Fic: "Visting Hours," Inception, General
Title: Visiting Hours
Fandom: Inception
Characters/Pairing: Cobb, Arthur
Rating: General
Warnings: N/A
Word count: 1700
Summary: After a job gone wrong, Cobb visits Arthur in prison.
It takes almost six months for Dom to visit Arthur.
It gets to a point where he knows if he puts it off any longer, he won't go at all. And then, one day, perhaps Arthur will show up on his doorstep. That thought is worse than anything holding him back. Dom eventually arranges for the kids to spend a day with their grandmother so he can take a trip up to the prison.
In one of his letters, Arthur said he thinks part of the reason so many prisons are in the middle of nowhere is so that the view from inside is punishingly dull. But Dom has always liked the countryside, or at least driving through it with the window cracked down.
Over the years, he's come to find travel peaceful. He's learned to appreciate a few hours where there's nothing to do but wait for his destination. He wouldn't mind if this drive were twice as long.
Still, between the drive and the wait to go through security, it seems like a hell of an effort for an hour or two of guarded conversation. But he's done a lot more than this before just to meet with someone. Arthur deserves a hell of a lot more.
When Arthur finally joins him on the other side of the table, the first thing he says is, "What took you so long?"
Dom could try to justify it, but he doesn't.
"Sorry. I've been planning to visit for ages, but you know how it is. I did send you another letter, though. You get it yet?"
"If you mean the one that came a couple days ago, yeah, I did. Before I forget, thanks again for ordering me those books. The library here leaves a lot to be desired."
Dom nods. "Yeah, sure, no problem. Anything, just let me know."
He immediately wishes he hadn't said that. The possible foolishness of promising "anything" to someone who's incarcerated occurs to him. So does the fact that it's not too late for him to get dragged down. It's not nice of him to think his friend is capable taking advantage or screwing him over, but Dom hasn't lasted this long by trusting too easily. It's not nice, but it's smart.
"I imagines it can get pretty boring in here sometimes," Dom says, trying to veer into different territory.
Arthur shrugs. "I guess it does, yeah."
"It's funny. I kind of knew what to expect, but I was still picturing that we'd be sitting on either side of some glass and talking through telephones."
Instead, they're in a large room of tables and chairs, and there's so much conversation going on around them that Dom is less worried now about theirs being overheard by the guards. Not that he plans to discuss business, or the job that got Arthur sent here, or anything like that.
"You sound a little disappointed. I'll have you know contact visits are supposed to be a privilege."
Arthur smiles, and it's good to see. Actually, he doesn't look that bad. Dom had no idea what to expect. He thought maybe Arthur would have lost weight, or maybe gained some. That he'd look weak or underfed. But he's worn the months well, all things considered. Maybe he's fatigued; there are bags under his eyes. But his smile is real, and extends to his eyes.
If Dom is honest, that's why he's here today. He needs to see that Arthur's okay. He needs the absolution.
"Look, I'll be honest," Arthur says, his smile a little sheepish, "it's really great to see you. Thanks for coming."
"Well, it's great to see you too. Really."
Now, he wishes he'd been brave enough to come sooner. He hadn't really considered what a visit might mean to Arthur. He doesn't ask if Arthur has had any before now.
Dom leans across the table, as close as he thinks he can without looking suspicious, and says, "Tell me the truth -- how are you holding up in here?"
"It's. . ." Arthur starts, and pauses, "it's doable. I was in the army; I can deal with routines and rules. . . ."
"But the people aren't as good?" Dom suggests.
"Right. There's that. And it just gets demoralizing, you know? Nobody trusts you, like they're waiting for you to screw up. But what can I say? I haven't gotten in any big fights or anything. It's boring as hell, but they work us a lot. And we've got a gym and a track. I've started running, actually."
"Oh, that's good."
Arthur nods, but the gesture is distracted and labored. His eyes are locked on the scratched and stained tabletop. He crosses his arms. He's got the sleeves of his uniform shirt rolled up to his elbows.
"I didn't think I'd miss having a real bed and decent food this much, though," he says, his voice quiet. "Trust me, you can't even imagine until you're in here."
Dom squirms in his seat. "Look," he says, "I don't know if I ever told you, but I am sorry. If I'd known it was going to turn out this way I would never-"
Arthur blinks out of his reverie and looks at him. "Of course you wouldn't. Look, I don't blame anyone for this, all right? It's just bad luck. And it could have been a lot worse. They could have tried to make a test case out of me."
The tricky thing about extraction is, it's not exactly legal, but it's not an easily triable offense, either. Dreamshare is still too new, and too experimental, for there to be many legal precedents regarding it. Testimony based on a dream proves nothing.
Instead, Arthur got busted on some lesser offenses that were enough to satisfy the DA and secure a conviction.
And Arthur's right: it was just bad luck that he was caught at all. There were no mistakes, just the risks they always faced.
It was just luck that Dom didn't get caught, too.
"And hey," Arthur says, "it could have happened on any job."
Dom is pretty good at reading people, he's had to be in his line of work, but he can't read Arthur right now. He can't tell if he's sincere, or if he's trying to convince both of them.
It's true, though. And Dom can't help but wish it had happened on another job, one he hadn't asked Arthur to join him on. What does that say about him, he wonders, that part of him cares less that his friend is in prison than that it happened to be his fault?
Dom clears his throat, hoping his voice won't come out dry and cracked when he speaks again. "I was thinking," he says, keeping his voice low. "If you wanted, I could try to contact Saito."
At first, Arthur regards him without a word, his face betraying nothing. Then he says, "What good does that do me, exactly?"
"Maybe he could help. He helped me."
Arthur smiles, but this time it rings tired and jaded. "I think our situations are different. I mean, I'm actually in prison, here. Not much anyone can do to help at this point. And come on, you don't think I've tried to call in any favors?"
"I just wanted you to know I'm willing to try. I want to know that everything's okay between us."
Arthur sighs. "Dom, no offense, but I have a hell of a lot more important stuff to worry about right now than easing your guilt."
"Hey, I never said-"
"Or are you trying to make sure I don't sell you out or something? Even if I'd do something like that, the prosecution isn't interested in making deals anymore." He closes his eyes and grinds the knuckles of his right hand into his forehead. When he opens his eyes, he glances to where the nearest guard is walking, not more than ten feet away. "Let's not discuss this today, all right?"
Dom sits back gives a small nod, even though he wants to ask Arthur what he meant by "anymore." Arthur's never said anything about being offered any deals or plea bargains, but Dom has wondered more than once. He's never gotten the nerve to ask him about it.
This, however, isn't the place to talk about it. Dom already feels like he's taken a risk in coming, even though there's nothing concrete to trace him to Arthur's case. No harm in being careful, he figures. It won't help anyone if he gets arrested, too, even if he deserves it as much, if not more, than Arthur.
"I just wanted to apologize," Dom says, "that's all."
"All right. Accepted."
They try, briefly, to continue the visit. But there isn't much to say. Nothing, at least, that they haven't already talked about in letters and the occasional phone call. There's only so much to be said about the prison gym or Arthur's job making office chairs in one of the workshops. Dom doesn't talk much about himself. Under the circumstances, it just seems wrong, whether it bothers Arthur to hear about life on the outside or not.
He leaves earlier than he needs to, with a half-hearted promise to visit again soon.
"No hurry," Arthur says. "I've got at least another year."
On the way home, Dom stops for lunch and ends up mulling over a cup of coffee afterward. He sits for a long time, hunched over the table, until the coffee cools and he can tell the staff is waiting for him to leave so they can clean up after him.
Miles has accused him of believing himself far more influential than he actually is. He's told Dom several times, over long-distance calls to Paris, that Arthur made his own choices.
Last time they spoke, Miles said, "Dom, you do realize guilt can become selfish. You're not serving anyone with this but yourself. Just be a friend."
Part of him thinks Miles is right, but he doesn't know how to do things any differently.
Sometimes, it's like he just doesn't have any answers left.
Fandom: Inception
Characters/Pairing: Cobb, Arthur
Rating: General
Warnings: N/A
Word count: 1700
Summary: After a job gone wrong, Cobb visits Arthur in prison.
It takes almost six months for Dom to visit Arthur.
It gets to a point where he knows if he puts it off any longer, he won't go at all. And then, one day, perhaps Arthur will show up on his doorstep. That thought is worse than anything holding him back. Dom eventually arranges for the kids to spend a day with their grandmother so he can take a trip up to the prison.
In one of his letters, Arthur said he thinks part of the reason so many prisons are in the middle of nowhere is so that the view from inside is punishingly dull. But Dom has always liked the countryside, or at least driving through it with the window cracked down.
Over the years, he's come to find travel peaceful. He's learned to appreciate a few hours where there's nothing to do but wait for his destination. He wouldn't mind if this drive were twice as long.
Still, between the drive and the wait to go through security, it seems like a hell of an effort for an hour or two of guarded conversation. But he's done a lot more than this before just to meet with someone. Arthur deserves a hell of a lot more.
When Arthur finally joins him on the other side of the table, the first thing he says is, "What took you so long?"
Dom could try to justify it, but he doesn't.
"Sorry. I've been planning to visit for ages, but you know how it is. I did send you another letter, though. You get it yet?"
"If you mean the one that came a couple days ago, yeah, I did. Before I forget, thanks again for ordering me those books. The library here leaves a lot to be desired."
Dom nods. "Yeah, sure, no problem. Anything, just let me know."
He immediately wishes he hadn't said that. The possible foolishness of promising "anything" to someone who's incarcerated occurs to him. So does the fact that it's not too late for him to get dragged down. It's not nice of him to think his friend is capable taking advantage or screwing him over, but Dom hasn't lasted this long by trusting too easily. It's not nice, but it's smart.
"I imagines it can get pretty boring in here sometimes," Dom says, trying to veer into different territory.
Arthur shrugs. "I guess it does, yeah."
"It's funny. I kind of knew what to expect, but I was still picturing that we'd be sitting on either side of some glass and talking through telephones."
Instead, they're in a large room of tables and chairs, and there's so much conversation going on around them that Dom is less worried now about theirs being overheard by the guards. Not that he plans to discuss business, or the job that got Arthur sent here, or anything like that.
"You sound a little disappointed. I'll have you know contact visits are supposed to be a privilege."
Arthur smiles, and it's good to see. Actually, he doesn't look that bad. Dom had no idea what to expect. He thought maybe Arthur would have lost weight, or maybe gained some. That he'd look weak or underfed. But he's worn the months well, all things considered. Maybe he's fatigued; there are bags under his eyes. But his smile is real, and extends to his eyes.
If Dom is honest, that's why he's here today. He needs to see that Arthur's okay. He needs the absolution.
"Look, I'll be honest," Arthur says, his smile a little sheepish, "it's really great to see you. Thanks for coming."
"Well, it's great to see you too. Really."
Now, he wishes he'd been brave enough to come sooner. He hadn't really considered what a visit might mean to Arthur. He doesn't ask if Arthur has had any before now.
Dom leans across the table, as close as he thinks he can without looking suspicious, and says, "Tell me the truth -- how are you holding up in here?"
"It's. . ." Arthur starts, and pauses, "it's doable. I was in the army; I can deal with routines and rules. . . ."
"But the people aren't as good?" Dom suggests.
"Right. There's that. And it just gets demoralizing, you know? Nobody trusts you, like they're waiting for you to screw up. But what can I say? I haven't gotten in any big fights or anything. It's boring as hell, but they work us a lot. And we've got a gym and a track. I've started running, actually."
"Oh, that's good."
Arthur nods, but the gesture is distracted and labored. His eyes are locked on the scratched and stained tabletop. He crosses his arms. He's got the sleeves of his uniform shirt rolled up to his elbows.
"I didn't think I'd miss having a real bed and decent food this much, though," he says, his voice quiet. "Trust me, you can't even imagine until you're in here."
Dom squirms in his seat. "Look," he says, "I don't know if I ever told you, but I am sorry. If I'd known it was going to turn out this way I would never-"
Arthur blinks out of his reverie and looks at him. "Of course you wouldn't. Look, I don't blame anyone for this, all right? It's just bad luck. And it could have been a lot worse. They could have tried to make a test case out of me."
The tricky thing about extraction is, it's not exactly legal, but it's not an easily triable offense, either. Dreamshare is still too new, and too experimental, for there to be many legal precedents regarding it. Testimony based on a dream proves nothing.
Instead, Arthur got busted on some lesser offenses that were enough to satisfy the DA and secure a conviction.
And Arthur's right: it was just bad luck that he was caught at all. There were no mistakes, just the risks they always faced.
It was just luck that Dom didn't get caught, too.
"And hey," Arthur says, "it could have happened on any job."
Dom is pretty good at reading people, he's had to be in his line of work, but he can't read Arthur right now. He can't tell if he's sincere, or if he's trying to convince both of them.
It's true, though. And Dom can't help but wish it had happened on another job, one he hadn't asked Arthur to join him on. What does that say about him, he wonders, that part of him cares less that his friend is in prison than that it happened to be his fault?
Dom clears his throat, hoping his voice won't come out dry and cracked when he speaks again. "I was thinking," he says, keeping his voice low. "If you wanted, I could try to contact Saito."
At first, Arthur regards him without a word, his face betraying nothing. Then he says, "What good does that do me, exactly?"
"Maybe he could help. He helped me."
Arthur smiles, but this time it rings tired and jaded. "I think our situations are different. I mean, I'm actually in prison, here. Not much anyone can do to help at this point. And come on, you don't think I've tried to call in any favors?"
"I just wanted you to know I'm willing to try. I want to know that everything's okay between us."
Arthur sighs. "Dom, no offense, but I have a hell of a lot more important stuff to worry about right now than easing your guilt."
"Hey, I never said-"
"Or are you trying to make sure I don't sell you out or something? Even if I'd do something like that, the prosecution isn't interested in making deals anymore." He closes his eyes and grinds the knuckles of his right hand into his forehead. When he opens his eyes, he glances to where the nearest guard is walking, not more than ten feet away. "Let's not discuss this today, all right?"
Dom sits back gives a small nod, even though he wants to ask Arthur what he meant by "anymore." Arthur's never said anything about being offered any deals or plea bargains, but Dom has wondered more than once. He's never gotten the nerve to ask him about it.
This, however, isn't the place to talk about it. Dom already feels like he's taken a risk in coming, even though there's nothing concrete to trace him to Arthur's case. No harm in being careful, he figures. It won't help anyone if he gets arrested, too, even if he deserves it as much, if not more, than Arthur.
"I just wanted to apologize," Dom says, "that's all."
"All right. Accepted."
They try, briefly, to continue the visit. But there isn't much to say. Nothing, at least, that they haven't already talked about in letters and the occasional phone call. There's only so much to be said about the prison gym or Arthur's job making office chairs in one of the workshops. Dom doesn't talk much about himself. Under the circumstances, it just seems wrong, whether it bothers Arthur to hear about life on the outside or not.
He leaves earlier than he needs to, with a half-hearted promise to visit again soon.
"No hurry," Arthur says. "I've got at least another year."
On the way home, Dom stops for lunch and ends up mulling over a cup of coffee afterward. He sits for a long time, hunched over the table, until the coffee cools and he can tell the staff is waiting for him to leave so they can clean up after him.
Miles has accused him of believing himself far more influential than he actually is. He's told Dom several times, over long-distance calls to Paris, that Arthur made his own choices.
Last time they spoke, Miles said, "Dom, you do realize guilt can become selfish. You're not serving anyone with this but yourself. Just be a friend."
Part of him thinks Miles is right, but he doesn't know how to do things any differently.
Sometimes, it's like he just doesn't have any answers left.