heart bugs 4/10 [inception]
Title: heart bugs 4/10
Fandom: Inception
Summary: Insanity, he assumed, was in her blood.
Pairing(s): Arthur/Mal, Cobb/Mal
Rating: R
Notes: Another part! Hurrah! cork118 is awesome. I'll have the fifth part done soonish. New layout!
four
you'll kill yourself to find anything at all
No one talked about that day. It made it easier to forget, really. Arthur didn't want to be reminded of the fear that Mal would never wake up. He didn't want to remember James and Phillipa's faces while they watched their parents sleep. All of that he wrote off as a nightmare he had and could forget with time.
In the end, it became his only dream and he woke each night in a cold sweat, the feel of a gun in his hand and the sight of a bullet in their brains.
"Thanks for being there," was all Cobb said - and really, it was all Arthur could ask for. He didn't need long-winded apologies or explanations. Cobb had talked enough the morning they woke up. And he'd lied. Arthur didn't need any more. The only way to wake up from limbo, he assumed, was to die.
He could only think of one real way to do that.
Mal came to his apartment a month later, thinner than ever. She had James on her hip and he was sleeping.
"Tea?" she said. Arthur nodded and pulled a kettle from the cabinet. Mal laid her son on the couch and slid into one of the chairs at the table. She looked around and smiled. "It's so different than the one we had."
"We didn't share it," Arthur said absent-mindedly. "It was mine. You crashed there. Every day." Mal laughed and it was real and like the one she used to have. He remembered her, hunched over French novels with a mug of coffee in her hand, complaining about American buses and American food and everything was so American she'd say before shaking her head and putting out her cigarette on the coffee table.
"Well, it was nice. Small, but nice." Arthur set the tea in front of her and she latched onto his wrist, sliding her fingers down his palm and threading them through his own. He shivered. She noticed. "You love me, don't you Arthur?" He pulled away and made his own mug. James stirred on the couch but continued to sleep.
"Maybe you should go."
"Dom is lost," she whispered, running her thumb around the rim of the mug. She got up and stood next to him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and sipping her tea. "He thinks this is real, but it isn't."
"What?" Arthur couldn't have heard her right. He turned and she caught his lips with her own. Like clockwork, Arthur's hands moved down her back, pressing her close without really thinking. It was just like it used to be, almost seven years ago. Natural and easy and it just makes sense he thought, tongue lingering over her bottom teeth, feeling her hands on the back of his head.
"Arthur," she murmured. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. Would you kiss me if this were reality?"
He pulled back, tongue and lips suddenly burnt, his vision blurring at the corners.
"Mal. This is reality." She gave him a gentle smile, just like the one she used to use when he acted so very young around her. Like he just didn't understand. And for a moment, Arthur thought that maybe he didn't understand. Because nothing she was saying made any sense.
She ran her hand down his arm and went to the sofa, lifting James from the cushions. "I'll see you tomorrow, Arthur."
Long after she was gone, Arthur stood in the kitchen, running her words through his head over and over again.
would you kiss me if this were reality?
Arthur didn't say anything to Cobb about Mal's kiss or the visit. He didn't find it necessary because it only proved what they were all thinking - she was losing it.
It was a slow undoing, really. Beautiful in its tragedy. Arthur wondered what kind of man that made him, to find the lovely lines in Mal's departure from reality. He could trace it back, back to nights in his bed when they were sweat-sticky teenagers, lingering over scars and memories. She would say nonsense, even when she seemed so right with the world.
Arthur didn't blame himself because insanity, he had assumed, was in her blood.
Now he knows it's in her dreams, too.
"If I jump, will I die?"
It was her favorite phrase and she used to say it to scare him when they would walk along bridges.
"Don't say that," Arthur muttered while they had lunch on the roof of his apartment building. Cobb had gone to get the wine chilling in the fridge. They were trying to be normal, but Mal was making it difficult.
"I suppose I'll just wake up."
"Mal-" Cobb returned with the wine and a smile that wasn't his own, pouring them each a glass and making a joke about God-sent babysitters. He asked about Eames.
"We're not pen pals," Arthur said, more viciously than he'd intended. But no one noticed. Mal was staring absently at the bottle of wine and began murmuring softly in French. Cobb had only learned enough to get by, but Arthur had become fluent during a long job in Paris. French didn't do him any good in New York, but he appreciated the knowledge. The fact that he shared something with Mal had always been comforting. Now it made him sick.
He excused himself and sat in his room on his bed until he heard Cobb and Mal leave, her high voice still calling to him in French, saying all the things he wished she wouldn't.
you love me, i know you do. if you love me, you'll wake me up. if you want me to be happy, you'll wake me up. you'll wake me up.
you'll wake me up, arthur. someday.
Mal came back to his apartment the next evening, without James or Cobb or anything at all. Arthur opened the door and knew what was going to happen before it ever did, leaning into her kisses with hunger and terror and hope. Hope that this could fix her. Hope that he could fix her. That he could stop the French ramblings that insisted she was dreaming (dying) and that he could save her with a single bullet.
"You love me," she whispered.
"Yes." He sealed his fate.
Beneath her he came undone. Mal tore into him like a vulture, and she almost looked like one, too, perched on the top of his hips, lowering herself down onto him, fingers splayed across his chest. She spoke in muted, slurred French, but he couldn't understand. His voice was a string of curses and pleas and apologies. It was a prayer to go back.
Arthur wanted to be eighteen again. Young and sitting across from a beautiful girl in a coffee shop, talking about life and knowing things and smoking until one A.M. in his bed and making love on the balcony without inhibition. He would go further back and never meet her if he could - if he could stop all of this and make her well again.
She came with a gasp and he was not far behind her. When she fell asleep next to him, Arthur thought for the first time about Cobb and, for a moment, he didn't feel like the man he knew Cobb thought he was.
After a while, that man didn't matter anymore.
They fucked once more, in the early morning, and then she was gone. Arthur felt hollowed out and ragged, like she'd come in with a paring knife and taken everything from him. He realized then that he didn't love her.
But he loved that she thought he did.
Fandom: Inception
Summary: Insanity, he assumed, was in her blood.
Pairing(s): Arthur/Mal, Cobb/Mal
Rating: R
Notes: Another part! Hurrah! cork118 is awesome. I'll have the fifth part done soonish. New layout!
four
you'll kill yourself to find anything at all
No one talked about that day. It made it easier to forget, really. Arthur didn't want to be reminded of the fear that Mal would never wake up. He didn't want to remember James and Phillipa's faces while they watched their parents sleep. All of that he wrote off as a nightmare he had and could forget with time.
In the end, it became his only dream and he woke each night in a cold sweat, the feel of a gun in his hand and the sight of a bullet in their brains.
"Thanks for being there," was all Cobb said - and really, it was all Arthur could ask for. He didn't need long-winded apologies or explanations. Cobb had talked enough the morning they woke up. And he'd lied. Arthur didn't need any more. The only way to wake up from limbo, he assumed, was to die.
He could only think of one real way to do that.
Mal came to his apartment a month later, thinner than ever. She had James on her hip and he was sleeping.
"Tea?" she said. Arthur nodded and pulled a kettle from the cabinet. Mal laid her son on the couch and slid into one of the chairs at the table. She looked around and smiled. "It's so different than the one we had."
"We didn't share it," Arthur said absent-mindedly. "It was mine. You crashed there. Every day." Mal laughed and it was real and like the one she used to have. He remembered her, hunched over French novels with a mug of coffee in her hand, complaining about American buses and American food and everything was so American she'd say before shaking her head and putting out her cigarette on the coffee table.
"Well, it was nice. Small, but nice." Arthur set the tea in front of her and she latched onto his wrist, sliding her fingers down his palm and threading them through his own. He shivered. She noticed. "You love me, don't you Arthur?" He pulled away and made his own mug. James stirred on the couch but continued to sleep.
"Maybe you should go."
"Dom is lost," she whispered, running her thumb around the rim of the mug. She got up and stood next to him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and sipping her tea. "He thinks this is real, but it isn't."
"What?" Arthur couldn't have heard her right. He turned and she caught his lips with her own. Like clockwork, Arthur's hands moved down her back, pressing her close without really thinking. It was just like it used to be, almost seven years ago. Natural and easy and it just makes sense he thought, tongue lingering over her bottom teeth, feeling her hands on the back of his head.
"Arthur," she murmured. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. Would you kiss me if this were reality?"
He pulled back, tongue and lips suddenly burnt, his vision blurring at the corners.
"Mal. This is reality." She gave him a gentle smile, just like the one she used to use when he acted so very young around her. Like he just didn't understand. And for a moment, Arthur thought that maybe he didn't understand. Because nothing she was saying made any sense.
She ran her hand down his arm and went to the sofa, lifting James from the cushions. "I'll see you tomorrow, Arthur."
Long after she was gone, Arthur stood in the kitchen, running her words through his head over and over again.
would you kiss me if this were reality?
Arthur didn't say anything to Cobb about Mal's kiss or the visit. He didn't find it necessary because it only proved what they were all thinking - she was losing it.
It was a slow undoing, really. Beautiful in its tragedy. Arthur wondered what kind of man that made him, to find the lovely lines in Mal's departure from reality. He could trace it back, back to nights in his bed when they were sweat-sticky teenagers, lingering over scars and memories. She would say nonsense, even when she seemed so right with the world.
Arthur didn't blame himself because insanity, he had assumed, was in her blood.
Now he knows it's in her dreams, too.
"If I jump, will I die?"
It was her favorite phrase and she used to say it to scare him when they would walk along bridges.
"Don't say that," Arthur muttered while they had lunch on the roof of his apartment building. Cobb had gone to get the wine chilling in the fridge. They were trying to be normal, but Mal was making it difficult.
"I suppose I'll just wake up."
"Mal-" Cobb returned with the wine and a smile that wasn't his own, pouring them each a glass and making a joke about God-sent babysitters. He asked about Eames.
"We're not pen pals," Arthur said, more viciously than he'd intended. But no one noticed. Mal was staring absently at the bottle of wine and began murmuring softly in French. Cobb had only learned enough to get by, but Arthur had become fluent during a long job in Paris. French didn't do him any good in New York, but he appreciated the knowledge. The fact that he shared something with Mal had always been comforting. Now it made him sick.
He excused himself and sat in his room on his bed until he heard Cobb and Mal leave, her high voice still calling to him in French, saying all the things he wished she wouldn't.
you love me, i know you do. if you love me, you'll wake me up. if you want me to be happy, you'll wake me up. you'll wake me up.
you'll wake me up, arthur. someday.
Mal came back to his apartment the next evening, without James or Cobb or anything at all. Arthur opened the door and knew what was going to happen before it ever did, leaning into her kisses with hunger and terror and hope. Hope that this could fix her. Hope that he could fix her. That he could stop the French ramblings that insisted she was dreaming (dying) and that he could save her with a single bullet.
"You love me," she whispered.
"Yes." He sealed his fate.
Beneath her he came undone. Mal tore into him like a vulture, and she almost looked like one, too, perched on the top of his hips, lowering herself down onto him, fingers splayed across his chest. She spoke in muted, slurred French, but he couldn't understand. His voice was a string of curses and pleas and apologies. It was a prayer to go back.
Arthur wanted to be eighteen again. Young and sitting across from a beautiful girl in a coffee shop, talking about life and knowing things and smoking until one A.M. in his bed and making love on the balcony without inhibition. He would go further back and never meet her if he could - if he could stop all of this and make her well again.
She came with a gasp and he was not far behind her. When she fell asleep next to him, Arthur thought for the first time about Cobb and, for a moment, he didn't feel like the man he knew Cobb thought he was.
After a while, that man didn't matter anymore.
They fucked once more, in the early morning, and then she was gone. Arthur felt hollowed out and ragged, like she'd come in with a paring knife and taken everything from him. He realized then that he didn't love her.
But he loved that she thought he did.