Fic: The Carrick (11A/14), PG-13
The Carrick
Pairings: Eventual Ariadne/Cobb and Arthur/Eames, past-Ariadne/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The team starts to delve back into the world of dreams to rehabilitate coma patients, but going under means facing secrets they have all been keeping.
Words: 7973
Notes: Inception is still not mine. The greatest of thanks goes to swamp_ariadne , who is an amazing friend, fellow fan, and fount of knowledge; this wouldn't make half as much sense if it wasn't her for help.
Index
“You cleaned your gun already,” Arthur stated, continuing to write on his notepad, although Cobb ignored him and continued the process. “Like an hour ago.”
The only sound was of metal on a metal counter.
The Point Man turned swiveled in his chair to face his friend, allowing himself to still be able to see the surveillance cams out of the corner of his eye. Malone had not left his apartment since the evening before, save to get his mail. He'd booked a flight in a few hours, and they'd already been in contact with the limo service, bribing them to ensure the plan went well. “Seriously, Cobb. Just relax.”
In the two days that they had been in D.C., Cobb had been restless, easily agitated, and constantly checking back in with Ariadne and Miles. Arthur had gone about doing the legwork and research, slightly worried about leaving Cobb by himself in his hotel room.
Eames had laughed when he had related this over one of their phone conversations. “He's a grown man, Arthur, not a child. Give him a little space but keep him on one of those leashes that I see people toddling their tikes on.”
Arthur had been too busy trying not to laugh at the image to correct him.
Cobb looked up from his gun, fixing his friend with a severe look. “I can't. You know I can't. I just keep thinking this over...It doesn't make any sense. Swiss bank accounts or not, they know that any attempt to touch those accounts is going to raise flags with more international agencies and governing bodies than you can count. So why go through the trouble?”
Arthur stared out the window, contemplating. “You said Maurer was climbing the ranks back then. I was never really as involved in Cobol's side as you were, but I remember you telling me that she was too ambitious...not capable of what she was aiming for. You barely knew her and could call that from a mile away, so imagine if you actually worked with her and started to suspect she was leading you towards trouble.”
Cobb's eyebrows rose. “Mutiny?”
Arthur held his hands out on the chair's arms and shrugged. “Quite possibly. If she were getting sloppy, getting too paranoid, I'd say they'd feel it was the only thing to do. It would get her out of the way while they hid, and restructured their organization. Maurer got to where she is because she knew who to play and how to take advantage of her coworkers' fears. If it's just her now, lonely at the top then she's got no one to hide behind. She's looking for a way to assert her position, prove to rest of Cobol she belongs where she is; if someone came to her to get clearance for the operation, she probably cleared it without looking at the particulars. ”
Cobb shook his head. “No, think about it: she probably prides herself in knowing everything that's going on...or believes that she does.”
Arthur started to bob his head slowly as he processed the idea. “She's only one person, so...an assistant? A right hand man?”
“Malone.”
They both looked over at the surveillance photograph on the desk: a photograph of Maurer and Malone at a conference in earlier days. They had barely known either of them, then, had just met themselves.
Cobb studied the notepad Arthur was writing on, ran his hands over his face, and his fingers lingered on his lips for a moment. “It amazes me they're related.”
Arthur nodded, aware of where Cobb's train of thought had strayed. The corner of the younger man's mouth curled up slightly into a soft smile. Ariadne had never admitted to him who her mother was, not until after they had broken up, but he'd guessed the connection at some point. “Me too.”
Ariadne made the turn into the neighborhood, and chose to make a left instead. She slowed down in front of the cedar shingled house with a bold, red 'Sold' sign outside of it. She leaned against the wheel and stared at it for a moment, waiting for the call tha
t was on hold on her Bluetooth piece.
It could be a home, it would be a home. She just wanted to make sure that Dom was safe to make it one, for the girls. They deserved that, all of them. Maybe even her, to a lesser degree.
Suddenly, there was the sound of papers being shuffled, and then the plastic noise of the phone being moved, and the head of the Institute's security was back on the line. “Miss Maurer? Didn't you get the log? My email shows that it was sent successfully.”
Ariadne stared, exasperated, at the phone, despite knowing full well the man could not see her. “I did, but I requested the swipe logs for two months, not just the highlights.” I.T. had not been a problem whatsoever, but Security was being more than stingy with the info they were giving her, despite Mile's intervention.
“I'll get on that, but it might be some time.”
Ariadne's head fell back onto the headrest for a moment. She took a steadying breath, thanked the man, and then hung up. If it came down to it, she'd ask a favor of Yusef and have him hack the system; his tech abilities were lesser known, but very appreciated by Ariadne and the team.
She then turned and drove past her own house, admiring it's color, and structure as she passed it; her neighbor Mrs. Carlton gave her a friendly wave, which she returned, before she parked the vehicle.
The seller was outside of the house, carrying a cardboard box down the front porch stairs. Ariadne quickly got out and jogged up to her, taking it from her. On the way to the moving truck, Mrs. Carlton waved her over to the fence to talk. Another neighbor jogged past, and greeted them.
She could get used to this, she could grow to like it. This was a little bit like being a normal person, things that would make her feel normal.
Tom Malone buttoned his suit, picked the silver briefcase up off of the ground with one hand, and wheeled the suitcase with the other. The limo driver came to meet him at the entrance of his building, quickly taking the suitcase from him, not making eye contact.
The behavior wasn't very abnormal. For the most part, the chauffeur service he used prided itself on discretion. It wasn't until he was about to get into the vehicle, and the driver opened the door, that he knew something was wrong; the man's shoulders were too drawn under his ill-fitting suit, and he was sweating bullets.
Malone never had a chance to question the man, because Dominic Cobb yanked him into the vehicle, and held him down despite his best attempt to wrestle out of his grip; Arthur jammed a needle into Malone's neck and helped to keep the man pinned down while the sedative worked. Fortunately, the man's increased heart rate only helped the sedative circulate in his system.
“Drive!” Cobb barked, and the driver slammed the door shut, and ran to do as he was asked.
Malone struggled against Cobb, who kept his arm around the man's grip until he started to weaken. Arthur helped to push him onto the other leather seat, where the man, just before his eyes closed, seemed to stare at Cobb with tremendous fear.
Good, Cobb thought fiercely. He ought to fear him. He ought to fear the man who wanted nothing more than to destroy Malone in the same manner he'd tried to destroy him.
There was a flurry of dark hair and peals of delighted laughter, and Eames emerged from all of it carrying two little excited children.
Ariadne padded into the room, hands on her hips, and surveyed the situation with false regret.
“What was I thinking, letting you take the girls for the overnight? They're going to be bouncing off of the walls when Cobb comes back, and they'll probably know how to hotwire a car.”
Eames shrugged, and the children in his arms were quickly raised and dropped with the over-dramatic movement of his shoulders. “Kids ought to know that sort of stuff. I know Cobb was in his teens when he learned, you were too, right? Figures that children he made and you've raised would be purloining little prodigies.” He wagged a finger. “And I'd work on pickpocketing before that.”
She jerked a thumb in the direction of the garment bag by the front door. “That dress? I can return it. Miles would completely understand me backing out of the Winter Ball if it meant that the future of his grandchildren remained crime-free.”
The man sighed and put the children down, and who obediently ran off to excitedly grab their backpacks as Ariadne asked. Eames eyes strayed to the bag.
“'Fraid your Cinderella moment might not take place, what with the weather they're predicting. Arthur told me he's not sure anything will be leaving D.C..”
“Arthur will be back here in no time, Eames. Safe and sound.”
He shook his head and jammed his hands into his pockets. “You can't make that promise, Ariadne, no one can. I won't really feel at ease until he's back here.” It was a moment of bare honesty, one that neither had ever indulged in with one another before, at least not to that degree. It surprised her a little.
She listened for the pounding of feet upstairs, and heard Florence wishing the girls a pleasant trip - Flor herself would be leaving for the gallery shortly. “Wasn't making it; sort of trying to reassure both of us at the same time, actualy. Now, you have the emergency contact list, right? Do you want me to go over how to use the Epipen again or-”
He waved her concern away. “I have it completely under control, my dear. Caroline is allergic to Peanuts, while Phillipa is called 'Peanut', and I have ensured that none of the foods they will be eating will have them in it.”
She nodded, assuaged. “Now if any plans change, I'll call and let you know. I might move a couple of boxes into the house if my flight is grounded, but I'd tell you before hand.”
The children came bounding back down the stairs, overnight bags on their backs, prized stuffed animals in their arms. They had no idea what the adults were facing, that Ariadne had started carrying more than just her Tomcat when she was out with them, that their father was off to seek revenge and intel with their uncle, that Eames and Ariadne were worried sick over them. She wanted to keep it that way, at least for the time being. Parenting meant protection, not necessarily from the world at large, but from things such as this.
She dropped to her knees, taking the children by the hand, and went back over the ground and safety rules she had established with them. And then, she collected them into her arms, and held their small, fragile, vital bodies against hers for a moment. She kissed them both on cheek and set them loose.
Miles came to stand beside her as she waved Eames off.
Her phone rang, and she recognized the number as the one belonging to the house's seller. She picked it up.
“Miss Maurer? I need to ask you a favor.”
His apartment was quiet, in the early morning; the building housed no families, and he was thankful for it when he could wake up and not have to hear a child screaming or cartoons blaring. Just peace and quiet.
Tom Malone went to get out of the bed, and finds he can't roll onto his back, because the arm that is sprawled out across the mattress is actually handcuffed to the bed frame, which is sturdier than the Ikea piece in his real apartment, and suddenly he remembers what's happened.
“Shit,” he utters, than squirms to look over his shoulder when he hears footsteps behind him.
“That sounds about correct, Malone,” says the dark-haired man. He has a Glock in his hand, and a stern look on his face. Arthur, Cobb's partner. The man he had sent his operative to California to follow, and accurately so.
Malone knows better than to feel threatened with a gun in his face, at least here. He feels his upper lip curl up into a snarl as he says “That gun is not much of a threat in a dream, Arthur.” That's the thing with the Military recruits: they have morals, have rules. Cobol's own don't; they'll do what it takes, whatever it takes.
Arthur sits neatly on the edge of the bed, gestures to Malone's arm with the gun. “It would be if we sedated you, wouldn't it?”
He twists back around and sees the small indent mark on his arm, and the forming bruise there. Arthur's face is smooth, dangerous. He'd heard things about this man and what he is capable of in dreams. Meticulousness means details in dreams, like sedation keeping a person under, allowing for a slip into Limbo. It is too much to risk. Arthur stands when he sees submission on Malone's face.
“Good,” he praises.
Malone is led, at gun point, into the other room. Here, the dream differs from the layout of his own apartment. Instead of the sunny little kitchenette living room, it's a room made of cement, with a grate in the center of the floor. Cobb is standing by a stainless steel table in the corner, and around the man's suited shoulder, Malone can make out the glimmer of tools. Arthur pushes him into the chair.
Malone knows about torture. Unfortunately for these two men, he knew all about torture in dreams, and had been one of the people who discovered the trick to tamping down pain, to shutting off the memories of sensation in a dream. He informs them of this.
Cobb simply shrugs. “Doesn't mean I can't try to prove you wrong.”
Arthur pats Malone, now handcuffed to the chair, on the shoulder, then starts to exit the room, leaving through another door, into a storage area. It's some kind of library, with Cobol blue folders and DVDs, and a television in the corner. “I'll leave you to it, Cobb.”
“You can't get any info from me,” Malone vows, and stares Cobb straight in the eye. “You can't break me.”
The man starts to draw the stainless steel table closer to the chair. It shrieks in protest against the cement floor, a teeth-jarring noise. He settles onto a stool that he draw from nowhere, and turns to Malone. It's very clinical; his dentists behaves this way before a routine cleaning.
“Oh, I can break you - your body at least. And Arthur is going to get the information in the mean time. You and I? Well, we're just going to keep one another company.”
When he cuts off his first finger - damn Arthur's infamous specificity in dreams - it hurts like it would in real life, and Malone screams.
She looked around the empty house, could hear the echo of her feet on the hardwood floors, and crossed her arms across her chest. The house was a place of beginnings and endings, but in the end it was simply a house.
There was a knock at the door, and the silhouette of a woman against the frosted glass there. She went to cautiously answer it.
Arthur scans quickly through the blue folders' tabs for personnel, hoping that a name pops out at him. It doesn't, so he starts to flip through them as he cues a DVD up.
In the other room, Cobb continues to take the man apart, piece by piece. Malone's cries are ignored by the other two inhabitants of the dream - the apartment had no way out or in, but there are people on the streets below, scrambling for an entrance. Arthur continues to flip through the files. He starts to backtrack when his mind registers that one of the faces is familiar.
“Arthur!” rings out Cobb's voice. He appears, stricken, in the doorway. “It's happening, like in surfacing; I'm...I'm picking up on things. It's Nancy, fucking Nancy, and she's been given permission to take out Ariadne and the kids. ”
He flips open the folder, with a different name but the woman's face, at the same time; perfect timing.
Arthur has never, ever seen Cobb look so frantic, his eyes so harried. Malone is sobbing quietly in the room behind Cobb.“You going to be okay alone?” he asks, already guessing at what the Extractor wants him to do.
“Yeah.” He's not convinced. The feral glint is not entirely gone from Cobb's eye, his frame is still tense with unreleased anger. “Yes, just - Jesus Christ, Arthur, go!”
Arthur thrusts a handful of files at Cobb, and puts the gun to his own temple.
Nancy slowly stood from the body on the floor, and wiped the blood from her hands onto the paper towel. The bitch had put up quite a fight; she was slightly surprised. Screamed a lot, but put up a fight.
There were flashing lights, blue and red, out on the front yard. She made a hasty exit out the back, jogged the two blocks to her vehicle, drove off.
Arthur sprinted through the airport, all the while hearing other travelers complaining that their later flights were canceled.
Eames picked up after one ring.
“Is everything alright?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. In the background he could hear the children playing.
“Eames, I need you to get in the car with the girls, get Flor, and just...just drive for now, okay? I'll call when my flight lands. It's Nancy. Whatever you do, do not call Yusef, and just, just stay safe, please.”
His hands shook as he handed his identification to the security guard who met him at the gate. “Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to turn off your cellphone, seeing as we're holding the flight and we need to get you off the ground as soon as possible. The snow-”
“Yes, I'm aware,” Arthur snapped, but turned back to his phone. “Have you heard from Ariadne? You need to call her, get her-”
“Sir,” said the guard warningly, just as Eames answered.
“She left with Miles an hour ago, she even called to check in with me. You'll probably pass each other midair, darling.”
Arthur sagged, and sighed. “Okay. Alright.”
He snapped the phone shut and got on the plane.
Malone, if he turns his head completely to the side, can see the Point Man's body on the floor. He looks to Cobb, confused. “But...the sedation.”
Cobb turns back around to look at him. “It wore off just as we put you under, actually. It's a technique you started using a couple of years ago, too.” He approaches the man again. “Three years ago, right? In the Agency, only, of course. Those are your testing grounds; can't waste your higher ranks in Cobol.”
“So,” Cobb says conversationally. “Are you ready to have this conversation in reality, or should we stay down here until I know all of your secrets? You've got some good ones.”
“How?” he manages to ask, despite pain and shock.
The uninjured man throws his hands up. “I guess Cobol was a little better at training me than I thought they were, Malone. I don't have an answer for you. But you,” he asks while holding a scalpel in Malone's face, “you might have some for me. Because now I know about the accounts, what you had planned for them, and it's just like I thought: you're a two-faced little fuck. I know you were the one behind the kill order on Mal.”
Cobb springs forward and slices at Malone's neck with the scalpel, and it stung white hot for a second before the man lurched forward in the metal chair, and his gasp echoed off of the empty construction site they were in.
The paper she was writing on was a mess of words, and arrows. It was not her typical, tidy sketching, but it was Ariadne's attempt to make sense of what she was reading in the logs. She was appreciative of the slightly larger seats in first class on the plane.
Yusef. Yusef was the only true outlier in the swipes, but at the time of the fifth floor swipe, a few weeks before Winston's death, he had been upstairs with the rest of the team, and drunk.
The medical orders, at the same time, were all in order, except for the inclusion of a new IV push order, with the actual medication being given left blank. It was Sonja's sign-on code, but it couldn't have been her, seeing as she had just swiped into the gym on the other side of the campus. The security cameras had proven this, her tall figure obvious on the camera.
But there was no camera on the stairwell. Ariadne had seen Nancy enter that way more than once. It had been why no one had seen her appear on the floor that day Ariadne had found her crying in Winston's room.
Winston.
The pen Ariadne was dropped onto the paper. “Fuck,” she breathed. Miles looked up from his newspaper.
Nancy had given herself away, months ago, and she hadn't even picked up on it. “Winston tried to do a One-Man and screwed up” Nancy had said that day. Ariadne had been so busy breaking herself of the habit, learning to call it a 'solo', that she hadn't even picked up on the slip.
Nancy had sent Winston in, knowing full-well that he might not come out, but hoping he'd possibly be able to get the information for the accounts. It was why Mr. Charles had thought she was looking for more information, had tortured her even after she'd admitted to everything in Dominic's dream.
And all the while, Nancy had been trying to befriend all of them, date Yusef, worm her way into possibly getting a position on their team. Get herself within striking distance.
Miles looked over at the pad, and at the name Ariadne loudly circled with her pen. His eyes widened.
“How?” she demanded quietly, through gritted teeth. “How did she even get hired?”
Her mentor closed his eyes as he tried to recall the specifics. Miles sighed, defeated, and leaned back in his seat. “Her boyfriend was in charge of another building before he switched to us; he's the one that cleared her application.”
Ariadne tipped her head against the plane window, feeling trapped. She couldn't call anyone, couldn't warn Cobb, or Eames, or Arthur, or Yusef until they landed. And Eames was first on the list, since he had the children and was in California. They were the first priority, the strongest card that Nancy and Cobol could use against Dom.
The captain came on over the loudspeakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, please be prepared for some slight turbulence,” he said. “The winter wonderland we're landing in is causing us some issues. Actually, we're probably one of the last flights into D.C. this afternoon.”
The young woman tapped her nervous fingers on her leg. Timing. It all came down to timing.
Part B is here.