The Ghost Network, 7/13. A/A. NC-17
Title: The Ghost Network
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17.
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan and not to me. I like making his toys do naughty, naughty things.
Spoilers/Warnings: Post-movie. For the
inception_kink meme prompt: Serial killer or Assassin Arthur, victim or FBI agent Ariadne, and Stockholm Syndrome. It's an AU fic, folks, but I tried to keep them as IC as possible! Also written for the "wild card" box on my
hc_bingo card.
Summary: Someone has been killing people involved in sleep labs. As part of the Sleep Crimes Unit of the FBI, Ariadne has to help track down the Dream Killer. Things go very wrong very fast, and she's exactly in the last place she wants to be.
Prior chapters:
One - Entering The Dream
Two - Building The Maze
Three - Going Under
Four - A Different Point Of View
Five - A Hole In You And Me
Six - Catching The Princess
Oh, hai, more smut in this chapter!
Ariadne was sprawled across Arthur's bed, hands clasped tight on the slats of his headboard. She writhed beneath his mouth, his deft tongue flicking at her. Arthur held her hips still beneath his lips, though her legs still twitched restlessly. She was moaning and making cries that had to be loud enough to be heard through the windows. She should have been afraid of the sounds he coaxed out of her, but dear God in heaven, his touch was like magic. Arthur slid his fingers inside Ariadne as he sucked her clit, and her sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement he needed to continue. He could hear the whimpers deep in her throat as he worked her body, thighs trembling as she held them open for him. Arthur pulled back when she came abruptly, clenching down hard on his fingers, his lips glistening with her moisture. "God, you're so beautiful," he murmured, fingers still moving inside of her.
She let go of the headboard with one hand to thread her fingers into his hair as his mouth closed over a nipple. She moaned incoherently, maybe with words in between broken breaths. Yes, more, please, Arthur, like that, yes just like that, right there, I love how you feel...
Arthur let her push him aside, let her straddle his waist and sink deeply on top of him. She rocked against him, slow at first, her hands sliding along his thighs behind her. Arthur's hands trailed across her stomach before reaching up to fondle her breasts. Ariadne hissed at the contact, head thrown back and long dark hair falling to brush against his knees when he drew them up behind her. "Yes," she moaned, beginning to move faster over him. Arthur let out a grunt as he lifted his hips, thrusting deeper inside of her. "Oh god, Arthur, right there... You feel so good..." She came then, milking him hard, and Arthur let out a guttural cry as he came inside her.
She leaned down over him and kissed him, soft and slow, her tongue licking at the seam of his lips. Their tongues danced together, ending only when they needed to breathe. Arthur slid his hand along her jaw, drawing her closer to him. "Good morning," he said with a smile.
Ariadne giggled. She wasn't normally a giggler, but she felt too good to care. "Morning."
He tucked her hair behind her ears when she propped herself up on her elbows. "You're going to have to move at some point, you know," he teased. "We're going to have to clean up."
She shifted her hips playfully over him. "Or I just get him to wake up again..."
He gave her a mock groan. "Woman, you'll be the death of me."
His phone on the bedside table buzzed. It was a distinctive brrrrrrrm kind of ring, meant to get Arthur's attention even if he was hooked up to a PASIV. He sighed and grasped the phone to look at the text. He sighed and placed it back on his bedside table before looking up at Ariadne's inquisitive expression. "Work."
"Work?"
"Yeah. I do have a real job," he told her with a smile.
Ariadne rolled off of him and made a face at the leaking sensation between her thighs. "Oops. I guess you'll have to do the laundry again."
Arthur snickered and headed to the bathroom to clean up. He turned in the doorway and saw her looking at his phone with a hesitant expression on her face. "You can look at it if you want, Ariadne. There's no point in hiding that you're curious."
She made a face at him and picked up his phone. "So what do you do for a living, when you're not going around exacting justice on the evil dreamers of the world?"
He laughed and started to wash up. "Believe it or not, I own a security company."
"Somehow, I believe it," she replied dryly. Ariadne saw the message on his phone ADS consult @ 1pm, details in e-mail and frowned slightly. She couldn't see anything else, as a request for a password popped up. "So what's this?"
Arthur stood in the doorway to his bathroom, drying his hands on a towel. "I do security, both real space and dream security. I'm kind of a big deal in some circles." He flashed her a shy smile and plucked his phone out of her hands. "I can afford to handle only a few special cases personally. That account happens to be one of them."
"That's how you were able to track me down," Ariadne murmured.
He knelt in front of her. "You're good, don't doubt yourself on that point. But I waited until you were vulnerable and feeling more secure. That's why I take them when they leave their homes. They always think they're safe at home." He leaned forward to kiss her knee, then stood to get dressed. "Go on, wash up. It'll take me a while to visit the client from here, so I'll have to leave soon. I should be back in time for dinner. I can stop by and pick up groceries on the way back."
"Or I could do it," Ariadne offered, heart pounding in her chest.
Arthur turned slightly as he put on the boxer briefs. He had a smile on his face that was at once sad and condescending. "No, I don't think that's a good idea."
"Arthur..."
He grasped her face in his hands and tilted it up to look at him. "I love you. I even believe that you love me. But I don't think you trust me yet, and I wouldn't ever ask you to choose between your loyalty to the FBI and your loyalty to me." He ran his thumb over her bottom lip when they parted so she could speak. "No, it's all right, Ariadne. I can be the bad guy for a little longer. I can wait until you're really comfortable with me."
"But..."
He shook his head and went back to the closet, choosing a charcoal gray suit, light blue button down shirt and a maroon tie. "This will work, I think."
Ariadne pulled her knees up to her chest and crossed her arms over them. "So I get locked up in the basement again?" she whispered.
He paused as he buttoned up the shirt. "Yes, but I don't have to lock my workroom, do I?"
"What?"
Arthur deftly finished buttoning up the shirt and tucked it into the dress pants. "The room where you were staying was my workroom. That's what took me so long in getting ready. I had to take my notes out of it and put in the things I bought for you." He leaned over the edge of the bed, tie slung around his neck but undone. "I can let you walk around the rest of the basement, and just lock the door to the upstairs."
"You still don't trust me."
He kissed her forehead, and Ariadne could almost feel his sadness and disappointment in her. "No, I don't."
Ariadne felt cold and numb as she washed up in his bathroom, not even able to meet her eyes in the mirror over the bathroom counter. She felt hollow somehow, though it made no sense. She was sharing his bed now, she knew random things about him and knew just about everything from his fucked up childhood. On some level, she trusted Arthur with her life and trusted his judgment. On another, however, she knew she had to turn him in to the authorities. Even if he was right, even if those perpetrators would never be charged with their actual crimes, she couldn't simply allow a vigilante to assassinate them.
Arthur came up behind her and nuzzled her neck. "I love you," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. His left hand moved to caress her right breast, and his right moved to slide between her thighs. "Don't be mad at me."
"I'm not mad," Ariadne said, her breath fracturing as his fingers found her. She avoided meeting his gaze in the mirror, and her eyes fell to the track marks on the inside of her. She had no idea how much time they had spent together inside and outside of the dreamscape, as her sense of time was warped now. She sucked in a breath as he flicked his fingers across her pert nipple and traced circles around her clit. "Really," she gasped breathlessly. "I'm not mad."
"You're disappointed in me," he whispered against her neck. "But one of us has to be practical. Do you know if you'd run?"
Ariadne stifled a moan as he slid his fingers inside her roughly. "N-no," she admitted, shivering within his grasp. Her damp hands slid across the marble counter top, and she bent over in front of him as she came with a cry. She looked up through her messy hair into the mirror and saw Arthur's flush face, his tie askew and collar undone. He was undoing his belt and trousers, pulling everything down. Ariadne whimpered as he slid inside her, and braced herself against the counter as he thrust into her.
"I love you," he grunted, one hand on her hips and the other returning to fondle her breast. "I will always love you, Ariadne. This might hurt," he gasped, thrusting harder as she tightened around him. "But it would hurt less than leaving you to second guess yourself. Or torture yourself," he added, gritting his teeth to keep from coming right there. "I can't," he gasped, thrusting harder and faster. "I can't stop," he groaned as he came, hand tightening on her breast. "And I know you can't, either."
"Arthur," Ariadne gasped, hips bucking backward as she came hard. "I don't," she began weakly.
He smoothed her hair back. "I won't ask anything of you that you can't give," he murmured. "And I don't want you doubting yourself."
"I do anyway."
He smiled, pressing his lips into her back tenderly. "Not this kind of doubt."
Unable to deny the point, she merely nodded. Arthur pulled out of her and set about to making himself presentable. He helped her clean up, and dropped a kiss on her forehead after she pulled on a nightgown. She didn't make a fuss when he had her go into the basement, and she didn't scream when she heard the lock turn in the basement door. Ariadne could probably kick it open or find something to take apart the door, if she was really feeling industrious.
But Ariadne sat in the basement she had already come to memorize, its layout familiar. There was the spare bedroom that had once been Arthur's workroom and then her prison. The laundry area was next to it, and Arthur had built that small storage area around the house jack in one corner of it. The rest of the basement was more or less finished, but there wasn't much in it. He had a treadmill, an old couch, a TV and DVD player and a stereo that couldn't pick up any local stations. He had stripped her phone of its battery and sim card long ago, so her only comfort in carrying it was its familiar weight in her pocket. Even that she had given up after the first week or so of captivity. He now kept his computers, files and PASIV in a spare bedroom on the first floor. Everything was password protected, he had said, and she believed it. He had no reason to lie to her, after all. She wasn't leaving this house, and she wasn't leaving him.
She didn't know how she felt about that.
***
AD Saito welcomed Eames into his office. "Do sit down, Inspector," he said, indicating one of the plush chairs across from his desk. Eames sat down heavily in it and watched Saito gracefully sit in his forbidding-looking armchair. He looked rather like the king of a castle, the kind of man who could command an army easily. He was good at his job, and Eames respected that. He was also still willing to go the extra mile for his agents, which Eames really respected. He had gone on several occasions to the sleep lab they had set up, and Eames had seen the man's ninja projections at work. It had been impressive. The real reason Eames was sitting in his office was to discuss Ariadne's disappearance. She had been taken over a month ago, and Cobb was writing her off as dead. He didn't even acknowledge his role in the loss, pushing Fischer even harder to become the thing that the Dream Killer hunted. There were few other cases on Cobb's radar now, and he seemed to be consumed by this one particular case. He wanted it done at any cost, unable to see past the fact that he was driving his own team beyond their comfort zones. It was anyone else's fault but his, which Eames couldn't abide.
Saito had nominally put him in VCU, but Eames reported to Saito directly. His one particular case was Ariadne's disappearance. Like Eames, Saito believed that the Dream Killer had taken her. This broke his established pattern and the motive that they had uncovered. "He can be pushed," Saito had said. "So we just need to push harder."
With nothing to go on but the Ghost Network, it was hard to do. Eames and Yusuf often trawled the forums looking for complaints that might strike the Dream Killer's interest, but it was almost as if the community was aware of it now. People were less likely to complain about employers or coworkers now, and there were more and more posts that began "I don't know if outsiders are reading this, but..."
"I have an outside consultant that I've worked with on several occasions," Saito told Eames without preamble. "His expertise is in international security, both physical and dream. He may be aware of things that we are not, now that our primary source of information seems to be drying up." There was a knock at the door. "Ah. There he is now," Saito said with a pleased smile, rising to open the door. "Your timing, as always, is impeccable," Saito told the new arrival.
Eames got up and took a good look at the consultant. He was dressed in a a charcoal gray suit, light blue button down shirt and a maroon tie that was slightly loose but still professional looking. He carried a black leather attache case and seemed genuinely pleased to see Saito, who handled the introductions. "This is Inspector Eames."
"I'm Arthur," the new arrival said, giving Eames a professional smile and handshake when he approached. "Good to meet you."
They all sat down around Saito's massive mahogany desk. Arthur opened his attache case and used a Montblanc pen to take notes in a leather portfolio. There was nothing particularly ostentatious about it, but something about him set Eames' teeth on edge. Something about him was too calm, too practiced.
"We have had a particularly troublesome case, Arthur," Saito began, hands steepled in front of him. "We of course cannot go into explicit details, but there was for a time some hope that an illicit source of information would be helpful."
Arthur lofted an eyebrow at the both of them. "The Ghost Network?"
"Did everyone know about this bloody thing but us?" Eames blurted, annoyed.
Arthur managed not to smile, though Saito scowled. "It's not the only network of its kind, but it's the most... underhanded?" he said, replying to Eames with a helpless shrug at the end. "I'm aware of a few things like that, but a lot of it is done by word of mouth. I'd heard of it, of course. It's hard not to in my line of work."
"Your line of work," Eames repeated dully.
"Defense consultation in this day and age involves physical security, electronic security and even dream security. I've followed Dr. Miles' treatises closely, and the recent papers that have come out are fantastic to work with. I suspect that the underground has been using similar principles for years, though," Arthur said, looking between Saito and Eames. His gaze seemed to be sharpest on Eames' face. "Whatever it is that you're working with, it's dangerous."
"We've lost an agent," Saito admitted reluctantly.
"Lost," Arthur repeated blankly. He turned his attention back to Saito, eyebrow lofted. "What do you mean, lost?"
"We believe she was abducted by the man we are hunting," Saito said, folded hands pressed to his mouth. "She was very resourceful and was a clear asset to our team. I don't want to imagine what this man is doing to her in order to extract information. Assuming she's even alive."
"She's alive," Eames muttered, shaking his head. "There's no body, and she wouldn't cave easily. This one likes a challenge, and I'm willing to bet getting to her is a challenge he's taking on until he finds another victim."
Arthur gave Eames his undivided attention now. "What can you tell me? How can I help you?"
"There must be different layers of security built into the Ghost Network," Eames said, shifting his position to talk directly to Arthur. "Or one of those others. Maybe the fact that we're on the Ghost Network has come out, we're not sure. But there must be some way this bloke is getting information. No one else knows about this stuff, but he does. There's a reason to it, there's a deliberateness about him. He's focused on his target, and I think we've put a crimp in the system he's got."
"But I don't understand what my role in this would be. I help invent security measures to prevent information loss or personnel loss. I don't usually come in after the fact."
Eames nodded his understanding of that impatiently. "Yes, I'm sure. Look, Arthur. Off the record, what kind of access can you get me into these other networks."
Arthur blinked a few times rapidly, lips parted in surprise. Saito had a bland expression, and he watched the two of them carefully. Arthur glanced between Saito and Eames and pursed his lips as he put the blank portfolio down on his lap. "Off the record?" Eames nodded impatiently. Saito's nod was more precise and controlled. "I have an account on the Ghost Network, just to keep tabs on my clients. My secretary logs in regularly to check for PM's..."
"PM's?" Eames asked abruptly.
"Private messages," Arthur explained. "Not everything is done across forums, and even then, there are various levels of access."
Eames sat up straighter in his chair. "Maybe that's why we're locked out. Our informant might have more restricted access."
"Could be. I'm not a player on that scene, exactly, so I don't really have unlimited access either. Sending a PM to the mod doesn't automatically grant further access."
Almost looking as if he swallowed something unsavory, Eames contemplated what Arthur just said. "So users don't even have to post publicly or to a locked forum. They could just take their problems directly to the moderator and we'd never know."
"It could be," Arthur agreed with a shrug. "And honestly, the Ghost Network is the best one out there. The others are crap if you need up to the minute information or really need to get a hold of someone. The others all wish they could grow up to be the Ghost Network."
"All bloody well and good, but that doesn't help me track down the mod."
Arthur contemplated Eames carefully. "She's important to you, this agent of yours."
"She's a friend and she deserves better than what this psycho must be doing to her," Eames replied flatly. "How would you feel if one of your coworkers went missing?"
"Terrible," he replied evenly, expressionless. "It's happened. My line of work isn't always puppies and rainbows, either."
"This is why he works well with our organization," Saito interjected smoothly. "Connections and talent are useful things to cultivate." He turned to Arthur with a serious expression. "I need you to help Inspector Eames with this investigation. You will of course get your usual consulting fees." The manner with which he said that and Arthur's impeccable belongings made Eames think the fee was considerable. "I want my agent back, Arthur. You do understand that."
"I do," he replied easily. He twirled the Montblanc pen between his fingers. "I assume you have no legitimate leads."
"This one is a tricky bastard," Eames growled in agreement. "But he deviated from his pattern. He's bound to get sloppy and give us more to work with."
Arthur smiled at Eames warmly. "Well, in that case, I'd be more than happy to help you."
***
Ariadne tossed and turned in her sleep but woke abruptly. The couch in the basement bedroom had been much more comfortable than the one by the TV, so she wound up taking a nap in there, keeping the light off and the door open. She felt as though someone was with her, though she couldn't see anything. She scrubbed at her face tiredly and sat up, but then felt hands push her back down against the couch. "What?" she gasped, air leaving her lungs.
"I just wanted to look at you," Arthur said, though there was something in his voice that she couldn't name. His hands slid across her chest to cup her jaw, and for a second she thought he would choke her. "Do I scare you?" he asked, feeling her pulse leap against his fingers.
"What's happened?" Ariadne asked instead.
Arthur smiled, the dim light flashing off of his teeth. "They're so worried about you," he said in a strangled tone. "So convinced I'd hurt you."
"They don't know you," Ariadne offered. Her pulse was still rapid, her breathing shallow. Did this mean they were close?
"No, they don't," Arthur agreed easily. "And they can't have you back."
"Arthur..."
"Come into the dream with me," he insisted, hand sliding down from her neck to cup a breast through the nightgown she was wearing.
"But why?"
"I need you to see what I see," Arthur insisted, a harsh edge to his voice. Something was agitating him, and Ariadne could only think that there had to be something going wrong with his real life job or with the Ghost Network. "I need you to understand."
"I do, Arthur," Ariadne protested, sitting up. She grasped his face. "I do understand why you're doing this."
"It's all abstract to you," he said, syllables spit out through thinned lips. His grip on her waist was almost painfully tight. "You don't feel it the same way."
"Then show me," Ariadne said quietly. "Show me what they tell you on the network. Show me how you do it. Show me why it has to be done this way."
"That's why I want you in the dream with me," he said, voice tight.
"I meant real time," Ariadne murmured. "You have someone, don't you? That's why this is different. There's someone in mind, and you'd have to leave me alone to hunt him down properly." Not to mention the FBI still looking for her. If he had made a mistake anywhere and he was gone for too long, they could find her. She knew too much about him now to be safely left to her own devices for long periods of time.
Arthur's eyes searched her face, coming to a decision. "All right," he said slowly, every syllable carefully pronounced. "It might just be time."
***
***
To Chapter Eight!
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17.
Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur
Disclaimer: Everyone here belongs to Christopher Nolan and not to me. I like making his toys do naughty, naughty things.
Spoilers/Warnings: Post-movie. For the
inception_kink meme prompt: Serial killer or Assassin Arthur, victim or FBI agent Ariadne, and Stockholm Syndrome. It's an AU fic, folks, but I tried to keep them as IC as possible! Also written for the "wild card" box on my
hc_bingo card.
Summary: Someone has been killing people involved in sleep labs. As part of the Sleep Crimes Unit of the FBI, Ariadne has to help track down the Dream Killer. Things go very wrong very fast, and she's exactly in the last place she wants to be.
Prior chapters:
One - Entering The Dream
Two - Building The Maze
Three - Going Under
Four - A Different Point Of View
Five - A Hole In You And Me
Six - Catching The Princess
Oh, hai, more smut in this chapter!
Ariadne was sprawled across Arthur's bed, hands clasped tight on the slats of his headboard. She writhed beneath his mouth, his deft tongue flicking at her. Arthur held her hips still beneath his lips, though her legs still twitched restlessly. She was moaning and making cries that had to be loud enough to be heard through the windows. She should have been afraid of the sounds he coaxed out of her, but dear God in heaven, his touch was like magic. Arthur slid his fingers inside Ariadne as he sucked her clit, and her sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement he needed to continue. He could hear the whimpers deep in her throat as he worked her body, thighs trembling as she held them open for him. Arthur pulled back when she came abruptly, clenching down hard on his fingers, his lips glistening with her moisture. "God, you're so beautiful," he murmured, fingers still moving inside of her.
She let go of the headboard with one hand to thread her fingers into his hair as his mouth closed over a nipple. She moaned incoherently, maybe with words in between broken breaths. Yes, more, please, Arthur, like that, yes just like that, right there, I love how you feel...
Arthur let her push him aside, let her straddle his waist and sink deeply on top of him. She rocked against him, slow at first, her hands sliding along his thighs behind her. Arthur's hands trailed across her stomach before reaching up to fondle her breasts. Ariadne hissed at the contact, head thrown back and long dark hair falling to brush against his knees when he drew them up behind her. "Yes," she moaned, beginning to move faster over him. Arthur let out a grunt as he lifted his hips, thrusting deeper inside of her. "Oh god, Arthur, right there... You feel so good..." She came then, milking him hard, and Arthur let out a guttural cry as he came inside her.
She leaned down over him and kissed him, soft and slow, her tongue licking at the seam of his lips. Their tongues danced together, ending only when they needed to breathe. Arthur slid his hand along her jaw, drawing her closer to him. "Good morning," he said with a smile.
Ariadne giggled. She wasn't normally a giggler, but she felt too good to care. "Morning."
He tucked her hair behind her ears when she propped herself up on her elbows. "You're going to have to move at some point, you know," he teased. "We're going to have to clean up."
She shifted her hips playfully over him. "Or I just get him to wake up again..."
He gave her a mock groan. "Woman, you'll be the death of me."
His phone on the bedside table buzzed. It was a distinctive brrrrrrrm kind of ring, meant to get Arthur's attention even if he was hooked up to a PASIV. He sighed and grasped the phone to look at the text. He sighed and placed it back on his bedside table before looking up at Ariadne's inquisitive expression. "Work."
"Work?"
"Yeah. I do have a real job," he told her with a smile.
Ariadne rolled off of him and made a face at the leaking sensation between her thighs. "Oops. I guess you'll have to do the laundry again."
Arthur snickered and headed to the bathroom to clean up. He turned in the doorway and saw her looking at his phone with a hesitant expression on her face. "You can look at it if you want, Ariadne. There's no point in hiding that you're curious."
She made a face at him and picked up his phone. "So what do you do for a living, when you're not going around exacting justice on the evil dreamers of the world?"
He laughed and started to wash up. "Believe it or not, I own a security company."
"Somehow, I believe it," she replied dryly. Ariadne saw the message on his phone ADS consult @ 1pm, details in e-mail and frowned slightly. She couldn't see anything else, as a request for a password popped up. "So what's this?"
Arthur stood in the doorway to his bathroom, drying his hands on a towel. "I do security, both real space and dream security. I'm kind of a big deal in some circles." He flashed her a shy smile and plucked his phone out of her hands. "I can afford to handle only a few special cases personally. That account happens to be one of them."
"That's how you were able to track me down," Ariadne murmured.
He knelt in front of her. "You're good, don't doubt yourself on that point. But I waited until you were vulnerable and feeling more secure. That's why I take them when they leave their homes. They always think they're safe at home." He leaned forward to kiss her knee, then stood to get dressed. "Go on, wash up. It'll take me a while to visit the client from here, so I'll have to leave soon. I should be back in time for dinner. I can stop by and pick up groceries on the way back."
"Or I could do it," Ariadne offered, heart pounding in her chest.
Arthur turned slightly as he put on the boxer briefs. He had a smile on his face that was at once sad and condescending. "No, I don't think that's a good idea."
"Arthur..."
He grasped her face in his hands and tilted it up to look at him. "I love you. I even believe that you love me. But I don't think you trust me yet, and I wouldn't ever ask you to choose between your loyalty to the FBI and your loyalty to me." He ran his thumb over her bottom lip when they parted so she could speak. "No, it's all right, Ariadne. I can be the bad guy for a little longer. I can wait until you're really comfortable with me."
"But..."
He shook his head and went back to the closet, choosing a charcoal gray suit, light blue button down shirt and a maroon tie. "This will work, I think."
Ariadne pulled her knees up to her chest and crossed her arms over them. "So I get locked up in the basement again?" she whispered.
He paused as he buttoned up the shirt. "Yes, but I don't have to lock my workroom, do I?"
"What?"
Arthur deftly finished buttoning up the shirt and tucked it into the dress pants. "The room where you were staying was my workroom. That's what took me so long in getting ready. I had to take my notes out of it and put in the things I bought for you." He leaned over the edge of the bed, tie slung around his neck but undone. "I can let you walk around the rest of the basement, and just lock the door to the upstairs."
"You still don't trust me."
He kissed her forehead, and Ariadne could almost feel his sadness and disappointment in her. "No, I don't."
Ariadne felt cold and numb as she washed up in his bathroom, not even able to meet her eyes in the mirror over the bathroom counter. She felt hollow somehow, though it made no sense. She was sharing his bed now, she knew random things about him and knew just about everything from his fucked up childhood. On some level, she trusted Arthur with her life and trusted his judgment. On another, however, she knew she had to turn him in to the authorities. Even if he was right, even if those perpetrators would never be charged with their actual crimes, she couldn't simply allow a vigilante to assassinate them.
Arthur came up behind her and nuzzled her neck. "I love you," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. His left hand moved to caress her right breast, and his right moved to slide between her thighs. "Don't be mad at me."
"I'm not mad," Ariadne said, her breath fracturing as his fingers found her. She avoided meeting his gaze in the mirror, and her eyes fell to the track marks on the inside of her. She had no idea how much time they had spent together inside and outside of the dreamscape, as her sense of time was warped now. She sucked in a breath as he flicked his fingers across her pert nipple and traced circles around her clit. "Really," she gasped breathlessly. "I'm not mad."
"You're disappointed in me," he whispered against her neck. "But one of us has to be practical. Do you know if you'd run?"
Ariadne stifled a moan as he slid his fingers inside her roughly. "N-no," she admitted, shivering within his grasp. Her damp hands slid across the marble counter top, and she bent over in front of him as she came with a cry. She looked up through her messy hair into the mirror and saw Arthur's flush face, his tie askew and collar undone. He was undoing his belt and trousers, pulling everything down. Ariadne whimpered as he slid inside her, and braced herself against the counter as he thrust into her.
"I love you," he grunted, one hand on her hips and the other returning to fondle her breast. "I will always love you, Ariadne. This might hurt," he gasped, thrusting harder as she tightened around him. "But it would hurt less than leaving you to second guess yourself. Or torture yourself," he added, gritting his teeth to keep from coming right there. "I can't," he gasped, thrusting harder and faster. "I can't stop," he groaned as he came, hand tightening on her breast. "And I know you can't, either."
"Arthur," Ariadne gasped, hips bucking backward as she came hard. "I don't," she began weakly.
He smoothed her hair back. "I won't ask anything of you that you can't give," he murmured. "And I don't want you doubting yourself."
"I do anyway."
He smiled, pressing his lips into her back tenderly. "Not this kind of doubt."
Unable to deny the point, she merely nodded. Arthur pulled out of her and set about to making himself presentable. He helped her clean up, and dropped a kiss on her forehead after she pulled on a nightgown. She didn't make a fuss when he had her go into the basement, and she didn't scream when she heard the lock turn in the basement door. Ariadne could probably kick it open or find something to take apart the door, if she was really feeling industrious.
But Ariadne sat in the basement she had already come to memorize, its layout familiar. There was the spare bedroom that had once been Arthur's workroom and then her prison. The laundry area was next to it, and Arthur had built that small storage area around the house jack in one corner of it. The rest of the basement was more or less finished, but there wasn't much in it. He had a treadmill, an old couch, a TV and DVD player and a stereo that couldn't pick up any local stations. He had stripped her phone of its battery and sim card long ago, so her only comfort in carrying it was its familiar weight in her pocket. Even that she had given up after the first week or so of captivity. He now kept his computers, files and PASIV in a spare bedroom on the first floor. Everything was password protected, he had said, and she believed it. He had no reason to lie to her, after all. She wasn't leaving this house, and she wasn't leaving him.
She didn't know how she felt about that.
***
AD Saito welcomed Eames into his office. "Do sit down, Inspector," he said, indicating one of the plush chairs across from his desk. Eames sat down heavily in it and watched Saito gracefully sit in his forbidding-looking armchair. He looked rather like the king of a castle, the kind of man who could command an army easily. He was good at his job, and Eames respected that. He was also still willing to go the extra mile for his agents, which Eames really respected. He had gone on several occasions to the sleep lab they had set up, and Eames had seen the man's ninja projections at work. It had been impressive. The real reason Eames was sitting in his office was to discuss Ariadne's disappearance. She had been taken over a month ago, and Cobb was writing her off as dead. He didn't even acknowledge his role in the loss, pushing Fischer even harder to become the thing that the Dream Killer hunted. There were few other cases on Cobb's radar now, and he seemed to be consumed by this one particular case. He wanted it done at any cost, unable to see past the fact that he was driving his own team beyond their comfort zones. It was anyone else's fault but his, which Eames couldn't abide.
Saito had nominally put him in VCU, but Eames reported to Saito directly. His one particular case was Ariadne's disappearance. Like Eames, Saito believed that the Dream Killer had taken her. This broke his established pattern and the motive that they had uncovered. "He can be pushed," Saito had said. "So we just need to push harder."
With nothing to go on but the Ghost Network, it was hard to do. Eames and Yusuf often trawled the forums looking for complaints that might strike the Dream Killer's interest, but it was almost as if the community was aware of it now. People were less likely to complain about employers or coworkers now, and there were more and more posts that began "I don't know if outsiders are reading this, but..."
"I have an outside consultant that I've worked with on several occasions," Saito told Eames without preamble. "His expertise is in international security, both physical and dream. He may be aware of things that we are not, now that our primary source of information seems to be drying up." There was a knock at the door. "Ah. There he is now," Saito said with a pleased smile, rising to open the door. "Your timing, as always, is impeccable," Saito told the new arrival.
Eames got up and took a good look at the consultant. He was dressed in a a charcoal gray suit, light blue button down shirt and a maroon tie that was slightly loose but still professional looking. He carried a black leather attache case and seemed genuinely pleased to see Saito, who handled the introductions. "This is Inspector Eames."
"I'm Arthur," the new arrival said, giving Eames a professional smile and handshake when he approached. "Good to meet you."
They all sat down around Saito's massive mahogany desk. Arthur opened his attache case and used a Montblanc pen to take notes in a leather portfolio. There was nothing particularly ostentatious about it, but something about him set Eames' teeth on edge. Something about him was too calm, too practiced.
"We have had a particularly troublesome case, Arthur," Saito began, hands steepled in front of him. "We of course cannot go into explicit details, but there was for a time some hope that an illicit source of information would be helpful."
Arthur lofted an eyebrow at the both of them. "The Ghost Network?"
"Did everyone know about this bloody thing but us?" Eames blurted, annoyed.
Arthur managed not to smile, though Saito scowled. "It's not the only network of its kind, but it's the most... underhanded?" he said, replying to Eames with a helpless shrug at the end. "I'm aware of a few things like that, but a lot of it is done by word of mouth. I'd heard of it, of course. It's hard not to in my line of work."
"Your line of work," Eames repeated dully.
"Defense consultation in this day and age involves physical security, electronic security and even dream security. I've followed Dr. Miles' treatises closely, and the recent papers that have come out are fantastic to work with. I suspect that the underground has been using similar principles for years, though," Arthur said, looking between Saito and Eames. His gaze seemed to be sharpest on Eames' face. "Whatever it is that you're working with, it's dangerous."
"We've lost an agent," Saito admitted reluctantly.
"Lost," Arthur repeated blankly. He turned his attention back to Saito, eyebrow lofted. "What do you mean, lost?"
"We believe she was abducted by the man we are hunting," Saito said, folded hands pressed to his mouth. "She was very resourceful and was a clear asset to our team. I don't want to imagine what this man is doing to her in order to extract information. Assuming she's even alive."
"She's alive," Eames muttered, shaking his head. "There's no body, and she wouldn't cave easily. This one likes a challenge, and I'm willing to bet getting to her is a challenge he's taking on until he finds another victim."
Arthur gave Eames his undivided attention now. "What can you tell me? How can I help you?"
"There must be different layers of security built into the Ghost Network," Eames said, shifting his position to talk directly to Arthur. "Or one of those others. Maybe the fact that we're on the Ghost Network has come out, we're not sure. But there must be some way this bloke is getting information. No one else knows about this stuff, but he does. There's a reason to it, there's a deliberateness about him. He's focused on his target, and I think we've put a crimp in the system he's got."
"But I don't understand what my role in this would be. I help invent security measures to prevent information loss or personnel loss. I don't usually come in after the fact."
Eames nodded his understanding of that impatiently. "Yes, I'm sure. Look, Arthur. Off the record, what kind of access can you get me into these other networks."
Arthur blinked a few times rapidly, lips parted in surprise. Saito had a bland expression, and he watched the two of them carefully. Arthur glanced between Saito and Eames and pursed his lips as he put the blank portfolio down on his lap. "Off the record?" Eames nodded impatiently. Saito's nod was more precise and controlled. "I have an account on the Ghost Network, just to keep tabs on my clients. My secretary logs in regularly to check for PM's..."
"PM's?" Eames asked abruptly.
"Private messages," Arthur explained. "Not everything is done across forums, and even then, there are various levels of access."
Eames sat up straighter in his chair. "Maybe that's why we're locked out. Our informant might have more restricted access."
"Could be. I'm not a player on that scene, exactly, so I don't really have unlimited access either. Sending a PM to the mod doesn't automatically grant further access."
Almost looking as if he swallowed something unsavory, Eames contemplated what Arthur just said. "So users don't even have to post publicly or to a locked forum. They could just take their problems directly to the moderator and we'd never know."
"It could be," Arthur agreed with a shrug. "And honestly, the Ghost Network is the best one out there. The others are crap if you need up to the minute information or really need to get a hold of someone. The others all wish they could grow up to be the Ghost Network."
"All bloody well and good, but that doesn't help me track down the mod."
Arthur contemplated Eames carefully. "She's important to you, this agent of yours."
"She's a friend and she deserves better than what this psycho must be doing to her," Eames replied flatly. "How would you feel if one of your coworkers went missing?"
"Terrible," he replied evenly, expressionless. "It's happened. My line of work isn't always puppies and rainbows, either."
"This is why he works well with our organization," Saito interjected smoothly. "Connections and talent are useful things to cultivate." He turned to Arthur with a serious expression. "I need you to help Inspector Eames with this investigation. You will of course get your usual consulting fees." The manner with which he said that and Arthur's impeccable belongings made Eames think the fee was considerable. "I want my agent back, Arthur. You do understand that."
"I do," he replied easily. He twirled the Montblanc pen between his fingers. "I assume you have no legitimate leads."
"This one is a tricky bastard," Eames growled in agreement. "But he deviated from his pattern. He's bound to get sloppy and give us more to work with."
Arthur smiled at Eames warmly. "Well, in that case, I'd be more than happy to help you."
***
Ariadne tossed and turned in her sleep but woke abruptly. The couch in the basement bedroom had been much more comfortable than the one by the TV, so she wound up taking a nap in there, keeping the light off and the door open. She felt as though someone was with her, though she couldn't see anything. She scrubbed at her face tiredly and sat up, but then felt hands push her back down against the couch. "What?" she gasped, air leaving her lungs.
"I just wanted to look at you," Arthur said, though there was something in his voice that she couldn't name. His hands slid across her chest to cup her jaw, and for a second she thought he would choke her. "Do I scare you?" he asked, feeling her pulse leap against his fingers.
"What's happened?" Ariadne asked instead.
Arthur smiled, the dim light flashing off of his teeth. "They're so worried about you," he said in a strangled tone. "So convinced I'd hurt you."
"They don't know you," Ariadne offered. Her pulse was still rapid, her breathing shallow. Did this mean they were close?
"No, they don't," Arthur agreed easily. "And they can't have you back."
"Arthur..."
"Come into the dream with me," he insisted, hand sliding down from her neck to cup a breast through the nightgown she was wearing.
"But why?"
"I need you to see what I see," Arthur insisted, a harsh edge to his voice. Something was agitating him, and Ariadne could only think that there had to be something going wrong with his real life job or with the Ghost Network. "I need you to understand."
"I do, Arthur," Ariadne protested, sitting up. She grasped his face. "I do understand why you're doing this."
"It's all abstract to you," he said, syllables spit out through thinned lips. His grip on her waist was almost painfully tight. "You don't feel it the same way."
"Then show me," Ariadne said quietly. "Show me what they tell you on the network. Show me how you do it. Show me why it has to be done this way."
"That's why I want you in the dream with me," he said, voice tight.
"I meant real time," Ariadne murmured. "You have someone, don't you? That's why this is different. There's someone in mind, and you'd have to leave me alone to hunt him down properly." Not to mention the FBI still looking for her. If he had made a mistake anywhere and he was gone for too long, they could find her. She knew too much about him now to be safely left to her own devices for long periods of time.
Arthur's eyes searched her face, coming to a decision. "All right," he said slowly, every syllable carefully pronounced. "It might just be time."
***
***
To Chapter Eight!