(no subject)
Fandom; Inception
Title; just a broken promise
Characters; Robert Fischer, Dom Cobb, some Ariadne
Pairings; Cobb/Robert
Rating; PG-13? Maybe?
Word count; ~4200
NOTES; Prompt was: Cobb has been stalking Robert ever since inception. Just in case. One day he manages to accidentally get in the same elevator as Robert (and now they are the only two in the elevator). AND THE ELEVATOR STOPS WORKING AND BREAKS DOWN BETWEEN FLOORS. Robert starts freaking out, so Cobb calms him down.
SOOO I have to warn you, this is TOTAL SCHMOOP. There is no getting around this fact. Thanks to some ridiculous writer's block, this took me way too long to write and I'm not sure if I'm entirely satisfied with it, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. ♥
"You're in L.A." Ariadne didn't even bother phrasing the statement as a question. It was a fact, and she wasn't going to allow Cobb to try to pretend that it wasn't true.
Cobb leaned back in the stiff chair, groaning inwardly to himself as he clutched his cellphone. "Yes, I am," he replied nonchalantly, as if he weren't perfectly aware of what Ariadne was implying. As if he weren't sitting in a lobby only a few hundred feet away from the conference room which held Robert Fischer - as if he weren't there because he was sitting only a few hundred feet away from the conference room which held Robert Fischer. "How did you find out, anyway?" he asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from its natural conclusion for a few moments.
"Arthur told me," she said simply.
"I didn't tell Arthur I was here," Cobb replied, surprised. "How did he find out?" Since the Fischer job, Cobb had made no attempt to contact any member of his former team, as if by shedding his connections to his previous life he could shed his past altogether. When taking into account his current location, it became obvious that the plan hadn't worked in his favor. As it was, though, Ariadne was the only one who had bothered to try to keep tabs, but it had only been through brief phone conversations that never revealed too much.
"I think Eames found out," Ariadne said in a tone that implied she was shrugging on the other end of the line. "Arthur had said a couple months ago he had business in L.A."
"Eames?" Cobb asked, incredulous. "Keeping in touch with Arthur?"
"We've all kept in touch, Cobb," Ariadne said, her voice full of accusation. "You're the only one who hasn't bothered. Which I find extremely interesting, considering...." She trailed off.
"Considering what?" Cobb asked sharply.
"Considering where you are and what you're doing, Cobb. Do you think I'm stupid?"
"I know you're not stupid, Ariadne, but whatever you're thinking, you're off the mark this time," Cobb said, all the while keeping one eye on the secretary who was starting to question his presence, breaking from clicking through whatever website to stare at him accusatorially. As Cobb caught her eye, she glanced away quickly, trying to pretend that she was in the middle of doing something very, very important.
"Don't do this with me, Cobb," Ariadne warned. "You're following Fischer, aren't you?" And there it was - no more skirting around the elephant in the room.
"And what if I am?" Cobb defended. "This was the biggest job of my life - probably the biggest you'll ever do," he explained. "I need to make sure it worked."
"That's not it," Ariadne said crossly. "Don't even pretend that's what this is all about. I know it's not true, and you know it's not true." Cobb opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, Ariadne asked, "Where are you right now?"
"In L.A.," Cobb replied quickly. "We already went over this."
"Where in L.A.," Ariadne clarified. Cobb raised an eyebrow at this, half wondering if she weren't lying about Arthur and Eames and was really here, stalking him as he stalked Fischer.
"Planning on dropping in and saying hello?" he asked, amused.
"Cobb," Ariadne sighed, exasperated.
"Oh, you know, in an office building," Cobb told her, intentionally vague for as long as she would allow it.
"How about this," Ariadne switched tactics, "where are you in relation to Fischer?"
"Now you have me cornered," Cobb surrendered. "Do you really want to know the answer to that? Choose wisely," he suggested.
"If I had to guess, I'd say you're in the same building Fischer is in right now, aren't you? You've been keeping track of his every movement."
"Well," Cobb sighed, exaggerated, "I wouldn't go so far as to say every movement." But even that was a lie.
"I knew it," Ariadne exclaimed. But then she added, much more gently, "You can't help it, can you?"
"Help what?" Cobb asked, genuinely confused.
"The guilt," Ariadne supplied after a long pause. "You spent so long feeling nothing but guilt over Mal's death - it defined you. It became who you are. You were able to forgive yourself for what happened to Mal, but..."
"Ariadne," Cobb said, his tone stern. She knew he wasn't liking where this was going - knew he hated her for bringing up Mal - but it had to be said.
"You were never able to let go of your guilt. So you just transfered it instead of letting it go. You transferred it to Fischer. All the guilt you felt for Mal you've projected onto Fischer now, which is what this is all about. You feel like we've ruined him in some fundamental way, and you owe it to him to make sure he doesn't lose it all."
"Like Mal," Cobb filled in, gripping the phone with such force that he was surprised he didn't crush it.
"Cobb, I know, you don't want to hear this, but it's true and you need to realize what's going on - "
"You're not in my head, Ariadne, not this time," Cobb growled. "I know what's going on."
"Do you?" Ariadne asked, not backing down. "Think about it, Cobb. This isn't about Fischer, is it? This is still about Mal and this is still about the guilt you can't get over. What would happen if I did go into your mind? What would I find?"
Cobb opened his mouth to say something, to defend his own motives and his sanity, but stayed silent. Ariadne had a point - a point he didn't want to admit, didn't want to confront - but it was valid nonetheless. "I can't help -" he began, but paused, not able to find the right words to say what he wanted to convey. "I don't know how I would be able to handle it if what happened to Mal happened to someone else. I just - I can't let it happen. I can't let what happen to her be in vain - because if I did... it won't just be an accident anymore."
Ariadne's voice was soft. "Nothing is going to happen. It's been two years, Cobb. It's time for you to move on."
"You say that as if it's easy," Cobb laughed bitterly. "Don't you think if it were so easy, I would have moved on? Do you think I want to still be here?"
"Have you tried?" Ariadne asked gently. "If you can't do it for yourself, do it for me. Do it for the rest of the team - they're all worried about you, you know."
"Which is why you're the only one I've heard from."
"You're the one who ran away, Cobb. You're the one who sent out the message that you clearly did not want to be contacted. I'm the only one stubborn enough - though I'm thinking it's more like stupid enough - to go after you," Ariadne told him. "I know why you did it, but it's just making you alone. Giving you no one to help you."
"I don't need help," Cobb instinctively retorted.
"Oh, really?" Ariadne asked, highly skeptical. "Which is why you've been stalking Fischer for the past two years."
"It hasn't been the entire past two years," Cobb muttered. Glancing back at the secretary, Cobb realized she was looking up at him with growing frequency and concern. "Look, Ariadne, I have to go. I think the secretary is going to call security on me." He could hear Ariadne groan. "I'll keep in touch, alright?"
"Before you go, just promise me you're going to stop, ok? Promise me you're going to walk out of that building and leave Robert Fischer behind you," she pleaded.
Cobb let himself relax in the chair, staring blankly at the wall opposite him before finally responding, "I promise."
"Good," Ariadne said, letting out a sigh of relief. "Now get out of their before you get arrested, because no one is coming to bail you out," she joked.
Cobb smiled, letting her know softly, "Will do," before flipping the cell phone shut. As he walked away, he couldn't help but notice the relief in the secretary's face.
---
Cobb should have known this would happen.
He should have known that, just as he hit the close doors button on the elevator, that just as he was realizing that what he was doing wasn't right, that he needed to let go -
He would run on to the elevator, one arm outstretched and slammed against the side of the elevator, holding the doors at bay, making his way into the small space with Cobb. With his hair slightly tousled from running his hand through it a few too many times, tie skewed slightly and his skin paler than normal with a slight sheen, Cobb couldn't help but notice that Fischer looked - hassled. Worn, even. "You look like you're in a rush," Cobb commented quietly, one eyebrow raised, trying to contain his concern. There was nothing to be concerned about - Fischer was a busy man, and he wasn't perfect; he was bound to get tired sometimes. It had nothing to do with Cobb, and it was no concern of his.
Still, bad habits die hard.
"Hm?" Fischer asked, distracted. "I'm sorry, did you say something?" He turned to look at Cobb, and as his eyes met Cobb's, Cobb could see them widen ever so-slightly. Recognition? Cobb wondered with rising panic. But Fischer didn't say anything else, and the look passed.
"I said, you look like you're in a rush," Cobb repeated, playing the part of impassive bystander.
"Oh," Fischer said, lamely, before letting out a nervous chuckle. "I am." With that, an awkward silence filled the small space as Fischer quickly jabbed the button for the ground floor. Cobb glanced at his watch; the hands read 2:13. Fischer's meeting, Cobb remembered, wasn't supposed to end until three. Something must have come up, his mind supplied. Fischer had gotten an urgent call, an emergency arose that he just had to attend to - but a niggling voice at the back of Cobb's mind told him that wasn't it. Forcing his rising suspicions to be quelled, Cobb leaned against the railing, arms crossed, and watched intently as the elevator counted down the floors.
Lost amid his own thoughts, it took Cobb a moment to realize it when the numbers stopped changing. The elevator had slowed to a stop, but the number 5 was still shining brightly on the LED display. "Shit," he heard Fischer mutter, who had begun to press himself against the far corner of the elevator.
Jesus christ. It's like the universe hates me, Cobb thought grimly. The closest to the control panel, Cobb stepped forwardly and pressed the emergency phone button. Seriously, he continued to grumble in his head, of course this would happen.
"Hello? How may I help you?" came a voice - young female Cobb assumed, probably college-aged and underpaid and their only connection to help - crackly through the speaker. This isn't a goddamn drive through, Cobb thought to himself, already in a horrible mood.
"Yes, I'm on," Cobb glanced towards the top of the control panel, "elevator car 2, and we're stuck somewhere between floor 5 and floor 4, I believe," he said.
"We will be right on it, sir," the voice said, "please hold on one moment." The speaker went silent.
"Of course this happens when you're in a rush," Cobb tried to joke, turning towards Fischer - but Fischer wasn't listening. Instead, the other man was holding onto the guard rail so tight, his knuckles were turning white, his blue eyes wide and staring hard at the wall opposite him, mouth slightly parted. He was really sweating now, not just a light sheen, and Cobb realized he had every reason to start to worry about the other man.
"Robert," he said, not even realizing it as he slipped into using the more familiar name, "Robert, talk to me, are you alright?"
As Fischer struggled to remain standing, Cobb realized that his whole body was shaking, and soon his unstable legs gave way from beneath him and Fischer sank to the floor, his body sliding against the wall.
"Jesus christ, Robert," Cobb muttered, crouching down on the floor next to him. Closer now, Cobb realized that Fischer's breaths were rapid and shallow, and he had clutched his knees close to his chest. He was muttering under his breath, and Cobb felt like he had to hold his breath in order to stay quiet enough to hear him.
"I can't, I can't," Fischer said, repeating the words in a steady mantra. Cobb placed one hand on his shoulder, and the other on his cheek, forcing Fischer to turn and look him in the eyes. The wild blue eyes were wide and dilated.
"Robert, you need to stay calm," Cobb told him in a steady, even voice. "You need to stay calm. Deep breaths, can you do that for me?" Cobb could tell Fischer tried to obey him, but was clearly struggling.
"My heart - it won't stop racing - It's like - it's like - I'm going to die - " he gasped, and kicked his legs out, trying to push himself closer into the wall, as if he could somehow merge with the solid material behind him and completely disappear from existence.
"Just try to breath deep and slow, ok? Do that for me," Cobb urged him, before reluctantly leaving his side and going back to the control panel, furiously jamming down the emergency phone button. "Anyone there?" he barked. "You going to bother to help us or are you going to continue to sit on your asses?"
"Sir," the same voice as before stammered, "we're calling maintenance down as we speak. It won't be more than another twenty minutes, I promise," she said, clearly unnerved by Cobb. "We're terribly sorry for the inconvenience."
"Twenty minutes?" Cobb growled out. "How long could it possibly take to get the goddamn elevator to the floor? There's a man having a panic attack in here, and twenty minutes is not going to do it." Cobb was nearly shouting by the end, his own anxiousness compounded by the increasing speed of Fischer's gasps for air.
"I'm sorry, sir, we're working as fast as we can," the voice said timidly. "We can call an ambulance if you would like, sir," she said, the words barely audible over the crackling of the cheap speaker.
"You goddamn better call an ambulance," Cobb ground out, before glancing back at the man who had caused his own growing anxiety.
Returning to his side, Cobb knelt down on the floor next to Fischer. "Robert, you hanging in there?" he asked gently, keeping one hand on the side of his arm, stroking it lightly in an attempt to seem comforting. In truth, Cobb had no clue how he was supposed to react, but he wanted to be of help.
Fischer nodded mutely, tightening his hold over his knees and curling up tightly into a ball. "I'm sorry," he managed to gasp out between sharp intakes of air.
Cobb blinked at the statement. "Sorry?" he repeated dumbly. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he said after a moment, reaching forward and wiping away hair that clung to his forehead. Fischer's eyes stared up at him, the gaze clearly revealing the amount of relief and gratitude he felt for the other man.
"Getting stuck in an elevator," Fischer said shakily, "is hell as it is. I'm sure you didn't think it could get worse before you got stuck with a raving lunatic." At this, he offered a weak smile, and Cobb could feel himself begin to relax.
"It could be far, far worse," he assured Fischer. "There could have been ten people crammed on this elevator. If all I have to worry about is you... I'm fine."
Fischer relaxed his own arms, easing the death grip around his knees, allowing his legs to stretch out slightly across the floor. "Should have taken the stairs," he muttered under his breath. Rubbing his face with his hands, Fischer took another deep breath, attempting to collect himself.
"This is why you were in a rush," Cobb realized, slumping against the wall next to Fischer.
"Yeah," Fischer admitted. "This... started in the middle of a meeting. I thought if I got some fresh air, I'd get better."
"These happen often?" Cobb inquired. Ariadne had been right - he had been watching Fischer like a hawk these past two years. He had never noticed this before. How could he have missed this?
"Lately, they have," Fischer said quietly, after a moment of silence. "I... it's only been the past two years." Cobb's insides clenched. Since his father died, he realized. Since the inception. "When it first started, I would get them maybe once a month, but lately..." Fischer trailed off. Cobb didn't say anything, just watched him, hoping Fischer would be able to feel the reassurance he wished to convey. Cobb didn't think staring at him oddly would really do the trick, but he wasn't sure what would do it, so he hoped Fischer would get the message nonetheless.
"Do you know what causes them?" Cobb asked again, hoping he wasn't prying, but Fischer responded quickly and didn't seem to mind.
"Not really. The doctors say I have a panic disorder, probably brought on by psychological trauma after my father's death." The last part was said bitterly.
"Don't agree?" Cobb asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Not really," Fischer said simply with a shrug. "My father... well. I never saw him as much of a father while he was alive. If anything..." he paused for a moment. "If anything, his death set me free. Made me realize he wanted me to become my own man, instead of just trying to follow his footsteps for the rest of my life. You have no idea," Fischer said with a small laugh, "what a relief that was." He made a face. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this," he admitted sheepishly. "I'm sorry. You don't really care, do you?"
"No, no," Cobb reassured him, "I'm a good listener." He was a horrible listener, but right now, if Fischer needed a good listener he would be a good listener.
"You don't have to lie," Fischer laughed. "You don't look like the type of man who sits around listens to people whine."
"What kind of man do I look like, then?" Cobb asked, amused.
"You look more like the action type," Fischer said, trying to translate the image he had in his head of Cobb into words, "you know, the type who rides in, all white knight like, then rides into the sunset after your good deeds are done." His cheeks turned an embarrassing shade of red once he realized what he had just said, and opened his mouth quickly to make it seem at least slightly less like he had developed a sudden and absurd affinity for the man he had just met minutes before. Even though that was exactly what this was.
However, Cobb had already begun to laugh at the comment, but to Fischer's relief, it didn't seem to be at him. "I... wouldn't describe myself as the white knight type," he admitted.
"What type are you, then?" Fischer asked, cocking his head slightly to the side. Still extremely disheveled, his hair no longer perfectly groomed but thoroughly mussed, bright blue eyes wide with curiosity and his head angled to the side, Cobb couldn't help but notice how - adorable the other man looked. It didn't quite sit right with him, describing another grown man as adorable, but there were no other words that applied.
"The type you don't want to be," Cobb said, seriously.
"The type you don't talk about?" Fischer quickly caught on.
"Yeah," Cobb agreed. "That's the right way to put it. The type you don't talk about," he echoed, and he allowed his own head to rest against the wall, the two men staring at the far side of the elevator, side by side. If Cobb's hand brushed over Fischer's, neither acknowledged it. And if Fischer leaned in just enough to rest some his weight against Cobb's shoulder, neither made mention of it.
"Thank you, again," Fischer said quietly after a long, comfortable silence. "This was... this was a bad one. I don't know how I would have coped if you weren't here."
"I didn't do much," Cobb admitted. "Anyone else would have done the same."
"But..." Fischer protested, "it couldn't have been anyone else. It was you. I don't know why... but I feel like I can trust you."
I know why, Cobb thought, the uneasy feeling returning. And I know why you're having panic attacks. Instead of betraying the growing guilt he was experiencing, Cobb said simply, "Then, I'm glad I was here," offering Fischer a smile.
"Will you..." Fischer began hesitantly. "Will you still be here?" He sat up straight, then, turning to face Cobb head-on.
"When?" Cobb asked.
"After. After we get off this elevator. Will you still be here? Or are we going to be two strangers who just happened to share an experience on a trapped elevator?" he asked seriously.
Cobb wanted to say no - all rational parts of his brain screamed at him to say no, and Ariadne's voice from earlier came to mind. But Fischer was staring at him with eager eyes, and Cobb knew what he wanted him to say. As he took in all of the details of Fischer's face - the sculpted cheekbones, the pale, smooth skin spattered with freckles, his full lips parted just slightly as he waited for Cobb to respond, and, of course, those eyes - he realized Fischer was far closer than what was socially acceptable. He realized he didn't give a damn.
To hell with what Ariadne had to say - this wasn't about Mal, and this wasn't about guilt. Maybe Ariadne had been right, and maybe just a half hour before that was what this all had been about. But seeing Fischer, pressed against the wall, curled up on the floor shaking and vulnerable and hurting, had changed everything for Cobb. Now it wasn't about him at all: it was about Fischer, and what Fischer wanted, and by the way Fischer was looking at Cobb he knew Fischer wanted him. So he could have him.
"I'll stay," Cobb breathed. "I'll stay with you. I'll be here, to help you every time you need me." It occurred to him that he was being dramatic, but he meant every word.
Fischer didn't respond: he just sank back down on the floor, putting his weight against the wall once again, a small smile playing on his lips that said far more than words would. At that same moment, the speaker from the emergency life crackled to life once again, the voice on the other end declaring, "The elevator should be returning to ground level momentarily. We have an ambulance waiting for you, as well."
As if on cue, the elevator lurched to life, slowly sinking towards the ground. Cobb stared back up at the control panel as the LED display continued its countdown. "I don't even know your name," Fischer realized.
"I'll tell you once you get checked out by paramedics," Cobb told him.
"I'm fine," Fischer protested, but Cobb shot him a look that quieted any further complaints. Instead, Fischer asked quietly, "Do you promise?"
Cobb didn't even hesitate before he gave his answer. He would gladly break another promise to fulfill just this one.
---
It was early in the morning on the weekend when the phone rang, and Cobb hadn't even managed to get out of bed yet. Looking at the caller ID, at first angry at whoever was calling at this hour, he saw Ariadne's name and answered quickly. "Before you ask," Cobb said, not even allowing Ariadne to get in a greeting, "I am not in L.A."
"Are you back at home?" Ariadne asked, still skeptical of Cobb's ability to keep his promise.
He laughed before replying, "Yes, back at home, safe and sound."
"No more stalking Fischer?" she pried, and he could just hear the raised eyebrows. He didn't answer right away. Instead, Cobb looked down at the body nuzzled up against him, one arm thrown over his torso and head curled against his shoulder. Trying not to disturb Fischer as he slept, Cobb was careful to keep his voice low as he talked.
"No more stalking," he said, confident, and that much was true. So he continued the conversation with no more word on Fischer, instead listening as Ariadne filled him in on her own studies and Eames and Arthur's adventures around the world, all the while weaving his fingers through Fischer's tousled hair. She had asked if he was still stalking Fischer, not if he had kept the other man in his life, and Cobb wasn't inclined to share just how much Fischer was a part of his life just yet.
Title; just a broken promise
Characters; Robert Fischer, Dom Cobb, some Ariadne
Pairings; Cobb/Robert
Rating; PG-13? Maybe?
Word count; ~4200
NOTES; Prompt was: Cobb has been stalking Robert ever since inception. Just in case. One day he manages to accidentally get in the same elevator as Robert (and now they are the only two in the elevator). AND THE ELEVATOR STOPS WORKING AND BREAKS DOWN BETWEEN FLOORS. Robert starts freaking out, so Cobb calms him down.
SOOO I have to warn you, this is TOTAL SCHMOOP. There is no getting around this fact. Thanks to some ridiculous writer's block, this took me way too long to write and I'm not sure if I'm entirely satisfied with it, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. ♥
"You're in L.A." Ariadne didn't even bother phrasing the statement as a question. It was a fact, and she wasn't going to allow Cobb to try to pretend that it wasn't true.
Cobb leaned back in the stiff chair, groaning inwardly to himself as he clutched his cellphone. "Yes, I am," he replied nonchalantly, as if he weren't perfectly aware of what Ariadne was implying. As if he weren't sitting in a lobby only a few hundred feet away from the conference room which held Robert Fischer - as if he weren't there because he was sitting only a few hundred feet away from the conference room which held Robert Fischer. "How did you find out, anyway?" he asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from its natural conclusion for a few moments.
"Arthur told me," she said simply.
"I didn't tell Arthur I was here," Cobb replied, surprised. "How did he find out?" Since the Fischer job, Cobb had made no attempt to contact any member of his former team, as if by shedding his connections to his previous life he could shed his past altogether. When taking into account his current location, it became obvious that the plan hadn't worked in his favor. As it was, though, Ariadne was the only one who had bothered to try to keep tabs, but it had only been through brief phone conversations that never revealed too much.
"I think Eames found out," Ariadne said in a tone that implied she was shrugging on the other end of the line. "Arthur had said a couple months ago he had business in L.A."
"Eames?" Cobb asked, incredulous. "Keeping in touch with Arthur?"
"We've all kept in touch, Cobb," Ariadne said, her voice full of accusation. "You're the only one who hasn't bothered. Which I find extremely interesting, considering...." She trailed off.
"Considering what?" Cobb asked sharply.
"Considering where you are and what you're doing, Cobb. Do you think I'm stupid?"
"I know you're not stupid, Ariadne, but whatever you're thinking, you're off the mark this time," Cobb said, all the while keeping one eye on the secretary who was starting to question his presence, breaking from clicking through whatever website to stare at him accusatorially. As Cobb caught her eye, she glanced away quickly, trying to pretend that she was in the middle of doing something very, very important.
"Don't do this with me, Cobb," Ariadne warned. "You're following Fischer, aren't you?" And there it was - no more skirting around the elephant in the room.
"And what if I am?" Cobb defended. "This was the biggest job of my life - probably the biggest you'll ever do," he explained. "I need to make sure it worked."
"That's not it," Ariadne said crossly. "Don't even pretend that's what this is all about. I know it's not true, and you know it's not true." Cobb opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, Ariadne asked, "Where are you right now?"
"In L.A.," Cobb replied quickly. "We already went over this."
"Where in L.A.," Ariadne clarified. Cobb raised an eyebrow at this, half wondering if she weren't lying about Arthur and Eames and was really here, stalking him as he stalked Fischer.
"Planning on dropping in and saying hello?" he asked, amused.
"Cobb," Ariadne sighed, exasperated.
"Oh, you know, in an office building," Cobb told her, intentionally vague for as long as she would allow it.
"How about this," Ariadne switched tactics, "where are you in relation to Fischer?"
"Now you have me cornered," Cobb surrendered. "Do you really want to know the answer to that? Choose wisely," he suggested.
"If I had to guess, I'd say you're in the same building Fischer is in right now, aren't you? You've been keeping track of his every movement."
"Well," Cobb sighed, exaggerated, "I wouldn't go so far as to say every movement." But even that was a lie.
"I knew it," Ariadne exclaimed. But then she added, much more gently, "You can't help it, can you?"
"Help what?" Cobb asked, genuinely confused.
"The guilt," Ariadne supplied after a long pause. "You spent so long feeling nothing but guilt over Mal's death - it defined you. It became who you are. You were able to forgive yourself for what happened to Mal, but..."
"Ariadne," Cobb said, his tone stern. She knew he wasn't liking where this was going - knew he hated her for bringing up Mal - but it had to be said.
"You were never able to let go of your guilt. So you just transfered it instead of letting it go. You transferred it to Fischer. All the guilt you felt for Mal you've projected onto Fischer now, which is what this is all about. You feel like we've ruined him in some fundamental way, and you owe it to him to make sure he doesn't lose it all."
"Like Mal," Cobb filled in, gripping the phone with such force that he was surprised he didn't crush it.
"Cobb, I know, you don't want to hear this, but it's true and you need to realize what's going on - "
"You're not in my head, Ariadne, not this time," Cobb growled. "I know what's going on."
"Do you?" Ariadne asked, not backing down. "Think about it, Cobb. This isn't about Fischer, is it? This is still about Mal and this is still about the guilt you can't get over. What would happen if I did go into your mind? What would I find?"
Cobb opened his mouth to say something, to defend his own motives and his sanity, but stayed silent. Ariadne had a point - a point he didn't want to admit, didn't want to confront - but it was valid nonetheless. "I can't help -" he began, but paused, not able to find the right words to say what he wanted to convey. "I don't know how I would be able to handle it if what happened to Mal happened to someone else. I just - I can't let it happen. I can't let what happen to her be in vain - because if I did... it won't just be an accident anymore."
Ariadne's voice was soft. "Nothing is going to happen. It's been two years, Cobb. It's time for you to move on."
"You say that as if it's easy," Cobb laughed bitterly. "Don't you think if it were so easy, I would have moved on? Do you think I want to still be here?"
"Have you tried?" Ariadne asked gently. "If you can't do it for yourself, do it for me. Do it for the rest of the team - they're all worried about you, you know."
"Which is why you're the only one I've heard from."
"You're the one who ran away, Cobb. You're the one who sent out the message that you clearly did not want to be contacted. I'm the only one stubborn enough - though I'm thinking it's more like stupid enough - to go after you," Ariadne told him. "I know why you did it, but it's just making you alone. Giving you no one to help you."
"I don't need help," Cobb instinctively retorted.
"Oh, really?" Ariadne asked, highly skeptical. "Which is why you've been stalking Fischer for the past two years."
"It hasn't been the entire past two years," Cobb muttered. Glancing back at the secretary, Cobb realized she was looking up at him with growing frequency and concern. "Look, Ariadne, I have to go. I think the secretary is going to call security on me." He could hear Ariadne groan. "I'll keep in touch, alright?"
"Before you go, just promise me you're going to stop, ok? Promise me you're going to walk out of that building and leave Robert Fischer behind you," she pleaded.
Cobb let himself relax in the chair, staring blankly at the wall opposite him before finally responding, "I promise."
"Good," Ariadne said, letting out a sigh of relief. "Now get out of their before you get arrested, because no one is coming to bail you out," she joked.
Cobb smiled, letting her know softly, "Will do," before flipping the cell phone shut. As he walked away, he couldn't help but notice the relief in the secretary's face.
---
Cobb should have known this would happen.
He should have known that, just as he hit the close doors button on the elevator, that just as he was realizing that what he was doing wasn't right, that he needed to let go -
He would run on to the elevator, one arm outstretched and slammed against the side of the elevator, holding the doors at bay, making his way into the small space with Cobb. With his hair slightly tousled from running his hand through it a few too many times, tie skewed slightly and his skin paler than normal with a slight sheen, Cobb couldn't help but notice that Fischer looked - hassled. Worn, even. "You look like you're in a rush," Cobb commented quietly, one eyebrow raised, trying to contain his concern. There was nothing to be concerned about - Fischer was a busy man, and he wasn't perfect; he was bound to get tired sometimes. It had nothing to do with Cobb, and it was no concern of his.
Still, bad habits die hard.
"Hm?" Fischer asked, distracted. "I'm sorry, did you say something?" He turned to look at Cobb, and as his eyes met Cobb's, Cobb could see them widen ever so-slightly. Recognition? Cobb wondered with rising panic. But Fischer didn't say anything else, and the look passed.
"I said, you look like you're in a rush," Cobb repeated, playing the part of impassive bystander.
"Oh," Fischer said, lamely, before letting out a nervous chuckle. "I am." With that, an awkward silence filled the small space as Fischer quickly jabbed the button for the ground floor. Cobb glanced at his watch; the hands read 2:13. Fischer's meeting, Cobb remembered, wasn't supposed to end until three. Something must have come up, his mind supplied. Fischer had gotten an urgent call, an emergency arose that he just had to attend to - but a niggling voice at the back of Cobb's mind told him that wasn't it. Forcing his rising suspicions to be quelled, Cobb leaned against the railing, arms crossed, and watched intently as the elevator counted down the floors.
Lost amid his own thoughts, it took Cobb a moment to realize it when the numbers stopped changing. The elevator had slowed to a stop, but the number 5 was still shining brightly on the LED display. "Shit," he heard Fischer mutter, who had begun to press himself against the far corner of the elevator.
Jesus christ. It's like the universe hates me, Cobb thought grimly. The closest to the control panel, Cobb stepped forwardly and pressed the emergency phone button. Seriously, he continued to grumble in his head, of course this would happen.
"Hello? How may I help you?" came a voice - young female Cobb assumed, probably college-aged and underpaid and their only connection to help - crackly through the speaker. This isn't a goddamn drive through, Cobb thought to himself, already in a horrible mood.
"Yes, I'm on," Cobb glanced towards the top of the control panel, "elevator car 2, and we're stuck somewhere between floor 5 and floor 4, I believe," he said.
"We will be right on it, sir," the voice said, "please hold on one moment." The speaker went silent.
"Of course this happens when you're in a rush," Cobb tried to joke, turning towards Fischer - but Fischer wasn't listening. Instead, the other man was holding onto the guard rail so tight, his knuckles were turning white, his blue eyes wide and staring hard at the wall opposite him, mouth slightly parted. He was really sweating now, not just a light sheen, and Cobb realized he had every reason to start to worry about the other man.
"Robert," he said, not even realizing it as he slipped into using the more familiar name, "Robert, talk to me, are you alright?"
As Fischer struggled to remain standing, Cobb realized that his whole body was shaking, and soon his unstable legs gave way from beneath him and Fischer sank to the floor, his body sliding against the wall.
"Jesus christ, Robert," Cobb muttered, crouching down on the floor next to him. Closer now, Cobb realized that Fischer's breaths were rapid and shallow, and he had clutched his knees close to his chest. He was muttering under his breath, and Cobb felt like he had to hold his breath in order to stay quiet enough to hear him.
"I can't, I can't," Fischer said, repeating the words in a steady mantra. Cobb placed one hand on his shoulder, and the other on his cheek, forcing Fischer to turn and look him in the eyes. The wild blue eyes were wide and dilated.
"Robert, you need to stay calm," Cobb told him in a steady, even voice. "You need to stay calm. Deep breaths, can you do that for me?" Cobb could tell Fischer tried to obey him, but was clearly struggling.
"My heart - it won't stop racing - It's like - it's like - I'm going to die - " he gasped, and kicked his legs out, trying to push himself closer into the wall, as if he could somehow merge with the solid material behind him and completely disappear from existence.
"Just try to breath deep and slow, ok? Do that for me," Cobb urged him, before reluctantly leaving his side and going back to the control panel, furiously jamming down the emergency phone button. "Anyone there?" he barked. "You going to bother to help us or are you going to continue to sit on your asses?"
"Sir," the same voice as before stammered, "we're calling maintenance down as we speak. It won't be more than another twenty minutes, I promise," she said, clearly unnerved by Cobb. "We're terribly sorry for the inconvenience."
"Twenty minutes?" Cobb growled out. "How long could it possibly take to get the goddamn elevator to the floor? There's a man having a panic attack in here, and twenty minutes is not going to do it." Cobb was nearly shouting by the end, his own anxiousness compounded by the increasing speed of Fischer's gasps for air.
"I'm sorry, sir, we're working as fast as we can," the voice said timidly. "We can call an ambulance if you would like, sir," she said, the words barely audible over the crackling of the cheap speaker.
"You goddamn better call an ambulance," Cobb ground out, before glancing back at the man who had caused his own growing anxiety.
Returning to his side, Cobb knelt down on the floor next to Fischer. "Robert, you hanging in there?" he asked gently, keeping one hand on the side of his arm, stroking it lightly in an attempt to seem comforting. In truth, Cobb had no clue how he was supposed to react, but he wanted to be of help.
Fischer nodded mutely, tightening his hold over his knees and curling up tightly into a ball. "I'm sorry," he managed to gasp out between sharp intakes of air.
Cobb blinked at the statement. "Sorry?" he repeated dumbly. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he said after a moment, reaching forward and wiping away hair that clung to his forehead. Fischer's eyes stared up at him, the gaze clearly revealing the amount of relief and gratitude he felt for the other man.
"Getting stuck in an elevator," Fischer said shakily, "is hell as it is. I'm sure you didn't think it could get worse before you got stuck with a raving lunatic." At this, he offered a weak smile, and Cobb could feel himself begin to relax.
"It could be far, far worse," he assured Fischer. "There could have been ten people crammed on this elevator. If all I have to worry about is you... I'm fine."
Fischer relaxed his own arms, easing the death grip around his knees, allowing his legs to stretch out slightly across the floor. "Should have taken the stairs," he muttered under his breath. Rubbing his face with his hands, Fischer took another deep breath, attempting to collect himself.
"This is why you were in a rush," Cobb realized, slumping against the wall next to Fischer.
"Yeah," Fischer admitted. "This... started in the middle of a meeting. I thought if I got some fresh air, I'd get better."
"These happen often?" Cobb inquired. Ariadne had been right - he had been watching Fischer like a hawk these past two years. He had never noticed this before. How could he have missed this?
"Lately, they have," Fischer said quietly, after a moment of silence. "I... it's only been the past two years." Cobb's insides clenched. Since his father died, he realized. Since the inception. "When it first started, I would get them maybe once a month, but lately..." Fischer trailed off. Cobb didn't say anything, just watched him, hoping Fischer would be able to feel the reassurance he wished to convey. Cobb didn't think staring at him oddly would really do the trick, but he wasn't sure what would do it, so he hoped Fischer would get the message nonetheless.
"Do you know what causes them?" Cobb asked again, hoping he wasn't prying, but Fischer responded quickly and didn't seem to mind.
"Not really. The doctors say I have a panic disorder, probably brought on by psychological trauma after my father's death." The last part was said bitterly.
"Don't agree?" Cobb asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Not really," Fischer said simply with a shrug. "My father... well. I never saw him as much of a father while he was alive. If anything..." he paused for a moment. "If anything, his death set me free. Made me realize he wanted me to become my own man, instead of just trying to follow his footsteps for the rest of my life. You have no idea," Fischer said with a small laugh, "what a relief that was." He made a face. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this," he admitted sheepishly. "I'm sorry. You don't really care, do you?"
"No, no," Cobb reassured him, "I'm a good listener." He was a horrible listener, but right now, if Fischer needed a good listener he would be a good listener.
"You don't have to lie," Fischer laughed. "You don't look like the type of man who sits around listens to people whine."
"What kind of man do I look like, then?" Cobb asked, amused.
"You look more like the action type," Fischer said, trying to translate the image he had in his head of Cobb into words, "you know, the type who rides in, all white knight like, then rides into the sunset after your good deeds are done." His cheeks turned an embarrassing shade of red once he realized what he had just said, and opened his mouth quickly to make it seem at least slightly less like he had developed a sudden and absurd affinity for the man he had just met minutes before. Even though that was exactly what this was.
However, Cobb had already begun to laugh at the comment, but to Fischer's relief, it didn't seem to be at him. "I... wouldn't describe myself as the white knight type," he admitted.
"What type are you, then?" Fischer asked, cocking his head slightly to the side. Still extremely disheveled, his hair no longer perfectly groomed but thoroughly mussed, bright blue eyes wide with curiosity and his head angled to the side, Cobb couldn't help but notice how - adorable the other man looked. It didn't quite sit right with him, describing another grown man as adorable, but there were no other words that applied.
"The type you don't want to be," Cobb said, seriously.
"The type you don't talk about?" Fischer quickly caught on.
"Yeah," Cobb agreed. "That's the right way to put it. The type you don't talk about," he echoed, and he allowed his own head to rest against the wall, the two men staring at the far side of the elevator, side by side. If Cobb's hand brushed over Fischer's, neither acknowledged it. And if Fischer leaned in just enough to rest some his weight against Cobb's shoulder, neither made mention of it.
"Thank you, again," Fischer said quietly after a long, comfortable silence. "This was... this was a bad one. I don't know how I would have coped if you weren't here."
"I didn't do much," Cobb admitted. "Anyone else would have done the same."
"But..." Fischer protested, "it couldn't have been anyone else. It was you. I don't know why... but I feel like I can trust you."
I know why, Cobb thought, the uneasy feeling returning. And I know why you're having panic attacks. Instead of betraying the growing guilt he was experiencing, Cobb said simply, "Then, I'm glad I was here," offering Fischer a smile.
"Will you..." Fischer began hesitantly. "Will you still be here?" He sat up straight, then, turning to face Cobb head-on.
"When?" Cobb asked.
"After. After we get off this elevator. Will you still be here? Or are we going to be two strangers who just happened to share an experience on a trapped elevator?" he asked seriously.
Cobb wanted to say no - all rational parts of his brain screamed at him to say no, and Ariadne's voice from earlier came to mind. But Fischer was staring at him with eager eyes, and Cobb knew what he wanted him to say. As he took in all of the details of Fischer's face - the sculpted cheekbones, the pale, smooth skin spattered with freckles, his full lips parted just slightly as he waited for Cobb to respond, and, of course, those eyes - he realized Fischer was far closer than what was socially acceptable. He realized he didn't give a damn.
To hell with what Ariadne had to say - this wasn't about Mal, and this wasn't about guilt. Maybe Ariadne had been right, and maybe just a half hour before that was what this all had been about. But seeing Fischer, pressed against the wall, curled up on the floor shaking and vulnerable and hurting, had changed everything for Cobb. Now it wasn't about him at all: it was about Fischer, and what Fischer wanted, and by the way Fischer was looking at Cobb he knew Fischer wanted him. So he could have him.
"I'll stay," Cobb breathed. "I'll stay with you. I'll be here, to help you every time you need me." It occurred to him that he was being dramatic, but he meant every word.
Fischer didn't respond: he just sank back down on the floor, putting his weight against the wall once again, a small smile playing on his lips that said far more than words would. At that same moment, the speaker from the emergency life crackled to life once again, the voice on the other end declaring, "The elevator should be returning to ground level momentarily. We have an ambulance waiting for you, as well."
As if on cue, the elevator lurched to life, slowly sinking towards the ground. Cobb stared back up at the control panel as the LED display continued its countdown. "I don't even know your name," Fischer realized.
"I'll tell you once you get checked out by paramedics," Cobb told him.
"I'm fine," Fischer protested, but Cobb shot him a look that quieted any further complaints. Instead, Fischer asked quietly, "Do you promise?"
Cobb didn't even hesitate before he gave his answer. He would gladly break another promise to fulfill just this one.
---
It was early in the morning on the weekend when the phone rang, and Cobb hadn't even managed to get out of bed yet. Looking at the caller ID, at first angry at whoever was calling at this hour, he saw Ariadne's name and answered quickly. "Before you ask," Cobb said, not even allowing Ariadne to get in a greeting, "I am not in L.A."
"Are you back at home?" Ariadne asked, still skeptical of Cobb's ability to keep his promise.
He laughed before replying, "Yes, back at home, safe and sound."
"No more stalking Fischer?" she pried, and he could just hear the raised eyebrows. He didn't answer right away. Instead, Cobb looked down at the body nuzzled up against him, one arm thrown over his torso and head curled against his shoulder. Trying not to disturb Fischer as he slept, Cobb was careful to keep his voice low as he talked.
"No more stalking," he said, confident, and that much was true. So he continued the conversation with no more word on Fischer, instead listening as Ariadne filled him in on her own studies and Eames and Arthur's adventures around the world, all the while weaving his fingers through Fischer's tousled hair. She had asked if he was still stalking Fischer, not if he had kept the other man in his life, and Cobb wasn't inclined to share just how much Fischer was a part of his life just yet.