inception fic: 'we were nothing, we were everything' - 2/3
we were nothing, we were everything 2/3, ariadne(arthur/ariadne), PG
She hadn’t understood that this was simply one job. That they weren’t really a team but artists crafted together to build one moment and were free to move onto the next.
1,186 words, post-film
written for Song Writing Ficathon, album: madonna - something to remember, song: you'll see
A/N: I swore that this was only going to be two parts but then when I finished it, it was over 4500 words and I thought it better broken. It's complete but I broke it here and won't wait another week to post the last bit. Thank you to liltoomuch for the beta!
Part 1
It’s been over a year since the Fischer job and she thinks she’s ready to get back in the game.
+
The moments after she entered the taxi hung in her memory as a distinct blur. She had to over tip the cabbie, apologizing over and over for the short trip up from Arrivals to Departures. Stumbling to the British Airways counter, she had been dismayed to learn that the only flight to Charles De Gaulle wasn’t leaving until later than evening and she would have to fly through Heathrow. Booking the flight, she killed the day eating and making plans for her return.
She hadn’t understood why the sense of urgency was there, but she just knew that time was important. She had to get back to Paris and then get out of there as quickly as she could. She didn’t question the fierce need to hurry, (go, go, go) pushing her to get back to Paris. She just knew that it was important that she get there, and then get gone just as quickly.
Exhausted, she had made her way to the warehouse they had used as their base of operations, the place that she had started to think of as home. She pushed back the threat of tears as she glanced through the sweeping room, taking in the strewn chairs, coffee mugs and disarray of papers. Already, it had the tinge of abandonment and a shade of loneliness to it. God, had it only been less than forty-eight hours since she had last stood here?
Moving quickly, she grabbed an empty box from a corner and started to move her belongings from the table she had worked at into the box. Scarves, pencils, sketch books and a chipped coffee mug all went in the box, rapidly filling up. It was when she picked up the last sketch book that she noticed another note peeking out from the corner. Dreading the contents of this note, she gathered her breath and let it out on an exhale when she realized it was from Eames.
It contained a phone number, an email address and an address in London. Sorry and Emergency were the only other words written.
She almost broke down then.
+
She hadn’t wanted Arthur to find her (which was silly considering A, he probably wasn’t looking for her and B, that was kind of what he did) so she had only stayed in her flat in Paris for a few days. Just enough time to drop out of the rest of her classes and find a place in London to stay. She was paranoid enough that she bought a roundtrip Eurostar ticket to London and back. Though she had no intention of returning to Paris in the near future, she had wanted to give the impression (not that anyone was looking) that she was coming back.
In London, she sort of drifted. She had more money than she could spend and she wasn’t really the shopping spree kind of girl. Her desire for school had waned after LA and for the first time in her life, felt unthethered to anything. She realized that she had not a single connection to anything (or anyone) that mattered to her. Not with school, not with her parents, nothing and no one. It was a little bit unsettling and she reached into her pocket to clutch Eames’s note, the way she might have held her totem in weeks earlier.
A few months later, she gathered her courage and sent Eames a quick email from a café on Brick Lane. She wrote to let him know that she appreciated the contact information and that she wouldn’t bother him (often). She also let him know that she was fine and that she missed him (the fact that she missed Arthur was unspoken but she knew he would read the words). She let him assume that she was in Paris.
It was several weeks before she heard back from him; he had been on a job in Cairo, only just now getting back. He told her that he had worked with Yusuf again and that he was glad to be home. She figured Dom was out of the game for good, she had seen his face when he cleared customs, so she was curious who he was working with. But she didn’t ask and he hadn’t offered.
They wrote occasionally, with days and weeks passing without any word from the other. They settled into a casual friendship; she told him about being hired to do freelance drawings for an architecture firm (he had moaned at the waste of talent) and he told her that he was off to Ireland for another job (she laughed at him, knowing he preferred someplace just a bit warmer). He never once mentioned that he had worked with Arthur recently on a job in New York and again, she never asked.
It was easier for her that way.
+
Eames stood up from his chair, almost knocking it over in his haste. Arthur glanced his way simply because the movement had caught his eye, but just as quickly, turned away from the forger. They were back in Paris; another mark that needed Eames special talent. It wasn’t that Arthur didn’t like Eames; he just hated how quickly the forger could get under his skin. He knew just which buttons to press to cause him annoyance and being back in Paris reminded him of things (or was it someone) he wanted to forget.
He was ready to start this job, the quicker they started the sooner he could leave this city behind.
“I’m off, having dinner with a mate.” Eames grabbed his coat, which had been draped alongside the back of his chair.
Arthur looked at his watch, “It’s two. Aren’t you a bit early for dinner?”
Eames smiled like the Cheshire cat and Arthur knew, just knew, he was in trouble. “Yeah, she’s in London tonight and I need to look good for her. Plus, I don’t want to miss the rail over.”
Ariadne.
Arthur sucked in his breath, letting it out slowly. “You’ve kept in touch?” He clenched his fist under the table waiting for the other man’s answer.
“Yeah, she’s traveling; doing bits of this and that. She’s in London tonight; our schedules seem to mesh a bit.”
Arthur knew Eames was baiting him, purposely being vague about how much he really knew. He wanted nothing more than to reach over and beat the information out of him but he knew that’s what Eames wanted. So, he shrugged his shoulders and turned back to his work, eyes seeing nothing.
“Maybe we could ask her for this one? We could use a good architect.” Eames kept pushing.
“She not just good and you know it.” Arthur rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension from them. “We’re fine, we don’t need her. We’ll call Jackson.”
Eames all but rolled his eyes but decided to let it go. He hoped it had been enough since honestly; he was tired of the two of them.
Part 3
She hadn’t understood that this was simply one job. That they weren’t really a team but artists crafted together to build one moment and were free to move onto the next.
1,186 words, post-film
written for Song Writing Ficathon, album: madonna - something to remember, song: you'll see
A/N: I swore that this was only going to be two parts but then when I finished it, it was over 4500 words and I thought it better broken. It's complete but I broke it here and won't wait another week to post the last bit. Thank you to liltoomuch for the beta!
Part 1
It’s been over a year since the Fischer job and she thinks she’s ready to get back in the game.
+
The moments after she entered the taxi hung in her memory as a distinct blur. She had to over tip the cabbie, apologizing over and over for the short trip up from Arrivals to Departures. Stumbling to the British Airways counter, she had been dismayed to learn that the only flight to Charles De Gaulle wasn’t leaving until later than evening and she would have to fly through Heathrow. Booking the flight, she killed the day eating and making plans for her return.
She hadn’t understood why the sense of urgency was there, but she just knew that time was important. She had to get back to Paris and then get out of there as quickly as she could. She didn’t question the fierce need to hurry, (go, go, go) pushing her to get back to Paris. She just knew that it was important that she get there, and then get gone just as quickly.
Exhausted, she had made her way to the warehouse they had used as their base of operations, the place that she had started to think of as home. She pushed back the threat of tears as she glanced through the sweeping room, taking in the strewn chairs, coffee mugs and disarray of papers. Already, it had the tinge of abandonment and a shade of loneliness to it. God, had it only been less than forty-eight hours since she had last stood here?
Moving quickly, she grabbed an empty box from a corner and started to move her belongings from the table she had worked at into the box. Scarves, pencils, sketch books and a chipped coffee mug all went in the box, rapidly filling up. It was when she picked up the last sketch book that she noticed another note peeking out from the corner. Dreading the contents of this note, she gathered her breath and let it out on an exhale when she realized it was from Eames.
It contained a phone number, an email address and an address in London. Sorry and Emergency were the only other words written.
She almost broke down then.
+
She hadn’t wanted Arthur to find her (which was silly considering A, he probably wasn’t looking for her and B, that was kind of what he did) so she had only stayed in her flat in Paris for a few days. Just enough time to drop out of the rest of her classes and find a place in London to stay. She was paranoid enough that she bought a roundtrip Eurostar ticket to London and back. Though she had no intention of returning to Paris in the near future, she had wanted to give the impression (not that anyone was looking) that she was coming back.
In London, she sort of drifted. She had more money than she could spend and she wasn’t really the shopping spree kind of girl. Her desire for school had waned after LA and for the first time in her life, felt unthethered to anything. She realized that she had not a single connection to anything (or anyone) that mattered to her. Not with school, not with her parents, nothing and no one. It was a little bit unsettling and she reached into her pocket to clutch Eames’s note, the way she might have held her totem in weeks earlier.
A few months later, she gathered her courage and sent Eames a quick email from a café on Brick Lane. She wrote to let him know that she appreciated the contact information and that she wouldn’t bother him (often). She also let him know that she was fine and that she missed him (the fact that she missed Arthur was unspoken but she knew he would read the words). She let him assume that she was in Paris.
It was several weeks before she heard back from him; he had been on a job in Cairo, only just now getting back. He told her that he had worked with Yusuf again and that he was glad to be home. She figured Dom was out of the game for good, she had seen his face when he cleared customs, so she was curious who he was working with. But she didn’t ask and he hadn’t offered.
They wrote occasionally, with days and weeks passing without any word from the other. They settled into a casual friendship; she told him about being hired to do freelance drawings for an architecture firm (he had moaned at the waste of talent) and he told her that he was off to Ireland for another job (she laughed at him, knowing he preferred someplace just a bit warmer). He never once mentioned that he had worked with Arthur recently on a job in New York and again, she never asked.
It was easier for her that way.
+
Eames stood up from his chair, almost knocking it over in his haste. Arthur glanced his way simply because the movement had caught his eye, but just as quickly, turned away from the forger. They were back in Paris; another mark that needed Eames special talent. It wasn’t that Arthur didn’t like Eames; he just hated how quickly the forger could get under his skin. He knew just which buttons to press to cause him annoyance and being back in Paris reminded him of things (or was it someone) he wanted to forget.
He was ready to start this job, the quicker they started the sooner he could leave this city behind.
“I’m off, having dinner with a mate.” Eames grabbed his coat, which had been draped alongside the back of his chair.
Arthur looked at his watch, “It’s two. Aren’t you a bit early for dinner?”
Eames smiled like the Cheshire cat and Arthur knew, just knew, he was in trouble. “Yeah, she’s in London tonight and I need to look good for her. Plus, I don’t want to miss the rail over.”
Ariadne.
Arthur sucked in his breath, letting it out slowly. “You’ve kept in touch?” He clenched his fist under the table waiting for the other man’s answer.
“Yeah, she’s traveling; doing bits of this and that. She’s in London tonight; our schedules seem to mesh a bit.”
Arthur knew Eames was baiting him, purposely being vague about how much he really knew. He wanted nothing more than to reach over and beat the information out of him but he knew that’s what Eames wanted. So, he shrugged his shoulders and turned back to his work, eyes seeing nothing.
“Maybe we could ask her for this one? We could use a good architect.” Eames kept pushing.
“She not just good and you know it.” Arthur rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension from them. “We’re fine, we don’t need her. We’ll call Jackson.”
Eames all but rolled his eyes but decided to let it go. He hoped it had been enough since honestly; he was tired of the two of them.
Part 3