[FIC - Inception] The Helix Trap Chapter 17/19
I bought a new laundry basket <3
Fandom: Inception
Title: The Helix Trap
Chapter: 17/19 (7,660 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!
EDIT: ruins_of_sodom did some super-creepy and awesome art of one of Robert's projections!
"Any time now, Love."
"I'm trying, all right! He's not letting me!"
Ariadne moved to the edge of the roof and glared down at the fire escape, willing it to move. Come on, she thought, glancing past the street-wide chasm to the towering skyscraper across from them. It's the last one; you can't block me out now!
Behind her, Arthur gave his shotgun a vigorous shake, until it stretched and reformed into an automatic machine gun. "We don't have time--we'll have to find another way in," he said.
"Like the front door?" Eames followed his example and fired into the swarm of wraiths that were clamoring over the far end of the rooftop. "I'd rather not have to go feline again if I can help it, thank you."
Ariadne squeezed her eyes shut. This is still my dream, she thought with determination. I know it better than he does. I've practiced this longer than he has. She took a deep breath, grit her teeth, and felt a moment's celebration when the fire escape began to groan away from the side of the building. It stretched away from her like all the others had, reaching and squealing, but then it abruptly angled up. The last laddered segment blossomed into a pinwheel and began to spin.
"Damn it!" Ariadne kicked at it and watched the metal shudder. "I'm sick of your stupid pinwheels!"
Eames and Arthur fired into the army of creatures, shredding many, but more continued to pour after. "Keep trying!" Arthur called over his shoulder. "There's nowhere else to go!"
"I know, I know!" Ariadne shook herself and glared her adversary down. "Move," she demanded, and it screeched, metal straining against metal. "Move!"
The fire escape howled with complaint, and then shot across the open space, growing and twisting until it crashed through the twentieth floor windows in the tower opposite. It wasn't as high as Ariadne had wanted but it was a bridge, and when she was certain it was secure she turned. "Okay, let's go!"
"Wait!" Eames slipped past her and started across. "I'll go first--we don't know what we'll find in there."
"Be my guest," said Ariadne. Once Eames was on his way she touched Arthur's shoulder to get him to stop shooting. "Come on, we have a way across!"
They charged across the fire escape, and when it shuddered Ariadne put both hands on the rails, concentrating hard on keeping it stable. Just a little longer, and then we'll be in. But as they ran something burned her skin, and she jumped. More colored lights were blooming up and down the structure, some of them slowly turning.
The fire escape swayed beneath them, and then jerked, shattering glass as it scraped down the side of the tower. Everyone grabbed for the rails as they plummeted, faster than the snow that was still falling on all sides. Ariadne felt Arthur's hand press into her back and knew he was shouting something, but she couldn't make it out. She closed her eyes again, silently begging, Please stop, please just let us in, and with a gut-wrenching jolt they had halted again.
Ariadne started running before her eyes were open. The catwalk clanged and rocked beneath her boots, threatening again to fall, but she forced herself to keep going. Ahead of her Eames lifted his gun and fired into the side the building, clearing away what remained of the window so he could leap through safe from harm.
She was still several feet away when the fire escape slipped away from the edge of the building. Her stomach lurched, but before she could reconcile herself to death on the pavement Arthur twisted both hands in her jacket and flung her through the opening. She yelped as she landed hard on polished floor, and tiny shards of glass pierced her jacket and pants. As she pushed herself up she heard the fire escape give way and crash to the ground below.
"Arthur!" Ariadne ignored her stinging elbows and whirled, rushing to the ragged opening. When she saw bruised fingers clinging to the edge of the building she wasn't sure whether to panic or sigh in relief. "Hold on," she said dumbly as she reached through the window and grabbed Arthur's wrist. "Don't let go!"
Arthur made a face. "I'm all right." With a deep breath he started to pull himself up.
Eames joined them and hooked a hand under Arthur's armpit. "I've got you," he said. "Up you go."
"Eames."
The trio paused, and with Arthur still half dangling out of the building they looked into the room they'd intruded upon. It was a conference room, the table and chairs pressed up against the walls to make a straight path to the far wall. Mal stood there, her black dress swaying in the cool breeze, her bare toes wiggling against the floor. She smiled at them. "I've been waiting for you."
The wall behind her faded to black, and cracked open with a mechanical whirl. A pair of immense doors parted to reveal an empty and ominous safe. "This safe is for you," Mal said. "I'm in your mind now, as much as you're in mine." She lifted a mask bearing Eames's face and fitted it coyly over her own. "I know where your secrets are hidden."
She stepped back into the safe and swiftly disappeared within its shadows. Ariadne shuddered, and when she looked to Eames she could easily see that his face had paled several shades. His eyes were trained on the safe.
"Wait," Ariadne said quickly. "Eames--"
Eames let go of Arthur and leapt to his feet. The sudden withdrawal of assistance took Arthur by surprise, and he slipped, dropping further out of the window. Ariadne hurried to support him. "Eames!" she snapped, but he was already striding purposefully across the conference room. She yanked at Arthur's arm and he was at last able to pull himself inside. "Wait, we have to stick together!"
"So hurry up!" Eames said over his shoulder. He didn't break stride, and was soon through the gaping doorway. He disappeared as swiftly as Mal had.
"Eames!" Ariadne ran for the safe and felt Arthur behind, but the doors were already closing the moment Eames stepped through them. By the time she was close enough to make a jump for it the opening was too small for her to risk it. She skidded to a halt as the doors clanged shut. "What the hell is he thinking?" she ranted, beating on the metal with her open palms. "What good is finding Fischer if he's not with us? There's no way he'll listen to the two of us!"
She glanced back and saw Arthur watching her with a dazed expression. "Sorry," she said quickly. She swept her hair back and looked around the conference room again, taking note of a side door. "I think I'm starting to lose it."
"It's only going to get worse, the deeper we sink," said Arthur. "Can you open it?"
Ariadne took a deep breath and turned to the safe. There was no keypad, so she pressed her forehead to the metal and prayed for something within it to give way. Nothing stirred. "It's not mine--it won't budge. Should we wait?"
"We don't have time." Arthur picked Eames's discarded weapon off the floor and headed for the only other exit. "All we can do is stick to the plan and hope he finds his own way."
Arthur opened the door, and was greeted immediately by a group of wraiths wearing white military caps. He fired on them immediately, shredding the masks and scattering their cloaks. "Come on!" he said over his shoulder. "We just have to push through!"
They charged together down the open corridor, Arthur on point and Ariadne covering them from behind. For a moment it felt like their training all over again, and she was able to imagine that the projections were only Arthur's, and when they were finished they would wake up to Yusuf's chili in Paris.
Arthur pushed open a door which should have led into a normal stairwell, but what greeted them was another long hallway, one not outfitted with the typical office-building tile floors and generic blank walls. Instead cold marble and dark wood made every sound echo up and down the empty space, and more wraiths crept out from behind heavy doors and rotting oil paintings.
Ariadne's shoulders sagged. He took out my stairs. What if there isn't a way up at all? But then Arthur was on the move again, and with a deep breath she followed. There were fewer wraiths than on the city streets and Arthur's machine gun made quick work of them as they ran down the broad hall, opening doors along the way. Nothing looked familiar or even promising.
The final door led into a huge foyer, circled by an immense, round staircase. Though Ariadne was relieved to see Robert hadn't sealed them off completely, more ghosts lined the rails as far up as she could see. When they began their descent down the steps it looked as if the entire chamber were spinning like a drill.
Arthur reloaded. His face was grim and he glanced to Ariadne as if to say, I'll wake you up if you want. But Ariadne shook her head, and looked again to her handgun. She breathed deeply and tried to ignore the rushing creatures in favor of reforming her weapon. Please work!
The gun shifted and stretched, and though she didn't exactly know the proper make of the machine she was creating, her imagination filled in the blanks well enough. She lifted it and fired, shooting a curved grappling hook up the floors and around the top railing. When she gave it a tug it felt secure.
Arthur shook his head, but he slung the machine gun over his back and took the grip from her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and as they pressed close together he whispered against her ear, "Don't let go." Despite everything, she smiled.
He pulled the trigger again, and they shot up the spiraled room like a rocket. Ariadne had to wrap her legs around Arthur's waist to be sure her grip would hold. All around the wraiths screamed at them, and she could have sworn she felt their fingers raking her back, but they continued to climb until coming to a halt at the top.
Arthur transferred his hands to the railing, but the wood was smooth and not an easy hold with both of their weight on him. "Climb up," he said, and she squirmed, trying to twist around and pull herself away from his body. At last she had clambered onto the stairs, and she turned back to assist him.
White hands grabbed her from behind. She yelped and instinctually her elbow went back, smashing the wraith in the face. She felt the plastic mask crunch beneath her, but the fingers looping around her arms did not relax. Then another wraith snatched her around the waist, and another pulled at her hair, and they dragged her, kicking and flailing, away from Arthur.
"Get off me!" Ariadne fought but then more grabbed her legs, sweeping her feet out from under her so that she had no leverage. She scrambled, trying to think of a new weapon, but then she was shoved to the floor and a heavy black cloak was yanked over her.
"Ariadne!"
For the first time since entering Robert's mind, Ariadne truly panicked. The cloth was cold and oily, and the more she thrashed beneath it the more it stuck to her body. Hands pawed at her from all directions as she squirmed helplessly on the marble, pulling and dragging and scratching, and she screamed, until she couldn't even hear Arthur calling for her anymore. All she could think of was Eames's voice, the word Limbo echoing through her mind as if it was already an endless and empty cavern she was meant to spend eternity in.
"Arthur!" She shrieked as she was lifted off the ground. Something yanked at her head and suddenly her face was free, granting her one quick glance of Arthur tearing at yet more ghosts. Then slick plastic was slapped over her. She screamed for him as the wraiths hefted her and hurried in the other direction.
They traveled for several minutes, and all the while Ariadne fought and cried out, until her throat was sore and tears stained the inside of her mask. She thought she heard Arthur calling after her but she couldn't see anything, or even hear much over her own rapid breath. At last there was a loud thud like giant doors being opened, and she was roughly deposited onto the floor once more. The wraiths let her go and backed away.
Ariadne remained still for a moment, choking on her own breath, until she was sure they were no longer at her heels. Her instincts kicked in and she clawed the mask from her face. She saw hardwood floor and tall windows and then the wraiths returned, hissing at her as they straightened her arms and shoved her mask back on. Her screams renewed but as soon as the accessory was back in place the wraiths retreated again.
It took all Ariadne's will power not to try and remove the mask a second time. Carefully she adjusted it, until her eyes matched the empty sockets and she was able to see. "Arthur?" she called, leaning over her knees.
Another group of wraiths shoved a black-clad bundle to the ground next to her. Just as she had done Arthur immediately reached for his mask, but Ariadne pawed at him through her cloak. "Wait," she said weakly. "Wait, leave it. They'll just put it back on."
Arthur groaned and struggled to sit up. "Where are we? Why aren't they killing us?"
"I don't know." Ariadne took a closer look around the room. Everything in it was slightly oversized, from the immense curtained windows, to the towering bookshelves, and especially the broad mahogany desk that loomed over them like a judge's seat. Dozens of wraiths were packed into the candle-lit space, but two stood out ahead of the rest, guarding either side of their master's bench with unmoving determination.
"Good to see you again," said Mr. Charles.
Ariadne huddled close to Arthur's side. "What's going on?" she asked, peering into the shadows cloaking the focal desk. "What do you want from us?"
A low voice rippled out of the darkness, unfamiliar to Ariadne, but Arthur flinched with recognition. "Are there more of you?"
"Eames is here," Ariadne said. "We're trying to find Fischer so we can wake him up--we're here to help!"
"I'm Eames," said the wraith next to Mr. Charles.
"Are there more of you?" its master repeated. "Are you one Arthur, or are you both?"
Arthur and Ariadne exchanged glances. "Does it matter?" said Arthur. "What are you going to do with us?"
"Where is the other Arthur?"
Ariadne licked her dry lips, and cringed at the taste of plastic against her tongue. "If we tell you, will you bring him here? We're not here to hurt you; we really just want to help, please."
The voice did not answer immediately. Mr. Charles and the false Eames tilted their heads up expectantly, and at last a reply came. "Is he still in the subway?"
Ariadne looked to Arthur. Though she couldn't see his expression she felt him grow tense, and then he nodded. "Yes."
A wide, white hand stretched out of the shadows and pressed one finger into the surface of the desk. The floor in front of Ariadne gleamed, and from the wood bloomed a sleek control panel, just like the ones she had constructed on the subway platforms. She managed to sneak one hand out from under her cloak, and after keying in the password a single button appeared labeled "Here."
Ariadne pressed it, and the control panel melted away again. She drew her trembling hand back to her. "How are you doing this?"
The white hand curled over the edge of the desk and pulled, dragging the rest of its hulking form into view. Atop black, hunched shoulders and a long neck sat a pale mask bearing the likeness of Maurice Fischer. He glared down at his captives with sagging, empty sockets. "This is my mind," he said. "I might as well be God."
***
Cobb woke up in a hotel bathroom. He stared at his reflection, thinking that he should maybe shave his beard, and then he remembered. Shit. Did she get me? He turned in place but he didn't recognize the layout, and before he could sneak out he heard voices in the room proper.
"And so that’s it," said Charla, her voice clipped. "First you withdraw my funding, and now--"
"That has nothing to do with this," a man interrupted her. It took Cobb a moment to recognize him as Browning. "And don't try to roast my ass on that again, we both know more money is not going to make that 'shared dreaming' fantasy of yours any realer." He scoffed. "Or this one."
"You..." He heard clothing being tossed around. "And of course you waited to tell me this until after you fucked me. How typical."
"Come on, Charl. Not three weeks ago you said you never wanted to see me again. I believe your exact words were--"
"I remember." A woman's feet padded around the room. "All right. Then what are you still doing here? I'm paying for this room." Fabric rustled. "Get the fuck out."
Browning chuckled. "Whatever you say."
Footsteps came closer, and Cobb didn't have any time to think about hiding before Charla was in the doorway. She was much younger than he had ever known her, back when her blonde didn't come from a salon and her skin was free of wrinkles. Her expression was hard but there were bitter tears in her eyes she was trying to hide. When she finally noticed Cobb standing in front of her she started, and glared at him in fright.
Cobb blinked. "You and Browning?"
Charla stepped back, confused at first, but then a look of horror came over her. With a scream she struck Cobb hard across the face and the hotel crumbled.
Cobb stumbled into the sink just before it disappeared. The whip was sharp and he had no time to plan ahead--all he knew was that he had to beat her to it. He had no choice but to draw from memory, pulling up a setting so deeply rooted in his mind that it flowed into place with no effort at all.
He was in another hotel. He feared at first that the furniture would be overturned, a glass poised on the floor, but everything was properly placed. The window was open, swaying the curtains with a gentle night breeze. A half empty wine bottle sat in melting ice, and beside it one of two glasses was smudged with lipstick.
It pained Cobb to share the memory with anyone, let alone an enemy, but when he approached the bed and found Charla there he saw at once how effective it was. She was in Mal's skin, staring up at the ceiling with an empty and unblinking stare. Her lips fumbled soundlessly. Cobb stood at the end of the bed, knowing that despite her stillness, a battle was taking place. A forger has no defense against whipping, he thought, remembering a lesson learned years ago. The compulsion to populate is so strong it goes right through them, filling them into the space.
Cobb sat down on the edge of the bed. Watching Charla--Mal--twitch in the sheets, struggling against the influence of his mind, made him sick to his stomach. He licked his lips and needed a moment to gather his voice. "Mal."
Charla turned toward him, and smiled. "You're not ready to sleep yet, are you?" she asked.
Cobb grimaced. She was too false, in her eyes and in her posture, and he couldn't bear to look at her anymore. I'll find something else. I can't do this. "No," he murmured. "I'm ready to wake up."
The room began to tremble. Cobb stiffened, and when he looked to the balcony he saw the scenery shake and then rumble by. It sped up, until the chandelier swayed above them and the lights from the hotel across from them blurred into horizontal streaks.
We're moving. A rhythmic thud sounded beneath them in a familiar, hair-raising symphony. The subway is moving, Cobb realized. He looked to Charla and saw her own features beginning to form out of Mal's as she regained her sanity. Something's happening. Arthur better not be waking me up yet.
***
Eames pounded on the safe doors, even knowing they wouldn't budge. "Stupid," he growled at himself. "You'd better not be waking each other up out there."
He turned. The inside of the safe was pitch black, and as he moved down the wall he didn't feel the familiar shapes of masks bumping into his hand. It was truly empty. "Robert!" he called, squinting against the darkness. "Are you in here?"
"Did you love your father?" asked Mal.
Eames stepped away from the wall to follow the sound of her voice. "Yes." Childhood memories bubbled at the back of his mind but he tried to suppress them, knowing how easily they could become manifest in the ever-changing dream world.
"Did your father love you?"
"Yes," Eames said, but then he grimaced, and his gait faltered. "I think so. I wanted to think so."
"Show me."
An outline of a door glowed ahead of him, and Eames hurried to open it. As soon as he was out of the safe a strong wind buffeted his hair and clothing, and he stumbled on uneven ground. Soft grass sank under his feet and a smell of wet stone and mold choked his unprepared nostrils. Shielding his eyes against the wind he peered into his surroundings and shivered; he was in a cemetery. A small group of men and women crowded together over an open grave, swaying with the stronger gusts, their eyes downcast. Eames looked to their faces and spotted his mother among them, her makeup smeared into jagged tracks down her sallow cheeks. Clinging to her hand was a nine year old boy.
"That's me," Eames said, mystified. "This is my father's funeral."
"And there is the man," said Mal, standing close beside him. Her warm hand slid into his. "The man in uniform."
Eames looked again, and spotted some meters away a man in olive service dress. His head was down, so that the brim of his cap disguised most of his features. Though he was not facing the ceremony directly Eames knew that he had come to pay his respects.
"Who is he?" Mal asked quietly.
Eames shook his head. "I don't know. I never knew."
"Then why is he so important to you?"
"He's not." But even as Eames said so the nine year old boy turned his head, watching the stranger as they all continued to rock back and forth with the wind, otherwise frozen in time. His hand tightened around Mal's. "It's just one of those things you wonder about when you're older," he said.
She leaned into him, her cheek resting on his shoulder. "Your secret is my secret," she murmured. "I know the truth. He is the one that makes you doubt."
"Doubt what?"
"Who you are." She stroked the inside of his elbow with her free hand. "You never knew your father. What did he want you to become? What might you have been, if you knew? I know how it feels, not to know. And sometimes, you wonder...what if it had been him."
"What?" Eames felt an uneasy tremor hum up his spine. "What are you talking about?"
"Who are you now?" Mal continued. "What manner of man are you? Would another father have loved you better? Who would you be, if only your father were a better man?"
He shook his head. "No," he said, "that's not how I feel."
Mal took a step forward, and inevitably he followed. "That's why you surround yourself with the masks." She drew him closer to the soldier whose face was still hidden in shadow. "You're searching for yourself, letting the world mold you into someone else, someone closer to who you were meant to be. Someone your father would have loved."
"You're talking about yourself," Eames said, unable to take his eyes off the stranger they were drawing toward. "Robert's the one who--"
"I'm not Robert's." Mal let go of his hand and pushed between his shoulder blades, urging him forward alone. "I'm yours."
Eames stumbled and found himself face to face with the man in uniform. His breath froze in his aching lungs and though he didn't want to look, he couldn't help himself. He pushed the stranger's cap back, revealing brown eyes pinched with age, rough whiskers, and full lips set in a stern jaw. His own face.
The General grabbed Eames by the front of the shirt and surged forward, flinging him to the ground. The grass was slick beneath his back; he slid, and before he could think to slow himself his shoulders dropped into empty space. With a startled cry he tumbled into the open grave.
Mal leaned over the opening and smiled at him. "And that's how I know your secrets," she said. "And your fears."
Eames groaned and tried to sit up. As he braced his hands beneath him he realized that they were scraping wood, and more wood rose on either side of him.
The General joined his peer in crouching over the grave. "Your fear that you'll never find what you're looking for," he continued for her. "You'll never know who you really are. Especially not where we're going."
Eames jolted, and tried to climb out of the pit, but then a lid crashed down over the coffin he was already in. Instantly the world was black again, but with cold and musty wood blocking him in from all sides. "No," he gasped, feeling out the confines with shaky hands. "No, let me out!" He pounded on the lid but it did not creak or bend, and the space was too narrow for him to even draw his knees in to kick.
You're falling into Limbo. Desperation overtook him as he clawed at his prison, his breath hot against his face. Where time is infinite and indeterminable. As he thrashed one of his arms became wedged elbow to wrist, and in his panic to dislodge it he felt the small bones in his hands crack. It's only what you deserve.
"Robert!" Eames screamed, scraping his heels, his shoulders, his face into the wood. "Robert!"
The earth gave way beneath him, and Eames fell. His stomach lurched into his throat but he did not have long to go, and his back struck hardwood with a bone-jarring thud. The back of his skull striking floor made him see stars, and even with the relief that he was free it took him long moments to begin reaching for composure.
"Eames!" Ariadne's small hands touched his face, clearing away splinters and dust. "Oh my God, are you all right?"
Eames groaned, and then coughed. His entire body ached from the impact. "Where am I?"
"Don't move," said Arthur from nearby. "Those things are everywhere."
Eames rubbed his eyes and at last looked around. Despite the room's distortion he recognized it immediately as Maurice's office, and as Arthur had said it was packed with swaying wraiths. One by the desk in particular was eyeing him with what he perceived to be hate. Mr. Charles appeared unimpressed. And above them, looming over the desk like a gothic roof guardian, was Maurice himself.
Eames carefully sat up. "What's going on?" He looked to Arthur and flinched back when he saw the both of them in masks and veils.
"It's all right--it's us," Arthur assured him quickly. "They put these on us."
"And they're bringing the others here," added Ariadne. "Cobb, and Dr. Banks, and Arthur's other half."
"What? What about Browning?"
The projections hissed, but ceased when Maurice drummed his long fingers against his desk. "Bring him here," he said.
Mr. Charles disappeared behind the desk, and when he returned he was dragging another black-wrapped figure. A gag had been tied around its head, biting into the mask and the mouth behind it. He flung his prisoner to the ground in front of them.
Eames started to crawl toward him, but the projections resumed their hissing, threatening him into remaining still. "Browning?" he called instead. "Can you hear me?" Browning groaned, and wriggled within his cloak as if fighting against restraints.
"He came with lies," said Maurice. "He cannot be trusted. Now." He leaned forward. "Who are you?"
Eames swallowed and pushed slowly to his feet. His heart was still pounding from his brief burial and it made it hard to think straight, especially with Maurice's dead face glaring down at him. "I'm Eames," he said.
"I'm Eames," snapped the wraith wearing his face.
"He's Eames," Maurice agreed. "And if he's not Eames, Eames is dead. I'd rather he be Eames." His fingers drummed impatiently. "Who are you?"
Eames stared, and as he watched Maurice's anxious hands he noticed a stain of dried blood across the inside of his palm. "Where's Robert?"
Maurice pounded his fist against the desk. "Who are you?"
"I'm Eames! The real Eames--come down here and see for yourself!"
The wraiths growled at his challenge, and Arthur and Ariadne squirmed nervously behind him, but Maurice went deathly still. He remained that way for nearly a full minute, until it seemed that the mask and cloak no longer housed a living thing. But then the fabric rippled, and plastic lips parted. "The real Eames?" he repeated.
"Yes." Eames's voice grew hoarse with frustration. "Please, just take me to Robert."
Maurice shuddered, and then both hands clamped over the edge of the desk. He propelled himself forward and flew from his perch, his cloak billowing behind with a roar like fire. The black peeled away in layers, revealing a flash of glossy boots, then stiff, white military trousers. By the time he hit the floor his mask had fallen away, and with another desperate leap he was throwing himself into Eames's arms.
"You son of a bitch!" Robert cried, his arms around Eames's neck tight enough to choke. "You said you were coming for me!"
Eames staggered but didn't fall. Involuntarily his arms circled Robert's waist, holding him close as he shivered. His own hands were shaking and his ribs were constricting on the verge of caving--after so much struggle and concern, he had finally reached him. "I know," he said, squeezing his eyes shut. Relief sharp enough to be agony ground out of him in a quiet sob he hadn't known was in him. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. He licked his lips. "But I'm here now, aren't I?"
Robert went limp against him. "Thank God you're here," he said. "I tried to do what you told me--I did--but they won't go away." He turned his face into Eames's neck. "I can't get rid of them, they won't leave me alone."
"I know." Eames stroked his back. "But it's all right now. I've got you."
Robert heaved a sigh, and the more Eames touched him the more his quaking calmed, until he was able to lean back. He wiped his watering eyes as if embarrassed by them. Watching him, Eames felt something swell in his chest he could barely describe--something equally ferocious and terrifying that kept him from taking a full breath when he needed it. "Robert," he said, and when his voice cracked he quickly cleared his throat and tried again. "Are you all right? Are you...is this both of you?"
"Yes, I'm all here." Robert turned his head to the right, and at the same time turned his head to the left, briefly creating an eerie display. "It's so much easier, sticking together."
He melded once more, but in that brief moment apart Eames spotted a dark bruise on the temple of one that was not nearly so visible when they were together. He ran his thumb gently over it. "What happened here?"
Robert snorted. "One of their extractors." He tilted his chin up. "I took care of it."
Does he mean Nash? Eames smiled grimly and wanted to ask what had happened, but a quiet hiss from the wraiths reminded him of their precarious situation. He glanced around and found dozens of plastic faces watching them angrily; the Eames wraith particularly was seething with jealousy. "We can't stay here," Eames said quietly. "We need to talk, but here isn't safe. You have to make us a way out."
Robert shook his head. "It won't work. They'll break in eventually."
"All we need is a little time." Eames rubbed his waist in encouragement. "Make us someplace safe--I know you can do it."
Robert stood a little taller, and at last nodded. With a deep breath he took Eames's hand in his and turned away. "Mr. Charles! You're in charge here."
Mr. Charles snapped to attention. "Mr. Fischer."
Robert narrowed his eyes, and creases appeared in the wood that made up the front of his father's desk. His fingers tightened. "Ready?"
Eames glanced behind him, where Arthur and Ariadne were crouched in readiness. He motioned toward Browning and Arthur nodded. "I'm ready," he said.
Robert took off running, and Eames came with him, just as the surrounding wraiths caught on. They poured forward, reaching with their knobby hands, but it was only a few steps to the desk. On the way Eames reached down and grabbed part of Browning's cloak--Arthur and Ariadne joined him, and together they plowed through the newly created door with Browning in tow.
"I'm the real Eames!" the ghost screamed, throwing itself at the opening, but then the door slammed shut.
Eames pulled Browning away from the door before letting go and looking around. He smiled at the familiar sight of his log cabin, until his gaze landed on the mantle. He tried not to look at it again as he turned to Robert. "Well done," he said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
Arthur and Ariadne stripped out of their masks and cloaks, then knelt down to help Browning out of his. Robert stared at them in angry shock. "What the hell are they doing here?"
"It's all right." Eames set his hand on the back of Robert's neck and gave him a squeeze. "They're here so we can all wake up together."
Robert frowned. "What?"
"We all have to wake up at the same time," Arthur explained as he got Browning's gag off. "The rest of us are on our way. If we can even get to them now..."
Robert made a face at him and then shook his head. "What do you mean, wake up?" he asked of Eames.
Apprehension turned Eames's stomach cold. He met Robert's eyes seriously. "Robert, we're all still dreaming," he said slowly. "Can't you tell?"
Robert glanced around the cabin and then back. "Are you sure?"
Browning took in a huge gulp of air once he was freed from his cloak, and sagged as Arthur undid the rope around his wrists. A dark welt stood out on his forehead and a bit of dried blood stuck to his hair. "God damn it," he groaned.
"Are you all right?" Eames asked.
Robert bristled beneath his hand. "Who cares if he is? It's his fault we're here."
"No." Browning sat up with Arthur's help, rubbing his sore hands. "Robert, listen--"
"Don’t speak to me!" Robert said, backing away from him. "Don't even look at me--you're fired! All you've ever wanted was to use me!"
Eames stopped him from getting too far. "Wait," he said, carefully. "Robert, listen to him. He wasn't the one that started this."
"It was Charla," said Browning. "She tricked us all." His shoulders drooped and he leaned forward, guilt-stricken. "I'm sorry. I should have known that she..."
Robert waved his finger at him. "No, you're a liar. I don't believe you!" He pushed Eames away from him. "You're the enemy Eames warned me about," he hissed. "You're in league with that woman. My father loved me!"
Browning stared up at him, his face deeply creased with regret. "He tried," he said quietly.
Robert's face twisted and suddenly he launched himself at Browning, hands outstretched. "My father loved me!"
He tackled Browning to the ground, and as soon as they hit his white uniform dyed black and rippled outward. His hands bleached and his face paled, and by the time Eames could even begin to try and pry them apart he was wearing Maurice's mask again. "Robert!" Eames shouted, trying to get his arms around Robert's waist, but the fabric was flying everywhere, blinding him. "Robert, stop!"
Arthur and Ariadne grabbed Browning's flailing hands and pulled, dragging him out from under the screaming Robert. Grunting with the effort, Eames at last managed to pin Robert to the floor and ripped the mask off. "Robert, stop, it's Eames," he said, and was relieved to see his clothing return to normal. "Shh, that's enough." He rubbed Robert's back and prayed for him to calm--his agitation had already sent the fire in the hearth spinning, and he feared what greater reactions anger could cause in their already tenuous stronghold.
Robert sagged, his face pressed to the floor. He tried to hide beneath his arms as he trembled. "Keep him away from me," he whispered.
Browning's head sank into his hands. As Ariadne tried to calm him, Arthur moved closer to speak in Eames's ear. "We should wake them up," he said quietly. "Fischer's falling apart, but the two of them are still all right. They won't be if we get any deeper."
Eames glanced to Browning and Ariadne. The grief in Browning's face twisted something in his stomach, and he thought, All that time studying him, I didn't learn anything. "No," he said. "We still need Browning." He ran his fingers gently through Robert's short hair. "If there's any chance of us making it out of here, we have to figure out what secret Robert's hiding. That's the key to all of this, it has to be."
Arthur sat back on his heels as he considered that. A struggle played out over his face, and then he rubbed his mouth and said, "The carnival."
"What?"
Arthur glanced to Ariadne and back. "When Mal and I extracted from Fischer, the last location we got to in the panel was a carnival. Or a state fair, something like that, with rides and..." His eyes narrowed significantly. "Lights."
Eames straightened. "You mean, like what's happening outside?"
Beneath him, Robert flinched. "They're here," he said.
The far wall growled, and then began to roll upward like a storefront shutter. Fearing that they would have to make a run for it again, Eames stood and pulled Robert upright. But beyond the opening gleamed a white subway platform, pinwheels painting its walls, floors, and tracks. As everyone stared a sleek subway car screeched into view and halted. Its doors opened with a mechanical hiss.
Cobb and Charla were still asleep on their cots, but Arthur was sitting up on his, hunched over with his head in his hands. As soon as she saw him Ariadne hopped to her feet and hurried over. "Arthur! You're awake?"
He glanced up sharply, and when she was close enough he drew her into a fierce embrace. Though startled, she granted it, and cradled his head against her chest. "Are you all right?" she asked. "What happened down there?"
"Dom's trying to fight off Charla," he said, leaning into her. "He told me to wait for him."
The second Arthur stood and joined them, his expression sour. "That's enough. Pull yourself together--it's embarrassing."
His arms tightened around Ariadne's waist. "I really don't want to speak with you right now," he grumbled.
"What? Wait, you think this is my fault?" Arthur grabbed his double's shoulder and tried to push him off Ariadne. "If you hadn't let Banks catch you in her stupid trap this wouldn't have happened!"
"You're the one that got himself killed!" he retorted. "You have no idea what I've had to go through because of you!"
They shoved at each other, and Ariadne at last had to shoulder between them. "Stop--stop! What the hell is the matter with you?" She rolled her eyes and pried the arms off her waist. "You're both here now. It's time to go back together." She clapped her hands as if to demonstrate.
As they argued Eames moved around them and into the subway car. "I hope you've had enough time," he told Cobb as he leaned over the PASIV.
The second Arthur glanced back and started. "Wait, he said to--"
Eames turned the device off, and a moment later Cobb and Charla both awoke with a gasp. Eames removed Cobb's needle for him and gave his cheek a smack to help him along. "Come on, Cobb," he said. "I still need your help."
Cobb's face screwed, and he sat up groaning. "Where is she?"
Across from him, Charla squirmed on the mattress. Her hands fumbled over her IV and she only managed to dislodge it on the third try. She stared up at the many angry eyes on her with confusion. "Where am I?"
Browning stepped forward, his face livid. "Do you know what you've done?" he raved, and if not for Cobb intercepting him he would have shaken her. "Have you gone crazy? I trusted you and you're trying to kill him!"
Charla stared at him, at first with wide-eyed horror, but then a look of calm came over her. "Damn," she muttered. "I'll need a new team."
She slipped her hand down the front of her blouse and drew a knife, but long before she could angle it into her throat, both Arthurs pounced. One grabbed her wrists and the other her ankles, pinning her to the mattress as she thrashed, desperate to kill herself. When even the two of them had some difficulty Cobb joined them and finally pried the knife from her grip.
Eames kept an eye on the scene as he returned to Robert's side--he was still leaning against the far wall, his eyes unfocused. His skin had a glossy sheen to it and Eames feared that at any moment he might become inhuman again. "Robert." Eames touched Robert's face to get his attention. "It's time."
He looked up through heavy lashes. "Time for what?"
"You must know by now that everyone's being trying to extract from you," Eames said. He rubbed his thumbs gently over Robert's stern cheekbones. "There's a secret deep in your mind. Do you remember a carnival, from when you were a child? I know it's here, inside you--I've seen it before."
"A carnival?" Robert's eyelids drooped and he swayed dizzily. "I don't know. I don't think so."
"Yes you do." Eames's hands tightened, forcing Robert to look at him. "I know you remember. I want you to take us there."
The others noticed his absence. "Eames?" Cobb started toward him. "I need to know what's happening up here."
Eames ignored him. "You've been changing everything all along, haven't you?" he continued. "It's already busting out of you, all over the city." He smoothed his hands back to lightly stroke Robert's scalp. "All you have to do is let go, and I know you can take us there." His voice lowered. "I want you to show me all your secrets."
"Wait," said Browning. He hurried over along with Cobb. "What are you doing? We have to wake him up."
Tears spilled down Robert's cheeks, and he gripped Eames's wrists. "Maybe I don't want to know what it is," he whispered.
"Stop." Browning moved alongside them, his face red with panic. "Please, this isn't going to help him; he can't find out like this."
"Yes you do," Eames said, his focus still entirely on Robert. "You've been trying to tell me all this time." He pressed a kiss to Robert's forehead. "We're all sick of this dream anyway. Make a new one for us. Please."
Cobb grabbed Eames's shoulder. "Wait--if he whips us you'll be--"
"Do it." Eames let him go. "Do it, Robert!"
Defiance sharpened Robert's eyes, and as he leaned back the cabin began to fall apart. The walls stripped, revealing the horde of angry wraiths once more, but then even they were gone, as were the wooden hallways, the office tower, the curved city--everything shattered into dust save the earth suddenly beneath their feet. For brief moments there was only empty space, and then Robert's mind went again to hasty work, drawing forth a new and glittering landscape. It burst forth as if from a floodgate, exploding color and light and music in a triumphant swell that rejected too many years of dormant slumber.
Eames closed his eyes. His stomach turned as if he were falling, but he let the dream swarm over him, claiming him, re-skinning him. Cobb's hand slipped from his shoulder and then even Robert vanished, leaving him alone in a crowd of soulless people. Robert molded him into exactly who he needed him to be, and all at once Eames knew who he was, where he was meant to go, what he was meant to do.
He took a deep breath, and he ran.
To Chapter 18
Fandom: Inception
Title: The Helix Trap
Chapter: 17/19 (7,660 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!
EDIT: ruins_of_sodom did some super-creepy and awesome art of one of Robert's projections!
"Any time now, Love."
"I'm trying, all right! He's not letting me!"
Ariadne moved to the edge of the roof and glared down at the fire escape, willing it to move. Come on, she thought, glancing past the street-wide chasm to the towering skyscraper across from them. It's the last one; you can't block me out now!
Behind her, Arthur gave his shotgun a vigorous shake, until it stretched and reformed into an automatic machine gun. "We don't have time--we'll have to find another way in," he said.
"Like the front door?" Eames followed his example and fired into the swarm of wraiths that were clamoring over the far end of the rooftop. "I'd rather not have to go feline again if I can help it, thank you."
Ariadne squeezed her eyes shut. This is still my dream, she thought with determination. I know it better than he does. I've practiced this longer than he has. She took a deep breath, grit her teeth, and felt a moment's celebration when the fire escape began to groan away from the side of the building. It stretched away from her like all the others had, reaching and squealing, but then it abruptly angled up. The last laddered segment blossomed into a pinwheel and began to spin.
"Damn it!" Ariadne kicked at it and watched the metal shudder. "I'm sick of your stupid pinwheels!"
Eames and Arthur fired into the army of creatures, shredding many, but more continued to pour after. "Keep trying!" Arthur called over his shoulder. "There's nowhere else to go!"
"I know, I know!" Ariadne shook herself and glared her adversary down. "Move," she demanded, and it screeched, metal straining against metal. "Move!"
The fire escape howled with complaint, and then shot across the open space, growing and twisting until it crashed through the twentieth floor windows in the tower opposite. It wasn't as high as Ariadne had wanted but it was a bridge, and when she was certain it was secure she turned. "Okay, let's go!"
"Wait!" Eames slipped past her and started across. "I'll go first--we don't know what we'll find in there."
"Be my guest," said Ariadne. Once Eames was on his way she touched Arthur's shoulder to get him to stop shooting. "Come on, we have a way across!"
They charged across the fire escape, and when it shuddered Ariadne put both hands on the rails, concentrating hard on keeping it stable. Just a little longer, and then we'll be in. But as they ran something burned her skin, and she jumped. More colored lights were blooming up and down the structure, some of them slowly turning.
The fire escape swayed beneath them, and then jerked, shattering glass as it scraped down the side of the tower. Everyone grabbed for the rails as they plummeted, faster than the snow that was still falling on all sides. Ariadne felt Arthur's hand press into her back and knew he was shouting something, but she couldn't make it out. She closed her eyes again, silently begging, Please stop, please just let us in, and with a gut-wrenching jolt they had halted again.
Ariadne started running before her eyes were open. The catwalk clanged and rocked beneath her boots, threatening again to fall, but she forced herself to keep going. Ahead of her Eames lifted his gun and fired into the side the building, clearing away what remained of the window so he could leap through safe from harm.
She was still several feet away when the fire escape slipped away from the edge of the building. Her stomach lurched, but before she could reconcile herself to death on the pavement Arthur twisted both hands in her jacket and flung her through the opening. She yelped as she landed hard on polished floor, and tiny shards of glass pierced her jacket and pants. As she pushed herself up she heard the fire escape give way and crash to the ground below.
"Arthur!" Ariadne ignored her stinging elbows and whirled, rushing to the ragged opening. When she saw bruised fingers clinging to the edge of the building she wasn't sure whether to panic or sigh in relief. "Hold on," she said dumbly as she reached through the window and grabbed Arthur's wrist. "Don't let go!"
Arthur made a face. "I'm all right." With a deep breath he started to pull himself up.
Eames joined them and hooked a hand under Arthur's armpit. "I've got you," he said. "Up you go."
"Eames."
The trio paused, and with Arthur still half dangling out of the building they looked into the room they'd intruded upon. It was a conference room, the table and chairs pressed up against the walls to make a straight path to the far wall. Mal stood there, her black dress swaying in the cool breeze, her bare toes wiggling against the floor. She smiled at them. "I've been waiting for you."
The wall behind her faded to black, and cracked open with a mechanical whirl. A pair of immense doors parted to reveal an empty and ominous safe. "This safe is for you," Mal said. "I'm in your mind now, as much as you're in mine." She lifted a mask bearing Eames's face and fitted it coyly over her own. "I know where your secrets are hidden."
She stepped back into the safe and swiftly disappeared within its shadows. Ariadne shuddered, and when she looked to Eames she could easily see that his face had paled several shades. His eyes were trained on the safe.
"Wait," Ariadne said quickly. "Eames--"
Eames let go of Arthur and leapt to his feet. The sudden withdrawal of assistance took Arthur by surprise, and he slipped, dropping further out of the window. Ariadne hurried to support him. "Eames!" she snapped, but he was already striding purposefully across the conference room. She yanked at Arthur's arm and he was at last able to pull himself inside. "Wait, we have to stick together!"
"So hurry up!" Eames said over his shoulder. He didn't break stride, and was soon through the gaping doorway. He disappeared as swiftly as Mal had.
"Eames!" Ariadne ran for the safe and felt Arthur behind, but the doors were already closing the moment Eames stepped through them. By the time she was close enough to make a jump for it the opening was too small for her to risk it. She skidded to a halt as the doors clanged shut. "What the hell is he thinking?" she ranted, beating on the metal with her open palms. "What good is finding Fischer if he's not with us? There's no way he'll listen to the two of us!"
She glanced back and saw Arthur watching her with a dazed expression. "Sorry," she said quickly. She swept her hair back and looked around the conference room again, taking note of a side door. "I think I'm starting to lose it."
"It's only going to get worse, the deeper we sink," said Arthur. "Can you open it?"
Ariadne took a deep breath and turned to the safe. There was no keypad, so she pressed her forehead to the metal and prayed for something within it to give way. Nothing stirred. "It's not mine--it won't budge. Should we wait?"
"We don't have time." Arthur picked Eames's discarded weapon off the floor and headed for the only other exit. "All we can do is stick to the plan and hope he finds his own way."
Arthur opened the door, and was greeted immediately by a group of wraiths wearing white military caps. He fired on them immediately, shredding the masks and scattering their cloaks. "Come on!" he said over his shoulder. "We just have to push through!"
They charged together down the open corridor, Arthur on point and Ariadne covering them from behind. For a moment it felt like their training all over again, and she was able to imagine that the projections were only Arthur's, and when they were finished they would wake up to Yusuf's chili in Paris.
Arthur pushed open a door which should have led into a normal stairwell, but what greeted them was another long hallway, one not outfitted with the typical office-building tile floors and generic blank walls. Instead cold marble and dark wood made every sound echo up and down the empty space, and more wraiths crept out from behind heavy doors and rotting oil paintings.
Ariadne's shoulders sagged. He took out my stairs. What if there isn't a way up at all? But then Arthur was on the move again, and with a deep breath she followed. There were fewer wraiths than on the city streets and Arthur's machine gun made quick work of them as they ran down the broad hall, opening doors along the way. Nothing looked familiar or even promising.
The final door led into a huge foyer, circled by an immense, round staircase. Though Ariadne was relieved to see Robert hadn't sealed them off completely, more ghosts lined the rails as far up as she could see. When they began their descent down the steps it looked as if the entire chamber were spinning like a drill.
Arthur reloaded. His face was grim and he glanced to Ariadne as if to say, I'll wake you up if you want. But Ariadne shook her head, and looked again to her handgun. She breathed deeply and tried to ignore the rushing creatures in favor of reforming her weapon. Please work!
The gun shifted and stretched, and though she didn't exactly know the proper make of the machine she was creating, her imagination filled in the blanks well enough. She lifted it and fired, shooting a curved grappling hook up the floors and around the top railing. When she gave it a tug it felt secure.
Arthur shook his head, but he slung the machine gun over his back and took the grip from her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and as they pressed close together he whispered against her ear, "Don't let go." Despite everything, she smiled.
He pulled the trigger again, and they shot up the spiraled room like a rocket. Ariadne had to wrap her legs around Arthur's waist to be sure her grip would hold. All around the wraiths screamed at them, and she could have sworn she felt their fingers raking her back, but they continued to climb until coming to a halt at the top.
Arthur transferred his hands to the railing, but the wood was smooth and not an easy hold with both of their weight on him. "Climb up," he said, and she squirmed, trying to twist around and pull herself away from his body. At last she had clambered onto the stairs, and she turned back to assist him.
White hands grabbed her from behind. She yelped and instinctually her elbow went back, smashing the wraith in the face. She felt the plastic mask crunch beneath her, but the fingers looping around her arms did not relax. Then another wraith snatched her around the waist, and another pulled at her hair, and they dragged her, kicking and flailing, away from Arthur.
"Get off me!" Ariadne fought but then more grabbed her legs, sweeping her feet out from under her so that she had no leverage. She scrambled, trying to think of a new weapon, but then she was shoved to the floor and a heavy black cloak was yanked over her.
"Ariadne!"
For the first time since entering Robert's mind, Ariadne truly panicked. The cloth was cold and oily, and the more she thrashed beneath it the more it stuck to her body. Hands pawed at her from all directions as she squirmed helplessly on the marble, pulling and dragging and scratching, and she screamed, until she couldn't even hear Arthur calling for her anymore. All she could think of was Eames's voice, the word Limbo echoing through her mind as if it was already an endless and empty cavern she was meant to spend eternity in.
"Arthur!" She shrieked as she was lifted off the ground. Something yanked at her head and suddenly her face was free, granting her one quick glance of Arthur tearing at yet more ghosts. Then slick plastic was slapped over her. She screamed for him as the wraiths hefted her and hurried in the other direction.
They traveled for several minutes, and all the while Ariadne fought and cried out, until her throat was sore and tears stained the inside of her mask. She thought she heard Arthur calling after her but she couldn't see anything, or even hear much over her own rapid breath. At last there was a loud thud like giant doors being opened, and she was roughly deposited onto the floor once more. The wraiths let her go and backed away.
Ariadne remained still for a moment, choking on her own breath, until she was sure they were no longer at her heels. Her instincts kicked in and she clawed the mask from her face. She saw hardwood floor and tall windows and then the wraiths returned, hissing at her as they straightened her arms and shoved her mask back on. Her screams renewed but as soon as the accessory was back in place the wraiths retreated again.
It took all Ariadne's will power not to try and remove the mask a second time. Carefully she adjusted it, until her eyes matched the empty sockets and she was able to see. "Arthur?" she called, leaning over her knees.
Another group of wraiths shoved a black-clad bundle to the ground next to her. Just as she had done Arthur immediately reached for his mask, but Ariadne pawed at him through her cloak. "Wait," she said weakly. "Wait, leave it. They'll just put it back on."
Arthur groaned and struggled to sit up. "Where are we? Why aren't they killing us?"
"I don't know." Ariadne took a closer look around the room. Everything in it was slightly oversized, from the immense curtained windows, to the towering bookshelves, and especially the broad mahogany desk that loomed over them like a judge's seat. Dozens of wraiths were packed into the candle-lit space, but two stood out ahead of the rest, guarding either side of their master's bench with unmoving determination.
"Good to see you again," said Mr. Charles.
Ariadne huddled close to Arthur's side. "What's going on?" she asked, peering into the shadows cloaking the focal desk. "What do you want from us?"
A low voice rippled out of the darkness, unfamiliar to Ariadne, but Arthur flinched with recognition. "Are there more of you?"
"Eames is here," Ariadne said. "We're trying to find Fischer so we can wake him up--we're here to help!"
"I'm Eames," said the wraith next to Mr. Charles.
"Are there more of you?" its master repeated. "Are you one Arthur, or are you both?"
Arthur and Ariadne exchanged glances. "Does it matter?" said Arthur. "What are you going to do with us?"
"Where is the other Arthur?"
Ariadne licked her dry lips, and cringed at the taste of plastic against her tongue. "If we tell you, will you bring him here? We're not here to hurt you; we really just want to help, please."
The voice did not answer immediately. Mr. Charles and the false Eames tilted their heads up expectantly, and at last a reply came. "Is he still in the subway?"
Ariadne looked to Arthur. Though she couldn't see his expression she felt him grow tense, and then he nodded. "Yes."
A wide, white hand stretched out of the shadows and pressed one finger into the surface of the desk. The floor in front of Ariadne gleamed, and from the wood bloomed a sleek control panel, just like the ones she had constructed on the subway platforms. She managed to sneak one hand out from under her cloak, and after keying in the password a single button appeared labeled "Here."
Ariadne pressed it, and the control panel melted away again. She drew her trembling hand back to her. "How are you doing this?"
The white hand curled over the edge of the desk and pulled, dragging the rest of its hulking form into view. Atop black, hunched shoulders and a long neck sat a pale mask bearing the likeness of Maurice Fischer. He glared down at his captives with sagging, empty sockets. "This is my mind," he said. "I might as well be God."
***
Cobb woke up in a hotel bathroom. He stared at his reflection, thinking that he should maybe shave his beard, and then he remembered. Shit. Did she get me? He turned in place but he didn't recognize the layout, and before he could sneak out he heard voices in the room proper.
"And so that’s it," said Charla, her voice clipped. "First you withdraw my funding, and now--"
"That has nothing to do with this," a man interrupted her. It took Cobb a moment to recognize him as Browning. "And don't try to roast my ass on that again, we both know more money is not going to make that 'shared dreaming' fantasy of yours any realer." He scoffed. "Or this one."
"You..." He heard clothing being tossed around. "And of course you waited to tell me this until after you fucked me. How typical."
"Come on, Charl. Not three weeks ago you said you never wanted to see me again. I believe your exact words were--"
"I remember." A woman's feet padded around the room. "All right. Then what are you still doing here? I'm paying for this room." Fabric rustled. "Get the fuck out."
Browning chuckled. "Whatever you say."
Footsteps came closer, and Cobb didn't have any time to think about hiding before Charla was in the doorway. She was much younger than he had ever known her, back when her blonde didn't come from a salon and her skin was free of wrinkles. Her expression was hard but there were bitter tears in her eyes she was trying to hide. When she finally noticed Cobb standing in front of her she started, and glared at him in fright.
Cobb blinked. "You and Browning?"
Charla stepped back, confused at first, but then a look of horror came over her. With a scream she struck Cobb hard across the face and the hotel crumbled.
Cobb stumbled into the sink just before it disappeared. The whip was sharp and he had no time to plan ahead--all he knew was that he had to beat her to it. He had no choice but to draw from memory, pulling up a setting so deeply rooted in his mind that it flowed into place with no effort at all.
He was in another hotel. He feared at first that the furniture would be overturned, a glass poised on the floor, but everything was properly placed. The window was open, swaying the curtains with a gentle night breeze. A half empty wine bottle sat in melting ice, and beside it one of two glasses was smudged with lipstick.
It pained Cobb to share the memory with anyone, let alone an enemy, but when he approached the bed and found Charla there he saw at once how effective it was. She was in Mal's skin, staring up at the ceiling with an empty and unblinking stare. Her lips fumbled soundlessly. Cobb stood at the end of the bed, knowing that despite her stillness, a battle was taking place. A forger has no defense against whipping, he thought, remembering a lesson learned years ago. The compulsion to populate is so strong it goes right through them, filling them into the space.
Cobb sat down on the edge of the bed. Watching Charla--Mal--twitch in the sheets, struggling against the influence of his mind, made him sick to his stomach. He licked his lips and needed a moment to gather his voice. "Mal."
Charla turned toward him, and smiled. "You're not ready to sleep yet, are you?" she asked.
Cobb grimaced. She was too false, in her eyes and in her posture, and he couldn't bear to look at her anymore. I'll find something else. I can't do this. "No," he murmured. "I'm ready to wake up."
The room began to tremble. Cobb stiffened, and when he looked to the balcony he saw the scenery shake and then rumble by. It sped up, until the chandelier swayed above them and the lights from the hotel across from them blurred into horizontal streaks.
We're moving. A rhythmic thud sounded beneath them in a familiar, hair-raising symphony. The subway is moving, Cobb realized. He looked to Charla and saw her own features beginning to form out of Mal's as she regained her sanity. Something's happening. Arthur better not be waking me up yet.
***
Eames pounded on the safe doors, even knowing they wouldn't budge. "Stupid," he growled at himself. "You'd better not be waking each other up out there."
He turned. The inside of the safe was pitch black, and as he moved down the wall he didn't feel the familiar shapes of masks bumping into his hand. It was truly empty. "Robert!" he called, squinting against the darkness. "Are you in here?"
"Did you love your father?" asked Mal.
Eames stepped away from the wall to follow the sound of her voice. "Yes." Childhood memories bubbled at the back of his mind but he tried to suppress them, knowing how easily they could become manifest in the ever-changing dream world.
"Did your father love you?"
"Yes," Eames said, but then he grimaced, and his gait faltered. "I think so. I wanted to think so."
"Show me."
An outline of a door glowed ahead of him, and Eames hurried to open it. As soon as he was out of the safe a strong wind buffeted his hair and clothing, and he stumbled on uneven ground. Soft grass sank under his feet and a smell of wet stone and mold choked his unprepared nostrils. Shielding his eyes against the wind he peered into his surroundings and shivered; he was in a cemetery. A small group of men and women crowded together over an open grave, swaying with the stronger gusts, their eyes downcast. Eames looked to their faces and spotted his mother among them, her makeup smeared into jagged tracks down her sallow cheeks. Clinging to her hand was a nine year old boy.
"That's me," Eames said, mystified. "This is my father's funeral."
"And there is the man," said Mal, standing close beside him. Her warm hand slid into his. "The man in uniform."
Eames looked again, and spotted some meters away a man in olive service dress. His head was down, so that the brim of his cap disguised most of his features. Though he was not facing the ceremony directly Eames knew that he had come to pay his respects.
"Who is he?" Mal asked quietly.
Eames shook his head. "I don't know. I never knew."
"Then why is he so important to you?"
"He's not." But even as Eames said so the nine year old boy turned his head, watching the stranger as they all continued to rock back and forth with the wind, otherwise frozen in time. His hand tightened around Mal's. "It's just one of those things you wonder about when you're older," he said.
She leaned into him, her cheek resting on his shoulder. "Your secret is my secret," she murmured. "I know the truth. He is the one that makes you doubt."
"Doubt what?"
"Who you are." She stroked the inside of his elbow with her free hand. "You never knew your father. What did he want you to become? What might you have been, if you knew? I know how it feels, not to know. And sometimes, you wonder...what if it had been him."
"What?" Eames felt an uneasy tremor hum up his spine. "What are you talking about?"
"Who are you now?" Mal continued. "What manner of man are you? Would another father have loved you better? Who would you be, if only your father were a better man?"
He shook his head. "No," he said, "that's not how I feel."
Mal took a step forward, and inevitably he followed. "That's why you surround yourself with the masks." She drew him closer to the soldier whose face was still hidden in shadow. "You're searching for yourself, letting the world mold you into someone else, someone closer to who you were meant to be. Someone your father would have loved."
"You're talking about yourself," Eames said, unable to take his eyes off the stranger they were drawing toward. "Robert's the one who--"
"I'm not Robert's." Mal let go of his hand and pushed between his shoulder blades, urging him forward alone. "I'm yours."
Eames stumbled and found himself face to face with the man in uniform. His breath froze in his aching lungs and though he didn't want to look, he couldn't help himself. He pushed the stranger's cap back, revealing brown eyes pinched with age, rough whiskers, and full lips set in a stern jaw. His own face.
The General grabbed Eames by the front of the shirt and surged forward, flinging him to the ground. The grass was slick beneath his back; he slid, and before he could think to slow himself his shoulders dropped into empty space. With a startled cry he tumbled into the open grave.
Mal leaned over the opening and smiled at him. "And that's how I know your secrets," she said. "And your fears."
Eames groaned and tried to sit up. As he braced his hands beneath him he realized that they were scraping wood, and more wood rose on either side of him.
The General joined his peer in crouching over the grave. "Your fear that you'll never find what you're looking for," he continued for her. "You'll never know who you really are. Especially not where we're going."
Eames jolted, and tried to climb out of the pit, but then a lid crashed down over the coffin he was already in. Instantly the world was black again, but with cold and musty wood blocking him in from all sides. "No," he gasped, feeling out the confines with shaky hands. "No, let me out!" He pounded on the lid but it did not creak or bend, and the space was too narrow for him to even draw his knees in to kick.
You're falling into Limbo. Desperation overtook him as he clawed at his prison, his breath hot against his face. Where time is infinite and indeterminable. As he thrashed one of his arms became wedged elbow to wrist, and in his panic to dislodge it he felt the small bones in his hands crack. It's only what you deserve.
"Robert!" Eames screamed, scraping his heels, his shoulders, his face into the wood. "Robert!"
The earth gave way beneath him, and Eames fell. His stomach lurched into his throat but he did not have long to go, and his back struck hardwood with a bone-jarring thud. The back of his skull striking floor made him see stars, and even with the relief that he was free it took him long moments to begin reaching for composure.
"Eames!" Ariadne's small hands touched his face, clearing away splinters and dust. "Oh my God, are you all right?"
Eames groaned, and then coughed. His entire body ached from the impact. "Where am I?"
"Don't move," said Arthur from nearby. "Those things are everywhere."
Eames rubbed his eyes and at last looked around. Despite the room's distortion he recognized it immediately as Maurice's office, and as Arthur had said it was packed with swaying wraiths. One by the desk in particular was eyeing him with what he perceived to be hate. Mr. Charles appeared unimpressed. And above them, looming over the desk like a gothic roof guardian, was Maurice himself.
Eames carefully sat up. "What's going on?" He looked to Arthur and flinched back when he saw the both of them in masks and veils.
"It's all right--it's us," Arthur assured him quickly. "They put these on us."
"And they're bringing the others here," added Ariadne. "Cobb, and Dr. Banks, and Arthur's other half."
"What? What about Browning?"
The projections hissed, but ceased when Maurice drummed his long fingers against his desk. "Bring him here," he said.
Mr. Charles disappeared behind the desk, and when he returned he was dragging another black-wrapped figure. A gag had been tied around its head, biting into the mask and the mouth behind it. He flung his prisoner to the ground in front of them.
Eames started to crawl toward him, but the projections resumed their hissing, threatening him into remaining still. "Browning?" he called instead. "Can you hear me?" Browning groaned, and wriggled within his cloak as if fighting against restraints.
"He came with lies," said Maurice. "He cannot be trusted. Now." He leaned forward. "Who are you?"
Eames swallowed and pushed slowly to his feet. His heart was still pounding from his brief burial and it made it hard to think straight, especially with Maurice's dead face glaring down at him. "I'm Eames," he said.
"I'm Eames," snapped the wraith wearing his face.
"He's Eames," Maurice agreed. "And if he's not Eames, Eames is dead. I'd rather he be Eames." His fingers drummed impatiently. "Who are you?"
Eames stared, and as he watched Maurice's anxious hands he noticed a stain of dried blood across the inside of his palm. "Where's Robert?"
Maurice pounded his fist against the desk. "Who are you?"
"I'm Eames! The real Eames--come down here and see for yourself!"
The wraiths growled at his challenge, and Arthur and Ariadne squirmed nervously behind him, but Maurice went deathly still. He remained that way for nearly a full minute, until it seemed that the mask and cloak no longer housed a living thing. But then the fabric rippled, and plastic lips parted. "The real Eames?" he repeated.
"Yes." Eames's voice grew hoarse with frustration. "Please, just take me to Robert."
Maurice shuddered, and then both hands clamped over the edge of the desk. He propelled himself forward and flew from his perch, his cloak billowing behind with a roar like fire. The black peeled away in layers, revealing a flash of glossy boots, then stiff, white military trousers. By the time he hit the floor his mask had fallen away, and with another desperate leap he was throwing himself into Eames's arms.
"You son of a bitch!" Robert cried, his arms around Eames's neck tight enough to choke. "You said you were coming for me!"
Eames staggered but didn't fall. Involuntarily his arms circled Robert's waist, holding him close as he shivered. His own hands were shaking and his ribs were constricting on the verge of caving--after so much struggle and concern, he had finally reached him. "I know," he said, squeezing his eyes shut. Relief sharp enough to be agony ground out of him in a quiet sob he hadn't known was in him. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. He licked his lips. "But I'm here now, aren't I?"
Robert went limp against him. "Thank God you're here," he said. "I tried to do what you told me--I did--but they won't go away." He turned his face into Eames's neck. "I can't get rid of them, they won't leave me alone."
"I know." Eames stroked his back. "But it's all right now. I've got you."
Robert heaved a sigh, and the more Eames touched him the more his quaking calmed, until he was able to lean back. He wiped his watering eyes as if embarrassed by them. Watching him, Eames felt something swell in his chest he could barely describe--something equally ferocious and terrifying that kept him from taking a full breath when he needed it. "Robert," he said, and when his voice cracked he quickly cleared his throat and tried again. "Are you all right? Are you...is this both of you?"
"Yes, I'm all here." Robert turned his head to the right, and at the same time turned his head to the left, briefly creating an eerie display. "It's so much easier, sticking together."
He melded once more, but in that brief moment apart Eames spotted a dark bruise on the temple of one that was not nearly so visible when they were together. He ran his thumb gently over it. "What happened here?"
Robert snorted. "One of their extractors." He tilted his chin up. "I took care of it."
Does he mean Nash? Eames smiled grimly and wanted to ask what had happened, but a quiet hiss from the wraiths reminded him of their precarious situation. He glanced around and found dozens of plastic faces watching them angrily; the Eames wraith particularly was seething with jealousy. "We can't stay here," Eames said quietly. "We need to talk, but here isn't safe. You have to make us a way out."
Robert shook his head. "It won't work. They'll break in eventually."
"All we need is a little time." Eames rubbed his waist in encouragement. "Make us someplace safe--I know you can do it."
Robert stood a little taller, and at last nodded. With a deep breath he took Eames's hand in his and turned away. "Mr. Charles! You're in charge here."
Mr. Charles snapped to attention. "Mr. Fischer."
Robert narrowed his eyes, and creases appeared in the wood that made up the front of his father's desk. His fingers tightened. "Ready?"
Eames glanced behind him, where Arthur and Ariadne were crouched in readiness. He motioned toward Browning and Arthur nodded. "I'm ready," he said.
Robert took off running, and Eames came with him, just as the surrounding wraiths caught on. They poured forward, reaching with their knobby hands, but it was only a few steps to the desk. On the way Eames reached down and grabbed part of Browning's cloak--Arthur and Ariadne joined him, and together they plowed through the newly created door with Browning in tow.
"I'm the real Eames!" the ghost screamed, throwing itself at the opening, but then the door slammed shut.
Eames pulled Browning away from the door before letting go and looking around. He smiled at the familiar sight of his log cabin, until his gaze landed on the mantle. He tried not to look at it again as he turned to Robert. "Well done," he said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
Arthur and Ariadne stripped out of their masks and cloaks, then knelt down to help Browning out of his. Robert stared at them in angry shock. "What the hell are they doing here?"
"It's all right." Eames set his hand on the back of Robert's neck and gave him a squeeze. "They're here so we can all wake up together."
Robert frowned. "What?"
"We all have to wake up at the same time," Arthur explained as he got Browning's gag off. "The rest of us are on our way. If we can even get to them now..."
Robert made a face at him and then shook his head. "What do you mean, wake up?" he asked of Eames.
Apprehension turned Eames's stomach cold. He met Robert's eyes seriously. "Robert, we're all still dreaming," he said slowly. "Can't you tell?"
Robert glanced around the cabin and then back. "Are you sure?"
Browning took in a huge gulp of air once he was freed from his cloak, and sagged as Arthur undid the rope around his wrists. A dark welt stood out on his forehead and a bit of dried blood stuck to his hair. "God damn it," he groaned.
"Are you all right?" Eames asked.
Robert bristled beneath his hand. "Who cares if he is? It's his fault we're here."
"No." Browning sat up with Arthur's help, rubbing his sore hands. "Robert, listen--"
"Don’t speak to me!" Robert said, backing away from him. "Don't even look at me--you're fired! All you've ever wanted was to use me!"
Eames stopped him from getting too far. "Wait," he said, carefully. "Robert, listen to him. He wasn't the one that started this."
"It was Charla," said Browning. "She tricked us all." His shoulders drooped and he leaned forward, guilt-stricken. "I'm sorry. I should have known that she..."
Robert waved his finger at him. "No, you're a liar. I don't believe you!" He pushed Eames away from him. "You're the enemy Eames warned me about," he hissed. "You're in league with that woman. My father loved me!"
Browning stared up at him, his face deeply creased with regret. "He tried," he said quietly.
Robert's face twisted and suddenly he launched himself at Browning, hands outstretched. "My father loved me!"
He tackled Browning to the ground, and as soon as they hit his white uniform dyed black and rippled outward. His hands bleached and his face paled, and by the time Eames could even begin to try and pry them apart he was wearing Maurice's mask again. "Robert!" Eames shouted, trying to get his arms around Robert's waist, but the fabric was flying everywhere, blinding him. "Robert, stop!"
Arthur and Ariadne grabbed Browning's flailing hands and pulled, dragging him out from under the screaming Robert. Grunting with the effort, Eames at last managed to pin Robert to the floor and ripped the mask off. "Robert, stop, it's Eames," he said, and was relieved to see his clothing return to normal. "Shh, that's enough." He rubbed Robert's back and prayed for him to calm--his agitation had already sent the fire in the hearth spinning, and he feared what greater reactions anger could cause in their already tenuous stronghold.
Robert sagged, his face pressed to the floor. He tried to hide beneath his arms as he trembled. "Keep him away from me," he whispered.
Browning's head sank into his hands. As Ariadne tried to calm him, Arthur moved closer to speak in Eames's ear. "We should wake them up," he said quietly. "Fischer's falling apart, but the two of them are still all right. They won't be if we get any deeper."
Eames glanced to Browning and Ariadne. The grief in Browning's face twisted something in his stomach, and he thought, All that time studying him, I didn't learn anything. "No," he said. "We still need Browning." He ran his fingers gently through Robert's short hair. "If there's any chance of us making it out of here, we have to figure out what secret Robert's hiding. That's the key to all of this, it has to be."
Arthur sat back on his heels as he considered that. A struggle played out over his face, and then he rubbed his mouth and said, "The carnival."
"What?"
Arthur glanced to Ariadne and back. "When Mal and I extracted from Fischer, the last location we got to in the panel was a carnival. Or a state fair, something like that, with rides and..." His eyes narrowed significantly. "Lights."
Eames straightened. "You mean, like what's happening outside?"
Beneath him, Robert flinched. "They're here," he said.
The far wall growled, and then began to roll upward like a storefront shutter. Fearing that they would have to make a run for it again, Eames stood and pulled Robert upright. But beyond the opening gleamed a white subway platform, pinwheels painting its walls, floors, and tracks. As everyone stared a sleek subway car screeched into view and halted. Its doors opened with a mechanical hiss.
Cobb and Charla were still asleep on their cots, but Arthur was sitting up on his, hunched over with his head in his hands. As soon as she saw him Ariadne hopped to her feet and hurried over. "Arthur! You're awake?"
He glanced up sharply, and when she was close enough he drew her into a fierce embrace. Though startled, she granted it, and cradled his head against her chest. "Are you all right?" she asked. "What happened down there?"
"Dom's trying to fight off Charla," he said, leaning into her. "He told me to wait for him."
The second Arthur stood and joined them, his expression sour. "That's enough. Pull yourself together--it's embarrassing."
His arms tightened around Ariadne's waist. "I really don't want to speak with you right now," he grumbled.
"What? Wait, you think this is my fault?" Arthur grabbed his double's shoulder and tried to push him off Ariadne. "If you hadn't let Banks catch you in her stupid trap this wouldn't have happened!"
"You're the one that got himself killed!" he retorted. "You have no idea what I've had to go through because of you!"
They shoved at each other, and Ariadne at last had to shoulder between them. "Stop--stop! What the hell is the matter with you?" She rolled her eyes and pried the arms off her waist. "You're both here now. It's time to go back together." She clapped her hands as if to demonstrate.
As they argued Eames moved around them and into the subway car. "I hope you've had enough time," he told Cobb as he leaned over the PASIV.
The second Arthur glanced back and started. "Wait, he said to--"
Eames turned the device off, and a moment later Cobb and Charla both awoke with a gasp. Eames removed Cobb's needle for him and gave his cheek a smack to help him along. "Come on, Cobb," he said. "I still need your help."
Cobb's face screwed, and he sat up groaning. "Where is she?"
Across from him, Charla squirmed on the mattress. Her hands fumbled over her IV and she only managed to dislodge it on the third try. She stared up at the many angry eyes on her with confusion. "Where am I?"
Browning stepped forward, his face livid. "Do you know what you've done?" he raved, and if not for Cobb intercepting him he would have shaken her. "Have you gone crazy? I trusted you and you're trying to kill him!"
Charla stared at him, at first with wide-eyed horror, but then a look of calm came over her. "Damn," she muttered. "I'll need a new team."
She slipped her hand down the front of her blouse and drew a knife, but long before she could angle it into her throat, both Arthurs pounced. One grabbed her wrists and the other her ankles, pinning her to the mattress as she thrashed, desperate to kill herself. When even the two of them had some difficulty Cobb joined them and finally pried the knife from her grip.
Eames kept an eye on the scene as he returned to Robert's side--he was still leaning against the far wall, his eyes unfocused. His skin had a glossy sheen to it and Eames feared that at any moment he might become inhuman again. "Robert." Eames touched Robert's face to get his attention. "It's time."
He looked up through heavy lashes. "Time for what?"
"You must know by now that everyone's being trying to extract from you," Eames said. He rubbed his thumbs gently over Robert's stern cheekbones. "There's a secret deep in your mind. Do you remember a carnival, from when you were a child? I know it's here, inside you--I've seen it before."
"A carnival?" Robert's eyelids drooped and he swayed dizzily. "I don't know. I don't think so."
"Yes you do." Eames's hands tightened, forcing Robert to look at him. "I know you remember. I want you to take us there."
The others noticed his absence. "Eames?" Cobb started toward him. "I need to know what's happening up here."
Eames ignored him. "You've been changing everything all along, haven't you?" he continued. "It's already busting out of you, all over the city." He smoothed his hands back to lightly stroke Robert's scalp. "All you have to do is let go, and I know you can take us there." His voice lowered. "I want you to show me all your secrets."
"Wait," said Browning. He hurried over along with Cobb. "What are you doing? We have to wake him up."
Tears spilled down Robert's cheeks, and he gripped Eames's wrists. "Maybe I don't want to know what it is," he whispered.
"Stop." Browning moved alongside them, his face red with panic. "Please, this isn't going to help him; he can't find out like this."
"Yes you do," Eames said, his focus still entirely on Robert. "You've been trying to tell me all this time." He pressed a kiss to Robert's forehead. "We're all sick of this dream anyway. Make a new one for us. Please."
Cobb grabbed Eames's shoulder. "Wait--if he whips us you'll be--"
"Do it." Eames let him go. "Do it, Robert!"
Defiance sharpened Robert's eyes, and as he leaned back the cabin began to fall apart. The walls stripped, revealing the horde of angry wraiths once more, but then even they were gone, as were the wooden hallways, the office tower, the curved city--everything shattered into dust save the earth suddenly beneath their feet. For brief moments there was only empty space, and then Robert's mind went again to hasty work, drawing forth a new and glittering landscape. It burst forth as if from a floodgate, exploding color and light and music in a triumphant swell that rejected too many years of dormant slumber.
Eames closed his eyes. His stomach turned as if he were falling, but he let the dream swarm over him, claiming him, re-skinning him. Cobb's hand slipped from his shoulder and then even Robert vanished, leaving him alone in a crowd of soulless people. Robert molded him into exactly who he needed him to be, and all at once Eames knew who he was, where he was meant to go, what he was meant to do.
He took a deep breath, and he ran.
To Chapter 18