grazes his knuckles with her own before running off to a page. She feels like such a rebel.
She loves the way he touches her, even if it hurts.
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Ariadne/Dom
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Four ways Dr. Dom Cobb touches people.
A/N: This was inspired by the Hospital AU prompt at inception_kink. There's now a tag on my journal that reads au: the real mcdreamy. HAH I couldn't resist. And we all know that Cobb is the true McDreamy. har har har.... shutting up now. But yeah. If you want to read the Hospital AU, that's the tag you'll want to click.
Ariadne spends a lot of time watching Dom Cobb. As an intern, a lot of what her job entails is watching her resident open up another human being, reach around inside the body, and pull out a foreign object or tumor. His hands are so deft and precise that it is almost as if they were never there at all. Watching Dom Cobb operate is like watching a magician saw his lovely assistant in half: you know that in the end, the sawed girl will be put back together again. Except Dom uses a scalpel. And he's no magician.
There's a precision in the way Dom cuts a body open; it's easy to see a steadiness in his hand earned from years of intense training in the operating room. Dom handles patients on the operating table the way the want to be handled: confidently.
-
It's different when he talks to the families. It's different when he talks to patients.
Pressed under the surface is the cool, hard, pristine Dom Cobb. What emerges is a surprising mix of sympathy and warmth that Ariadne was once surprised to find in him. The way he grasps the shaking hand of a grieving mother. The strength the families seem to absorb from him when he's forced to tell them that the kidneys are no longer viable.
Ariadne's actually witnessed patients thanking Dom Cobb after being informed that they were going to die.
"How do you do that," Ariadne asks him in wonderment after leaving an older woman dying with pancreatic cancer who had just been allotted a mere six months to live. Cobb glances at her.
"Do what?" he asks.
"That woman thanked you. She thanked you for telling her that she was going to die," Ariadne gushes. "I think I would have kicked you in the teeth, if it were me."
"Would you have, now," Cobb mutters. Ariadne looks at him expectantly. Cobb sighs. "I don't know. I think a lot of the time the patients are thankful when you tell them the truth." Ariadne raises an eyebrow, and Cobb nods. "Sometimes they're not, you're right. But usually, they seem to appreciate our honesty." He stops. "I hate lying to patients, even lying by omission. It strikes me as wrong." Cobb gives her a sad, crooked grin: "But there's not exactly a rule book on how to tell someone they're dying, Ariadne. You learn as you go."
"I actually think there is," Ariadne says, bemused, recalling a book in the medical school bookstore called Bedside Manner for the Mortally Ill. "Dr. Cobb," she continues on as they round the corner, unwilling to drop the subject as he seemed so desperate to. "You do this thing... every time. You just, I dunno, reach out and squeeze their arm or hand. It's like the second you touch them... they know."
Cobb has stopped walking, and Ariadne skids to a halt, turning around. He's staring at her with an odd expression on his face.
"I think touch is an excellent way to imbibe strength," he says to her, almost defensively. "And what, exactly, do they know?"
Ariadne doesn't look him in the eye when she mutters the following: "That everything will be okay... even if they aren't."
-
Within his group friends, Dom Cobb offers reassuring handshakes, loving pats on the back. He doesn't high five, but will stare at you in an amused fashion until, wavering, the attemptee lets his hand fall back to his side (Eames learned this the hard way; this, and the sad fact that he and Dom Cobb were not friends).
Ariadne sees the way that Cobb's friends orbit him like small planets, with Cobb as the bright star pulling them all in... but still, somehow, millions of miles away from the rest of his compatriots.
She is beginning to understand the reason why people stare at the sun: it might hurt, but it's too damn beautiful to look away.
-
Dom Cobb has many different kinds of touches, but Ariadne's favorite, as you might have guessed, is the one he bestows on her.
There is no professional nature to this touch. No kind bravado placed in his fingertips, meant to transfer from his body to her own. There's a different kind of friendship reserved for the way that he touches her.
She's standing on the roof of the hospital one night, contemplating a pack of cigarettes she had confiscated from Eames ("Fucking hell, man, you're a doctor... try to act like one, yeah?") when she hears him opening the creaky door that reads "Rooftop Access." She doesn't turn to him. She knows his identity from the sound of his breath. He says nothing, just settles himself behind her, creating one line with their bodies. She lets out a sigh and leans into him, feeling small beneath his bulky frame.
"I took these from Eames," she tells him mischievously. Dom palms the pack from her hand and tosses them aside, lacing their fingers together. The feeling of his skin on hers is a soothing balm to a decidedly dreadful day.
"Doesn't he know those things will kill him some day?" she asks Dom softly, concern in her voice. She can practically feel him rolling his eyes at her.
"Do we really have to talk about Eames right now?" Cobb murmurs, ducking his head into the crook of her neck. He presses his lips against her cheek and she turns toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck (barely; the height difference was difficult to navigate at times). On tip toes, she leans in and presses her mouth against his own. She feels his hands drift under the hem of her scrubs, dancing along her back, warm and strong. Finally, he brings a trailing finger down the side of her cheek, and Ariadne almost whimpers at the sweetness of it all.
He touches her as if she's fragile, as if he knows what it's like to break someone; as if he knows what it's like to try and fail to piece someone back together.
She doesn't ask him about his past lovers. She know where the boundaries are.
She thinks he loves her for treading along the fences of his heart, never daring to breach them. Sometimes it kills her to do so. But she's long ago decided that his touch is worth every moment of self-sacrifice. It may not be healthy, but this life suits her just fine.
He hugs her into his side.
She squeezes his fingers lightly before leading them both back into the hospital. Once they're inside, they maintain their wide-berth-no-exceptions-in-front-of-attendings rule.
She grazes his knuckles with her own before running off to a page. She feels like such a rebel.
She loves the way he touches her, even if it hurts.