[FIC - Inception] The Helix Trap Chapter 16/19
Because these last chapters are going to be tricky (and also because I'm working on my i_rb) I can't promise a return to a weekly posting schedule. BUT there is ZERO CHANCE of this fic being abandoned. In fact I can finally say for sure that it'll be 19 Chapters + ~sexilogue~ so hey we all have that to look forward to, lol.
Fandom: Inception
Title: The Helix Trap
Chapter: 16/19 (6,080 words) (For other parts, art and graphics, please check my My main post)
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Eames/Robert, Arthur/Ariadne, Cobb, Yusuf, Saito, Browning, and others.
Warnings: Violence, sexual content.
Disclaimer: These characters and setting do not belong to me and are being used without permission but for no profit
Summary: After the Inception proves successful, Eames tracks down Robert out of concern for its unusual side effects. Meanwhile, Arthur is hired to a dangerous job that forces the rest of the team to take sides: whether to defend Robert and his fragile mind, or ruin him completely.
Notes: C&C Welcome and appreciated. Thanks to my betas chypie and tanithkitty for their input!
Cobb opened his eyes to what was unmistakably a hotel room ceiling. He'd seen so many in his lifetime that he shouldn't have been able to assign it to any particular city or memory, but he knew immediately where and when he was. A man lay next to him on the bed, and his wrist stung around a needle, and soft, warm fingers slipped beneath his pant leg.
"Well?" Mal asked.
She gave his ankle a gentle pinch. Cobb's heart swelled into his throat and he pressed his eyes shut again, reminding himself that she wasn't real, wasn't even his. As familiar as her weight was at the foot of the bed, as sweet as her voice rang against his thirsty ears, he had come with a purpose and he knew there was no time left for even the most pleasant reminiscence.
Beside him, Arthur chuckled. "You've obviously been doing this longer than I have," he said, a little breathless as he plucked the PASIV needle out of his arm. "That was incredible."
Mal scooted down the bed and reached across Cobb's body to remove his needle as well. Feeling her slender waist press into his ribs almost made him forgot whose dream he was really in.
"It just takes practice," he heard himself say. "And a little imagination."
Arthur chuckled again as he sat up, pushing back so he could lean against the headboard. "Are you sure it's not also part alcohol?" He pulled a half empty bottle of import beer off the nightstand and took a sip.
Cobb glanced up at him. Arthur was no forger but he looked as young as the memory dictated he should, his hair short and pillow-mussed, his smile light. They had just shared dreams for the first time. Cobb barely remembered the dream itself but he remembered the evening, the way they had talked and laughed like old friends despite their short acquaintance. Everything had become more professional afterwards. Priorities and business kept them at varying distances. But for a night they were almost family, and it made what Cobb had to do that much more difficult.
"Arthur." He sat up and faced him seriously. "We're still dreaming."
Arthur frowned against the lip of his bottle. Wrinkles deepened at the corners of his eyes as he glanced around the room, slowly reaching comprehension. His gaze snapped back to Cobb and something approaching panic simmered in his voice. "Are you real?"
"Yes Dom, tell us," Mal said, standing up from the bed. "Are you real?"
Cobb saw her lips twitch, and his stomach roiled. "Banks." He started to get up. "Before you--"
The dream fell apart. He felt Arthur latch onto his arm as the hotel crumbled, making way for concrete walls and iron bars. In no time the double bed became a prison cot, and he was staring at Charla from inside a cell.
"This is getting ridiculous," Arthur said, cautiously releasing Cobb. "Can't you at least dream up a new prison?"
Charla smoothed her hands over her face to replace Mal's countenance with her own. "I was disappointed to lose Fischer," she admitted. "I thought my time was up. But with you here, Mr. Cobb, maybe we can finally make that last bit of progress."
Cobb stood and moved to the bars, and she stepped back just far enough to be out of his reach. As much as he hated her--and especially hated her superior smirk--he thrust it aside for the time being. "I'm here to help you finish this extraction," he blurted out in case she was already preparing her next whip. "Tell me what you need from him."
"What?" Arthur vaulted to his feet. "What are you--"
"That's rather generous of you." Charla eyed him, intrigued. "You must have figured out that he's been lying to you about Mal."
Cobb wrapped his hands around the bars. Worse than Charla's smug disdain was the abrupt silence from the man behind him. "Tell me what you know," he said. "You owe me that much."
"Do I?" She took a step forward, within reach, taunting him. "Because I let her die?"
"Cobb, don't listen to her," Arthur said. He moved to Cobb's side and took his arm again. "You can't trust anything she says in here."
"Can I trust you?" Cobb retorted. He shoved Arthur's hand off him and looked again to Charla. "All I want is for you to get what you're after, so that Arthur can wake up from this."
"And so that you can learn the truth as well, hm?" Charla stepped closer still and held out her hand. "We'll see if you're of any use to me."
Cobb reached through the bars and took her hand. Arthur's hand shot out as well, with violent intention, but by then the dream had shifted again. The whip was sharper than before, snapping across Cobb's vision as swiftly as a batted eyelid. Arthur vanished from beside him but Charla's fingers were still tight around his, preventing his mind from being swept up in the hastily renovated scenery.
"Do you know where we are?" Charla asked, releasing him.
Cobb knew immediately that he was in the kitchen of his former home in California, if only for the smell of fresh fruit on the recently polished table, and the sound of a warm breeze rustling the trees outside the window over the sink. The sight of it was not nearly so recognizable. Every object that was meant to be stationary had been upended and was in motion. All around they spun, humming against the floors and in some cases against each other, creating a dizzying, grotesque display. As Cobb paled in mounting anxiety he realized that the kitchen table bore a basket of red and orange spinning tops. The magnets crawling across the surface of his children's refrigerator art were spinning tops. Tops spun in the knife block, tops spun in place of chairs and end tables, plastic tops spun in every corner of the floor like scattered toys.
Cobb took in a slow breath and found his chest tight. When he stumbled back and felt his heel scatter a group of tops he hadn't even seen he thought he might be sick. With a hand over his mouth he moved into the dining room, and found it in similar rotational disarray.
"I trust you recognize it," Charla said from a seat at the dining table.
"What is this?" Cobb asked, though he already knew--and dreaded--the answer.
Charla leaned back, and for once was completely without humor. "Just over a week before her death, Mal came to my office," she said. "She said she was suffering from anxiety, and wanted me to confirm for her that she was not a victim of some manner of psychosis. At my insistence she allowed me into her dreams, and this--" her gaze flickered around the room "--was what I found there."
Cobb had seen enough of Robert's dream to not doubt that what he was witnessing was very possible; it was the revelation behind it that sent heat flooding through him. "This," he repeated. "You saw this?" He marched over to her. "And you let her leave without saying anything?"
"I had never seen anything like it. What was I supposed to say?"
All thoughts of what he was meant to do leapt from his brain, and he grabbed Charla by the front of her blouse. "You knew she was in trouble!" he accused. "You knew and did nothing! She's dead because of you!"
Charla leaned back but remained stoic. "You think I intentionally left her to die?"
Cobb's other hand fisted at his side. "I think you refused to admit that Limbo even existed so that no one would know I discovered it before you," he said. "The same for inception! You put your reputation over my wife's life!"
"I wouldn't have had to," Charla replied, "if you hadn't put your pride above her first."
Cobb seethed, and was sure he would have killed her had she not wrapped her hand around his wrist. "Why am I showing you this?" she said.
He had to struggle past his anger to answer. "Because you're sick," he spat.
"Because it's the truth you've wanted to hear from me for a long time." She let him go, and he was so taken aback by her uncharacteristic sincerity that he did the same. "And I'm hoping that by giving you this, you'll believe what I'm about to tell you."
Cobb took in each breath slowly, enforcing patience despite how close he was to waking them all up, just so it would be over. "I'm listening."
Charla straightened the front of her blouse. "A few weeks before Mal came to see me, Maurice Fischer asked me to hire an extractor for him," she said. "I, of course, went first to Arthur. He agreed to perform an extraction on Robert Fischer on the condition that it be entirely private, without my involvement." She pushed to her feet, and when she started out of the room Cobb had no choice but to follow. "At the time I assumed he had called in some undesirable associate he didn't want me or Maurice finding out about. But while in Mal's mind, I found something."
She led Cobb into the family room and flicked on the television. Static blazed, and even when color and shape attempted to take form they were only partially successful. Cobb leaned closer, squinting at a rainbow of blinking lights. Amidst the noise he could just barely make out human breath, quick and sharp. The view scanned wildly back and forth.
"Mal!" Arthur's voice, garbled but recognizable, caused the picture to swerve again. "Mal, come back!"
"No." She was panting--running away from him. "No, I'm not finished! I can't leave yet!"
Cold sweat slicked Cobb's palms, and he licked his lips, leaning closer still. No matter how hard he concentrated he couldn't make anything out of the shifting scenery.
"Mal, stop!" Arthur caught up to her, jerking her around. For a moment his face skated across the screen. "That's enough. There's nothing we can do here. It's time to wake up."
"No!" She shoved him back, granting Cobb a fleeting glance of her wedding ring. "No, where's Robert? He needs to--"
The video cut off. Immediately Cobb turned on Charla. "What the hell was that?"
"It was all I could get before her projections attacked me," Charla replied. "She was trying to hide from me the fact that she was with Arthur during his extraction of Robert Fischer."
"No." Cobb shook his head emphatically. "Mal wouldn't--she didn't do that kind of work. She didn't even have a PASIV license."
"Which is why Arthur tried to hide her from me, I'm sure. But there's no mistaking her memory." Charla stepped closer and lowered her voice. "Arthur used Mal for an illegal extraction, and then hid his findings. He lied to you, and me. And a few weeks later, Mal passed away."
Cobb stared back at her. "What are you implying?"
"Nothing." She shrugged. "To be honest I was planning to bring Mal in for another session--by force, if necessary--to extract the rest of the memory from her. I never got that chance."
The talk of force made Cobb's cheeks flush with anger, but his frustration was tempered with shock. "Arthur took Mal on a job," he said through his teeth. "Even after..." His hands were tense as he rubbed them over his face, and then it came to him.
"Damn it!" He kicked the coffee table over, and a dozen spinning tops scattered across the floor like fleeing mice. "I know when this was. He was here--he was right here, in this room, telling us how he..." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Damn it, how did I not..."
Charla glanced around the room. "Right here?" she echoed. "In the morning?"
Cobb frowned. "No, the evening." When he glanced up and saw the look on her face, he understood. "September," he said quietly. "At around eight in the evening, I think."
Charla nodded, and the dream shifted. The whip was so sharp and so clean that Cobb's mind reeled, and he was thrust soundly into the memory. He was standing just where he had been then, pacing back and forth as Arthur sat on the sofa, his elbows on his knees. Mal was leaning against the armrest next to him, her wide eyes filled with concern as they danced between her husband and friend. The air was tense and Cobb was deeply grateful that the children were away with their grandmother for the night.
"I can't believe this," he said, following his script to the letter. "Do you even realize what you're saying?"
"Of course I do," Arthur replied. Cobb could barely acknowledge that he was dreaming, let alone determine if the man before him was real or a projection. "I know this is a shock to you but it's the truth. I've been doing it for years."
"Years?" Cobb's stomach twisted. "How many years?"
"Since before I met you."
"Jesus." He looked to Mal, and she shook her head, but it wasn't enough. "I knew you were in with Banks but I never thought you were a goddamned criminal!" he said. "You realize you're putting us at risk just by being here?"
Arthur sighed. "I'm not wanted in the states yet," he offered.
"That's not funny! We have kids for Christ's sake!"
"Dom, calm down," Mal said.
"No, it's all right." Arthur pushed to his feet. "I knew he'd react this way."
"As if there's any other way to react," Cobb retorted. "What do you want me to say? Congratulations on breaking every law dreamshare has?"
Arthur picked his jacket off the back of the sofa and slipped into it. "Thanks for having me," he said, and then to Mal, "Dinner was lovely."
Mal touched his shoulder. "You don't have to go. Dom will be capable of having an adult conversation any minute now."
She shot Cobb a look, and he leaned back, crossing his arms. "What's there to talk about? If I'd known from the beginning you were some kind of thief--"
"Dom, please."
Arthur buttoned his jacket, looking far too calm for Cobb's liking. "I just want you to know that I've never put you or your family at risk," he said. "I've always been careful."
"And how do you know that?" Cobb started toward him, but then Arthur was moving away, leading to a steady chase down the front hall. "We're already at risk just having the PASIV here. People know that we work together--if you get caught they're going to come to us."
"We all have to be careful," Arthur said. "That's what dreamshare is for now." He glanced at Cobb over his shoulder. "I think you gave me that speech the first time we met."
"Will you please stop trying to be a smartass--I'm being serious here."
"I know." Arthur slipped into his shoes. "And so am I." He met Cobb glare for glare. "When you get over your hypocrisy, call me."
Cobb flushed, and would have demanded that Arthur leave if he was not already slipping out. With a growl he slammed the door behind him and marched back down the hall.
"Dom." Mal heaved a sigh and followed. "Was that really the best way to handle that?"
"I don't care." Cobb headed into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of wine from dinner. "Can you believe that smug bastard? All these years and he never told us?"
"Is that the real reason you're angry?"
Cobb frowned. He looked to Mal and it occurred to him suddenly that she wasn't saying what she was supposed to. She's not Mal. His heart broke a little to admit it--she was lovely, and so close to being real, but she was still only a projection, and she wasn't even his.
"I...." Cobb gulped. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm fine, I just need to cool down."
Mal touched his cheek and leaned in, pressing a short kiss to the corner of his mouth. He had to close his eyes. "I know," she said. "Have a drink. I'll be right back."
Cobb sat down as she left the room. He was still trying to sort out his feelings when he heard small, bare feet pattering away. They were familiar and a jolt went through him, propelling him back into the hall. He tried to remember what he really had done after Arthur left that night, but the sight of his young daughter scampering toward the open front door seared it away. "Phili--"
She whipped around and held her finger to her lips. There was sharpness in her eyes beyond her years. He followed her, but when he heard Arthur and Mal's voices drifting up from the driveway his focus shifted again, and soon he was pressed up against the door with her, spying on the conversation he never knew had occurred.
"I know you wouldn't have brought it up like this without a good reason," Mal was saying, her voice just barely audible against the rustling trees that lined the drive. "So tell me what it is."
"I was hoping I could get his help on a job," Arthur replied. "Stupid, I know--I knew he'd never agree. But I had to try. There aren't many people I can trust on this one."
"What kind of job is it? An extraction?"
"Yes. A delicate one, at that. I'm sorry--I didn't mean to cause a scene. I shouldn't have brought it up at all."
Cobb bit his lip, his breath held. There was a pause in the conversation and he couldn't help but creep forward, peeking through the open door.
They were standing close together at the top of the driveway, Arthur's hands in his pockets, Mal's arms folded. She parted her lips. "I'll call you later. I want to hear more."
Arthur's look of surprise was not unlike Cobb's own. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You don't have to--"
"I just want to hear a little more. Maybe I can help you think of something you haven't."
"...All right. Thank you."
They parted, and Cobb stepped back from the door as Mal headed toward him. "As soon as she's in," he said breathlessly to the child beside him, "seal up the house."
Mal reached the door, and Cobb tugged her inside and into the hall. As soon as she was out of the way he and Charla darted outside, and the door and windows vanished. He knew what he had to do and having Mal there--whoever's projection she was--would only complicate things more.
When Arthur noticed Cobb approaching he stopped halfway down the driveway and turned. "Shit. Dom, did you--"
Cobb grabbed him by the lapels and pushed, shoving him back on the hood of his car. "Tell me the truth, right now!" he shouted, holding him pinned.
"Dom, wait!" Arthur didn't try to fight him, his hands held up in a gesture of peace. "I didn't--"
"You took Mal with you into Fischer's mind," Cobb said. He was so caught up that he didn't care that Charla was nearby, watching them with her deceptively childish eyes. "Behind my back! And you're going to tell me right now what happened in there!"
"All right!" Arthur's face twisted in a grimace and he sagged, the back of his head thudding against the car. "All right--I'm sorry--I'll tell you."
Cobb pulled him upright and then let go, taking a step back. "Talk," he demanded. "I want to hear all of it."
"I know, I...shit." Arthur rubbed both hands over his face as he sat against the front bumper. "Dom, I'm sorry. Fischer was so high profile, I knew if I called in my regular extractors they would just try to steal from him," he said. "I didn't want to risk it. I was going to ask you, but--"
"I know that part," Cobb interrupted. He folded his arms. "What did you find in Fischer's mind?"
Arthur sighed. "Like I've been trying to tell everyone--nothing." He glanced around sharply in search of Charla, but from his position he couldn't see her crouched by the rear bumper. "We...we didn't know what we were looking for," he continued. "So we took him through a panel--showed him hotels, airports, tried to recreate the home he grew up in, the schools he went to. No one was doing more than one level back then, and he didn't respond well when Mal tried to transition him, so we had to keep waking up and going back under for each one. It took hours."
Cobb shifted restlessly on his feet. "You had no right to do that to him."
"Oh please, you of all--" Arthur cut himself off with a shake of his head. "Listen, it was his own father that hired us. What was I supposed to do? I was careful, you know I always am."
"Not careful enough, apparently." Cobb leaned closer and lowered his voice. "What happened to Mal?"
Arthur's shoulders went slack, and his downward eyes made Cobb's insides squirm. "She realized it before I did," he said quietly. "That we were sinking. We were pushing Fischer too hard--every time we went under he retreated a little more, deeper into his mind. I thought we were actually getting somewhere when we got deep into his childhood, but it all seemed very typical to me. Grief over his mother, his father being distant...nothing the client didn't know. But then..."
"Then what?"
"We were separated." Arthur lifted his head. "Mal was already acting strangely and then I lost her--we were in a crowd of projections. I was going to just wake us up but...it felt like we had finally gotten close to something and I didn't think we'd be able to get back. So I..." He winced. "I made a few changes to the dream while trying to find her and the projections went crazy. They tore me apart. I woke up, and the dream must have collapsed because so did Mal."
Cobb frowned as he tried to take it all in. Acting strangely. Like Banks showed me in that memory? He exchanged a brief but intense look with Charla, who was herself, leaning against the rear of the car. "Did she tell you want she found?"
"No. And she made me promise to not say anything to the client or Banks about it. The only thing she would admit to was that she found Fischer, and she...'tried to help him.'" Arthur swallowed hard. "Please Dom, you have to believe me--that's really all I know, I swear."
His chest was tight and his face still hot with emotion but he did believe Arthur. "But why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried." Arthur held his gaze. "Remember? I called and you hung up on me?"
Cobb tensed and had to look away as his anger gave way to guilt. "How long after the job was that?" he asked quietly.
"About two weeks."
Then...Mal and I went under a little over a week after that job. His knees felt weak, and he sank onto the hood next to Arthur. He remembered exactly the phone conversation Arthur was talking about--how even by then he was afraid for Mal and the behavior she was exhibiting. How he was ashamed at the thought of Arthur finding out what he'd done, after the words they'd exchanged.
"I'm sorry," Arthur said again. He leaned forward, his hands dangling off his knees. "I'm sorry; I should have tried harder. I knew Mal was struggling with something and I wanted to help, but I knew how upset you'd be, and then...she was gone. And you were gone. By the time I found you again I couldn't bring myself to tell you. It wouldn't have changed anything."
"It wouldn't have changed anything," Cobb echoed. He took his head in his hands and felt his brain spinning within his skull. Did I do enough for her? The doubt hummed through him, until his throat was tight and shame filled him to overflowing. If only I hadn't been too proud to ask Arthur for help, could I have helped her?
High heels tapped up the driveway. He glanced up just as Charla stopped in front of them, her arms crossed, her expression unimpressed. "And that's it, is it?" she asked coldly. "You lied to me over nothing at all?"
Arthur's hands tightened to fists. "How many times to I have to say it? I don’t know what Maurice Fischer wanted us to find."
She sighed sharply in irritation. "Then I'll have to get it out of Robert himself after all." She tilted her chin up. "You're no longer useful to me."
The tone in her voice was unmistakable, and Cobb tried to dream up some kind of weapon to use on her--a gun, or even a knife--but by then it was too late. The world fell apart.
They woke up at an outdoor café in Paris. Arthur's eyes darted back and forth, and the muscles of his face twitched, and then he looked across the table at Cobb with a hint of a smirk. "So you're finally in, huh?" he asked.
"Do I have much of a choice?" Cobb replied, just as he was meant to. "I'm not going to get any jobs in architecture with a rap sheet. And if I'm going to break the law with anyone..."
He frowned. "...It might as well be you," he finished with a sensation of Déjà vu.
"I know it's not ideal, but there are a lot of powerful people becoming involved in dreamshare these days," Arthur continued, oblivious to Cobb's ill ease. "Fall in with the right ones, and...who knows. Maybe they'll be able to help you."
"Yeah..." Cobb glanced across the street, where a string of multi-colored lights was flickering over a shop awning. It was almost comically out of place. Then he remembered. "Arthur--wait--we're still--"
They woke up on a bullet train heading toward Kyoto. "I don't trust him," Arthur said as he checked his watch for the tenth time. "I know we need an architect but I still don’t see why you can't do it yourself."
"We've been over this." Cobb glanced out the window, and as the scenery rushed by he remembered. "We're still dreaming."
They woke up in an old movie theatre, watching a black and white film entirely in French. Cobb's stomach lurched at the imitation butter and he tried not to roll his eyes at the overly romantic waterworks on the screen. Mal was giggling quietly behind her hand, but on his other side, Arthur was watching with rapt attention. His nose wrinkled in a sniffle.
In the background of the movie, a train rumbled past. Cobb's heart skipped and he remembered. "Damn it, Banks!"
They woke up in Robert Fischer's study. Cobb sucked in a sharp breath and thought for a moment that he had achieved clarity: someone had woken them out of the dream. A woman's soft hands pulled the IVs out of his arm and touched his face. "Cobb? Are you all right?"
"Ariadne?" He rubbed his arm and looked again at their surroundings. "Where's Arthur?"
Ariadne turned away to pull both IVs out of Arthur's arms. "Arthur?" she asked, giving him a gentle shake. "You're awake--can you hear me?"
Arthur's eyes flicked open, but he did not respond to her; he sat very still, only the muscles in his jaw twitching as he stared blindly into space. His apparent coma lasted several seconds and then he shook himself. "Am I awake?" he breathed.
"Yes," Ariadne touched his cheeks and kissed his forehead. Cobb stared. "It's all right now--you're awake.
What? When did they...? Cobb frowned awkwardly and looked away, and in doing so noticed there was something off about the study. The books that had once been in perfect alignment were in helpless disarray; some were falling off the shelves, and many were tattered to the point of falling apart. There was a rough edge along the bottom of the desk as if it had been drawn with chalk, and through the only window one cloud sailed past, over and over, like repeated frames in a cartoon.
Banks! He clenched his jaw, glancing past Ariadne's attempts to console Arthur to where Charla was still seemingly asleep in her chair. She's whipping us so fast even his projections can't tell anymore, he thought, watching the false Ariadne loosen Arthur's tie. And his subconscious is having trouble filling in the space. He can't take much more of this.
Cobb took a deep breath and stood. He tried to keep his face calm to keep her from seeing that he had figured her out. If I can just kill him... "Is he all right?" he asked, moving around Arthur's back. He set his hands on Arthur's shoulders, giving an appearance of reassurance, and when he had gathered his courage he started to make his move.
He wrapped his arms around Arthur's head. He already felt sick but he knew it was the only way--with Arthur out of the dream, there was no reason for Charla to stay behind just for him. Arthur tensed in his grip, but before he could give the necessary snap--
They woke up in the workshop in Paris. Arthur was stretched out on a lawn chair, Ariadne in one next to him. Ariadne was smiling at him, trying to flirt in her own tomboy way, but Arthur was staring blankly up at the ceiling. For long seconds he didn't even twitch, and the workshop faded and bubbled subtly around them, like an incomplete watercolor painting. His eyes lolled and his lips fumbled for words that wouldn't come.
Ariadne continued to babble. "The color is so truly rainy," she said senselessly. "And with weeds there's always a coffee ring, you know? I tried to gallop all over that clown but his snake was over my head, stupid jerk. You should sling that hat in the spring."
Arthur licked his lips and grimaced. "Depends on who I'm with," he replied.
Cobb frowned at them, wondering if they had developed some kind of secret code during their strange courtship. He glanced around to see if anyone else was listening to them be idiots, and found Eames lounging next to him.
"Remember that trick of yours?" Eames said with a raised eyebrow.
Cobb slipped his hand into his pocket, and the dull point of his Totem against his thumb brought him back. He's my projection--thank God for you, Eames. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Damn it, this is only going to make it worse for Arthur, but I don't have a choice. I have to get the upper hand over Banks. He stood. "Arthur! We're dreaming!"
Arthur blinked slowly. "Huhh...?"
The dream began to unravel. Cobb was ready for it then, and he closed his eyes, feeling out the dream's swift collapse. He had done his fair share of whipping in the past and he knew what to wait for: the center of the transition, when destruction halted in favor of creation. For just a fraction of a second when one dream shifted to another, there was nothing but empty space, waiting to be filled.
The warehouse vanished, and as soon as its slivers were gone Cobb forced his imagination to the forefront. With so little time he picked a simple backdrop he knew he could build with efficiency: red leather booths, a polished countertop, chipped coffee cups. He was seated on a stool with a plate of the house special breakfast in front of him. It was a family run diner, like hundreds all across the country, homely and comforting and, to his knowledge, unlike anywhere Charla would ever choose to go.
Arthur was slumped over the counter next to him, face hidden in his folded arms. "Wake me up," he mumbled. "Please wake me up."
Cobb set his hand on the back of Arthur's neck and squeezed. "Hold on," he said quietly. "Just stay with me a little longer."
He looked up and down the diner, and finally spotted Charla at the far end, seated alone in a booth. Her eyes were unfocused much the way Arthur's had been previously, and her lips moved soundlessly. After a few seconds she seemed to come to her senses, and she rubbed her eyes.
"Here we go again," Cobb warned, giving Arthur another squeeze. "Brace yourself."
"Please don't--"
Charla's head snapped up, and immediately the dream began to change--and immediately Cobb rushed to intercept. He could tell that she was trying to take them back to the prison and he only needed a slight push to change her plans. Instead of concrete and metal he changed everything to cool, earthen stone, so that they awoke in subterranean tunnels. Arthur's already overworked imagination did a poor job of supplying detail, leaving only rough sketches of a world around them, but it was enough that again Charla had to struggle to maintain herself. Her hair paled to gray and her clothes frayed as she stumbled into a dusty wall.
Just one more. Cobb transferred his grip to Arthur's hand. "Banks! You're still dreaming, you psycho bitch!"
Charla whirled on him, and as expected attempted one more time to catch him with her whip. She was trying for the study, but Cobb anticipated that as well, and was there to twist it. Instead of Robert's condo they awoke in Professor Miles' small, book-stuffed office in Paris.
"I really don’t understand why you keep coming here," Miles said as he poked at the shelves in search of some particular volume. "Is one 'no' not enough? Or even four?"
Charla was seated behind his desk, looking as comfortable as if she had made it her own. Fewer wrinkles marred her face and the color in her hair was natural. "I keep expecting you to come to your senses," she said. "I can pay you so much more than this stuffy old college." She brushed invisible dust off her shoulders.
"It was never about the money, Charla. That's the part you just never understood."
Cobb peeked through the open door, watching the two converse easily through the memory. I've got her. He ducked back and crouched next to Arthur, who was slumped against the hallway wall. "Arthur," he whispered, slapping him gently on the cheek. "Come on, it's time."
"I'm sorry," Arthur mumbled. "I'm sorry."
Cobb reached into his jacket and pulled out a Beretta. "You're going to wake up in the subway," he said. "I want you to wait for me there, all right? Don't move, don't try to wake up me or anyone else. Just wait there with Ariadne until I come up." He took Arthur's jaw and forced it up. "Understand?"
Arthur stared back at him, blankly at first, but then with gradually returning sanity. "Ariadne?"
"Yeah." He snorted. "You've got some explaining to do on that one, too." He pressed the gun to Arthur's forehead. "Sit tight and I'll be right behind you."
He fired. Arthur jerked, painted the wall behind him red, and slumped to the floor. Despite the grisly scene Cobb breathed a sigh of relief. We'll figure it all out when we wake up, he promised himself. But until then...
The office door opened, and Miles and Charla poured out with looks of shock. "Dom!" Miles said, aghast. "What have you done?"
"It's all right." Cobb pushed to his feet and turned, staring Charla down with intensity. "We're just dreaming, after all."
Charla slowly straightened. Her eyes flicked to Arthur's corpse and she quivered in fury. As she trembled so did the dream bend and wane around them, but Cobb was still ready for her, and as soon as the space was empty he launched a fresh attack. Arthur's corpse vanished.
You're not waking up from this one, Cobb thought determinedly as he drew Charla into the dream rising around them. Whatever happens to me, you are not waking up.
To Chapter 17
Fandom: Inception
Title: The Helix Trap
Chapter: 16/19 (6,080 words) (For other parts, art and graphics, please check my My main post)
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Eames/Robert, Arthur/Ariadne, Cobb, Yusuf, Saito, Browning, and others.
Warnings: Violence, sexual content.
Disclaimer: These characters and setting do not belong to me and are being used without permission but for no profit
Summary: After the Inception proves successful, Eames tracks down Robert out of concern for its unusual side effects. Meanwhile, Arthur is hired to a dangerous job that forces the rest of the team to take sides: whether to defend Robert and his fragile mind, or ruin him completely.
Notes: C&C Welcome and appreciated. Thanks to my betas chypie and tanithkitty for their input!
Cobb opened his eyes to what was unmistakably a hotel room ceiling. He'd seen so many in his lifetime that he shouldn't have been able to assign it to any particular city or memory, but he knew immediately where and when he was. A man lay next to him on the bed, and his wrist stung around a needle, and soft, warm fingers slipped beneath his pant leg.
"Well?" Mal asked.
She gave his ankle a gentle pinch. Cobb's heart swelled into his throat and he pressed his eyes shut again, reminding himself that she wasn't real, wasn't even his. As familiar as her weight was at the foot of the bed, as sweet as her voice rang against his thirsty ears, he had come with a purpose and he knew there was no time left for even the most pleasant reminiscence.
Beside him, Arthur chuckled. "You've obviously been doing this longer than I have," he said, a little breathless as he plucked the PASIV needle out of his arm. "That was incredible."
Mal scooted down the bed and reached across Cobb's body to remove his needle as well. Feeling her slender waist press into his ribs almost made him forgot whose dream he was really in.
"It just takes practice," he heard himself say. "And a little imagination."
Arthur chuckled again as he sat up, pushing back so he could lean against the headboard. "Are you sure it's not also part alcohol?" He pulled a half empty bottle of import beer off the nightstand and took a sip.
Cobb glanced up at him. Arthur was no forger but he looked as young as the memory dictated he should, his hair short and pillow-mussed, his smile light. They had just shared dreams for the first time. Cobb barely remembered the dream itself but he remembered the evening, the way they had talked and laughed like old friends despite their short acquaintance. Everything had become more professional afterwards. Priorities and business kept them at varying distances. But for a night they were almost family, and it made what Cobb had to do that much more difficult.
"Arthur." He sat up and faced him seriously. "We're still dreaming."
Arthur frowned against the lip of his bottle. Wrinkles deepened at the corners of his eyes as he glanced around the room, slowly reaching comprehension. His gaze snapped back to Cobb and something approaching panic simmered in his voice. "Are you real?"
"Yes Dom, tell us," Mal said, standing up from the bed. "Are you real?"
Cobb saw her lips twitch, and his stomach roiled. "Banks." He started to get up. "Before you--"
The dream fell apart. He felt Arthur latch onto his arm as the hotel crumbled, making way for concrete walls and iron bars. In no time the double bed became a prison cot, and he was staring at Charla from inside a cell.
"This is getting ridiculous," Arthur said, cautiously releasing Cobb. "Can't you at least dream up a new prison?"
Charla smoothed her hands over her face to replace Mal's countenance with her own. "I was disappointed to lose Fischer," she admitted. "I thought my time was up. But with you here, Mr. Cobb, maybe we can finally make that last bit of progress."
Cobb stood and moved to the bars, and she stepped back just far enough to be out of his reach. As much as he hated her--and especially hated her superior smirk--he thrust it aside for the time being. "I'm here to help you finish this extraction," he blurted out in case she was already preparing her next whip. "Tell me what you need from him."
"What?" Arthur vaulted to his feet. "What are you--"
"That's rather generous of you." Charla eyed him, intrigued. "You must have figured out that he's been lying to you about Mal."
Cobb wrapped his hands around the bars. Worse than Charla's smug disdain was the abrupt silence from the man behind him. "Tell me what you know," he said. "You owe me that much."
"Do I?" She took a step forward, within reach, taunting him. "Because I let her die?"
"Cobb, don't listen to her," Arthur said. He moved to Cobb's side and took his arm again. "You can't trust anything she says in here."
"Can I trust you?" Cobb retorted. He shoved Arthur's hand off him and looked again to Charla. "All I want is for you to get what you're after, so that Arthur can wake up from this."
"And so that you can learn the truth as well, hm?" Charla stepped closer still and held out her hand. "We'll see if you're of any use to me."
Cobb reached through the bars and took her hand. Arthur's hand shot out as well, with violent intention, but by then the dream had shifted again. The whip was sharper than before, snapping across Cobb's vision as swiftly as a batted eyelid. Arthur vanished from beside him but Charla's fingers were still tight around his, preventing his mind from being swept up in the hastily renovated scenery.
"Do you know where we are?" Charla asked, releasing him.
Cobb knew immediately that he was in the kitchen of his former home in California, if only for the smell of fresh fruit on the recently polished table, and the sound of a warm breeze rustling the trees outside the window over the sink. The sight of it was not nearly so recognizable. Every object that was meant to be stationary had been upended and was in motion. All around they spun, humming against the floors and in some cases against each other, creating a dizzying, grotesque display. As Cobb paled in mounting anxiety he realized that the kitchen table bore a basket of red and orange spinning tops. The magnets crawling across the surface of his children's refrigerator art were spinning tops. Tops spun in the knife block, tops spun in place of chairs and end tables, plastic tops spun in every corner of the floor like scattered toys.
Cobb took in a slow breath and found his chest tight. When he stumbled back and felt his heel scatter a group of tops he hadn't even seen he thought he might be sick. With a hand over his mouth he moved into the dining room, and found it in similar rotational disarray.
"I trust you recognize it," Charla said from a seat at the dining table.
"What is this?" Cobb asked, though he already knew--and dreaded--the answer.
Charla leaned back, and for once was completely without humor. "Just over a week before her death, Mal came to my office," she said. "She said she was suffering from anxiety, and wanted me to confirm for her that she was not a victim of some manner of psychosis. At my insistence she allowed me into her dreams, and this--" her gaze flickered around the room "--was what I found there."
Cobb had seen enough of Robert's dream to not doubt that what he was witnessing was very possible; it was the revelation behind it that sent heat flooding through him. "This," he repeated. "You saw this?" He marched over to her. "And you let her leave without saying anything?"
"I had never seen anything like it. What was I supposed to say?"
All thoughts of what he was meant to do leapt from his brain, and he grabbed Charla by the front of her blouse. "You knew she was in trouble!" he accused. "You knew and did nothing! She's dead because of you!"
Charla leaned back but remained stoic. "You think I intentionally left her to die?"
Cobb's other hand fisted at his side. "I think you refused to admit that Limbo even existed so that no one would know I discovered it before you," he said. "The same for inception! You put your reputation over my wife's life!"
"I wouldn't have had to," Charla replied, "if you hadn't put your pride above her first."
Cobb seethed, and was sure he would have killed her had she not wrapped her hand around his wrist. "Why am I showing you this?" she said.
He had to struggle past his anger to answer. "Because you're sick," he spat.
"Because it's the truth you've wanted to hear from me for a long time." She let him go, and he was so taken aback by her uncharacteristic sincerity that he did the same. "And I'm hoping that by giving you this, you'll believe what I'm about to tell you."
Cobb took in each breath slowly, enforcing patience despite how close he was to waking them all up, just so it would be over. "I'm listening."
Charla straightened the front of her blouse. "A few weeks before Mal came to see me, Maurice Fischer asked me to hire an extractor for him," she said. "I, of course, went first to Arthur. He agreed to perform an extraction on Robert Fischer on the condition that it be entirely private, without my involvement." She pushed to her feet, and when she started out of the room Cobb had no choice but to follow. "At the time I assumed he had called in some undesirable associate he didn't want me or Maurice finding out about. But while in Mal's mind, I found something."
She led Cobb into the family room and flicked on the television. Static blazed, and even when color and shape attempted to take form they were only partially successful. Cobb leaned closer, squinting at a rainbow of blinking lights. Amidst the noise he could just barely make out human breath, quick and sharp. The view scanned wildly back and forth.
"Mal!" Arthur's voice, garbled but recognizable, caused the picture to swerve again. "Mal, come back!"
"No." She was panting--running away from him. "No, I'm not finished! I can't leave yet!"
Cold sweat slicked Cobb's palms, and he licked his lips, leaning closer still. No matter how hard he concentrated he couldn't make anything out of the shifting scenery.
"Mal, stop!" Arthur caught up to her, jerking her around. For a moment his face skated across the screen. "That's enough. There's nothing we can do here. It's time to wake up."
"No!" She shoved him back, granting Cobb a fleeting glance of her wedding ring. "No, where's Robert? He needs to--"
The video cut off. Immediately Cobb turned on Charla. "What the hell was that?"
"It was all I could get before her projections attacked me," Charla replied. "She was trying to hide from me the fact that she was with Arthur during his extraction of Robert Fischer."
"No." Cobb shook his head emphatically. "Mal wouldn't--she didn't do that kind of work. She didn't even have a PASIV license."
"Which is why Arthur tried to hide her from me, I'm sure. But there's no mistaking her memory." Charla stepped closer and lowered her voice. "Arthur used Mal for an illegal extraction, and then hid his findings. He lied to you, and me. And a few weeks later, Mal passed away."
Cobb stared back at her. "What are you implying?"
"Nothing." She shrugged. "To be honest I was planning to bring Mal in for another session--by force, if necessary--to extract the rest of the memory from her. I never got that chance."
The talk of force made Cobb's cheeks flush with anger, but his frustration was tempered with shock. "Arthur took Mal on a job," he said through his teeth. "Even after..." His hands were tense as he rubbed them over his face, and then it came to him.
"Damn it!" He kicked the coffee table over, and a dozen spinning tops scattered across the floor like fleeing mice. "I know when this was. He was here--he was right here, in this room, telling us how he..." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Damn it, how did I not..."
Charla glanced around the room. "Right here?" she echoed. "In the morning?"
Cobb frowned. "No, the evening." When he glanced up and saw the look on her face, he understood. "September," he said quietly. "At around eight in the evening, I think."
Charla nodded, and the dream shifted. The whip was so sharp and so clean that Cobb's mind reeled, and he was thrust soundly into the memory. He was standing just where he had been then, pacing back and forth as Arthur sat on the sofa, his elbows on his knees. Mal was leaning against the armrest next to him, her wide eyes filled with concern as they danced between her husband and friend. The air was tense and Cobb was deeply grateful that the children were away with their grandmother for the night.
"I can't believe this," he said, following his script to the letter. "Do you even realize what you're saying?"
"Of course I do," Arthur replied. Cobb could barely acknowledge that he was dreaming, let alone determine if the man before him was real or a projection. "I know this is a shock to you but it's the truth. I've been doing it for years."
"Years?" Cobb's stomach twisted. "How many years?"
"Since before I met you."
"Jesus." He looked to Mal, and she shook her head, but it wasn't enough. "I knew you were in with Banks but I never thought you were a goddamned criminal!" he said. "You realize you're putting us at risk just by being here?"
Arthur sighed. "I'm not wanted in the states yet," he offered.
"That's not funny! We have kids for Christ's sake!"
"Dom, calm down," Mal said.
"No, it's all right." Arthur pushed to his feet. "I knew he'd react this way."
"As if there's any other way to react," Cobb retorted. "What do you want me to say? Congratulations on breaking every law dreamshare has?"
Arthur picked his jacket off the back of the sofa and slipped into it. "Thanks for having me," he said, and then to Mal, "Dinner was lovely."
Mal touched his shoulder. "You don't have to go. Dom will be capable of having an adult conversation any minute now."
She shot Cobb a look, and he leaned back, crossing his arms. "What's there to talk about? If I'd known from the beginning you were some kind of thief--"
"Dom, please."
Arthur buttoned his jacket, looking far too calm for Cobb's liking. "I just want you to know that I've never put you or your family at risk," he said. "I've always been careful."
"And how do you know that?" Cobb started toward him, but then Arthur was moving away, leading to a steady chase down the front hall. "We're already at risk just having the PASIV here. People know that we work together--if you get caught they're going to come to us."
"We all have to be careful," Arthur said. "That's what dreamshare is for now." He glanced at Cobb over his shoulder. "I think you gave me that speech the first time we met."
"Will you please stop trying to be a smartass--I'm being serious here."
"I know." Arthur slipped into his shoes. "And so am I." He met Cobb glare for glare. "When you get over your hypocrisy, call me."
Cobb flushed, and would have demanded that Arthur leave if he was not already slipping out. With a growl he slammed the door behind him and marched back down the hall.
"Dom." Mal heaved a sigh and followed. "Was that really the best way to handle that?"
"I don't care." Cobb headed into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of wine from dinner. "Can you believe that smug bastard? All these years and he never told us?"
"Is that the real reason you're angry?"
Cobb frowned. He looked to Mal and it occurred to him suddenly that she wasn't saying what she was supposed to. She's not Mal. His heart broke a little to admit it--she was lovely, and so close to being real, but she was still only a projection, and she wasn't even his.
"I...." Cobb gulped. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm fine, I just need to cool down."
Mal touched his cheek and leaned in, pressing a short kiss to the corner of his mouth. He had to close his eyes. "I know," she said. "Have a drink. I'll be right back."
Cobb sat down as she left the room. He was still trying to sort out his feelings when he heard small, bare feet pattering away. They were familiar and a jolt went through him, propelling him back into the hall. He tried to remember what he really had done after Arthur left that night, but the sight of his young daughter scampering toward the open front door seared it away. "Phili--"
She whipped around and held her finger to her lips. There was sharpness in her eyes beyond her years. He followed her, but when he heard Arthur and Mal's voices drifting up from the driveway his focus shifted again, and soon he was pressed up against the door with her, spying on the conversation he never knew had occurred.
"I know you wouldn't have brought it up like this without a good reason," Mal was saying, her voice just barely audible against the rustling trees that lined the drive. "So tell me what it is."
"I was hoping I could get his help on a job," Arthur replied. "Stupid, I know--I knew he'd never agree. But I had to try. There aren't many people I can trust on this one."
"What kind of job is it? An extraction?"
"Yes. A delicate one, at that. I'm sorry--I didn't mean to cause a scene. I shouldn't have brought it up at all."
Cobb bit his lip, his breath held. There was a pause in the conversation and he couldn't help but creep forward, peeking through the open door.
They were standing close together at the top of the driveway, Arthur's hands in his pockets, Mal's arms folded. She parted her lips. "I'll call you later. I want to hear more."
Arthur's look of surprise was not unlike Cobb's own. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You don't have to--"
"I just want to hear a little more. Maybe I can help you think of something you haven't."
"...All right. Thank you."
They parted, and Cobb stepped back from the door as Mal headed toward him. "As soon as she's in," he said breathlessly to the child beside him, "seal up the house."
Mal reached the door, and Cobb tugged her inside and into the hall. As soon as she was out of the way he and Charla darted outside, and the door and windows vanished. He knew what he had to do and having Mal there--whoever's projection she was--would only complicate things more.
When Arthur noticed Cobb approaching he stopped halfway down the driveway and turned. "Shit. Dom, did you--"
Cobb grabbed him by the lapels and pushed, shoving him back on the hood of his car. "Tell me the truth, right now!" he shouted, holding him pinned.
"Dom, wait!" Arthur didn't try to fight him, his hands held up in a gesture of peace. "I didn't--"
"You took Mal with you into Fischer's mind," Cobb said. He was so caught up that he didn't care that Charla was nearby, watching them with her deceptively childish eyes. "Behind my back! And you're going to tell me right now what happened in there!"
"All right!" Arthur's face twisted in a grimace and he sagged, the back of his head thudding against the car. "All right--I'm sorry--I'll tell you."
Cobb pulled him upright and then let go, taking a step back. "Talk," he demanded. "I want to hear all of it."
"I know, I...shit." Arthur rubbed both hands over his face as he sat against the front bumper. "Dom, I'm sorry. Fischer was so high profile, I knew if I called in my regular extractors they would just try to steal from him," he said. "I didn't want to risk it. I was going to ask you, but--"
"I know that part," Cobb interrupted. He folded his arms. "What did you find in Fischer's mind?"
Arthur sighed. "Like I've been trying to tell everyone--nothing." He glanced around sharply in search of Charla, but from his position he couldn't see her crouched by the rear bumper. "We...we didn't know what we were looking for," he continued. "So we took him through a panel--showed him hotels, airports, tried to recreate the home he grew up in, the schools he went to. No one was doing more than one level back then, and he didn't respond well when Mal tried to transition him, so we had to keep waking up and going back under for each one. It took hours."
Cobb shifted restlessly on his feet. "You had no right to do that to him."
"Oh please, you of all--" Arthur cut himself off with a shake of his head. "Listen, it was his own father that hired us. What was I supposed to do? I was careful, you know I always am."
"Not careful enough, apparently." Cobb leaned closer and lowered his voice. "What happened to Mal?"
Arthur's shoulders went slack, and his downward eyes made Cobb's insides squirm. "She realized it before I did," he said quietly. "That we were sinking. We were pushing Fischer too hard--every time we went under he retreated a little more, deeper into his mind. I thought we were actually getting somewhere when we got deep into his childhood, but it all seemed very typical to me. Grief over his mother, his father being distant...nothing the client didn't know. But then..."
"Then what?"
"We were separated." Arthur lifted his head. "Mal was already acting strangely and then I lost her--we were in a crowd of projections. I was going to just wake us up but...it felt like we had finally gotten close to something and I didn't think we'd be able to get back. So I..." He winced. "I made a few changes to the dream while trying to find her and the projections went crazy. They tore me apart. I woke up, and the dream must have collapsed because so did Mal."
Cobb frowned as he tried to take it all in. Acting strangely. Like Banks showed me in that memory? He exchanged a brief but intense look with Charla, who was herself, leaning against the rear of the car. "Did she tell you want she found?"
"No. And she made me promise to not say anything to the client or Banks about it. The only thing she would admit to was that she found Fischer, and she...'tried to help him.'" Arthur swallowed hard. "Please Dom, you have to believe me--that's really all I know, I swear."
His chest was tight and his face still hot with emotion but he did believe Arthur. "But why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried." Arthur held his gaze. "Remember? I called and you hung up on me?"
Cobb tensed and had to look away as his anger gave way to guilt. "How long after the job was that?" he asked quietly.
"About two weeks."
Then...Mal and I went under a little over a week after that job. His knees felt weak, and he sank onto the hood next to Arthur. He remembered exactly the phone conversation Arthur was talking about--how even by then he was afraid for Mal and the behavior she was exhibiting. How he was ashamed at the thought of Arthur finding out what he'd done, after the words they'd exchanged.
"I'm sorry," Arthur said again. He leaned forward, his hands dangling off his knees. "I'm sorry; I should have tried harder. I knew Mal was struggling with something and I wanted to help, but I knew how upset you'd be, and then...she was gone. And you were gone. By the time I found you again I couldn't bring myself to tell you. It wouldn't have changed anything."
"It wouldn't have changed anything," Cobb echoed. He took his head in his hands and felt his brain spinning within his skull. Did I do enough for her? The doubt hummed through him, until his throat was tight and shame filled him to overflowing. If only I hadn't been too proud to ask Arthur for help, could I have helped her?
High heels tapped up the driveway. He glanced up just as Charla stopped in front of them, her arms crossed, her expression unimpressed. "And that's it, is it?" she asked coldly. "You lied to me over nothing at all?"
Arthur's hands tightened to fists. "How many times to I have to say it? I don’t know what Maurice Fischer wanted us to find."
She sighed sharply in irritation. "Then I'll have to get it out of Robert himself after all." She tilted her chin up. "You're no longer useful to me."
The tone in her voice was unmistakable, and Cobb tried to dream up some kind of weapon to use on her--a gun, or even a knife--but by then it was too late. The world fell apart.
They woke up at an outdoor café in Paris. Arthur's eyes darted back and forth, and the muscles of his face twitched, and then he looked across the table at Cobb with a hint of a smirk. "So you're finally in, huh?" he asked.
"Do I have much of a choice?" Cobb replied, just as he was meant to. "I'm not going to get any jobs in architecture with a rap sheet. And if I'm going to break the law with anyone..."
He frowned. "...It might as well be you," he finished with a sensation of Déjà vu.
"I know it's not ideal, but there are a lot of powerful people becoming involved in dreamshare these days," Arthur continued, oblivious to Cobb's ill ease. "Fall in with the right ones, and...who knows. Maybe they'll be able to help you."
"Yeah..." Cobb glanced across the street, where a string of multi-colored lights was flickering over a shop awning. It was almost comically out of place. Then he remembered. "Arthur--wait--we're still--"
They woke up on a bullet train heading toward Kyoto. "I don't trust him," Arthur said as he checked his watch for the tenth time. "I know we need an architect but I still don’t see why you can't do it yourself."
"We've been over this." Cobb glanced out the window, and as the scenery rushed by he remembered. "We're still dreaming."
They woke up in an old movie theatre, watching a black and white film entirely in French. Cobb's stomach lurched at the imitation butter and he tried not to roll his eyes at the overly romantic waterworks on the screen. Mal was giggling quietly behind her hand, but on his other side, Arthur was watching with rapt attention. His nose wrinkled in a sniffle.
In the background of the movie, a train rumbled past. Cobb's heart skipped and he remembered. "Damn it, Banks!"
They woke up in Robert Fischer's study. Cobb sucked in a sharp breath and thought for a moment that he had achieved clarity: someone had woken them out of the dream. A woman's soft hands pulled the IVs out of his arm and touched his face. "Cobb? Are you all right?"
"Ariadne?" He rubbed his arm and looked again at their surroundings. "Where's Arthur?"
Ariadne turned away to pull both IVs out of Arthur's arms. "Arthur?" she asked, giving him a gentle shake. "You're awake--can you hear me?"
Arthur's eyes flicked open, but he did not respond to her; he sat very still, only the muscles in his jaw twitching as he stared blindly into space. His apparent coma lasted several seconds and then he shook himself. "Am I awake?" he breathed.
"Yes," Ariadne touched his cheeks and kissed his forehead. Cobb stared. "It's all right now--you're awake.
What? When did they...? Cobb frowned awkwardly and looked away, and in doing so noticed there was something off about the study. The books that had once been in perfect alignment were in helpless disarray; some were falling off the shelves, and many were tattered to the point of falling apart. There was a rough edge along the bottom of the desk as if it had been drawn with chalk, and through the only window one cloud sailed past, over and over, like repeated frames in a cartoon.
Banks! He clenched his jaw, glancing past Ariadne's attempts to console Arthur to where Charla was still seemingly asleep in her chair. She's whipping us so fast even his projections can't tell anymore, he thought, watching the false Ariadne loosen Arthur's tie. And his subconscious is having trouble filling in the space. He can't take much more of this.
Cobb took a deep breath and stood. He tried to keep his face calm to keep her from seeing that he had figured her out. If I can just kill him... "Is he all right?" he asked, moving around Arthur's back. He set his hands on Arthur's shoulders, giving an appearance of reassurance, and when he had gathered his courage he started to make his move.
He wrapped his arms around Arthur's head. He already felt sick but he knew it was the only way--with Arthur out of the dream, there was no reason for Charla to stay behind just for him. Arthur tensed in his grip, but before he could give the necessary snap--
They woke up in the workshop in Paris. Arthur was stretched out on a lawn chair, Ariadne in one next to him. Ariadne was smiling at him, trying to flirt in her own tomboy way, but Arthur was staring blankly up at the ceiling. For long seconds he didn't even twitch, and the workshop faded and bubbled subtly around them, like an incomplete watercolor painting. His eyes lolled and his lips fumbled for words that wouldn't come.
Ariadne continued to babble. "The color is so truly rainy," she said senselessly. "And with weeds there's always a coffee ring, you know? I tried to gallop all over that clown but his snake was over my head, stupid jerk. You should sling that hat in the spring."
Arthur licked his lips and grimaced. "Depends on who I'm with," he replied.
Cobb frowned at them, wondering if they had developed some kind of secret code during their strange courtship. He glanced around to see if anyone else was listening to them be idiots, and found Eames lounging next to him.
"Remember that trick of yours?" Eames said with a raised eyebrow.
Cobb slipped his hand into his pocket, and the dull point of his Totem against his thumb brought him back. He's my projection--thank God for you, Eames. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Damn it, this is only going to make it worse for Arthur, but I don't have a choice. I have to get the upper hand over Banks. He stood. "Arthur! We're dreaming!"
Arthur blinked slowly. "Huhh...?"
The dream began to unravel. Cobb was ready for it then, and he closed his eyes, feeling out the dream's swift collapse. He had done his fair share of whipping in the past and he knew what to wait for: the center of the transition, when destruction halted in favor of creation. For just a fraction of a second when one dream shifted to another, there was nothing but empty space, waiting to be filled.
The warehouse vanished, and as soon as its slivers were gone Cobb forced his imagination to the forefront. With so little time he picked a simple backdrop he knew he could build with efficiency: red leather booths, a polished countertop, chipped coffee cups. He was seated on a stool with a plate of the house special breakfast in front of him. It was a family run diner, like hundreds all across the country, homely and comforting and, to his knowledge, unlike anywhere Charla would ever choose to go.
Arthur was slumped over the counter next to him, face hidden in his folded arms. "Wake me up," he mumbled. "Please wake me up."
Cobb set his hand on the back of Arthur's neck and squeezed. "Hold on," he said quietly. "Just stay with me a little longer."
He looked up and down the diner, and finally spotted Charla at the far end, seated alone in a booth. Her eyes were unfocused much the way Arthur's had been previously, and her lips moved soundlessly. After a few seconds she seemed to come to her senses, and she rubbed her eyes.
"Here we go again," Cobb warned, giving Arthur another squeeze. "Brace yourself."
"Please don't--"
Charla's head snapped up, and immediately the dream began to change--and immediately Cobb rushed to intercept. He could tell that she was trying to take them back to the prison and he only needed a slight push to change her plans. Instead of concrete and metal he changed everything to cool, earthen stone, so that they awoke in subterranean tunnels. Arthur's already overworked imagination did a poor job of supplying detail, leaving only rough sketches of a world around them, but it was enough that again Charla had to struggle to maintain herself. Her hair paled to gray and her clothes frayed as she stumbled into a dusty wall.
Just one more. Cobb transferred his grip to Arthur's hand. "Banks! You're still dreaming, you psycho bitch!"
Charla whirled on him, and as expected attempted one more time to catch him with her whip. She was trying for the study, but Cobb anticipated that as well, and was there to twist it. Instead of Robert's condo they awoke in Professor Miles' small, book-stuffed office in Paris.
"I really don’t understand why you keep coming here," Miles said as he poked at the shelves in search of some particular volume. "Is one 'no' not enough? Or even four?"
Charla was seated behind his desk, looking as comfortable as if she had made it her own. Fewer wrinkles marred her face and the color in her hair was natural. "I keep expecting you to come to your senses," she said. "I can pay you so much more than this stuffy old college." She brushed invisible dust off her shoulders.
"It was never about the money, Charla. That's the part you just never understood."
Cobb peeked through the open door, watching the two converse easily through the memory. I've got her. He ducked back and crouched next to Arthur, who was slumped against the hallway wall. "Arthur," he whispered, slapping him gently on the cheek. "Come on, it's time."
"I'm sorry," Arthur mumbled. "I'm sorry."
Cobb reached into his jacket and pulled out a Beretta. "You're going to wake up in the subway," he said. "I want you to wait for me there, all right? Don't move, don't try to wake up me or anyone else. Just wait there with Ariadne until I come up." He took Arthur's jaw and forced it up. "Understand?"
Arthur stared back at him, blankly at first, but then with gradually returning sanity. "Ariadne?"
"Yeah." He snorted. "You've got some explaining to do on that one, too." He pressed the gun to Arthur's forehead. "Sit tight and I'll be right behind you."
He fired. Arthur jerked, painted the wall behind him red, and slumped to the floor. Despite the grisly scene Cobb breathed a sigh of relief. We'll figure it all out when we wake up, he promised himself. But until then...
The office door opened, and Miles and Charla poured out with looks of shock. "Dom!" Miles said, aghast. "What have you done?"
"It's all right." Cobb pushed to his feet and turned, staring Charla down with intensity. "We're just dreaming, after all."
Charla slowly straightened. Her eyes flicked to Arthur's corpse and she quivered in fury. As she trembled so did the dream bend and wane around them, but Cobb was still ready for her, and as soon as the space was empty he launched a fresh attack. Arthur's corpse vanished.
You're not waking up from this one, Cobb thought determinedly as he drew Charla into the dream rising around them. Whatever happens to me, you are not waking up.
To Chapter 17