Fic: Turn One into the Other [Inception]
Title: Turn One into the Other
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Nolan
Notes: Written for a prompt over on the inception_kink meme: "Arthur's kidnapped by some shady figures and is kept in dreams for weeks...when the team rescues him, he's super underweight and having difficulty telling the difference between reality and dream."
Ariadne's the first to notice.
When Arthur doesn't show up at their scheduled twelve o'clock meeting, she glances first at her watch and then at the plans for the layout of the dream she's supposed to be teaching him (an intricate and beautifully complex blueprint of the interior of the Pyramids of Giza. Yeah, don't ask. Their mark this time is a bit of an archaeologist nut.) and then back at her watch as the minutes tick by, confused and a bit puzzled. After thirty minutes - because whereas Ariadne is many things, infinitely patient she is not (that's actually Arthur's niche, when it comes to dealing with every single little detail concerning their jobs) - she goes to find Cobb.
Cobb frowns when she tells him. "Arthur's never late." His point man is meticulous, reliable, orderly, and punctual - always. Cobb wouldn't have chosen him otherwise.
Ariadne shrugs, trying to ignore the strange feeling of foreboding twisting in her gut like a slowly tightening spring. "Maybe he just forgot?"
Eames, who's sitting at the other end of the table, snaps shut the file he holds and gives her a disapproving, pointed look. "That stick in the mud has the memory of a bloody elephant. He doesn't forget anything."
From the way the man says anything makes Ariadne think there has to be an interesting story behind that particular claim, but at the moment, she's having trouble focusing on anything other than the knowledge that Arthur is missing. The spring coils even tighter, and Ariadne's mouth goes dry with apprehension as her eyes flick back down to the face of her watch again. Tick, tick, tick, the second hand mocks, and something akin to fear brushes at the edges of her subconscious.
When they finally find him, it's been more than two weeks since he disappeared.
When they finally find him, it's in an abandoned, filthy warehouse right out of a mystery thriller novel, the kind with a rat infestation and leaky pipes, a serious asbestos problem and an overall sense of creepiness that screams 'why no, this is not the mysterious, awful little hellhole where we've kept and tortured your point man'.
When they finally find him, Ariadne's hands fly to her mouth in a wordless gasp of shock, tears welling in her eyes and she doesn't care as they slide freely down her cheeks. Cobb looks like he wants to kill someone, all bleach-white knuckles and bloody grooves in his palms from where he's clenching his fists so hard, the furrow in his forehead so deep one can cut it with a knife. Eames slowly lowers the gun he holds, and for once the mien of the man who takes on the faces of others is neither that of an incorrigible Forger or cocky Trickster; for once, there are no words to describe the look on his face besides the fact that, for all intents and purposes, Eames looks like someone just died.
And Arthur? Arthur looks dead.
He's lying crumpled in a corner, slumped over and limbs all askew as if someone had thrown his inert form there like a piece of garbage, his usually neat and impeccable appearance now nothing but a distant memory. He's still wearing the same suit, the black one with pinstripes and a red tie but it's like a disorienting dream - no, fuck that, it's nothing more and nothing less than a fucking nightmare because the vest is gone and Ariadne swears she can count each individual rib in an emaciated frame that is a hellish tye-dye pattern of purple-black-blue with bruises. His hair is matted across his forehead, caked in dry blood and she can see where obvious tear tracks have cut their way through the dried blood and grime on his face.
Arthur looks like hell, but none of that is what makes Cobb swear like a sailor and dash over to his trusted business partner and confidant, none of that is what makes Eames stagger forward, a whisper of oh please darling, no drop from his lips like a prayer - it's the countless pinpricks that run up and down both of Arthur's arms, crisscrossing each other in an ugly display of torture not only in reality, but of the mind as well.
- * - * -
When he first wakes up, the first thing Arthur does after opening his eyes is utter a strangled cry of desperation, shock, and pain all rolled into one as he jackknifes up off the pillow and stares around the room with wide, wild eyes that hold the dangerous gleam of a mind perhaps too far gone for anyone to save. Yusef had warned them about such a potential reaction, so all of them sit quite still, waiting for Arthur to make the next move on his own accord so he doesn't feel threatened.
None of them really expect Arthur to lunge upwards out of the bed, feet scrabbling for purchase against the floor. He doesn't find any though, thanks to the bastards who broke both his legs, and he pitches face-first toward the hotel room's taupe-colored carpet with a muffled cry.
Eames moves faster than the rest of them combined, startling Ariadne with the swiftness in which he catches Arthur's malnourished, woebegone frame and easily lifts him in his arms, like a newborn child with a tenderness that is heartbreaking to watch. In the back of her mind, Ariadne feels a strange sense of intrusion, as if she isn't meant to be here watching Eames position Arthur back on the bed, gently laying the other man's head back down on the pillow, as if she isn't supposed to be seeing Eames stroking calloused fingers through Arthur's hair (carefully avoiding the many stitches on his scalp) and murmuring hush dearest, you're safe now in low tones. So, swallowing down the enormous lump that's made itself home in her throat, Ariadne turns her gaze away although she really doesn't know why.
After that, it's almost an understood if unspoken fact that no one besides Eames is to have any sort of interaction with Arthur at all. When Cobb tries to speak to Arthur and makes the mistake of laying a hand on the other man's shoulder, Arthur flinches with a frightened whimper and nearly falls off the side of the bed in his attempt to shy away. Ariadne tries to bring food (only soup and soft fruit, otherwise he won't be able to stomach it) but Arthur takes one look at her and bursts into tears; great, heaving sobs that shook his entire frame and had Ariadne fleeing the room. The worst though, is definitely the time Yusef tried to give him a sedative to help alleviate some of the pain - the chemist earns a flailing fist to the eye for his troubles and Eames spends the rest of the day trying to calm Arthur down.
Cobb outright refuses to move Arthur to a psychiatric ward or even just a regular hospital, and Ariadne understands why. Mal already haunts him; he doesn't need to add one of his oldest friends to the list of people he cares about lost to the treacherous and savage side of dreaming and its consequences. Saito owns the hotel they're staying at, so the room is theirs for however long they need it (the businessman clearly still remembers the little favor Cobb's team did for him, and tells Cobb to contact him if there's anything else he can do) and it's beginning to look like they'll need it for a very long time.
They don't need a nurse, caregiver, or doctor though, because Eames takes up the responsibilities of all three without a single word of complaint or huff of frustration. He is endlessly patient with Arthur, sitting the long hours by the other man's side while Cobb and Ariadne try to figure out how to piece back together the fragments of Arthur's fractured mind. And while Arthur never speaks a single word or looks him in the eye, gradually he relaxes the slightest bit and even allows Eames to touch him without flinching away.
That in and of itself is a miracle.
- * - * -
It's about a month after what is referred to in halting whispers amongst the team as "the Incident" when Arthur finally speaks.
They're all sitting at the table, having lunch - or rather, Cobb and Ariadne are exchanging worried glances and Eames is speaking to Arthur in a quiet, soothing tone: Come now love, you have to eat, just a little bit and Arthur looks up from the tabletop where his gaze always falls at mealtimes. He turns his head toward Eames and makes direct eye contact, one corner of his lips quirking upward in a smile. He's still too thin, all sharp angles and bone and Ariadne thinks it's the saddest smile she's ever seen.
And then he speaks.
"Thank you," he says, and Eames stares at him, mouth slightly open in shock. Cobb's fork drops to the table with a noisy clatter that Ariadne barely hears because her heart is beating so loudly and she stares speechlessly, silently willing the man she remembers to come back, for their Arthur to return - dependable, gentlemanly, intelligent Arthur with his dry wit and three piece suits, and she thinks come back, damn it with all her heart.
"Thank you," Arthur says to Eames again, softly, sincerely. "I appreciate your kindness. But you're not real." He turns and looks at Cobb and Ariadne, the former whose face is completely white at his point man's words and the latter of which is about to burst into tears. "None of this is real. I'm still dreaming, aren't I?" He turns back to Eames and smiles that odd, sad little smile again. "Though it's funny how nice my projection of you is, Eames."
Eames is wearing the same look on his face as though he's seeing Arthur back in that warehouse; bloody, beaten to hell, and delirious with pain and dreams. "No, pet," he whispers, and his voice wavers, trembles, breaks. "Arthur."
That afternoon, amidst Ariadne's fierce and very vocal protests, Cobb allows Eames to hook himself and an already slumbering Arthur up to the machine. Eames fingers are impossibly gentle when he takes a hold of Arthur's wrist, still too thin and with bones so brittle they feel almost hollow, and enters Arthur's mind. When Ariadne rounds on Cobb, all fire and indignation ("You know what those bastards did to him, Cobb; they raped his mind! How can you let Eames do the same thing?!"), Cobb merely crosses his arms and looks away, the muscles in his jaw working furiously as if chewing back a bitter, angry retort.
"You wouldn't understand," he finally says, and turns on his heel, stalking away. Ariadne stares after him angrily for a moment - how dare he treat her like a child? Arthur is her friend too! But then, she remembers. As if from a lifetime ago, she recalls a beautiful, frightening Shade whispering a taunt heavy with implications of which she might never comprehend:
How can you understand? Have you ever been a lover?
- * - * -
Arthur's mind is a mess.
Eames expects a library or maybe one of those bank vaults, with dozens upon dozens of compartments separated neatly, each with its own label and lock. Instead, he steps into what looks like a library after Katrina swept through and a frightening labyrinth of memories and dreams. He glances down at himself - he's wearing all white, a plain tee-shirt and sweatpants, eerily reminiscent of the standard garb of...patients at a mental asylum. He raises his head - and sees Arthur.
They remove the black hood from his head and shine lights in his face, demanding this and that and he calmly tells all of them to fuck off, and clearly, it's the wrong thing to do. One of the goons with a black ski mask over his face moves forward brandishing a sedative like a sword and he tries to resist, but he's only one man and the combined strength of six against one is just too much. Sweet dreams, they laugh as his eyelids slide shut, and then...and then...
- - - - -
He's running, running as fast as he possibly can but the dream is collapsing quickly, too quickly. Arthur's legs pump furiously, he's in a flat out sprint because Ariadne is trapped in the middle of the seventy-five story building that's currently crumbling in on itself. They're not trying to perform inception this time, but the multiple layers of dreams still require heavy sedation and if you die, then -
With a deafening roar, the entire colossus folds in upon itself and Arthur drops to his knees in disbelief because Ariadne is dead. Sweet, strong-willed, young Ariadne, with her impossible mazes and beautiful creativity and endearing nosiness...no. No, it's too soon for her; it's not her time at all. It's not fair, none of it's fair- He runs his fingers through his hair and grips tightly until his scalp burns, and the world around him falls away.
- - - - -
Suddenly. Abruptly. Unexplainably.
They're in a warehouse and Arthur remembers this place; it's the warehouse they took shelter in after Saito got shot in the first level of the dream. Cobb's face is an inch away from his and he's yelling, yelling, yelling, pointing at Arthur and accusing him of bringing the entire mission down upon their heads. Arthur grits his teeth and holds his tongue because he knows the best thing to do when Cobb is paranoid and upset like this is to keep his silence.
But then Cobb rears back, cocks a fist over his shoulder, and surges forth with all of his strength. Arthur's on the floor now, looking up at his friend with an expression of stunned disbelief on his face; his lip is bleeding and as Cobb's foot swings back and goes crashing into his ribs, Arthur curls into himself and screams in pain.
This isn't real. This can't be real. It didn't happen this way, it would never happen this way. Arthur tries to reach into his pocket for the loaded red die he knows he'll find and Cobb steps on his hand, grinding his heel down until bones snap like twigs beneath his boot.
- - - - -
Arthur blinks.
He's staring at a projection and his hands are curled around the familiar contours of a gun and this must be it; they're on a job and he's allowed himself to become distracted. Taking in a deep breath, he steadies his aim and squeezes the trigger. The projection jerks back with the force of the gunshot, head snapping back as blood sprays in a wide arc from his mouth. Arthur lowers the gun, satisfied, and is about to go on his way when -
-when suddenly it's Eames staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief and horror, Eames trying to speak with crimson dripping from his lips, Eames folding in on himself like a marionette whose strings have suddenly been cut, collapsing to the floor as his fingers scrabble at the gunshot wound Arthur put in him.
Arthur stares, all the breath suddenly squeezed from his lungs. There's a roaring in his ears, louder and louder and as he stares at Eames's corpse, he's jamming his hand into his pocket for his die, fingers searching desperately. But it's not there; it's not in the other pocket either. It's not anywhere and Arthur tries to look anywhere but at Eames's empty eyes boring into his and this has to be a dream, this has to be a dream...
- - - - -
Ariadne screams as she's torn apart by scalpel wielding doctors, begging for Arthur to save her and he's never fast enough. The next time, it's a pride of lions (lions? The hell?). Then, she falls off the crumbling ledge of a cliff face and plunges into the waves below.
Cobb rages, raining down blow after blow because Arthur forgot a vital detail; how could he, isn't the point man supposed to know everything? Why can't Arthur ever get anything right?
Eames dies again and again and Arthur never knows why he just can't stop it, why he can't stop killing Eames even when the other man is wearing his own face.
Arthur searches for his totem, wretchedly, ceaselessly, and without success. He vaguely wonders if this is how Mal must have felt. But the difference between the late Mrs. Cobb and Arthur is that he doesn't want this. But he doesn't know how to stop it.
- * - * -
Eames tears himself out of Arthur's subconscious to find Cobb and Ariadne staring at him like a particularly interesting specimen under a microscope. Ignoring their questions, he reaches over and scoops Arthur's limp form up without any difficulty, and walks right out of the hotel room and then right out of the hotel.
When Cobb and Ariadne finally shake enough sense into themselves and each other to move and follow, they have nothing to do but follow and follow they do, right up to the front door of the warehouse that still screams 'look how broken your point man has become.' Once inside, Arthur gazes around dazedly, but Eames is patient and strong; he carries Arthur around every nook and cranny and tells him to look, love, really look. Ariadne grabs Cobb's arm but one glare from him silences any protests that might fly from her lips.
Then, she sees it. A spark of red in the darkness. "Eames!"
Eames looks up and so many emotions wash over his face that they're hard to recognize as they all come flooding in at once - elation, relief, thankfulness, among any number of variations of hope. Arthur's eyes fix upon the die as well and he pales, stiffening. Slowly, Eames walks over to the corner of the filthy warehouse and crouches down, Arthur like a rag doll in his arms. "Go on," he encourages gently - how did Ariadne ever miss how gentle Eames is? - and with trembling fingers, Arthur reaches out and grasps his totem. Hefts it in his palm. And with a sharp flick of his wrist, casts it down against the floor.
Cobb and Ariadne instantly avert their eyes because Arthur's totem is meant for Arthur alone and not for any other eyes. Eames only has eyes for Arthur.
Arthur turns his face into Eames's neck, fingers grasping at the folds of the forger's shirt, and breathes in: one, two, three. "You're here," he whispers, voice thick with tears and filled with awe. "This is real."
"Yes, darling," Eames says quietly, lips brushing Arthur's ear. "Yes."
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Nolan
Notes: Written for a prompt over on the inception_kink meme: "Arthur's kidnapped by some shady figures and is kept in dreams for weeks...when the team rescues him, he's super underweight and having difficulty telling the difference between reality and dream."
Ariadne's the first to notice.
When Arthur doesn't show up at their scheduled twelve o'clock meeting, she glances first at her watch and then at the plans for the layout of the dream she's supposed to be teaching him (an intricate and beautifully complex blueprint of the interior of the Pyramids of Giza. Yeah, don't ask. Their mark this time is a bit of an archaeologist nut.) and then back at her watch as the minutes tick by, confused and a bit puzzled. After thirty minutes - because whereas Ariadne is many things, infinitely patient she is not (that's actually Arthur's niche, when it comes to dealing with every single little detail concerning their jobs) - she goes to find Cobb.
Cobb frowns when she tells him. "Arthur's never late." His point man is meticulous, reliable, orderly, and punctual - always. Cobb wouldn't have chosen him otherwise.
Ariadne shrugs, trying to ignore the strange feeling of foreboding twisting in her gut like a slowly tightening spring. "Maybe he just forgot?"
Eames, who's sitting at the other end of the table, snaps shut the file he holds and gives her a disapproving, pointed look. "That stick in the mud has the memory of a bloody elephant. He doesn't forget anything."
From the way the man says anything makes Ariadne think there has to be an interesting story behind that particular claim, but at the moment, she's having trouble focusing on anything other than the knowledge that Arthur is missing. The spring coils even tighter, and Ariadne's mouth goes dry with apprehension as her eyes flick back down to the face of her watch again. Tick, tick, tick, the second hand mocks, and something akin to fear brushes at the edges of her subconscious.
When they finally find him, it's been more than two weeks since he disappeared.
When they finally find him, it's in an abandoned, filthy warehouse right out of a mystery thriller novel, the kind with a rat infestation and leaky pipes, a serious asbestos problem and an overall sense of creepiness that screams 'why no, this is not the mysterious, awful little hellhole where we've kept and tortured your point man'.
When they finally find him, Ariadne's hands fly to her mouth in a wordless gasp of shock, tears welling in her eyes and she doesn't care as they slide freely down her cheeks. Cobb looks like he wants to kill someone, all bleach-white knuckles and bloody grooves in his palms from where he's clenching his fists so hard, the furrow in his forehead so deep one can cut it with a knife. Eames slowly lowers the gun he holds, and for once the mien of the man who takes on the faces of others is neither that of an incorrigible Forger or cocky Trickster; for once, there are no words to describe the look on his face besides the fact that, for all intents and purposes, Eames looks like someone just died.
And Arthur? Arthur looks dead.
He's lying crumpled in a corner, slumped over and limbs all askew as if someone had thrown his inert form there like a piece of garbage, his usually neat and impeccable appearance now nothing but a distant memory. He's still wearing the same suit, the black one with pinstripes and a red tie but it's like a disorienting dream - no, fuck that, it's nothing more and nothing less than a fucking nightmare because the vest is gone and Ariadne swears she can count each individual rib in an emaciated frame that is a hellish tye-dye pattern of purple-black-blue with bruises. His hair is matted across his forehead, caked in dry blood and she can see where obvious tear tracks have cut their way through the dried blood and grime on his face.
Arthur looks like hell, but none of that is what makes Cobb swear like a sailor and dash over to his trusted business partner and confidant, none of that is what makes Eames stagger forward, a whisper of oh please darling, no drop from his lips like a prayer - it's the countless pinpricks that run up and down both of Arthur's arms, crisscrossing each other in an ugly display of torture not only in reality, but of the mind as well.
- * - * -
When he first wakes up, the first thing Arthur does after opening his eyes is utter a strangled cry of desperation, shock, and pain all rolled into one as he jackknifes up off the pillow and stares around the room with wide, wild eyes that hold the dangerous gleam of a mind perhaps too far gone for anyone to save. Yusef had warned them about such a potential reaction, so all of them sit quite still, waiting for Arthur to make the next move on his own accord so he doesn't feel threatened.
None of them really expect Arthur to lunge upwards out of the bed, feet scrabbling for purchase against the floor. He doesn't find any though, thanks to the bastards who broke both his legs, and he pitches face-first toward the hotel room's taupe-colored carpet with a muffled cry.
Eames moves faster than the rest of them combined, startling Ariadne with the swiftness in which he catches Arthur's malnourished, woebegone frame and easily lifts him in his arms, like a newborn child with a tenderness that is heartbreaking to watch. In the back of her mind, Ariadne feels a strange sense of intrusion, as if she isn't meant to be here watching Eames position Arthur back on the bed, gently laying the other man's head back down on the pillow, as if she isn't supposed to be seeing Eames stroking calloused fingers through Arthur's hair (carefully avoiding the many stitches on his scalp) and murmuring hush dearest, you're safe now in low tones. So, swallowing down the enormous lump that's made itself home in her throat, Ariadne turns her gaze away although she really doesn't know why.
After that, it's almost an understood if unspoken fact that no one besides Eames is to have any sort of interaction with Arthur at all. When Cobb tries to speak to Arthur and makes the mistake of laying a hand on the other man's shoulder, Arthur flinches with a frightened whimper and nearly falls off the side of the bed in his attempt to shy away. Ariadne tries to bring food (only soup and soft fruit, otherwise he won't be able to stomach it) but Arthur takes one look at her and bursts into tears; great, heaving sobs that shook his entire frame and had Ariadne fleeing the room. The worst though, is definitely the time Yusef tried to give him a sedative to help alleviate some of the pain - the chemist earns a flailing fist to the eye for his troubles and Eames spends the rest of the day trying to calm Arthur down.
Cobb outright refuses to move Arthur to a psychiatric ward or even just a regular hospital, and Ariadne understands why. Mal already haunts him; he doesn't need to add one of his oldest friends to the list of people he cares about lost to the treacherous and savage side of dreaming and its consequences. Saito owns the hotel they're staying at, so the room is theirs for however long they need it (the businessman clearly still remembers the little favor Cobb's team did for him, and tells Cobb to contact him if there's anything else he can do) and it's beginning to look like they'll need it for a very long time.
They don't need a nurse, caregiver, or doctor though, because Eames takes up the responsibilities of all three without a single word of complaint or huff of frustration. He is endlessly patient with Arthur, sitting the long hours by the other man's side while Cobb and Ariadne try to figure out how to piece back together the fragments of Arthur's fractured mind. And while Arthur never speaks a single word or looks him in the eye, gradually he relaxes the slightest bit and even allows Eames to touch him without flinching away.
That in and of itself is a miracle.
- * - * -
It's about a month after what is referred to in halting whispers amongst the team as "the Incident" when Arthur finally speaks.
They're all sitting at the table, having lunch - or rather, Cobb and Ariadne are exchanging worried glances and Eames is speaking to Arthur in a quiet, soothing tone: Come now love, you have to eat, just a little bit and Arthur looks up from the tabletop where his gaze always falls at mealtimes. He turns his head toward Eames and makes direct eye contact, one corner of his lips quirking upward in a smile. He's still too thin, all sharp angles and bone and Ariadne thinks it's the saddest smile she's ever seen.
And then he speaks.
"Thank you," he says, and Eames stares at him, mouth slightly open in shock. Cobb's fork drops to the table with a noisy clatter that Ariadne barely hears because her heart is beating so loudly and she stares speechlessly, silently willing the man she remembers to come back, for their Arthur to return - dependable, gentlemanly, intelligent Arthur with his dry wit and three piece suits, and she thinks come back, damn it with all her heart.
"Thank you," Arthur says to Eames again, softly, sincerely. "I appreciate your kindness. But you're not real." He turns and looks at Cobb and Ariadne, the former whose face is completely white at his point man's words and the latter of which is about to burst into tears. "None of this is real. I'm still dreaming, aren't I?" He turns back to Eames and smiles that odd, sad little smile again. "Though it's funny how nice my projection of you is, Eames."
Eames is wearing the same look on his face as though he's seeing Arthur back in that warehouse; bloody, beaten to hell, and delirious with pain and dreams. "No, pet," he whispers, and his voice wavers, trembles, breaks. "Arthur."
That afternoon, amidst Ariadne's fierce and very vocal protests, Cobb allows Eames to hook himself and an already slumbering Arthur up to the machine. Eames fingers are impossibly gentle when he takes a hold of Arthur's wrist, still too thin and with bones so brittle they feel almost hollow, and enters Arthur's mind. When Ariadne rounds on Cobb, all fire and indignation ("You know what those bastards did to him, Cobb; they raped his mind! How can you let Eames do the same thing?!"), Cobb merely crosses his arms and looks away, the muscles in his jaw working furiously as if chewing back a bitter, angry retort.
"You wouldn't understand," he finally says, and turns on his heel, stalking away. Ariadne stares after him angrily for a moment - how dare he treat her like a child? Arthur is her friend too! But then, she remembers. As if from a lifetime ago, she recalls a beautiful, frightening Shade whispering a taunt heavy with implications of which she might never comprehend:
How can you understand? Have you ever been a lover?
- * - * -
Arthur's mind is a mess.
Eames expects a library or maybe one of those bank vaults, with dozens upon dozens of compartments separated neatly, each with its own label and lock. Instead, he steps into what looks like a library after Katrina swept through and a frightening labyrinth of memories and dreams. He glances down at himself - he's wearing all white, a plain tee-shirt and sweatpants, eerily reminiscent of the standard garb of...patients at a mental asylum. He raises his head - and sees Arthur.
They remove the black hood from his head and shine lights in his face, demanding this and that and he calmly tells all of them to fuck off, and clearly, it's the wrong thing to do. One of the goons with a black ski mask over his face moves forward brandishing a sedative like a sword and he tries to resist, but he's only one man and the combined strength of six against one is just too much. Sweet dreams, they laugh as his eyelids slide shut, and then...and then...
- - - - -
He's running, running as fast as he possibly can but the dream is collapsing quickly, too quickly. Arthur's legs pump furiously, he's in a flat out sprint because Ariadne is trapped in the middle of the seventy-five story building that's currently crumbling in on itself. They're not trying to perform inception this time, but the multiple layers of dreams still require heavy sedation and if you die, then -
With a deafening roar, the entire colossus folds in upon itself and Arthur drops to his knees in disbelief because Ariadne is dead. Sweet, strong-willed, young Ariadne, with her impossible mazes and beautiful creativity and endearing nosiness...no. No, it's too soon for her; it's not her time at all. It's not fair, none of it's fair- He runs his fingers through his hair and grips tightly until his scalp burns, and the world around him falls away.
- - - - -
Suddenly. Abruptly. Unexplainably.
They're in a warehouse and Arthur remembers this place; it's the warehouse they took shelter in after Saito got shot in the first level of the dream. Cobb's face is an inch away from his and he's yelling, yelling, yelling, pointing at Arthur and accusing him of bringing the entire mission down upon their heads. Arthur grits his teeth and holds his tongue because he knows the best thing to do when Cobb is paranoid and upset like this is to keep his silence.
But then Cobb rears back, cocks a fist over his shoulder, and surges forth with all of his strength. Arthur's on the floor now, looking up at his friend with an expression of stunned disbelief on his face; his lip is bleeding and as Cobb's foot swings back and goes crashing into his ribs, Arthur curls into himself and screams in pain.
This isn't real. This can't be real. It didn't happen this way, it would never happen this way. Arthur tries to reach into his pocket for the loaded red die he knows he'll find and Cobb steps on his hand, grinding his heel down until bones snap like twigs beneath his boot.
- - - - -
Arthur blinks.
He's staring at a projection and his hands are curled around the familiar contours of a gun and this must be it; they're on a job and he's allowed himself to become distracted. Taking in a deep breath, he steadies his aim and squeezes the trigger. The projection jerks back with the force of the gunshot, head snapping back as blood sprays in a wide arc from his mouth. Arthur lowers the gun, satisfied, and is about to go on his way when -
-when suddenly it's Eames staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief and horror, Eames trying to speak with crimson dripping from his lips, Eames folding in on himself like a marionette whose strings have suddenly been cut, collapsing to the floor as his fingers scrabble at the gunshot wound Arthur put in him.
Arthur stares, all the breath suddenly squeezed from his lungs. There's a roaring in his ears, louder and louder and as he stares at Eames's corpse, he's jamming his hand into his pocket for his die, fingers searching desperately. But it's not there; it's not in the other pocket either. It's not anywhere and Arthur tries to look anywhere but at Eames's empty eyes boring into his and this has to be a dream, this has to be a dream...
- - - - -
Ariadne screams as she's torn apart by scalpel wielding doctors, begging for Arthur to save her and he's never fast enough. The next time, it's a pride of lions (lions? The hell?). Then, she falls off the crumbling ledge of a cliff face and plunges into the waves below.
Cobb rages, raining down blow after blow because Arthur forgot a vital detail; how could he, isn't the point man supposed to know everything? Why can't Arthur ever get anything right?
Eames dies again and again and Arthur never knows why he just can't stop it, why he can't stop killing Eames even when the other man is wearing his own face.
Arthur searches for his totem, wretchedly, ceaselessly, and without success. He vaguely wonders if this is how Mal must have felt. But the difference between the late Mrs. Cobb and Arthur is that he doesn't want this. But he doesn't know how to stop it.
- * - * -
Eames tears himself out of Arthur's subconscious to find Cobb and Ariadne staring at him like a particularly interesting specimen under a microscope. Ignoring their questions, he reaches over and scoops Arthur's limp form up without any difficulty, and walks right out of the hotel room and then right out of the hotel.
When Cobb and Ariadne finally shake enough sense into themselves and each other to move and follow, they have nothing to do but follow and follow they do, right up to the front door of the warehouse that still screams 'look how broken your point man has become.' Once inside, Arthur gazes around dazedly, but Eames is patient and strong; he carries Arthur around every nook and cranny and tells him to look, love, really look. Ariadne grabs Cobb's arm but one glare from him silences any protests that might fly from her lips.
Then, she sees it. A spark of red in the darkness. "Eames!"
Eames looks up and so many emotions wash over his face that they're hard to recognize as they all come flooding in at once - elation, relief, thankfulness, among any number of variations of hope. Arthur's eyes fix upon the die as well and he pales, stiffening. Slowly, Eames walks over to the corner of the filthy warehouse and crouches down, Arthur like a rag doll in his arms. "Go on," he encourages gently - how did Ariadne ever miss how gentle Eames is? - and with trembling fingers, Arthur reaches out and grasps his totem. Hefts it in his palm. And with a sharp flick of his wrist, casts it down against the floor.
Cobb and Ariadne instantly avert their eyes because Arthur's totem is meant for Arthur alone and not for any other eyes. Eames only has eyes for Arthur.
Arthur turns his face into Eames's neck, fingers grasping at the folds of the forger's shirt, and breathes in: one, two, three. "You're here," he whispers, voice thick with tears and filled with awe. "This is real."
"Yes, darling," Eames says quietly, lips brushing Arthur's ear. "Yes."