Fanfiction - ENJAMBMENT, Chapter 5 Down the shaft, part 1
Title: Enjambment, Chapter 5 Down the shaft, part 1
Characters: Ariadne/Dom, all the cast
Rating: T/ PG-13
Summary: It is about the gaps, the leaps of faith necessary to go from one line to the next. the lines don't break where you expect them to, and sometimes it doesn't go anywhere it was supposed to go. An Ariadne-centric story set on the plane before Dom wakes.
Disclaimer: Chris Nolan and WB owns everything. I just dream my little dream because they let me. This is my first ever fanfic so I would appreciate the feedback.
She stares at the column of numbers and letters. She doesn't move for several moments. She doesn't think. The small, dimly lit elevator was oddly comforting. Her hands grasped onto the bottom hem of her white jacket, and she realizes she's still wearing the outfit she wore on the plane.
There's no peace Topside. No space, no time to think. I'm horrible, using Arthur's… Ariadne's head cocks to the side, what is it? Affection? For me? Manipulating his loyalty to…I can't even allow myself to think his name.
He…said he would follow. (Ariadne stomps a foot in frustration) What is the freaking point of actually finding Saito if you lose yourself? What was all this for?
Ariadne's anger was rolling off her in waves, and she wasn't sure if it was really directed inward or out towards a man she knew more intimately than she wanted to. She lied to Arthur. She had allowed herself a false sense of certainty and bravado when she hit upon the idea that maybe going back to the scene of the crime would unlock a prison. But which scene?
She felt for her bishop through the fabric of her trouser pocket as she pushed the button "B".
####
Five in the afternoon was the best time for outdoor shots. This was the reason by Dom Cobb was kneeling in sand with a Nikon D90 against his face, his elbows jutting out like chicken wings so he can capture the interesting shadow shape James' hand made on Philippa's profile as they built their sand kingdom. "Kingdom" was a generous word, considering that they were on a new sand plot he had painstakingly dug into the backyard. It was a good six feet by six feet and with both children, their molding equipment and the actual structures in it there was barely any room for him.
It took him two weeks to plan out where to put it in the backyard, get all the equipment and sand from the nearest hardware store and actually dig. His interest in building in the real world meant he had actually dealt with contractors long before he decided he wanted to be an architect. Though he was irritated how often some of them seemed to just act as roadblocks to his creative impulses, he appreciated that the experiences with them meant he understood the practical problems and that one can't argue with physics and chemistry. If you get the wrong kind of sand or if you don't layer protective sheeting against the dirt pit wall the whole garden would suffer when it rained and the new sand would seep into the native dirt.
He stood up and dusted off the sand from his knees, making sure the camera lens was pointing away from any errant flying particles. He surveyed the garden and decided he wanted a wide shot that included the new sand plot. He stepped back onto the porch and adjusted the camera focus. He took a couple of shots, setting the viewfinder against his eye as he squints the other. He knew he had to upload all his takes on a computer so he can see the details but he impatiently pressed the view button anyway
His composition was good enough, he supposed. The children and the sand plot were on the lower left corner, and behind them was an unobstructed view of the relatively green valley below. The few trees in the garden were set against the upper right side of the shot. He was able to frame it so that the clouds bathed in sunset colors contrasted dramatically against the quiet simplicity of the garden below.
They bought this plot of land because of the view. It reminded Mal of the gentle hills of her native Nice, and after they moved permanently to the US once she was pregnant with James he wanted her to have a bit of home in a foreign land. He designed the house and was intimately involved in building it. It had been part of the recruitment pitch by the Agency. He built kingdoms for them in exchange for a safe family home in the real world.
After he got back, he didn't want to be apart from Philippa and James. It seemed for a while that they didn't believe he was there, so he stuck to them like glue. During the first month of his return, Miles and Claude stayed with them and made sure he adjusted back to living in the neighborhood again. He didn't get any calls from the Agency, which he considered a blessing. Saito's money was enough to last his family a good number of years as long as he didn't do anything extravagant. He occasionally watched TV but he didn't use the internet. He wasn't interested in finding out if the Inception took. He figured if it didn't he'd hear from Saito or worse there'd be cops dragging him away, but thankfully he's still here.
After they left to go back to France he kept to the small neighborhood stores for his shopping, sticking to people he knew or had been introduced to by his in-laws. Thank goodness they weren't old enough to demand they go to the mall. Apparently they weren't any new ones that sprung up while he was gone. He personally found the strip malls near his home a blight on the landscape. He just didn't like the crowds - or ugly buildings. The children would clamor for the beach often, but he oddly couldn't stomach the idea. He was starting to have an aversion to crowds and the beaches were always full of people. He felt like he was being watched there (maybe the Agency is tailing me?), like the world felt wrong. So he compromised with them and now there's a big sand pit in the yard. He felt that it was actually a welcome change to his home, it was something new that helped bring life back to his family.
He went back inside the house to get the camera cover lens, keeping his children in his eyeview through the window. He set the camera on the counter and proceeded to the refrigerator to defrost a package of frozen chicken breast in the microwave. He was planning a simple dish for supper, like chicken provencalé. It would nowhere be as authentic as Claude's or Mal's but James liked it. Philippa seemed to be humoring him, voicing in increasing frequency that she missed her grandmother's ratatouille. He couldn't get the texture right and it irked him that it took Claude to get the children to eat vegetables.
Miles had warned him over many a long-distance call that he was spoiling them, but what can he do? He missed them so much so he indulged their every whim. Almost every whim. He said no to theme parks, the beach, anywhere with a possibility of crowds gathering. He found suitable distractions that confined them to familiar places and he was surprised that they acquiesced all the time. He credited it to his long absence, but he was expecting the inevitable tantrum. Months passed, and none came. They would just ask for things with a quiet insistence, bringing up a missed treat or other request out of the blue then promptly forgetting.
The wall phone rang in the living room and Cobb jogged over to answer. "Hello?"
"Dom? It's Miles."
"Speak of the devil," Cobb chuckled. He cradled the phone on his shoulder as he looked at the nearby shelves. Evidence of his family's life were on display, from art books to his music collection, both in vinyl and CDs, to Philippa's first stuffed bunny (which was unceremoniously stuck between a nondescript box and a vase at the bottom shelf).
"I heard that Dom."
"So the weekend plans are pushing through?", inquired Cobb, absently fingering his music collection. At his eye level was his wedding picture, set in a simple silver frame.
"Yes, Claude is coming back to Paris after visiting in Nice. You know Dom… nothing is stopping you now from taking my grandchildren here to visit us."
Cobb's fingers froze, his eyes alighting on the cover of a CD. There was a familiar name on it, a name that would enter his mind occasionally.
"Anyway," Miles continued, "we have tickets and if you do decide we have two extra. They're staging the production again after, how long? Years Dom! You don't have to confine yourself to a CD or mp3 or whatever technogadget."
"I don't like airports. Or airplanes," Cobb replied brusquely, his voice low. "Plus I've been away from the States much too long for me to want to just leave…even with the children."
"I just thought I should try," apologized Miles. "Aside from Piaf, this opera was one of Mal's favorites. Given the circumstances, it is ironic… How are the children?"
"They're playing out in the yard. I'm just about to start on supper." Cobb noted the sudden change in topic, but refused to rise to the bait. He knew why Miles brought it up, he was holding the CD in his hand. Ever since he got back, he had cleared his mind of the past. This new calm made remembering Mal more pleasant, he no longer had violent dreams. He had no dreams anymore, but it wasn't new and now he felt at peace with that. It also meant that he refused to acknowledge anything related to Dreaming. And anyone.
"Dom, aren't you going to ask…"
"No." A beat passed, his eyes lifting from the CD cover to his wedding photo. "Miles, enjoy the weekend. Dress to the nines, and yes I know how ironic it is that it was one of Mal's favorites. I really need to start on supper but do you want me to get the children on the phone?"
"It's alright Dom, I just wanted to check if there was anyway we could get you on this side of the Atlantic. When you're ready…"
"I will come over," soothed Cobb. He hung up the phone and went back to the kitchen.
Just as he finished dicing the tomatoes Philippa came in and sat down on the stool by the kitchen work table, studying him. He got a glass of water and offered it to her, but she shook her head.
"What is it dear?"
Philippa's expression was too dark for a six year old. He put the rim of the glass on his lips, drinking the cool liquid. In a tone from long ago Philippa said, "Grandma said you weren't coming back."
Cobb sputtered and coughed as water went down the wrong tube in his shock.
####
The warm, lemon yellow room was luxurious and pristine, inviting. She held on to the steel grills as she stepped off the elevator.
This is unexpected.
There were no traces of broken glass on the carpeting, the windows were closed and the hotel suite was in absolute order. Even the flowers on the side table smelled fresh.
She walked through the room, letting her hands graze against the surfaces of the furniture, the flowers, the curtain. She gazed at the window and considered opening it. A cough behind her startled her and she turns around.
####
Ariadne stared at an empty seating area. She cocked her head in the direction of the suite's bedroom doors and heard nothing. Knowing where she was, she knew something or someone had to be with her and proceeded to investigate.
She was slightly hesitant to open the door in case she walked into something intimate but the silence made her brave. Again the room was empty and the bed was immaculate. No sounds of running water in the adjoining bathroom, and the final room in the suite yielded nothing.
Having completed her circuit, she returned to the seating area and sat down facing the window. She felt that she had hidden a secret…something here, in a memory that didn't belong to her. This was where she was confronted with the full gravity of his neuroses. This was where she understood him.
She heard soft giggles somewhere behind her and Ariadne turned her head around wildly, expecting an attack. The suite was still empty save for her.
"You're playing tricks on me! Just come out and say what you want to say!," she barked out at the room. The room did not answer back.
Ariadne decided she had enough and stalked back to the open elevator, grabbing onto the steel grate to close it. But it wouldn't close, stuck despite all her effort. Leaving one hand on the grills, she placed the other hand on her hip as she surveyed the suite. What was I supposed to understand here?
"Do you know what it is to be a lover?"
The thought came unbidden, and she placed her hands on her head as she frantically scanned her surroundings.
"Have you ever been half of a whole?"
Ariadne was panicking, because the voice in her head was unexpected. It was her own voice.
I don't need or care to be half of a whole. I don't need to be half of just any whole. I am more than that - I have always been whole.
That was when the steel grate involuntarily unjammed, hitting her on her side. She stepped behind the grills and closed it all the way, the metal clanging sound echoing all around her. She gazed into the suite in front of her once more, feeling no more apprehension.
Mal was standing there, serene, in a bright blue halter top dress. She smiled and waved, and for the first time Ariadne truly saw that she was indeed lovely. She pressed the first floor button and as the elevator climbed up, Ariadne heard the words "Get him home."
####
Philippa's countenance seemed absurdly grim. She held her hands together in front of her on the tabletop, patiently waiting for her father to recover.
"Philippa, I don't know why you're bringing this up but I'm here," Cobb said in a reassuring voice as he held his daughter's hands in his own.
"You're not really here," Philippa intoned with a sadness that shouldn't belong to her. "Did your pictures turn out ok?"
"I haven't checked them on the computer. Honey, what's wrong? Do you want me to stop making supper and come back out there and play with you? Wait… why did you leave your brother alone in the yard?"
Cobb went back to the backyard in a bit of a panic, scooped up James protesting not done, not done the whole while. He dumped him next to his sister in the kitchen.
"Philippa, James is only three! You know better than to leave him alone," Cobb admonished his eldest.
Philippa gave him a look that said So? Does it matter? and simply said "ok."
"I think I found something," mumbled the girl.
"What did you say, Philippa?"
Philippa got up from her chair, took James' hand and said they were going back to their rooms to change. Just as they entered the hallway, Philippa peeked out and said, "You're not completely here," before she disappeared.
Cobb could hear James giggling in the hall.
####
Ariadne stepped off the elevator and nearly tripped on the elevator grill track. She looked down and noticed something lodged there. She froze at the sight.
That shouldn't be here. That is not supposed to be anywhere near me.
She took off her scarf around her neck as she crouched down and picked the object up with it, folding the scarf several layers unto itself to ensure zero contact.
She proceeded down the hallway, not entirely sure what to expect. The kitchen was empty and the house stood perfectly still. The afternoon light filtered through the redwood shutters giving the kitchen a warm glow, as if it had been waiting to be filled up. She saw no sign of activity.
She sat by the window seat, looking out into the backyard. She thought she caught a glimpse of children running, but she figured she was just channeling him. She recalled the first and last time she visited this place. Ariadne bolted, her body burning from the memory that she sat on the same seat where she first saw Mal and him huddled intimately, his face in her hands.
Standing up gave her a better view of the backyard. She saw an empty porch, a gorgeous sunset sky and a sand plot complete with sand buildings.
Sand buildings? Ariadne walked out onto the porch, forgetting her scarf on the window seat.
####
She had never seen the children, except once in a few moments before she left limbo. All she knew about them was that they were small and blonde. So Ariadne was surprised to find a small city erected in the backyard. As she got closer she noticed a boy and a girl behind the sand skyscrapers. Both of them looked up at her with his blue eyes.
"He- Hello."
Philippa and James looked at her, and then they broke into smiles that reached from ear to ear. At least she hoped that's who these children are. She had no idea where she was pulling their faces from as he never once allowed himself to look at their faces before (which should mean she had no clue).
"You're pretty," chanted James. I can't believe my subconscious needs this much validation, from a toddler no less.
"You don't believe him?" asks Philippa.
"Aren't you one of Daddy's friends?" James asked, ignoring his sister.
"Yes I am," Ariadne answers. She could feel her mind slipping, tempted by the simple joy of being around this much innocence. There wasn't much time left, she couldn't afford to linger so she barreled forward.
"Your father has to go back."
"I know," said Philippa, looking directly in her eyes.
"Promised to come back," chimes James.
Ariadne shivered. The children spoke as if there was another layer of meaning behind their words. She hugged herself as the chills got the better of her and she noticed her scarf was missing. Oh.
"I think I should go back inside," Ariadne said as she slowly backed away.
"I like you," exclaimed James. "Stay with me." Ariadne's eyes grew wide.
"You don't even know my name," Ariadne stammers.
"I think I do," Philippa replied. "Your name is like a song."
Ariadne had heard many comments about her name, but that had never been one of them.
"Dad plays music I don't understand," said James.
"We know it's not English, and it's not French. I know French," continues Philippa. "It's always sad."
Philippa got up from the glorified sand box and started to mimic what she meant. Ariadne smiled despite herself.
"That's opera dear. I'm not sure how your father knows it, but I know it… if it is what I think it is."
Ariadne's neck starts to goosebump and she strokes her neck to warm up. Dusk was apparently chilly this time in California, or wherever this was.
"Are you alright?"
"I left something in the house by the window seat."
"I'll get it." Philippa skipped to the porch. She stopped for a moment and called out "You have many things to say," before she entered the house.
Ariadne looked back to James, and she swears it is unnatural for a three..? four…? year old boy to have a playful leer on his face.
"What 'ya building?," she asks, crouching down to his level. She examined James features and figured that the boy was going to grow up to be a mirror image of his father. If he had done this sand city by himself, then he had his father's talent already. "Impressive."
"Thank you," James says, his eyes boring into hers. He stopped fiddling, his attention solely on her face.
"Stay and help me build."
"I can't."
"She's not here anymore." Ariadne fought the alarm she hoped didn't show on her face.
Chapter 6