Fic: When It Rains
There’s a knock at the door, and Ariadne curses the fact that she’s not ready, she’s never ready, even though 8 am rolls around at the same time each day. “I’m almost done!” she calls through the door and gives up on her hair. It’s not like he’s never seen her with a ponytail.
When she opens the door she vows again to start getting up half an hour earlier. It’s clearly a casual day, because the jacket and vest have been swapped out for a warm cashmere sweater, but Arthur is still pulled together in a way she can never seem to master. In deference to the weather he’s wearing his green raincoat and is carrying a monstrosity of an umbrella. It’s old and ugly, but it’s big enough for two, which is all that matters. It does nothing to stop the wind, though, and Ariadne’s cotton jacket doesn’t help much.
They’ve been together for so long that when Ariadne arrives wearing Arthur’s raincoat, even Eames doesn’t bother to comment.
At least for a few minutes. Soon Eames is teasing Arthur about the eau de wet wool cologne he must be wearing, Arthur is returning the jabs, and so begins another day at the office. He leaves the umbrella propped against the desk to dry, and when Ariadne comes over looking for some sticky notes, she can’t help but give it a closer inspection.
The thick, substantial handle is made out of polished wood. Under the polish she can see grooves and scratches from years of wear. The ribs are sturdier than she is used to, and the slightly mismatched metal hints at past repairs. She wonders why Arthur would bother to refurbish something as mundane as an umbrella, when he could replace it with a sleek new one.
She says as much when he catches her looking at it. “They don’t make them like they used to,” he says with his slight smile, the one that says there might be more to the story. She’s learned that Arthur won’t give out more than is necessary, that it’s habit from years of keeping secrets close. She knows not to take it personally.
By lunchtime the rain has let up but the dark clouds are threatening more, so Arthur brings the umbrella with them when they leave. The restaurant is several blocks away, and Ariadne passes the time by describing her senior project. He says nothing, and she thinks he’s listening until he wraps his arm around her shoulder and kisses her cheek.
“Don’t look. There are two men a block behind us. They’re walking faster now,” he whispers in her ear, and he kisses her again like he’d been murmuring dirty nothings instead of a warning. He casually wraps his fingers in hers and they pick up the pace. After two blocks he gives her hand a squeeze and she knows the game is up. They run, dashing between startled pedestrians and angry motorists until Arthur pulls her into an alley.
He grips the end of the umbrella like a baseball bat and waits at the mouth of the alley, listening for the sound of footsteps. Soon they can hear the frantic footfalls of someone running, and Arthur times it perfectly so that when he steps out and swings, it catches the first goon across the bridge of the nose.
The solid weight of the old umbrella snaps the man’s head back and his arms shoot up. Arthur shifts his hands for better control of the umbrella, and rakes the curve of the handle down the man’s arm. He twists it viciously at the junction between hand and wrist, and it knocks the gun out of the thug’s hand. With a powerful thrust he buries the hook into the man’s gut and drops him to his knees.
The second man comes around the corner as Arthur is kicking the gun away. The man raises his arm but Arthur is faster, swinging in a wide arc that connects with the goon’s temple. The man staggers and Arthur continues the swing down, shifting his weight into the blow to the right knee. He hooks the handle behind the man’s left knee and dumps him on the pavement with a quick jerk.
Ariadne grabs his hand and they’re running again, away from the warehouse to keep the others safe. He already has his phone out and is calling Cobb, warning him that they’ve been made and it’s time to get out, now. She leads him to an open-air shopping center, where the thick crowd will make them harder to spot. As they try to push their way through the skies open up again. Umbrellas pop up everywhere, and Arthur opens his and hides them behind it. Soon they’re one of dozens of couples huddled together under black parasols.
He guides them into a corner where their backs are protected and he can see who’s coming, and they wait for Cobb’s call. The wind shifts and blows the rain towards them. Arthur opens his coat and wraps her in it, keeping her warm as best as he can. She reaches up and wraps her fingers around the hand holding the umbrella.
“They don’t make them like they used to,” she says, and he smiles a full smile and bends down to kiss her.